Chapter 13

The village of Halfhill was built up the step-like plateaus of a solitary rocky hill in the eastern half of the Valley of the Four Winds. Large and small structures of bamboo and wood dotted the plateaus as the dirt path of the village wound it's way to the peak of the hill. At the village's base, near the road which circled around the large village, lay the Halfhill marketplace, the largest market in the province. As a whole, the village served as a kind of regional capital for trade and imperial business, though from the furry Pandaren farmers and tillers who lived in and around the farming community one might never know.

Shaggara and Guozhi had been traveling at a good pace on foot since not long after their late morning meal. The late summer weather in the southern continent had been kind to them, being neither too warm nor too cold to travel. Behind them in the west, the sun began to dip down behind the horizon, painting the sky and the verdant rolling landscape of well tilled fields a golden, otherworldly color as it did so.

Shaggara walked wearing her armor covered over by a violet and lavender cloak made in the Pandaren fashion which the monk had procured for her. The hilt of the Sword of Mastery protruded from the neck of the cloak and was pressed uncomfortably against her head by the cowl which covered it. While it was not uncommon for foreign adventurers to make their way across the valley, the monk thought it wise to not advertise the potential threat she might pose. Better to be seen as unarmed to the valley's rural occupants they might pass. Even in Pandaria, there were factions that could be more or less friendly to you depending on your politics.

Often times, the orc woman would be walking, focused on reaching their destination only to find herself walking alone. When she stopped and turned around, her rounded, black and white Pandaren companion would still be a ways behind her, his eyes closed as he walked, not slowly, but deliberately with his staff in hand, a wide spread conical douli hat across his head. There were times he appeared to walk with his eyes closed as though he were listening to a music only he could hear.

The monk's slow, purposeful approach to even the most mundane of tasks, such as walking to a destination, could be frustrating to the orc woman, as it was then. In fact, she would have preferred to run it. But then he would see her and smile brightly as though he were overjoyed to be seeing her again, and her irritation would drain away.

Guozhi could be damned infuriating in the way she could not remain angry with him. It was not difficult to arouse the ire of an orc, but it was almost impossible to make it disappear as fast as the monk was able.

Still, by her estimate, they had covered more than fifteen miles from the small few acres of land where Guozhi had made his home. This was not bad travel time for two people on foot, especially when one seemed to be intent more on enjoying the journey than getting where he was going. She was convinced they could have arrived at Halfhill sooner, but there was nothing to be done for it now.

As they approached the marketplace together, it appeared that the merchants and cooks that frequented it were putting their wares away for the evening. There were tables, and cooking stoves which still held half full dishes of foods that made the orc woman's stomach rumble at the smell. Spring rolls, shrimp and rice, roasted meats with teriyaki sauce, all of it appeared to be destined for a garbage pail as the market chefs began cleaning up for the night.

To the hungry, pregnant orc woman who had been walking for hours, it seemed a cruel thing.

Guozhi, however appeared unperturbed as he approached one of the cooks, a large, barechested Pandaren male with white and light brown markings across his fur. He wore a light jade pair of trousers and cook's mitts. His furred head was crowned with a white toque blanche hat.

The cook looked up from being just about to dispose of his recent culinary works to see him and a great smile broke out across his short snouted, bear like face, "Honorable Guozhi, my old friend! It is good to see you!" He said in common.

"Honorable Kol, it is good to see you as well my friend!" Guozhi replied warmly in the same language.

The two Pandarens embraced warmly as though brothers who had not seen each other in some time, patting each other on the back roughly.

"What brings you this far away from your village in the east?" The chef asked as they let go of one another. "Halfhill has not had the pleasure of your company in some time." His voice was a little accusatory.

"Forgive me, honorable Kol, but solitude and time to meditate still agrees with me. My companion and I have been traveling all day. We have come to see honorable Chen Stormstout. Is he in town?" Guozhi told him, gesturing politely to Shaggara.

"You've been walking all day? Have you had your evening meal yet?" Kol asked, some concern entering his voice.

"Well, no, but..." Guozhi replied humbly.

"Please, you and your companion take what I have left. It would have gone to Farmer Yoon's livestock anyway. Please, whatever you want, my old friend." Kol said, pulling his platters away from the pail they had been intended for and presenting them to the monk and the orc warrior. "And I am certain my other friends would be happy to share what they have left with you." He gestured to the other cooks in the market place and began to wave them over.

"No, please, honorable Kol. We have little gold with which to repay you for your kindnesses." Guozhi replied.

"Nonsense, my friend. Your money is no good with me anyway, and all of this would have gone to waste otherwise. I would rather you and your friend eat and enjoy my work rather than farm animals who would eat their own filth." Kol insisted.

"You are most kind, honorable Kol." Guozhi replied, offering a polite bow.

"No kinder than you have been to our village, honorable Guozhi." Kol replied, returned the bow with a respectful sincerity.

The Pandaren cook then took two clean ceramic plates and filled them with samples of everything he still had. Most of it was meats and vegetables from the grill. Then another chef, a female Pandaren came over with a bowl of rice and stir fried chicken and vegetables. Then yet another of the Pandarens offered them both large mugs of a fruit and spice scented barley beverage.

"Please, good friends. Enjoy!" The Pandaren brewmaster told them warmly and heartily as he gave them the mugs.

Soon, the two travelers were seated at a low table nearby on mats, a near banquet spread out before them. Guozhi smiled as he gestured for a visibly stunned Shaggara to sit and eat.

"Please, honorable Shaggara," he told her kindly, "let us not offend them. We must enjoy their generous gifts as they were meant."

After Shaggara had sat down and began to consume the food which had been placed before her voraciously, Guozhi sat down as well, next to her and began his slow process of taking one bite after another, smelling each one as he did so.

Each bite of the food exploded with flavor as it hit Shaggara's orc tongue. There were tangy citric flavors in the spiced meat that she couldn't identify, and the rice, though cold, had been cooked to such perfection that she might not have doubted the chef had cooked each grain individually. The dishes in front of her quickly emptied as she moved from plate to plate.

After the Pandaren grill master finished cleaning up his own stall, he took a plate of his own leftovers and a mug of spiced barley tea and came to join them. He plopped down opposite both of them and began to eat. Shaggara noticed that he too ate slowly, savoring each bite though not with as much meditative deliberation as the monk.

"So, you said you were looking for Chen?" Kol continued the conversation. "I haven't seen Chen Stormstout for several months. Last time he was here, he spoke of heading into the north lands where your honorable companion is from." The Pandaren said, acknowledging Shaggara's foreign nature.

Guozhi stopped and digested this news as he also digested his food. He then said, "Honorable Shaggara has urgent business which cannot wait. She needs to travel to her embassy in the Vale of Eternal Blossoms to return to her homeland. I had hoped honorable Chen might be of some assistance in this regard."

Kol the looked at the orc woman appraisingly, though politely.

"What are you looking at?" Shaggara then asked as she finished cleaning the third dish which she had been given.

"My apologies, honorable Shaggara. It is not often we see one of your people in our village, and almost never a woman." Kol replied. "We see mostly soldiers and lone adventurers when your people pass through. Most recently, those who have approached me have expressed a desire to stay away from their homeland, and not to return to it urgently."

Shaggara considered this. "I have a problem in my homeland which I must help solve. If I don't, that problem could spread even to here." She told him.

"Why do you not then fly from here to the Vale? Wing Nga is just up the hill with her kites. I am certain she would offer two to you." Kol then asked.

"Riding the winds on a kite is a fine art, honorable Kol." Guozhi replied. "You must know how to ride one, and then you must know where you are going. You and I might be able to control one, but..."

"I've flown a kite before, Guozhi." Shaggara spoke up. "It was years ago, but I remember how, and the Shrine of Two Moons is to the north of us on the other side of the mountains across the Imperial Valley."

Guozhi bowed his head, acknowledging the correction.

"The kite master is just up the hill next to the Lazy Turnip inn. Come, my friends. I am certain she will help." Kol told them.

Varian Wrynn stood at the balcony of his bedchambers in Stormwind Keep that night, unable to sleep, looking out over the city. The great white moon had set some time before, and the stars shone brightly in all their glory. The smaller blue moon was still in the sky, but it was much more humble, and allowed the rest of the celestial lights their due.

He still wore the plain, unadorned clothes which he had kept under his plate armor to keep it from chafing against his skin. He might have been any other common citizen of his kingdom at that moment as he stared at the sleeping city. The lights of the oil lit street lamps dotted and outlined the streets of the human capital.

From his vantage point, he could see his soldiers making their regular patrols along the streets. He was heartened to see that none of them appeared to be shirking in their duties regardless of the wee hours of the extreme early morning. Few establishments were still open, but he could hear drunken singing coming from the Pig and Whistle in the Old Town district of the city, and again hearty, off key dwarven voices coming from the direction of their district's tavern. He smiled at the sound, even though he knew his men would be in both places within moments to allow the surrounding townsfolk their measure of sleep for the rest of the night. The revelry brought back good memories.

His clothes smelled of dust and still smoking ruins, and the scent of them and what it meant lay heavy on his mind. It had not been his choice to visit the site, but he understood the reasons for the former warchief's choice of meeting spots.

He truly wished his son, Anduin, had been there with him. He was so much like his mother. His son was a priest of the Holy Light and a better diplomat than Varian could ever hope to be. He had, at one time, pushed the prince to become a warrior like himself, but his son had found a different calling as a healer and a man capable of bringing peace and seeing another path. Varian didn't have the skill with words that Anduin did, and he knew it. The path of diplomacy he knew best involved the blade of his sword, Shalamayne. His son, however, was far to the south in Pandaria using those talents of his to great effect with the recently discovered bear like peoples.

He and his men had stepped through the portal onto the damaged but still intact wooden docks of the former Alliance port city earlier that day not entirely certain as to what he expected. But, Thrall was a man of honor who knew humans as well as he knew orcs. They had tried to work together in the past with some small success until the recent hatreds between their peoples flared up again, fanned by the arrogant warrior Thrall had insanely appointed as warchief in his stead.

Finding the docks empty, he and his people advanced across the rotting wooden planks until they came to the edge of the former city. Even months later, the stones and ground were still hot and smoking from the devastating mana bomb which had been dropped, and ended all chances for peace between the two warring factions. Jaina Proudmoore, the former ruler of this city, his friend and the woman his son still called "aunt", hadn't been the same person since. She would have called him a fool for responding to Thrall's request, when once upon a time, she would have negotiated the meeting herself.

They waited there for only a few minutes when a large, well muscled orcish figure emerged from within the crater at the center of the ruins. His head was partially concealed by a leather cowl, though the twin braids of his raven black hair fell loosely across his chest. He wore a rough cut leather vest and kilt more suited to the role he had adopted as a shaman of his people, though his wide belt and gauntlets were of a chain mail. His bright green skin told of a former association with fel energies in his youth, but his deep blue eyes declared that he had never succumbed to them willingly. As he stood straight and tall, approaching the human king, his expression serious, the orc might have been mistaken for a king for his bearing and the way he carried himself in spite of his dress. His demeanor suggested that he was no less than the Alliance high king's equal.

It was one of the things Varian could respect about Thrall.

"You are alone?" Varian asked as the orc approached.

"I am never alone, human." Thrall replied. "The elements always surround me." The orc mystic spoke the common human tongue fluently and with the accent native to Lordaeron.

Right. Shaman. Varian had quipped in his own head, though he could not deny the power he had seen such mystics display.

"I wanted you to see this once more." Thrall told him. "To warn you of Garrosh's intents as I have been made aware of them."

"If you're speaking of this new relic he has acquired, and the power it gives him, I already know. Jaina informed me of it days ago." Varian told him.

"I assume you're building an army to storm Orgrimmar and take it from him." Thrall stated as he came to stand in front of the human king. "You and the other Alliance leaders. Don't bother denying it. We both know it's true."

"What else can you expect, orc?" Varian asked him. "I'm surprised Sylvanas hasn't unleashed her plague weapons on Orgrimmar already. At least our way would leave most of your people alive. Look at this crater! We both know what that son of a whore is capable of without such power!"

Thrall nodded in agreement. "Yes, we both know." He then took a deep breath and sighed wearily. "I made a mistake when I appointed him as warchief in my place. He was a natural leader with noble intentions for our people, if somewhat 'spirited'. I thought he could be guided towards better paths than this with the wise counsel of Cairne, Eitrigg, and Vol'jin." He then turned to look at the ruins. "I was wrong."

"And now the world must pay for your mistake." Varian added, rubbing salt in the wound.

Thrall turned his head sharply back towards the human king and grimaced, but then nodded in acceptance of the truth of his sharp barb.

"You should also know that many if not most of my people do not support his actions." Thrall continued. "I have heard whispers on the wind that many would gladly see him brought to justice for his war crimes, but it is no longer so simple… for any of us. These would take up arms against him if it came to it, and not just my people. The tauren and the trolls have been badly mistreated by Garrosh, and Baine Bloodhoof deserves justice for Cairne's murder."

Varian thought he sensed where this was going. "Could you rally them? Could you lead them against him?"

"Maybe." Thrall answered thoughtfully. "But there are many unknowns. This new power, this relic he holds, is new to me. It does not answer to the elements, or draw its power from the ley lines the mages do. And I have heard Garrosh has taken the mage instructor, Marud, into Grommash Hold. No one has seen him for days, but I am told he has been holding secret meetings with Grom's son. This is unusual. Garrosh neither understands nor trusts magic users of any kind. What is he doing with Marud?"

"What indeed?" Varian echoed.

Thrall turned to face him, standing up straight and proud. "Whether you believe this or not, Varian Wrynn, we are more alike than you know. I was a slave gladiator at one time too, did you know this? Held against my will by the lord of Durnholde Keep. But I learned through it that not all humans were twisted like he was." He paused for a minute as though remembering someone before continuing. "We both want the same thing. We both want a future for our people, and peace on this world to keep it. Neither of us had any hand in starting the conflict between our peoples, but it has been left to us to clean up the mess."

Varian nodded in agreement. "I accept that. We've tried peace before. But even if we want it..."

"There are always those who don't." Thrall finished his thought.

The two leaders stood there then in thought.

"There is something else you must know." Thrall then told him. "Information I offer in trust."

"Go on." The human king said, wondering what else he would say.

"Sylvanas has chosen not to use her weapons on Orgrimmar in spite of Garrosh's new power." Thrall informed him. "From what I have been told, life has become more precious to the elf queen now that hers has been restored to her. There will not be another Wrathgate should you invade, and possible allies if you do."

The orc shaman then nodded his head at the human king.

"Why do you tell me all this?" Varian asked.

"To keep this from ever happening again. To anyone." Thrall replied, gesturing towards the crater. "To make this world a fit place for my family, the same as you."

Those were the last words the orc warchief had spoken to Varian before they parted, and they had run through the human king's mind ever since as he considered all of the implications from them. There were many ways he could take them.

He looked out across the city towards Stormwind's harbor where a small fleet of transports and their warship escorts waited. How long did they have before he had to launch them? How long until he risked Stormwind herself meeting the same fate as Theramore?