"Son of a Motherless Ogre and Other Dwarven Compliments"
"Ironforge? We should go back and warn them."
"No, we shouldn't." Rumer mounted the mistsaber and gave the reins a tug, but Pasha wouldn't budge. Instead he reared up as if he were a Stormwind stallion and dumped her to the ground.
"What was that for?" She rubbed her backside.
"You can't let those mutant Dwarves infiltrate the city."
"We just came from there, and I'm not going back."
"What if the Gnome hasn't made it back yet and gets attacked?"
"He made his own fate when he brought me on a wild goose chase to find that book. I could have been killed."
Pasha snorted.
"Arrested, then," she answered.
He locked eyes with her.
She knew better than to stare down a 300-lb cat, but she also wasn't about to get involved in another senseless war.
"Look, you're not a prisoner anymore. If you want to warn them, I'm not going to stop you."
There was a time when Pasha had been chained against his will by drunken Humans. And even though complete freedom would have been much sweeter for him, he'd chosen to travel with her. Rumer made it clear he didn't owe her anything and could leave whenever he wanted. Though she'd come to rely on his companionship, she wouldn't go back on her word.
He puffed dust out his nose and growled.
Pasha was stubborn, and so was she. There was no way she was going to prolong finding out exactly what Master Shaw knew about her sister's well-being and her father's execution. Not when she was this close.
"I'll warn the next non-mutant Dwarf I see. Let them deal with it," she said and started walking.
She kept her ears pricked for any sound of the giant cat's decision. She hated fighting with him and hated the idea of parting ways even more. Slowing her step imperceptibly, she kept her head erect and her stride even. "Never let them see regret," her father had always said.
Finally, she heard Pasha's shuffling footfall about twenty paces behind. He was pouting, no doubt, but at least hadn't left her.
The shortest path to Blackrock Mountain, the pass between the two smoldering lands good for only coal mining and getting sunburned, was sure to be plagued with more of the sooty, cursed Dwarves, so she chose the more meandering path around the perimeter of the valley and hoped there would be at least some place to siphon water. The few wineskins she'd filled from the barrels at camp wouldn't last long especially once Pasha started drinking.
Even with night upon them, the low clouds of smoke and ash from the Cauldron coal mines trapped the stifling air and oppressive heat close to the ground. Mopping sweat, she streaked brown dust across her cheeks and brow, and even Pasha's usual misty white fur had turned grey as if he'd aged prematurely in the few short hours they'd entered this godforsaken land.
Rumer's mind, perhaps affected by the temperature, drifted back to the chilly spring evenings of her childhood home in Teldrassil. The woods were always cool, the earth always damp. Ferns grew along the forest floor, mushrooms and moss clung to the tree trunks. It had been an odd treat to feel the warmth of a sunbeam on her skin when it showered down through the thick foliage. Sometimes, it would fall perfectly on a flat rock or a fallen tree, and Rumer had always taken advantage of it by warming her pale skin. Most of the time though, she'd felt claustrophobic under the canopy of thick branches and longed to be back in the sun in the white stone courtyard of Stormwind City.
Now, what she wouldn't give to be back in her homeland of trees and cool air. This time without a bounty on her head.
Rounding a curve in the path, Rumer spied three figures keeping post. They were small but not Gnome small. Human children maybe, Dwarves more likely. A hand rested on one of her daggers just in case. She slowed until Pasha caught up with her.
"Company."
He sniffed the air then opened his mouth and let the scent permeate his Flehmen organ. "Dwarves," he decided.
"Mutant?"
He shook his head. "Just dirty."
"Good enough. Let's go."
She strode over to them and waited a few moments as they bickered amongst themselves.
"And just how do you suppose we go about that, Jack?" the burliest of the two male Dwarves asked.
"Well, I don't know now, do I, Coalpart? But there's just the three of us left now, and I don't fancy hanging around here much longer. Me beard's gone all squirrely from this bloody heat."
"It's not a picnic fer the rest of us either. Especially since Prisanne's drunk the last of the grog."
"Now wait just a minute, Burrian Coalpart!" the female Dwarf with the braided buns encircling each ear yelled.
"Excuse me," Rumer said, stepping closer to the group.
Prisanne continued as if the Night Elf had never spoken. "If you'd have sent for supplies when we told ya, we wouldn't be in this fine mess."
"Yeah!" Jack added.
"Excuse me!" Rumer yelled louder to no avail. Pasha snickered at the attempt.
"It's one thing taking a guff from Jack Rockleg, but I won't be spoken against by you too, Prisanne."
"Because I'm a woman?"
"Yer no woman, Dustcropper. I've seen ya outdrink even the heartiest of the Brotherhood and put their belches to shame too."
"You listen here, ya son of a motherless ogre!"
In that split second, the three Dwarves converged on each other—Jack Rockleg held Prisanne back from landing a barrage of punches on Burrian Coalpart's face. Burrian, deflecting as best he could, only managed to tangle his short, fat sausage fingers in his own beard.
Fed up with their shenanigans, not to mention upset at wasting the past five minutes of her life, Rumer withdrew both her daggers, positioned herself between the warring parties, and turned her blades against them. "I said, 'excuse me!'"
At once, the three fighting Dwarves stopped.
"Ya got my attention," Burrian said, a squinty eye roving her body.
"You've got a bigger problem on your hands than who can outbelch whom. We just encountered a small army of soot-streaked Dwarves. Anyone you know?"
The small band exchanged looks.
"Soot-streaked, eh?" He stroked his beard as if he had to think about it, but his eyes told the truth. "Could be Dark Iron Dwarves," Burrian continued. "It's no wonder you saw them. They mine the Cauldron and have dig sites all over this bloody land."
"They were heading north. Out of Searing Gorge."
The smaller of the two male Dwarves, Jack Rockleg, whispered, "Ironforge."
Prisanne let out a shriek but quickly covered her mouth after a glare from Burrian.
"It's Moira, Coalpart," Jack said. "She's gone and done it."
"Done what?" Rumer asked, then amended her question at the hideous grammatical mistake. "Who is she and what did she do?"
"Moira Thaurissan," Burrian answered. "She's been trying to raise an army and take back Ironforge from the Clans for years."
"Do you think she finally did it?" Prisanne asked, worried and clinging to Burrian's arm.
Jack answered instead. "I don't doubt it if she has that worthless panty-waist Ragnaros helping her."
"Ragnaros?"
"The Firelord," Burrian added. "He dwells deep within Blackrock Mountain and commands all the fire elementals. Some say he's found a way to create an army out of pure stone. And Moira wants to lead them."
"Look, I don't know what kind of vendetta she's got against Ironforge, and I don't really care. I just thought I'd warn you in case you wanted to, you know, do something about it."
Rumer sheathed her daggers and began walking away.
Jack shot out to catch up with her. "Can ya help us? They'll incinerate the city."
"Please," Prisanne begged with her round, brown eyes.
"I just traveled two days to get away from there, and I'm wanted in Stormwind." Which wasn't an altogether lie. "I don't have time to go back. But they're on foot, so you can easily reach Ironforge before them."
"How," Jack asked, "when the last ram died at noon? Why do you think we're still here?"
Rumer stole a glance at Pasha, hoping he wouldn't succumb to the same fate. "All the rams died?"
"From thirst."
"And heat exhaustion," Prisanne added.
"And all that fur," finished Burrian.
This worried Rumer, though she wouldn't let her companion know. They were far from any source of water, and she didn't have enough supply for both of them. Though she hated the idea of splitting up, she knew there was only one way for both of them to survive the long trek to Stormwind.
All of a sudden she felt a nudge on the back of her leg, and it seemed Pasha was reading her mind. "You sure?" she whispered to him, and he nodded.
"Take my mount. He's faster than Dwarves on foot, and he can go off road."
She felt a nudge again.
"Oh, and if you come across a Gnome named Glittergold, you'll probably need to rescue him."
The three Dwarves looked at each other, then at Pasha, then at her.
"Yes, he can carry all of you at once."
"Dwarves," Burrian addressed the others, "it's time to save Ironforge."
Rumer handed Burrian one of her wineskins. "This is for Pasha. If he dies, your girlfriend gets it. Understood?"
Prisanne gasped and exchanged looks with Burrian.
"Understood." He fastened it to his belt.
"No, Night Elf," Pasha said. "You need it more than me."
Kneeling down in front of her giant cat, she took his face in her hands and looked him in the eyes. "Don't argue. Now be careful. And I'll be waiting for you in Redridge. And this time take the gryphon back."
"I'll be there." A rough, pink tongue scraped up the side of her face.
"Gross. Now get out of here."
The Dwarves clambered onto the mistsaber's back and held onto each other for dear life as Pasha galloped away.
Rumer watched after them until her best friend in all the world was just a grey speck against the scarlet sky.