more arrivals below . . . apparently from a submarine.”
“A submarine. That means the gnomes have arrived too. Almost everyone is here, then,” Malfurion said.
Tyrande nodded. “There is no sign of any ship from Stormwind?”
“No, High Priestess.”
“I see.” Tyrande exhaled. “Thank you for the news. We shall go directly to the portal. Have attendants ready for our new guests.”
“Yes, High Priestess.” The other female rushed off to obey.
“He will come,” the archdruid offered. “He has to.”
“That is what Shandris indicated . . . but if Varian Wrynn is coming, he is waiting until the very last moment. We cannot very well hold off the summit until we know with all certainty.”
“No . . . but there will be little point to it if he does not come.”
“Now, Mal . . .”
They did not discuss the point more. Returning to the portal, the night elves waited for the gnomes. As the pause lengthened, Malfurion and his mate looked at each other in curiosity and not a little concern.
“Could one of their devices have gone off down there?” the archdruid finally asked.
“Someone likely would have come through to report it.”
“Assuming anyone could . . .”
The portal abruptly shimmered again. With some relief, they watched for the gnomish leader to step through.
But what took shape within at first looked like nothing with which the archdruid, at least, was familiar. It had two long legs bent back like a bird’s, a stout, round carriage, and what seemed two pairs of arms, the upper ones much smaller than the lower duo. For its size and girth, it also appeared to have a relatively tiny head.
The figure fully formed, and despite all his concerns, Malfurion could not help chuckling quietly at the newcomer.
The bald gnome had the large-nosed, round face of his ilk and in some manner resembled a short, fat human, although there was no known link between the two races. This particular gnome, despite being elder in status, seemed as animated as a child. He was not so tall—in fact, standing, he was a foot shorter than Kurdran and certainly barely a third of the latter’s bulk. Malfurion had to make all these assumptions from past visits, for most of the gnome was hidden by what had first appeared to be his body and was instead some fantastical walking device.
The newcomer raised a pair of odd goggles, then peered at the night elves with inquisitive eyes. “High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind and Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage!” the gnome rattled off at a breathtaking rate of speech. “I am pleased to be here!”
“High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque, you are most welcome,” Tyrande declared.
Gelbin tugged on his short white beard in thought, then grinned. The machine marched him forward until he was within a yard of his hosts.
The huge right arm of the machine suddenly shot toward Malfurion. Although not frightened, the archdruid chose caution and took a step back. A three-fingered “hand” paused within a couple of inches of his chest.
“Oh, do excuse me! I’ve been trying these experimental arm attachments for the newest mechanostriders! Still fine-tuning the movements! I only meant to have it shake hands!”
Steeling himself, Malfurion reached to the mechanical hand. The gnome shifted a lever and the hand gripped the night elf’s own.
Tyrande let out a slight gasp of concern, but Malfurion simply did as the high tinker suggested, shaking the walker’s hand. The moment that was done, the fingers released their hold on the night elf, and the arm retracted.
With clinical interest, Gelbin Mekkatorque leaned over and asked, “How was the pressure? Any fractures or breaks?”
“No . . . none at all.”
“Ah, finally!” Gelbin sat back in triumph.
Behind the walker, other gnomes stepped through the portal. Unlike their leader, they came in on foot, although all wore objects or gear that clearly were devices of their own manufacture. They peered up at the high tinker, then at the night elves.
Tyrande greeted the rest of the party, then said to Gelbin, “We have food and drink prepared . . . and space set aside for your . . . endeavors.”
“Wonderful! We’ve still some equipment to bring up! Will we be near where your Sentinels practice their archery? Dwendel here has a new possible weapon that may be able to fire fifty arrows in a minute . . . if it would just stop doing so in every direction each time.”
Dwendel, a redheaded gnome clearly much younger than most of his party, looked a bit sheepish.
“I have seen to those arrangements as well, High Tinker.