Before the Storm (World of Warcraft) Page 6

  Trade Prince Jastor Gallywix, garishly dressed as always, his round bulging tummy preceding him by almost two full paces, merely smiled. He had brought with him several bruisers, including the muscle-bound Druz, his chief enforcer.

  “Hey, Druz,” Grizzek added.

  “Yo, Grizzek,” Druz replied.

  “Is this how you greet an old friend?” Gallywix boomed.

  Grizzek stared at him flatly.

  “Traditional goblin etiquette demands that you invite in a trade prince!”

  “Actually, no,” Grizzek shot back. “It don’t, and anyway, I ain’t never been much for etiquette.” Druz leaned against the doorway, cleaning his nails with a knife. The thought of being stabbed with a knife coated with what was under Druz’s fingernails was horrifying.

  Gallywix’s smile didn’t falter. “Twelve extremely strong goblins, many of them with guns trained on you, demand that you invite in a trade prince.”

  Grizzek drooped. He sighed heavily. “Okay, okay. What’s this all about, Gallywix?” he asked, not bothering with the Horde leader’s title.

  “What’s it always about?”

  “Creative expression, intellectual stimulation, and sound sleep at night?” Grizzek offered.

  “Of course not! This is business. A, shall we say, golden opportunity.” Gallywix gestured with his cane.

  Grizzek’s eyes automatically went to the orb perched atop it. He’d seen it a thousand times, that bright red—

  He blinked.

  “It’s gold,” he said.

  “Not gold gold, but yes.”

  “Ah. So that’s the pun.”

  Gallywix’s smile faded somewhat, and Grizzek relished the fact that he was getting underneath the trade prince’s skin. “Yes,” he said. “That’s the pun.”

  “It used to be red.”

  Gallywix frowned, and his chins jiggled with irritation. “It did. Same adornment, different color. C’mon, Grizzy, you gotta be intrigued by that at least!”

  Damn the goblin, Grizzek was intrigued. Curiosity, as it always did, got the better of him. Besides, he could stand having his supplies replenished.

  I’m gonna regret this, he thought, then opened the gate to admit Gallywix. “Just you,” he said as Druz tried to step in. “I only got one chair.”

  “S’okay. I’ll stand,” Druz said.

  What passed for the kitchen was cramped with three goblins crammed into it, and there was indeed only one chair. While Gallywix tried to maneuver his bulk into it, Grizzek excused himself to put on a pair of pants and a linen shirt, then stood and listened. Gallywix spoke of delving too deeply into the heart of Kezan, of the single golden glorious vein they had found that had petered out, of how the power of this substance had surged, then seemingly died as time passed, turning from a warm honey hue to red as a drop of human blood.

  His eyes initially were fixed on the trade prince, but his gaze wandered toward the cane as the story grew ever more fantastic.

  “And then,” Gallywix was saying, “along comes this giant, titan-whipped-up sword, plunged right into Silithus. The earth opened up, and there were veins and veins of the stuff, flowing like a beautiful river of pure honey. Of course, I and I alone truly understood what it was, so I jumped right on it. Right now, we got lots of people mining it and making sure only the right people get it.”

  “I am deeply skeptical that this stuff is the wonder you think it is, Trade Prince.” Grizzek glanced over at Druz for confirmation of the story. Oddly, he and the chief muscle Gallywix employed had always gotten along pretty well. Druz shrugged his massive shoulders.

  Gallywix’s ugly smile deepened, and the small eyes twinkled. “The proof is in the pudding.”

  Grizzek blinked. “What does that even mean?”

  “No idea, but it sounds good. Look, I’ll make a deal with you. Take the cane, touch the top, and see what happens. If you don’t want to be involved in working with this stuff, just say the word. I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “I’m bald.”

  “Figure of speech.”

  “Okay, but how’s about we take it a step further. If you want my help, I get to dictate what I do, what I make, and how it’s used.”

  That did not sit well with the top-hatted trade prince. The smile froze as if Gallywix had run afoul of an angry frost mage. “You’re not the only engineer in the world, you know.”

  “True enough. But I know you wouldn’t have tracked me down after all this time if you didn’t need my help.”

  “Grizzek,” Gallywix said, sighing, “you are too smart for your own good.”

  Grizzek waited, arms crossed. “All right, all right,” the goblin leader said crossly. “But you only get paid a small percentage.”

  “We’ll negotiate my hourly fee and benefits after I decide.”

  Again, Gallywix stuck out the cane. Grizzek grasped it. He closed his other hand over the top.

  Everything in the room suddenly came into hyperfocus. The color amplified. The lines were sharp, clean. He heard layers in the sound of the ocean, could almost feel the vibrations of birdsong.

  And his mind—

  It raced, tumbled pell-mell, analyzing and calculating what percentage of his hand was in contact with the orb, to what degree a callus or the sheen of sweat on his suddenly damp palm inhibited contact, to what uses this could be put—

  Grizzek snatched his hand away as if it had been burned. It was glorious—almost too much.

  “Holy mackerel,” he muttered.

  “See?”

  The engineer’s body was still vibrating from the experience, his heart racing, his hands trembling. He knew he had a brilliant mind. He knew he was a genius. It was why Gallywix had sought him out. And the trade prince had been right to do so, because the things that could be created with this stuff…

  “I, uh…Okay. I’ll work on it. Run experiments, design some prototypes.”

  Gallywix’s smile was cruelly happy now. “I thought you’d come around.”

  “My demand still stands,” Grizzek insisted. “I want full autonomy on this.” He’d betrayed himself earlier with his reaction, he knew, but it wasn’t too late to salvage something. He’d been startled, that was all, and now he brought his best poker face to bear.

  “You’re dying to get your hands on it, and you know it.”

  Grizzek shrugged, trying to imitate Druz’s utter lack of interest.

  “Bah, all right,” Gallywix huffed. “But I’m going to have some of my people out here from now on.”

  “Go right ahead,” Grizzek said. He knew full well that he wouldn’t be venturing far from this stuff anyway. “But before we get started, I’m going to write up a list of supplies. And top of that list”—he nodded at the cane tip—“is a sample of that.”

  “You’ll get plenty of this. Provided that plenty of new things created with it start leaving here on a regular basis.”

  “Of course, of course. And…” Oh, how he hated to say this. “I have one more request. I’m gonna need my former lab partner to work with me on this.”

  “Sure, sure.” Gallywix had gotten what he wanted and clearly was feeling generous. “Gimme a name; I’ll get ’em right to you.”

  Grizzek told him.

  Gallywix almost exploded, but a quarter of an hour later he had relented.

  It was with both relief and reluctance that Grizzek closed the door of his little hut. He wiped off the chair in which Gallywix had sat, just because, and plopped down into it.

  This was either the best idea of his life…or the worst.

  Grizzek suspected the latter.

  Anduin had performed all his kingly obligations, observing the proper protocol upon arriving at the massive gates of Ironforge and later during the lengthy formal meal. He’d had to pace himself. Dwarves loved to eat an
d they loved to drink, and although Anduin was larger than any of them, he was well aware that even the slightest dwarf could drink him under the table if he wasn’t careful.

  Moira Thaurissan, the daughter of Magni Bronzebeard and the leader of the Dark Iron dwarf clan by marriage, was one of the Three Hammers who governed Ironforge. She personally preferred wine to the beloved beer of most dwarves, and she ensured the visiting king was served one of Ironforge’s finest reds as they dined on braised boar meat with plenty of hearty brown bread to sop the juices, vegetables roasted with honey, and a mountain of pastries with which to end the meal.

  Anduin had wanted to convene a meeting with the Three Hammers right away, but they had told him one needed time to digest such a hearty meal. Unless it was a matter of immediate life or death, a pipe, brandy, or more desserts were required first.

  Moira, observing Anduin’s reaction to the option of any of the three, suggested an hourlong amble around Ironforge instead to help them digest. Anduin gratefully accepted. He invited the draenei to accompany them, but Velen demurred, saying, “You two have much to discuss, I am certain. I will stay here and converse with Muradin and Falstad.” Muradin Bronzebeard, the middle brother of the three Bronzebeards, represented his family’s clan in the Council of Three Hammers. (The youngest of the famous brothers, Brann, had founded the Explorers’ League and had too much wanderlust in him to stay in Ironforge.) Falstad Wildhammer, the third Hammer and the leader of the famed Wildhammer clan, raised a stein to the draenei.

  “Pipe, brandy, or dessert?” Anduin quipped.

  “Dessert, I think,” Velen replied. “It seems the most innocuous choice.”

  “Have my share. If I eat another bite, I’ll burst.”

  “Mind if we have a bit of company?” Moira asked as they rose and left the table.

  “Of course; anyone you like.”

  The queen spoke quietly with one of the guards, who nodded and stepped out. A few minutes later, he returned, escorting a little dwarf boy. The child’s skin was an unusual but appealingly warm shade of gray. His eyes were large and green, holding no hint of the red glow common to the Dark Iron dwarves, and his hair was white. Anduin knew at once who it had to be: Moira’s son, Magni Bronzebeard’s grandson, and the heir to the throne, Prince Dagran.

  “I know we’ve met before, Your Majesty, but I’m afraid I don’t remember it,” the young prince said with perfect politeness and little more than a trace of the local dwarven accent. How old was he? Six, seven? Anduin recalled that he, too, had been schooled in etiquette and courtesies appropriate to the child of a king when he was even younger than this lad.

  “I’d be astonished if you did. Let us consider this our first meeting.” Anduin leaned forward and extended his hand in a formal manner, and the boy shook it solemnly. “I’m glad you could join us on our walk today. So…what’s your favorite place in Ironforge?”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “Th’ Hall o’ Explorers!”

  Anduin shot Moira a pleased look as he replied, “Mine, too. Let’s go!” Once they had reached the hall and had enjoyed looking around it, he would ask Moira to summon Falstad, Muradin, and Velen. Then Anduin would reveal the second reason why he had come to Ironforge.

  As they made their leisurely way toward their destination, human and dwarf guards following at a discreet yet expedient distance, Anduin indulged himself in nostalgia. Heat buffeted him as they passed the Great Forge that gave the ancient city its name. The distinctive smell of molten metal transported him back to his last visit a few years earlier.

  “It’s been too long since I’ve been here,” he said to Moira.

  Moira’s green eyes were on her son as she replied, “Aye, it has. The years go by faster than we think.”

  Regarding the boy who was clearly struggling not to race ahead of his mother and the human king, Anduin said to Moira, “It was good of the Three Hammers to come to Stormwind to honor my father. Especially given the fact that the last time I was here, he tried to kill you.”

  Moira chuckled. “Oh, lad, you know he and I made our peace over that long ago. By the time we lost him, we’d come to admire and respect each other. Your father was angry at me for keeping you here. He was worried for your safety. As Dagran’s grown, impossible as it seems, that boy has become more precious to me by the day. Big as Varian Wrynn was, I’d have torn him apart with my bare hands had he kidnapped my wee one.” A fierce expression flickered across her face.

  “I believe you,” Anduin said, and he did. “Dwarves are fighters, that’s for sure.”

  “He was proud of you,” Moira said quietly. “Even when he didn’t understand you. Don’t think he only loved you in the later years, Your Majesty.”

  “I don’t. I knew. And please,” Anduin said, “just call me Anduin. I’m more used to friendship than formality here. When I came to visit, your father asked me to call him Uncle Magni, and Aerin called me ‘li’l lion.’ ”

  “Aerin?”

  “A young woman who was the first female in your father’s guard. You’d have liked her. She was trying to improve my abilities with sword and shield before she died at Kharanos.”

  “Ah,” Moira said, regarding him speculatively. “Lost your first friend, did you? I’m sorry.” She brightened a little. “But at least from what I hear, her teaching wasn’t wasted. You’re not the warrior your father was, but there’s no shame in that, and I understand your swordsmanship isn’t half bad these days.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “Surprising everyone, no doubt.”

  “Well, maybe just a wee bit.”

  Anduin chuckled. “I’m definitely not the warrior Father was. Never will be. No one will.” I can’t be the hero you were, he had said, kneeling where his father had died. I can’t be the king you were. He turned to her, deciding to confide in her.

  “But I will tell you something. Before I met Aerin, I hated heavy weapons training. I avoided it as much as possible, and I became extremely creative with my excuses. But after she died, I began training in earnest. I didn’t shirk it anymore. I wanted to become, if not a superior swordsman, a good one at least. The Light has blessed me with other gifts. I trust in it to aid me even if I have no weapon in my hand at all. Aerin promised to ‘dwarf-temper’ me, and she did.”

  Moira laughed out loud at that. “That’s as good a term as I’ve ever heard! Dwarf-tempered, eh? Well. You’re a fine specimen, Anduin Wrynn, and I’m proud my people have contributed to the man you’ve grown up to be.”

  “Thank you. I’m honored to have such a strong personal friendship with the dwarves—all of them.” He hesitated. “You all do seem to be getting along.”

  “We’re dwarves,” she said, shrugging. “Words fly. Sometimes so do beer steins. Although I’m thinking that the latter will happen less often when they’re full. We’re most grateful for your gift.”

  “I could tell.” When Anduin had made his formal entrance to Ironforge a few hours earlier, he’d been greeted by the Three Hammers and an honor guard. They’d made him welcome in this, his first visit as a ruling king. And he knew that welcome was genuine.

  But when the ten wagons bearing Stormwind’s gift rolled up and the protective covering was whisked off the first one, thunderous applause and cheers rang out.

  The gift, of course, was barley, the key ingredient in what was arguably Ironforge’s best-loved export.

  “Think of it as Stormwind’s contribution to peace and goodwill in Ironforge,” Anduin said.

  “Once you’re done with your travels, hurry back and we’ll toast you with the first batch,” Moira promised. “I’ve heard the brewmasters are going to call it Anduin’s Amber Ale.”

  That got a full-fledged laugh out of him. She joined in. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that,” he said. “It feels…good.”

  “Aye, it does. To answer your question before we got
sidetracked on the extremely important topic of beer, the Hammers have been able to work through things, yes.”

  “And…how is your father?”

  “Well,” she said, “he’s diamond, now, and Light knows where he is from day to day. Would you like to see where he was?”

  “Yes. I would.”

  Dagran paused. Up ahead, Anduin could glimpse the shape of the familiar winged skeleton through the archways that marked the Hall of Explorers. The boy looked longingly at it and said, “As long as you promise we come back t’ the pteradon!”

  * * *

  —

  Magni had become one with the earth in Old Ironforge, a chamber deep below the High Seat. The three descended, and Anduin could almost feel the press of tons of stone and earth above him. The dwarves, of course, had no such unease as their path took them deeper still.

  Anduin knew that the dais where Magni had been turned to diamond would be empty. He knew. Even so, actually seeing it was a shock.

  He had been present on that day when King Magni Bronzebeard had performed the ancient ritual. Now he stood, wordless, as Dagran ascended the steps nimbly before his mother and the visiting ruler, bypassing translucent blue-tinted chunks that once had formed the diamond encasement of the diamond king. The boy went straight for a scroll that had been safely mounted behind glass and began to read aloud. The hairs at the back of Anduin’s neck prickled as he heard again the words that had been spoken by Advisor Belgrum, now uttered in the treble tones of Magni’s grandchild.

  “ ‘And here are the why and th’ how, to again become one wi’ the mountain. For behold, we are earthen, o’ the land, an’ its soul is ours, its pain is ours, its heartbeat is ours. We sing its song an’ weep for its beauty. For who would not wish t’ return home? That is the why, O children o’ the earth.’ ” Dagran looked up. “Should I keep going?”

  “No, sweet boy,” Moira said.

  Anduin bent and picked up one of the shards. “It was a terrible thing to behold,” he said quietly, turning over the diamond chunk in his hands. “It happened so quickly and so completely. I thought he was dead.”