World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,94

If he were dead, rest assured that Magatha would announce it—and back it up with his head.”

Something was bothering Palkar, more than the obvious horror at the news. Something else that Perith had said—

“Then there is still hope. Is Garrosh choosing to aid the usurpers?”

“We have not seen evidence of that.”

“If he truly was a participant in the dishonorable murder of Cairne,” Drek’Thar continued, “it is unlikely that he would not do all he could to silence Baine and see that those Garrosh supported continued to hold power. The warchief must be advised of these developments at once.”

The warchief must be advised. …

I must speak with Thrall. … He must know. …

Ancestors … he had been right!

Sweat broke out on Palkar’s brow. Two moons ago, Drek’Thar had had a wild, feverish vision in which he proclaimed that soon a peaceful gathering of druids, both night elf and tauren, would be attacked. Palkar had believed him and sent guards to “protect” the gathering, but nothing had happened. He had thought that the “vision” was nothing more than an expression of Drek’Thar’s increasing senility.

But Drek’Thar had been right. Now, speaking lucidly with Perith Stormhoof, the old shaman did not appear to even recall the vision. But it had happened, exactly as he had predicted. A peaceable gathering of night elves and tauren had indeed been attacked—and the results had been disastrous. The incident had simply occurred much later than anyone could have expected.

Frantically Palkar recalled Drek’Thar’s most recent dream in which he had cried, “The land will weep, and the world will break!” Could it be that this “dream,” too, had been a true vision? That it would come true, just as the dream of the druid gathering had?

Palkar had been a fool. Better to have told Thrall of the dream and let the warchief decide for himself whether or not to pay attention to it. Palkar clenched his hands in anger directed not at Drek’Thar, but at himself.

“Palkar?” Drek’Thar was saying.

“I’m sorry—I was thinking—what did you say?”

“I asked if you would write a missive,” Drek’Thar said as if he had uttered this request several times. Which, for all Palkar knew, he might have. “We must tell Thrall right away. Even so, it will take time for a Longwalker to find him. We can only hope we are not too late to help Baine.”

“Of course,” Palkar replied, leaping up to obey. He would write whatever Drek’Thar and the Longwalker wished. And then, at the end, he would confess to the warchief all that he had kept from him and why, and let things fall as they might.

He would not risk Drek’Thar’s being right a second time.

TWENTY-FIVE

Thrall was surprised at the level of involvement and effort it took to prepare for the vision quest. He understood now Geyah’s comment about Drek’Thar’s doing his best as one of the last shaman the orcs then had. It would seem that a “proper” vision quest involved nearly the entire community.

Someone came to measure him for a ritual robe. Someone else offered the herbs for the rite. A third orc came to volunteer to lead the drumming and chanting circles, and six more offered their drums and voices. Thrall was surprised and moved. At one point he said to Aggra, “I do not wish for any favors to be done to me because of my position.”

She gave him a slight smirk. “Go’el, it is because you are in need of a vision quest, not because you are the leader of the Horde. You do not need to worry about any favors.”

It both relieved him and embarrassed him, and he wondered, not for the first time, how it was that Aggra was so adept at getting under his skin. Maybe it was a gift from the elements, he mused drily as he watched her stride off, head high.

He chafed at the delay, but there was little he could do about it. And there was a part of him, a not insignificant part, that anticipated the ritual eagerly. So much had been lost to the orcs in the years before he became a shaman himself. His own experience of such communal rites was lacking, he knew.

At last, three days later, all was prepared. Torches were lit at dusk. Thrall waited at Garadar to be escorted to the prepared ceremonial site. Aggra came to get him, and he did a double take at her.

Her long, thick, reddish-brown hair was braided with feathers. She wore a leather vest and kilt embroidered