CHAPTER TWO – Missing & Found
Pelcyr had eaten slowly and set the bowl and spoon aside. She tried standing after a few minutes and was encouraged to discover she could get to her feet as long as there was a wall to steady herself against. She walked a few steps until she felt dizzy and sat down. Sunlight spilled in from the mouth of the cave and across the floor. Pelcyr would have liked to sit in the sun but she doubted she could walk all the way across to the other side of the cavern unaided. She could crawl, but that was patently undignified.
Against the far wall, something chirruped.
At first, Pelcyr thought she was hearing things and resolved to do a more thorough healing of herself once she was sure Medarion and Beln were safe. But a moment later it came again. It was a warbling, forlon sound and a bit muffled. Pelcyr finally identified that it was coming from the Tauren's pack, propped upright against another sack of Ironcore's belongings. The top of the pack closed with a drawstring and a flap, though at the moment the flap was left unsecured.
There was definitely something moving in the backpack.
Pelcyr forgot her dignity and crawled cautiously across the floor. The sun on her shoulders was a reward unto itself but upon reaching the backpack, she stopped. What sort of living thing would a druid keep in her pack? Maybe Ironcore had some kind of pet. Or maybe it was some hapless creature waiting to be the night's entree. But then why was it still alive? Maybe it tasted best fresh. Do taurens even eat meat? Pelcyr wondered as the bag's squirming contents grew more agitated. Pelcyr turned to ponder the Immolation Oil sitting in the corner. Maybe whatever was in the bag had crawled in there during the night, unbeknownst to Ironcore.
A little tawny paw managed to shove it's way through the hole inside the drawstring and Pelcyr sat back on her haunches. That looked an awful look like a cat's paw. Some kind of cat was in the bag? There was another frustrated cry from the pack and it suddenly made sense to her.
Carefully, Pelcyr untied the drawstring and opened the top of the pack. First one, then another fuzzy golden head struggled forth. The two wyvern cubs sat there blinking at her, looking hopelessly lost and frightened.
"Oh dear," said Pelcyr. "I don't have anything for you... I..." She scooted closer and prodded the sack underneath theirs. She wasn't sure what she was looking for but nothing felt like food. One of the cubs gave a momentous thrash and managed to win it's freedom, falling into Pelcyr's lap. It hissed and tried to back away, but the Night Elf caught it gently around the middle.
"I don't think she means you to be eaten, but I don't know what she means to feed you either."
"PELCYR!!"
At the shout, she turned around, still holding the wyvern cub, to see her brother darting towards her.
"Medarion!" she cried happily. He threw his arms around her and the wyvern both and buried his face in her hair. "You're all right! I was so worried, I-"
"I thought you were dead, I had terrible thoughts-"
"I'm okay, I'm alive, oh, you're hurt-"
"No, no, I'm fine, it's just- what is that thing?"
They parted and Medarion eyed the wyvern cub.
"The druid brought it with her I guess," said Pelcyr, scratching the creature on the head. Medarion looked over his shoulder to see Beln and the Tauren enter the cave.
"She said she's going to take them to Thousand Needles."
"She did kill their mother. That's much better than letting them starve," said Pelcyr. Her opinion of the Tauren race was still murky but of this particular one, she was growing respectful. "Beln!" called Pelcyr, and stood up on shaky legs. Her brother instantly leaned in to support her. "Oh no, your leg! You can't keep out of trouble when I'm not around, can you?"
Beln laughed. "I'm only here to make you feel useful," he replied, then grimaced and let Ironcore lower him down beside the Night elves. "Thank you, lady. You are immeasurably kind."
Medarion caught his sister's eye and flicked a wary look towards the druid.
"Her aid seems genuine," said Pelcyr softly. "She's done nothing but help." He nodded and relaxed somewhat between the priestess and the warrior.
"Pelcyr, have you the strength to see to Beln?" asked Medarion. "I'm afraid I pushed him a bit looking for you last night."
"Let her rest," said Ironcore gently, "and you should as well. I will see to your friend." Pelcyr smiled and put an arm around her brother, idlly petting the cub in her lap. The Tauren knelt down beside Beln and put a hand on his calf. The wound was hot to her touch and the man flinched, though did an admirable job of hiding it.
"Ironcore," said Medarion, with what gravity her could muster, "we are grateful for your help. My sister would be dead if not for you. I don't know how to thank you."
Green energy wrapped around the druid's hands and spread to Beln's wounded leg. He watched it with some curiosity, then felt cramped muscles relax and the heat of infection slowly dissipate. Ironcore withdrew her hand and he leaned forward to massage the stiffness away.
"There is a task you could perform as payment," she said, raising her gaze from the Draenei. All three Alliance members managed to exchange glances and Medarion's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "I did not come to this place to save your lives. I came in pursuit of another life, who still eludes me. No, don't look so worried, I am not chasing one of your own. This is a Troll, a child of a good friend, who has run away from his father."
"Why are you looking for him? Why not his father?" asked Beln.
Ironcore shook her head. "They've had a falling out, I'm afraid. An'kili- the young man- likes me, so I told his father I would retrieve him."
"Of course," said Pelcyr immediately, "we would gladly help." She released the wyvern kitten and got to her feet, wobbling.
"You're not strong enough to go anywhere yet," warned Medarion. "We will help, Ironcore, but we need rest."
"Yes, of course," she replied. "I will leave you here and return this evening. Perhaps with An'kili." She looked around, located her mace and a smaller backpack, and nodded to the group before exiting the cave.
"Oh-" said Pelcyr and stumbled after her, "Wait! What- um, is there anything to feed the cubs? They look hungry."
"Ah. There is some dried fish in the basket near the fire. And if you three get hungry, I have a loaf of bread and some apples." Pelcyr felt it was only right to bow.
"Thank you again," she said and returned to the cavern. She paused, seeing Medarion sprawled out already sound asleep, physical and emotional exhaustion already caught up with him. Beln chuckled.
"Your brother cares for you very much," he said. Pelcyr nodded.
"I think he forgets that I am his older sister."
Ironcore was still not sure what she was doing. Yes, it would have been a gruesome and horrible thing for anyone to be eaten alive and the young Night Elf priestess surely had many, many years ahead of her but getting her to safety, healing her and then finding her comrades had used up nearly a day that she could have spent searching for An'kili. And Ironcore was growing more and more worried about the young Troll.
The longer he spent on his own in these mountains, the less chance of finding him alive there was. He was in far over his head. Running away because of a row was one thing- running several countries away into contested territory where the beasts would gladly murder him in seconds was something different.
She trotted along the bank of a lake, listening and sniffing the rain-cleansed air. She could hear and smell further than she could see and chances were, if An'kili did get into trouble, it would be loud. The creatures here avoided her or simply stood still as she loped past them. They saw what the young Alliance group saw- something they could not stand against and hope to win. Perhaps if fifteen or twenty of them grouped together they could take her down, but she doubted their organization abilities.
However, there was a kind of creature in this valley that did have the capacity for such organization. Judging by their relative silence, the harpies had not found the young Troll.
It was only a matter of time though, Ironcore thought dismally. An'kili liked shiny things as much as the harpies did. She had to find him soon.
Which brought her back to the three young Alliance adventurers nursing their wounds in her cave. What had possessed her? Normally she avoided Alliance unless forced into contact through necessity or circumstance, but she had never gone out of her way to help any of them. Once or twice, questing deep in wild places far from civilization, she had run across a gnome or human struggling with the local wildlife and given their foe a passing blast to confuse them. She saw no reason to do more. Fellow druids garnered a bit more attention but mostly they exchanged a greeting and went their separate ways. And now she had, in no uncertain terms, saved a life.
Druids valued life over most things, be it the life of trees or the life of their own kin and Ironcore was not an exception. However, as she weighed the time lost retrieving Pelcyr and company against the potentially dire situations An'kili could have gotten himself into, added in the value of his father's friendship to her, she wondered if perhaps some lives were more trouble than others.
Beln stood by the mouth of the cave, gazing down the mountainside. Since crashing on Azeroth with the rest of his people, the young Draenei had struggled to make sense of the craziness around him. He kept himself in good spirits by exploring, marveling at the vast and varied new world, and throwing himself into any task he was given with great enthusiasm. Joining the novice ranks of the Hand of Argus to fight against the Blood Elves and their Horde allies had given him a sense of purpose but his encounters with Horde members had, until now, been straight forward. You meet them, you fight them, you leave.
When he had surprised a young Taruen bull in Ashenvale, he had eventually over-powered the massive creature after a long, wearisome battle. During the fight, he had been amazed at the other man's agility and the calm, calculating way he held his own. His knowledge of the Tauren race was vague- only that they were simple people, tribal and very close to the earth, being druidic and shamanistic both. But aside from that, he knew nothing. The young bull had appeared more beast than rational creature, but acted more rational in battle than some Draenei Beln knew. This Tauren woman- or did they call the females cows?- appeared somewhat less bestial with her fine armour and soft voice, but she still sported the long muzzle and fur of an animal.
Beln was having a hard time rationalizing it all, so he went looking for something to eat.
When Ironcore returned to the cave that night, there was a fire going and food cooking. The wyvern kittens were passed out in her backpack, tended by Pelcyr. Medarion was awake, but lying down. Beln was cooking dinner. All three looked up as she entered.
"Are you feeling better?" she asked, to no one in particular.
"Very much," replied Beln with a broad smile. "I won't even have a scar to brag about." He stepped away from the campfire and did some kind of hopping, lunging, hip-shaking dance. She watched his hooves and noted there was a little hesitation in his steps.
"Are you still stiff?" she asked and approached.
"Ah, not so much from the wound. That has healed well."
"But you're limping."
"It's nothing really, just, uh... a rock." He looked awkward admitting it and Ironcore couldn't understand why. He had hooves, like her. She got pebbles or balls of ice stuck in the cleft between her toes sometimes; he must as well.
"Sit down," she said. He obeyed, crooking his good leg underneath himself and curling his heavy, armoured tail to one side. Ironcore sat down in front of him and took his hoof in one hand, pulling a small metal implement from a pouch at her waist.
"It seems silly but I never thought to bring a pick with me," he said. Pelcyr looked over. He sounded nervous. Ironcore peered at his hoof, flicked the pick and a small pebble plopped to the floor. The two Night Elves watched, bemused.
"Take this," she said, offering him the tool. Beln took it from her, examined it and smiled. Pelcyr saw the Tauren's mouth twitch in response. Beln's craggy features were naturally stern, hardly reflective of his true personality until he smiled. Once he did, it was hard not to respond in kind. Ironcore moved to inspect the cooking food.
"Greasy. Is it a duck?"
"Yes," said Pelcyr, "it flew by the cave. Medarion shot it."
"A hunter?" said the Tauren. "Without a companion?"
"A mage," said Medarion.
"Ah. So it was partially cooked when it went into the pot."
Beln sniffed with disapproval. "I wouldn't call it 'cooked' exactly."
Medarion had slept most of the previous day away and retired early that night. He refused any magical assistance from his sister or the Tauren and instead let his strength rebuild naturally.
Now he picked his way upslope on nimble feet, fully restored. Beln cursed and scrabbled on the loose shale behind him. Pelcyr had offered to join Ironcore in searching the far side of the canyon, so Medarion and Beln had taken up the near side, much to Beln's dismay.
"The other wall isn't any different," said Medarion as the Draenei barked another curse at the mountain. "There's a goat path up here to walk on." There was the mad clatter of the warrior's hooves on rock and then Beln was standing beside him, frowning at the ground. "Oh by Elune! It's not that bad!"
"What? Oh, no. Look."
The Draenei pointed and Medarion felt immediate chagrin for missing the track. It was barely a track at all, just a depression in the trail with edges worn down by the rain and depth filled in by mud. But the shape was large and two-toed- just right for a young Troll.
"For it to remain at all after the storm, it must have been made deep," said Medarion, crouching to peer at the trail. "He must have struck the ground with some force."
"Must have been running," said Beln and they both raised their heads to look in the direction the track led. The goat-path meandered along the canyon wall until it disappeared into a gorge carved out by a fast-flowing stream. The two men followed it until they reached the edge of the chasm.
They looked down. Medarion slowly raised his hand above his head and threw a gout of fire high enough into the air to be spotted across the canyon. He repeated the show twice more as the minutes rolled by. Beln sat down with a sigh.
Ironcore felt, more than saw, the tower of flame the mage threw up across the valley. Her ears pricked towards it and her fur stood on end.
"They've found him?" said Pelcyr eagerly.
"It seems so," replied Ironcore, raising her muzzle to sniff the air. Wet wood, sun-dried rock, the sweet scent of pine needles and the hint of decay that was omnipresent in wild places gave her no clues. She started off at a dead run with the Night Elf darting behind her. Pelcyr said nothing more, only concentrated on sticking close to the druid as they wove across the valley. To her credit, Ironcore seemed to be choosing a path that gave roving beasts a suitable berth, but Pelcyr saw she was holding the mace ready just in case.
The Tauren didn't appear to have the same trouble climbing the scree as Beln had, or perhaps it was just her momentum kept her from sliding backwards. She was beside the two men, peering into the gorge before the rocks had settled. Pelcyr skipped up the way behind her.
The streambed narrowed here, cutting deeper into the mountain. Anything caught in the current that was too bulky to make it through the gap got stuck and after several years of this, had created a bridge of sorts, comprised of dead trees and cemented with mud. The stream flowed on, less impeded, below.
Draped face-down over the bridge was a young male Troll.
"He must have jumped from up here," said Pelcyr. Ironcore's eyes were fastened on the form below them. She flicked an ear at Pelcyr's statement and snorted, then dug at the soil with one hoof.
"Ironcore?" said Medarion.
"Stay here," she said and began to edge down the precarious slope to the chasm. Halfway there, the soil disappeared and the footing turned to wet rock made slippery by opportunistic algae growing where the spray was most frequent. Ironcore slid in a semi-controlled fashion down the last few metres and went down on all fours when she reached the bridge to spread out her bodyweight.
An'kili was dead. She had known before she had seen his body, before she had come down to where he lay, impaled on a log, his blood washed away by the storm and the busy little river. Carefully, she felt along his cheekbone, then down his neck and under his shoulders. There were broken branches and sticks lodged perpendicular in the nature-made bridge; two of them had pierced the young man through his mouth and sternum. The one in his chest made a small peak in the back of his tunic.
Ironcore steeled herself and leaned over to gather him against her chest. Then she stood up, pulling him free of the wood. The tree trunks shifted beneath her feet. There was no danger of the structure collapsing yet but the druid didn't want to test her luck. She cradled the dead Troll in her arms and turned toward the slope.
Pelcyr hadn't realized the Troll was dead until she saw him. Neither apparently had the men. Now she covered her mouth with one hand as the Tauren turned with him held protectively in her arms and looked up. Without a word, Pelcyr grabbed Medarion's staff and extended the other end of it down towards the druid. Beln shouldered her aside and took hold, planting his hooves.
"Come on," said Pelcyr, "we'll pull you up."
Ironcore grabbed hold wordlessly with one hand, shifting An'kili against her chest with the other. She leaned into the hill and lunged as the three youths each gritted their teeth and hung on. Somehow they managed. Once she was out of the gorge, Ironcore's strength failed her and she sank to her knees. An'kili sprawled lifeless and sodden across her legs.
"I am deeply sorry," whispered Pelcyr. The young woman sounded like she was on the verge of tears herself but Ironcore barely heard her. Her vision blurred and she stroked An'kili's forehead with a shaking hand. His tusks were hardly visible beyond his lips yet.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she murmured huskily. "He was supposed to grow up, grow old… have a family… have a life…"
Medarion had never felt more awkward. Part of him wanted to kneel down beside the weeping druid and comfort her; the other part remembered she was Tauren and this meant one less Troll in the Horde.
"Lady," said Beln, and did what Medarion couldn't. He put a hand on her shoulder and when she didn't shake him off, extended his reach around her other shoulder to embrace her and tilted his forehead against her cheek. "This is not how it was supposed to be."