CHAPTER 7


VanCleef slowed the horses to a canter as soon as Klaven's tower was out of sight. For a long time Idira remained by the back window, anxious, waiting for Papa's men to appear on the horizon, but no one emerged out of the billowing clouds of dust. The horses cantered on. Midday approached, hot and dry. Lulled by the movement of the coach and the rising heat, Idira gave up and returned to her place beside Arinna, who stared out the window, keeping a vigil of her own.

Soon, the dark smudge of Moonbrook's buildings appeared on the horizon, distorting in the heat. VanCleef called to the horses, the beat of their hooves slowed to a trot, then a walk. The coach lurched to a halt beside a bristly stand of scrub. A cloud of dust rolled past the windows carrying tumbleweed with it. High above a vulture wheeled in giant circles, silent, searching for its next meal.

A creak came from the front of the coach as VanCleef jumped down. He paused beside the coach's door to look in at Idira and Arinna. A fine coating of dust covered his face. He nodded at them and moved to the back. The coach's back end lifted as the troll left the ledge.

"I can't take you any further without endangering you. Can you make your way back home from here?" VanCleef asked Unambi.

"I be stayin' wit da girl," the troll answered, quiet.

Idira crept to the back window and peeked out. VanCleef stood with his hands on his sword grips, facing the troll, who didn't seem able to stand up straight. Bent at the waist, Unambi leant forward, his strange three-digit hands hanging down to his knees. He sank down into a crouch and rested his wrists on the tops of his thighs, his movements fluid, graceful. He looked up at VanCleef, eyeing him, sharp.

"Ya don' be knowin' da magic she be havin', so ya be thinkin' da trolls be knowin'." He jerked his head at the coach. "She be da reason ya be catchin' Unambi."

VanCleef crossed his arms, his expression hard under the layer yellow dust. "And do you know?"

Unambi shook his head. "Dere be no name for dat but I be knowin' dis much, she be carryin' da mojo o' da gods."

"So it's troll magic. Can you get it out?"

The troll scoffed and rubbed one of his fat fingers under his nose. "Dat be no troll magic, mon. Dat be somethin' bigga' den dat. Much bigga'."

"How big?"

Unambi looked uneasy. He shifted his weight, bouncing a little on his toes. "Da first magic. Da magic o' da world."

VanCleef uncrossed his arms, startled. He glanced back at the coach. Idira darted back, hoping he hadn't seen her.

"Da witch docta's be havin' an old story for dat," Unambi continued, keeping his voice low. "Da light she be carryin' . . . dat be the first magic, da one all o' dem otha's be comin' from."

Idira edged closer to the window, to see. VanCleef stared at the troll, disbelieving.

"You are certain?"

Unambi shrugged. "Unambi be knowin' enough, but he jus' be a Gurubashi warrior. If ya want ta be knowin' all, ya be wantin' a witch docta'." He chuckled. "If ya be livin' long enough ta be catchin' one."

"Your word is enough. Do you know how to stop it?"

"Ya don' be stoppin' dat magic, mon. Dat girl be like dat for a reason, she be chosen for somethin' big. All ya can do is protect her until da Light be doing what it came here ta do."

"Will it hurt her?"

The troll didn't answer, he just looked up at VanCleef, enigmatic. He glanced over his shoulder into the distance.

"Dat man in black be wantin' ya job, mon. Unambi be knowin' he been buildin' an army o' his own. Ya keep me safe an' let me watch ova' dat girl an' Unambi be tellin' ya what dat man be plannin'."

VanCleef's hands went back to his sword hilts. He stepped closer to Unambi, flexing his fingers on the hilts, menacing. "How do I know you won't hurt her, or take her back to your people for your own purposes?"

Unambi stood up, his eyes narrowing, angry. "Ya be sayin' such tings because ya don' understan' what she be." He pointed at the coach, but kept his gaze on VanCleef. "Dat girl don' belong ta da trolls, or ta da humans, or da elves. She don' belong ta nobody. She belong ta da Light. Unambi be da best berserker in da tribe and he been wonderin' for weeks why he been captured like dat. Now he be knowin' da reason. Unambi been chosen. He be protectin' her till da day he be goin' ta da spirits. Dere be no greata' honour."

VanCleef inhaled and rubbed his hand over his jaw. The dust smeared, leaving an imprint of his thumb and fingers behind. He rested his hands on his hips and glanced at Moonbrook, then down at the ground, considering.

"You'll have to stay in the cellar, in a cage, until I can confirm your information about Jac's plans."

Unambi's eyes met VanCleef's, determined. "I be whereva' da girl be."

VanCleef said nothing. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Silence fell and stretched.

"He can have one of the empty rooms near me," Idira blurted out through the window.

VanCleef glanced up, taken aback. Unambi nodded at her.

"Let da girl decide. She be da one wit da Light."

VanCleef moved to the door and opened it. He leaned into the coach. "Idira, did you hear what he said?"

"All of it," Arinna answered, pale.

He eyed the priestess. "What do you think? Have you heard of this original magic, this . . . source?"

Arinna nodded, her lips thin.

VanCleef cursed and slammed his hand against the door frame. "Then why didn't you mention it before I lost fourteen men trying to capture a troll?"

Arinna shrank back against the coach's interior. Wisps of her hair hung down around her face, her once neat and tidy chignon messy and dishevelled. Dried spatters of blood peppered one side of her face.

"Because it's not possible," she whispered, her fingers clutching at the material of her cloak. "The power would be too great. It would tear a human apart. Even a Guardian couldn't contain it."

"Yet there she sits, alive and well," VanCleef answered, bitter, his eyes raking over Idira. He cast a look back at Unambi, who had crouched down once more, waiting, patient, his gaze following the slow circle of the vulture sailing high up in the clear blue sky.

"If he is right, and she has a purpose yet to be fulfilled, perhaps the Light is protecting her from itself," Arinna continued, hesitant. "I can think of no other possible explanation."

"Is there not anyone you can ask about this? I would rather not put all my trust in a troll," VanCleef muttered, exasperated.

Arinna stared at her hands, her eyes moving back and forth as she searched her mind. She looked up, abrupt. "Khadgar would know."

VanCleef raised an eyebrow. "The one I was commissioned to build a statue for?"

Arinna nodded, miserable. "He is the only one I know of with ties to a Guardian," she glanced up at VanCleef. "He had access to Medivh's Library at Karazhan. Not even the archives within the deserted Hall of the Guardian can compare to the knowledge buried in Karazhan. If anyone would know, Khadgar would."

VanCleef cursed. "Well, that's no use to me, since he is gone and never likely to return."

Idira turned on her seat and looked at them, both lost in their thoughts, both unhappy. She glanced back at the troll, still waiting, patient.

"Unambi came back and picked me up when I fell down," she said, quiet.

VanCleef glanced at Arinna. "He did?"

"I didn't see him pick her up," she answered, "but he put her in the coach, that much I remember."

They glanced at each other, furtive, shame flickering across their features.

VanCleef cleared his throat. "I didn't know you fell down, Idira."

Idira shrugged. "It's ok, I made it." She lifted up her skirts and showed them her bloodied knees. "Maybe Arinna could make them better. It hurts a little."

Arinna nodded and leaned forward. Light blossomed in her hands. Within a heartbeat it was done. Idira admired her new clean skin. It hadn't hurt a bit, it had just felt soft. "Oh," she breathed, rubbing her hands over her knees,"that was wonderful." She looked up. "Are we going to keep Unambi?"

VanCleef gave her a serious look, filled with reservation. "Do you want him to stay with us?"

"Well, everyone has guards except me. It's not really fair."

VanCleef and Arinna smiled a little, amused by her logic.

"But only if he likes cats," she added. "He has to like cats."

"Unambi loves da kitties," the troll called out as he smacked at something small and dark in the dried grasses a short distance away. He appeared at the window beside Idira, opposite VanCleef, holding up a dead mouse by its tail. "And da kitties be lovin' Unambi because he be bringin' dem nice tings ta eat."

VanCleef scoffed. "Well now I know how you know so much of Jac's business, your range of hearing is extraordinary."

The troll nodded, and threw the dead mouse out onto the plain. The vulture veered towards it. He brushed the dust off his hands and smiled. "Ya be seein'. Unambi be useful, mon. Real useful."


Myra wasn't happy. She was throwing things again, and yelling she didn't want to live in the same house as a monster. VanCleef's voice came through the floor, low, soothing, his words indecipherable.

"I don't care about what it knows!" she hollered. "Just get it out of here."

Idira went to her bedroom door and opened it. Unambi crouched against the opposite wall. He looked at her, sad as Myra's voice carried up the staircase, harsh and angry, calling Unambi bad names.

"I'm sorry," Idira said. She sat down beside him. "I'll tell her you're a boy troll and not a monster. I can colour out here if you like and keep you company. She can go on for a while when she's like this."

Unambi smiled at her. He reached out and ruffled her hair, messing it up under his big, fleshy hand. "Ya bring ya colours out here den."

She went and gathered up her things, feeling sorry for the strange creature. He reminded her a little of her murloc friend. There was good in him, just like the murloc who saved her from the bad murloc. Even if they looked strange, they were the same on the inside, just like people, with feelings, able to know the difference between right and wrong. She shuffled out, clutching her books and the box of pencils and sank down in the middle of the corridor, cross-legged, facing him.

"I brought an extra book for you if you want to colour too." She held it out to him. He grunted and took the book into his enormous hand. The book looked tiny in it. He turned the pages, careful not to tear them. His yellow eyes roamed over the pictures. He stopped and looked at one page for a long time. He turned it round.

"Who be dis?"

Idira shrugged. "No one. It's just made up."

"I don' tink so. I seen dis one before, a long time ago, in da Deadwind Pass."

"Where's that?"

"Dat be far from here, on da way ta da Swamp o' Sorrows, back when Unambi be huntin' da evil Atal'ai."

Idira had no idea what he was talking about. She excused herself and returned a minute later with her writing tablet and a fresh sheet of paper clipped to it. She held it out to him. "Can you draw a map? I would like to know about the world."

Unambi made a soft vibrating noise in his throat. It sounded like approval. He picked up the black colouring pencil. It was so small in his hand Idira worried he wouldn't be able to use it. He leant over the board, the pencil moving light over the sheet. With quick, deft movements a picture took shape. Idira leaned over, curious.

He pointed to the bottom of the drawing, at a long, narrow peninsula. "Dat be where Unambi be comin' from." Above the peninsula, a province stood surrounded on its southern and eastern boundaries by mountains. He touched the pencil to it. "Duskwood. Full o' nasty tings. Big spida's." His pencil moved again to a thin strip of land to the east of Duskwood surrounded entirely by mountains. "Deadwind Pass. Where I saw da one in da picture."

Idira examined the drawing. "Where are we?"

His pencil moved again as he added another province to the picture to the west of Duskwood, the two separated by a wide river. He pointed to the south-western part of it, nestled up against a low range of hills. "We be here."

"Oh." She looked up at him. "It's very far from your home."

Unambi nodded. "Dat it is," he said quiet.

Idira eyed him, sensing he was feeling bad. "Do you have a Mama and Papa?"

He nodded again, setting the writing table on the floor. "My fatha' be da head o da tribe an' my motha' be in da land o' spirits. I was ta be da next chieftain, but da gods chose Unambi for dis instead."

Idira pressed her lips together, guilt filling her. He was there because VanCleef had made Papa capture Unambi. She didn't want to know, but she asked the question anyway, hesitating at first, then rushing the rest of it through. "Are you . . . a Papa too?"

Unambi closed his eyes and shook his head. "Don ya be worryin'. I don' be leavin' no little ones behind. One or two o' da ladies'll be missin' ol' Unambi but dat be da worst o' it. Dey'll be alright."

He picked up the colouring book and looked at it again. "But dis one. I neva' expected ta be seein' him again. Dis one saved Unambi's life." He handed the book to Idira, she took it and looked at the picture. It was just a man holding a staff, dressed in a tunic and wide collar. "Maybe ya can ask someone for Unambi sometime?" he asked, soft.

Idira nodded. "I will, I promise."

Myra had stopped yelling. Other sounds were coming from VanCleef's room now. Unambi touched Idira's shoulder. "Go on inta ya room now. Dat don' be for little ears."

He helped her collect her things. Idira went in and closed her door. She wasn't sleepy so she coloured in the picture of the man who saved Unambi's life. She took her time, colouring it in as best as she could. She sat back, deciding what colour to make his hair. Silver or black? She chose silver. Somehow it just felt right.


It took less time than Idira expected for Unambi's presence to become not only accepted but welcomed by VanCleef and his men. While Idira had her lessons, Unambi would join the men in the inner courtyard and teach them the fighting techniques of trolls. Not all of the moves could be used by humans, who lacked the strength and dexterity of a troll, but a few could be modified to deadly effect. Soon even the scariest of VanCleef's men nodded with respect to the troll whenever they passed him. Idira felt a surge of pride. Unambi was the best warrior in the whole house. She never felt afraid of VanCleef's men again.

VanCleef ordered the room across from Idira's to be made into an abode for Unambi. Idira soon found out a troll didn't use the same furniture people did. Instead of sleeping on a mattress in a frame, a troll slept in a sling hung from iron loops bolted to the ceiling's beams. Unambi made a drawing for the carpenters to craft him a low table with a metal brazier set in the middle, a hole cut underneath to allow the brazier's ashes to fall into a little metal tray hanging underneath. A set of four low stools completed his requirements. He said he missed the jungle so an array of leafy potted plants were brought in. They clustered around the edges of the room, filling the space with the rich scent of earth.

Armour had to be specially made to fit a troll's shoulders. It took several attempts to get it right since it had to be crafted from wood and not metal. When it was done, Unambi painted it with his tribal colours of red and blue and decorated it with the red tail feathers of the enormous Rocs that filled the skies of Westfall. Around his waist he wore a belt and leather kilt that hung to one side so his legs would be free. A long panel at the front hung down, covering his modesty. On his chest he painted tribal designs, beautiful intricate whorls that made him look even more fierce. The first time Idira saw him in all his regalia she felt a surge of pride. None of VanCleef's men could compare. She had the best guard of all.

Eventually VanCleef allowed Unambi to carry weapons. It was Borda—the head blacksmith who had moved Idira, Myra and Papa from the farm to Moonbrook—who crafted a vicious pair of serrated daggers for Unambi, the weapons almost as big as swords. Unambi liked them very much. He licked the blades, tasting them and said they told him they were hungry for blood.

For the sake of the citizens of Moonbrook, Unambi never left the house. The day they escaped the tower, VanCleef had snuck him into Moonbrook by putting him in the coach and drawing the blinds. He drove the horses into the stable yard and cleared the way first before bringing him up to the third floor. At first only Lanira and one other maid were allowed upstairs. Both of them fainted the first time they saw Unambi, even though Idira promised them he wouldn't hurt them. As time went by and Unambi became a familiar sight, some of the servants grew to like his gentle, kind way with Idira, seeing him as Idira did. Others did not. They viewed him with open hostility and suspicion. VanCleef dismissed those ones.

Of the women, Arinna accepted Unambi first, frequently coming to talk with him in the evenings, perched upon one of his strange little stools, taking notes. Idira would sit with them, listening, fascinated as he explained about his tribe's belief systems and how they used magic. Everything they believed was different to what Bishop Mattias taught and much more complicated.

Lanira came around soon after, encouraged by Arinna's trust in the troll, although she remained distant and reserved, and perhaps a little afraid, though she desperately tried to hide it.

Although VanCleef had explained all to Nin, when she first saw Unambi, her hand flew to her mouth and she just stared at him, astonished. She tried to teach him manners, and how to hold a teacup, perhaps thinking him a savage that could be made acceptable through social graces. Unambi did his best to try to please her, but his hands weren't made to hold teacups or eat tiny sweet cakes. He broke the fragile porcelain teacups and ate the cakes in one bite.

Nin would shake her head, her lips pressed together in a tight, disapproving line. Idira suspected Nin thought Unambi was testing her, but Idira knew he was really trying. Not one to give up, Nin had a large wooden teacup carved for Unambi, and ordered larger sizes of cake to be made for him. This time, it worked, although he looked completely ridiculous holding a huge wooden teacup between his fat finger and thumb. He liked the cakes though.

Myra refused to acknowledge Unambi. Whenever Idira would go to her room and visit her sister as she dressed for dinner, Idira would tell her about the heroic things he had done like saving a mama tiger caught in a fur hunter's trap. She would take great care to explain how he had tended the big cat's injuries and fed her babies until she was strong enough to carry on alone. But no matter what Idira said about him, Myra would act as though she couldn't hear her, focussing her attention on getting ready for the evening, discussing details about her hairstyle or jewellery with her maid. She would never come upstairs to listen to the bedtime story anymore either. It made Idira sad but VanCleef said she just needed to give Myra time, that she would come around.

Several more months passed. By this time, Unambi had been accepted by everyone except Myra, even the horses liked him. VanCleef said he had had enough and brought Myra upstairs to face Unambi. Myra stood in her glittering finery, glaring at the poor troll, filled with hate and resentment. She refused to speak to him, even though he used all his best manners taught to him by Nin and was very nice to her, making tea and offering her some. She slapped the cup away, splattering hot tea all over him.

That night Myra started fighting with VanCleef again, screaming that Benny would never have made her live with a monster. VanCleef yelled back she was lucky to have him, especially after what her father was putting him through. She said she wished Papa had killed the monster, so she wouldn't have to live with it. VanCleef bellowed back Unambi had saved Idira's life and helped thwart Papa's planned attack against Moonbrook, sparing hundreds of people's lives.

Furious, Myra shrieked that she never asked for her life, outlining to VanCleef in no uncertain terms how much she hated him. Glass shattered, filling the house with the sound of sharp edges and destruction. Idira guessed her sister had broken the beautiful gilt mirror above the fireplace. VanCleef bellowed she was a spoiled brat, and that he'd had enough of her nonsense. He jerked the door open and hollered until she came to her senses he wouldn't have anything more to do with her.

The door slammed and another door opened and slammed shut. And just like that, VanCleef moved out of his bedroom and Myra was alone again. Idira didn't go down even though she could hear Myra crying really hard. Idira was mad for what her sister had said about wishing Papa had killed Unambi. Sometimes Myra could be really horrible. She deserved to be alone. Her hands over her ears, Idira crossed the hall into Unambi's room. As he tended the scalds from the tea on his arms and chest she read him a story. Afterwards, he gave her a hug and said she was the best thing that ever happened to him.


A few weeks later, Idira woke in the dead of the night realising she had forgotten her promise to find out who the man in the colouring book was. She got up, lit a candle and opened the book so she wouldn't forget in the morning. Something about the way his grey eyes caught the light of the candle made him look more alive. She stared at it, recognising him, but without knowing when or where. She searched her mind. Nothing. She had seen him before, although not in a drawing, as a real person. Her breath caught. The dream she had had of the floating city. He was the man on the balcony. She left the book open on her desk. Tomorrow she would ask Nin if she knew who he was. She hoped so, because now she really wanted to know who he was, too.

Nin didn't know. But VanCleef did. After her lessons, Idira found him in his study working on a design for a big ship.

He glanced at Idira's picture. "Of course I know him," he said. "I had to construct a statue to commemorate him. His name is Khadgar. He saved Azeroth." He handed the book back and looked at her over his glasses. "They really should put names to these pictures."

Her heart thumping, Idira took the book and excused herself. She had dreamed of the hero Khadgar! Maybe the floating city was on the other planet and one day she would be able to get there, too. If the violet light was telling the truth and had shown her the future, one day she would get to meet him. The thought thrilled her. She took the stairs to her floor two at a time.

Back in Unambi's room, she held up the picture and told him Khadgar's name. She wondered if Unambi knew about Khadgar, and what he had done, but Unambi said he didn't. He made Idira some tea and said he was glad to finally know the name of the man who had kept him alive, so when he died he could protect Khadgar from the spirit world. Idira thought that sounded very nice. She asked Unambi if he could protect Khadgar if he lived on another planet. Unambi thought about it for a long time and decided he could because the spirit world didn't have boundaries like planets do. He patted her head and said she asked good questions, things that made him think. He liked that. They drank tea together, companionable, content.

A quiet knock came to the door. Idira opened it. Myra stood outside, alone, wearing a plain dress, her hands clenched tight together, pressed against her waist.

"May I come in?" she asked, timid. Idira looked her sister over, uncertain. She didn't want Myra to hurt Unambi again. Dark circles shadowed Myra's eyes. She had lost weight. Idira hadn't gone to her sister since the big fight more than three weeks ago. Her sister had stayed in her room, crying and alone, with only her maids to attend her.

Unambi came to his feet and moved to the door. He made a little sound in his throat. Idira knew that sound. He felt sorry for Myra. He pushed the door open wider.

"Ya can. Ya want ta sit?" he asked as he gestured to one of the empty stools. He moved back to his own stool and sank down onto it, graceful.

Myra nodded, shy, and sat, her hands tucked between her legs.

Unambi started to brew a fresh pot of tea over the little brazier, his movements rhythmic and relaxing to watch. No one said anything the whole time he made it. He poured out a fresh cup for her. He nodded at her to take it from the table. She did.

She drank and sighed. She peeked up at him. "It's . . . very good."

"For a troll?" Unambi chuckled, the sound warm like sunshine. "Dat Lady Nin be a good teacha'."

He waited, his wrists resting on his thighs. Idira drank her tea and waited too. Myra set her cup aside and looked at Unambi.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I was wrong. I shouldn't have said the things I said."

Unambi didn't say anything for a while. He just looked at Myra, waiting. Idira wondered what he was doing. A tear slipped down Myra's face.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered. "But I don't love him." More tears slid down her face. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"Ya be wantin' Unambi ta help ya rid yaself o' it?" Unambi asked, his eyes hard on her.

Myra shook her head. "No," she hiccupped, "it's an innocent babe, that would be a terrible crime." She fell silent, her fingers working along the folds of her dress, smoothing them down. She shuddered and continued in a voice so low, Idira had to strain to hear her. "I want you to help me be able to survive."

Unambi leaned forward. "An' how be Unambi doin' such a ting?"

She looked up, desperation lining her face. "Help me to love him. I heard Arinna tell VanCleef trolls can make powerful potions, things that can change people's feelings."

Unambi grunted. "Ya be wantin' sometin' ta change ya heart?"

"Yes." Another tear slipped free. "I can't go on like this, always at war with myself."

Unambi nodded, slow. "I can help ya wit dat. Come back ta me in a week."

Myra nodded and got up, stumbling a little. He caught her arm, steadying her. She didn't pull away.

"Ya be eatin' up all da food ya can until den," he said. "Ya mus' be strong for da potion ta work."

She murmured she would and went to the door. She stopped and looked back, vulnerable. "Thank you."

Unambi tilted his head to her. "Jus' ya be takin' good care o' yaself and da babe."

She left, her footsteps soft and slow on the stairs. Idira looked at Unambi as she closed the door.

"What are you going to give to Myra?"

The troll scoffed as he picked up Myra's empty cup and set it with the others. "Unambi be no witch docta', but if ya sista' be believin' a cup o' stinkin' herbal tea be makin' her fall in love wit' da boss mon, she will." He pressed one of his thick fingers to his temple. "One ting I be learnin' from da docta's, most o' da time, da best magic be in da head."


Deep in the night seven months later, in the eye of a hurricane, Vanessa VanCleef arrived. Myra's screams, louder even than the roar of the wind tearing at the shutters and roof tiles, finally ended. Soon her cries were replaced by the high, thin wail of a newborn. Bursting with pride, VanCleef walked around the dining room dressed in his robe, breeches and boots, a box of cigars in his hand, offering the fat rolls of tobacco to any who wished one. Unambi eyed the others smoking, uncertain. He lifted the cigar to his nose and sniffed it. He looked at it for a moment before popping it into his mouth, his eyes lighting up as the flavours came through. When Idira asked what he thought of it, he said it was very good and took another one for later. VanCleef called out for his best cask of port to be opened. Although only just turned seven, VanCleef let Idira take a sip from his glass, but she didn't like it. She made a face. He laughed and kissed the top of her head.

The storm moved on. The cask emptied, the staff and VanCleef's men returned to their quarters, laughing and shouting to each other about the hangovers they would be facing in the morning. VanCleef led Idira into the bedroom where Myra, washed and dressed in a clean nightgown held the newborn baby Vanessa against her breast, nursing her, her face soft with tenderness.

Idira waited until the baby finished. Myra closed her gown and cradled the infant against her. She looked up at VanCleef, her eyes filled with love. He slid onto the bed beside her, smelling of port and cigars and took hold of her chin. He kissed her, deep.

Myra broke off the kiss, smiling, and pulled Idira closer to see the baby. Idira touched Vanessa's little fingers, curled up into small fists. She looked up. "She's so tiny. Like a doll."

Myra adjusted the blanket wrapped around Vanessa and kissed her head. "She is and she has made me so happy."

"You did scream a lot before you got happy, though," Idira reminded her, thinking of her sister's piercing cries that tore through the house for hours. Idira thought it was never going to end.

Myra just smiled and said nothing, her eyes fixed on her baby as she stroked its face. VanCleef got up and took Idira back to the door. "Let your sister rest, tomorrow you can visit again. Unambi can take you up."

Unambi waited on the landing, crouching as usual. He stood and took Idira's hand, leading her up the stairs and down the corridor to her room. Idira opened her bedroom door. Instead of the warmth of her fire, a cold gust of wind blasted out, smelling of the sea. Uncertain, she peeked in. The storm had broken her window, leaving a huge, jagged gash behind. Her curtains hung tattered and ruined, the wind caught the soaking material and smacked it against the wall.

She went in and turned in a slow circle, the carpet squelching under her bare feet. Nothing had survived. Her fairy tale books lay scattered across the floor, sodden and forlorn. Her bunny slumped in a shapeless heap inside the fireplace, stained black with wet ashes. A little cry came out from under the wardrobe. Idira got down onto her knees. Blackie's big eyes looked back at her. Her heart clenched. Poor Blackie, stuck in here all this time while she sang and danced downstairs. She must have been so afraid, all alone and trapped in the storm.

Unambi came in and coaxed Blackie out with his troll language. She came to him and let him take her, soaking and trembling into his big arms. He carried her into his room and settled her by the warm brazier. He closed the door and returned to Idira's room, his eyes moving over the devastation.

"Ya be sleepin' in Unambi's room dis night," he said, sympathy colouring his words. He touched her shoulder. "Ya catch da chill if ya be stayin'."

She wasn't ready to go. Her heart in her throat she pushed further into her room, searching for her colouring book. She had to find it, the picture of Khadgar. Cold wind gusted in, full of damp. Idira shivered, but kept looking. She couldn't leave it behind, it might blow out the window and she would never find it again. She found it plastered against the wall between her desk and the bookshelves, dripping wet. She peeled it away and tried to open it, but all the pages stuck together.

Unambi reached out and took the colouring book from her.

"If ya let dat be dryin' first ya can save it. Ya jus' have ta wait. Come wit' Unambi, and watch ya don' be steppin' on dat broken glass dere."

She followed him into his room, longing to go back and salvage her books. He closed the door and went away. Consumed by loss, Idira waited by the brazier, numb, watching Blackie bath herself dry. Unambi came back after a little while with some bread soaked in milk for Blackie, and extra blankets for Idira. He tucked her into the hammock, his face sad. The door closed behind him once more. Idira lay there, filled with grief, unable to sleep. All her nice things had been destroyed. Why had it been her room and not another one? Why not one of the empty ones where it wouldn't matter?

Quiet sounds drifted through the door. She listened, curious. It sounded like Unambi was going in and out of her room. She wondered what he was doing. Out in the hallway, she heard the soft sound of a book's pages being shook out. She sat up, the hammock rocking under her. A few minutes later, she heard it again. Blackie jumped up onto the hammock and settled down beside Idira.

Idira petted Blackie, her chest tight as she listened to him work, no longer wondering, but certain. Unambi, the greatest warrior troll of the Gurubashi tribe, was saving her books.


The next day Idira woke to shouts coming from the square. A explosive crack rent the air, so loud it made her ears ring. A heartbeat later a deep crump rammed into the stone facade of the house, making the whole room shudder. Pieces of plaster showered down from the ceiling, covering Idira's face and hair. Unambi burst through the door, and scooped her up in one arm and caught Blackie in his other. He galloped down the corridor to the back of the house, Blackie wailing and clawing him as more thuds hit the house, making the chandeliers in the hallway tinkle. Plaster dust rained down, choking Idira. Her eyes watering, she coughed, fighting to breathe in the thick air.

Unambi pushed open the door to one of the empty bedrooms overlooking the stable yard and slammed it shut behind him. Blackie clawed her way free and tore around the room, desperate for a place to hide. She scrambled into the fireplace and flattened herself behind the grate, her eyes wide. Another boom shook the house. Idira screamed, clinging to Unambi.

"What's happening?" she cried, barely able to hear herself through the ringing of her ears.

"Jac be attackin' da boss," Unambi bellowed back over the thud of another assault. "But dis time he be bringin' da big guns." He set Idira down and pulled his daggers free. "Don' ya be worryin' ya be safe wit' ol' Unambi."

Another loud explosion went off, followed by a tremendous crack and the sound of masonry collapsing, tumbling down into the inner courtyard. Idira tugged on Unambi's arm. "What about Myra and the baby! You have to help them!"

Unambi shook his head, his expression hard. "Unambi don' be leavin' ya."

"But they could die! Please! Go and help them," Idira cried, tears spilling from her eyes. She put all her weight against his wrist, trying to drag him to the door. "Please, " she sobbed, desperate.

Unambi jerked his arm free and turned his back to her. "Da boss be lookin' out for dem, ya can be sure o' dat. I be stayin'. Now don' be askin' Unambi no more, he be gettin' ready ta fight."

Idira retreated, shaking, crying for her sister and the helpless little baby. How could they have survived all those explosions? She was sure they were dead, strewn like dolls across VanCleef's beautiful bed, lifeless and coated in plaster dust. She sobbed so hard she began to dry heave. Why would Papa do such a thing to the house where his daughters lived? Didn't he care he could kill them?

The booms stopped, the sudden wall of silence deafening. Distant sounds of fighting rose up from the front of the house, spreading to the inner courtyard. The pounding of booted feet against cobblestones came from the stable yard. Bellows of warning sounded from the kitchens. Idira stumbled over to the window, unsteady, tripping on the hem of her dress. She fell to her knees and crawled the rest of the way to the window, quaking so hard her teeth clamped down on the inside of her mouth.

She looked down, tasting blood, the gash in her mouth aching. The yard seethed with men fighting, their swords and daggers slicing through the air, cutting and piercing each other, blood spraying against the stable walls. She couldn't tell which men were Papa's and which were VanCleef's, they all looked the same. A man strode through them, stabbing and gouging his way through, dressed all in black. Idira drew a shuddering breath as he dispatched another man. Papa.

A door banged open in the hallway, faint against the noise of battle. Another followed soon after, then another. Shouts drifted down the hall, reporting the location of a stockpile. More doors banged open. Idira shrank back against the window, crying so hard snot bubbled out of her nose. They were coming. Unambi waited, his whole body tensed, ready to attack. He flexed his fingers around the hilts of his daggers. Voices came from just outside the door. Someone kicked it, hard. The door flew open, banging back against the wall.

Three thugs stood outside, their weapons drawn. They gaped at the troll, astonished. Unambi's daggers flew free, burying themselves into the chests of two of the men. He leapt, a blur of blue and red, and grabbed the last man by the throat. He shook him like a doll. The thug's swords clattered to the floor. Unambi squeezed his enormous fingers together, slow, his eyes cold, yellow slits. The thug scrabbled at the troll's hand, his eyes bulging. Unambi tightened his grip. A sharp snap. The man's head toppled over, like a dead bird. Unambi tossed the body away. It hit the opposite wall, its legs and arms tangling in a heap. Pressing his foot against the dead men's chests, he jerked his daggers free. He turned to Idira and lifted a finger to his lips, letting Idira know he needed her to be quiet. Idira gulped in a deep breath of air and held her breath. She shoved the tears and dust from her eyes, trying not to look at the blood pooling around the two dead men.

They waited a long time but no more men came up. The sounds of fighting in the stable yard lessened too. Idira peered through the window. The yard lay strewn with the dead and dying. Those still standing bolted into the house where the clash of swords and the bellow of orders continued to ring out.

Unambi came back in, picked up Idira and carried her over the dead men. He kicked the dead bodies aside and closed the door so Blackie, still cowering in the fireplace, wouldn't get out. His finger to his lips, he crept ahead, his daggers drawn. Idira followed close behind, her heart in her throat, listening to the sounds of the melee dwindle. They passed her door. Unambi looked in. No one remained. He moved to the top of the stairwell, cautious. His eyes moved back and forth, searching. Satisfied, he gestured for Idira to follow. She scuttled over to him, her heart pounding. More dead and dying lay strewn on the stairs and littered the entrance hall.

They crept down the stairs to the landing on the second floor. VanCleef's bedroom door hung open at a wild angle, clinging to the doorframe by its top hinge. A ragged, gaping hole opened onto the square where a window and part of the wall used to be. Idira struggled to free herself. Unambi let her go, following close behind. She ran to the bed, panting with fear and pulled at the dusty covers, dotted with chunks of masonry. Empty. She went to the closet and pushed the doors open. Another ragged gash exposed the room to the square. All the mirrors had shattered and dust hung thick in the air. They weren't there. They had gotten away in time.

She looked at Unambi. He held out his hand to her, and nodded. "Dey be safe. Don' be worryin' no more."

Shouts rose up from the entrance hall. Unambi scooped up Idira and carried her the landing. A dozen men ran out from the inner courtyard, followed by others throwing daggers and five-bladed stars. Four men fell, screaming in agony. VanCleef appeared, his blood-spattered chest heaving, wearing nothing more than his breeches and boots. His swords dripped, slick with blood. He gestured at his men to follow the ones who had fled.

"Kill them all but one. We'll keep that one for questioning."

His men sprinted out. Silence fell. His face hard, VanCleef strode away, out the front door into the square.

"What about Myra and the baby? Why did Papa try to kill them?" Idira wailed, looking back at the gaping hole in VanCleef's once beautiful room. She slammed her hands against the banister railing. "Why is Papa so bad?!" she screamed, her gaze raking over the dead, bleeding out over the chequered floor of the hall, where only hours ago she had danced with VanCleef, celebrating the baby's birth.

Unambi's arm came around her. He tried to hush her. She pushed him away. Too much had happened. Idira crouched down, huddling into herself. Blood stained the hem of her nightdress. She shuddered. Why couldn't everyone just get along? Why couldn't they drink tea, buy hats in Dalaran and read nice stories? Stories. Her books. Quick as a silverfish she slipped out of reach of Unambi's grasp. She bolted up the stairs, scrambling over the still warm bodies of the fallen. She hadn't thought about her books on the way to the landing, she had been too frightened. She raced down the hall, panting with hope. Let them be ok, just let them still be ok.

She stopped and fell to her knees, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. Her books, so carefully salvaged by Unambi, lay scattered against the sides of the corridor, destroyed by the careless, booted feet of Papa's men. She spotted her precious colouring book, the one with Khadgar's picture. She crawled over to it and slid it out from under a pile of mangled books. Shredded clean in half, it lay open at the page of Azeroth's hero. A bloody boot print stained Khadgar's face. She stifled a sob and let it go.

Nothing had been left for her. Nothing.