Bones of Ironforge

by Hawki

Novelization: Four years had passed since the mortal races stood united against the Burning Legion. In an era of fragile peace, adventurers and mercenaries were widely used by both the Horde and Alliance. In the heart of Dun Morogh, one such band was employed to carry out what was meant to be a simple hit job. To add one more body to the bones of Ironforge.

11. The Mountain Path

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Warcraft: Bones of Ironforge

Chapter 11: The Mountain Path

The climb to the cave had gone quickly. A bit too quickly for Widge, who with his little legs, struggled to keep up.

Jarlath had taken the rucksack, as they climbed up the steep slopes of the cliff face. Seeing that the gnome was struggling, Botrek had offered Widge a ride on his shoulders. It was an offer that Widge would have refused under normal circumstances (gnomes were sensitive about their height), but these were far from normal circumstances. "Normal circumstances" had been left behind in the irradiated ruins of Gnomeregan, desecrated by the foul hands of troggs. And before that, maimed by demonic invasions, and before that, orc invasions. Normal circumstances were as close to extinction in Azeroth as the gnomes themselves.

Or, alternatively, war and death were now the world's normal circumstances.

They'd walked on for a bit, as Lugni and Jarlath had pressed their march, both dwarves eager to get to the necromancer's cave. Behind the prospector was Yinny, who hadn't left his side since the remains of the wagon train, and who had barely uttered word to anyone else in the party…and not a single word to Widge at all.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But it was Botrek who beat him to it, as he declared that they should take a breather.

"What? Seriously? Yinny snapped.

He'd known Yinny for only three months. Already, he was missing the old her.

"You would have us rest here?" Lugni asked. "Now? When we're so close?"

"Five minutes," Botrek said. "Won't cost us anything."

Lugni looked furious, but nevertheless acquiesced, as did the rest of the party. The elves stood in silence, still apart from each other, while Jarlath sat down upon the snow. Widge, for his part, remained atop Botrek's shoulder.

"Um, you mind?" The human asked.

"Come on, it's such a great view from up here," Widge laughed.

"You. Shoulder. Ground. Now."

"Okay, okay," said Widge. "Don't need to be a gallowumpus about it."

"A what?"

"Exactly." Widge smiled, as he climbed down. A smile that quickly faded as he realized just how little mirth was left in the group. Yinny most of all, who stood upon the pathway's edge, staring, but not truly looking, at the valley below, despite its beauty.

Widge waddled over. Despite his size, Yinny had to have noticed his presence, even if she gave no sign.

"Nice view."

Yinny remained silent.

"Don't get to be high this often."

And still, silent.

"I tested flying machines in the Second War, did you know that? Even took them for a spin. When you see the world from that high up, it gives you perspective."

She grunted – an improvement, he supposed.

"Makes you appreciate how trivial things seem. And yet how important they really are."

No grunt this time, nor anything else.

Alright, enough pretense. "Yinny, if I've done something to hurt you, I'm sorry. I asked you to take my rucksack back at Ironforge, I didn't mean for you to carry it the whole-"

"Widge, I don't give a damn about your rucksack."

Widge blinked. Irritation, he could understand. But the venom in Yinny's voice? That was new.

"I just thought that-"

"Widge, you're good at thinking. You think, you make orczappers, and mind control remotes, and little toys. Just stick with that kind of thinking and leave me alone."

He almost did. Part of him wanted to. Indeed, part of him wanted to never talk to Yinny again. He watched her use her dagger to scoop the dirt from under her nails, and to him, it was like it had pierced his chest.

But another part within him, the one that not even the troggs had managed to destroy …it compelled him to stay. To look out over the valley and find what beauty he could, from its snow, to its trees, to the frozen lake that was visible before them.

"Mirrormark," he said. "It is said that on a cloudless day, you can see your own reflection in it. "Do you know how it got its name?"

Yinny shrugged.

"Jarlath told me the story once. Said it was named by Aegrim Bronzebeard. Long ago, before the War of the Three Hammers, the Bronzebeard Clan was a minor one. Small, insignificant, dominated by the other clans. And after the death of Odan Bronzebeard, bereft of any other heirs, it was Aegrim who was left to rule his kin."

Yinny shrugged. "Can't say I know much about fathers."

"Aegrim came to the clan seat, but had no desire to lead. So one day, a year into his rule, he left Ironforge to travel the world, claiming that he wanted to learn what he could from other lands. That he would find knowledge to better his clan's standing. But he did not travel far until he reached Coldridge Valley. Where, on a day just like this one, he stood at the edge of the lake, and beheld his own reflection."

"He saw himself, looked inside himself, and saw that he was not seeking knowledge about the world, but that he was fleeing his own obligations. The lake, to him, was a mirror. And in its depths, beyond the mirror, he found wisdom."

Yinny, after a moment, asked, "what happened then?"

Widge smiled. "He returned to Ironforge. He dedicated himself to his clan. Within a generation, the Bronzebeards had gone from a minor clan, to one of the three largest in Khaz Modan. Aegrim had sought to flee, not so much from rule, but his own self."

"So what's your point?"

"The point is that if you look inside yourself, you'll find what's bothering you. That you don't have to run away."

Yinny, after a moment, muttered that she wasn't running from anything.

"Perhaps," said Jarlath, who'd walked over, "but if not, where are you running to?"

Yinny glared at the dwarf. "Philosophy doesn't suit you."

"Indeed?" Jarlath put a hand to the tome at his belt. "Well, what does suit me?"

She shrugged. "War?"

"War?"

"Come on," said Widge hastily. "We can do better than having a war."

"Oh, you talking about war?" Lugni asked, walking over. "You know, like the one Aegrim's descendants won?"

"Excuse me, what are you talking about?" Yinny asked.

Widge began to speak. "I really didn't want to talk about-"

"A war," said Lugni simply, ignoring the gnome. "The War of the Three Hammers. Where after the death of Modimus Anvilmar, the Bronzebeards, Wildhammers, and Dark Irons fell into civil war when the Bronzebeards tried to seize the throne."

"What?" Jarlath exclaimed. "That was the Dark Irons."

Widge, having heard it was the Wildhammers, said nothing.

"It matters not," Lugni added hastily. "The Bronzebeards won. The other clans lost. That's why the Bronzebeards run Ironforge, and the other clans don't." He looked at Yinny. "Strike hard, and you get what's coming to you. Hesitate, and you lose everything. That's the lesson of the war."

She nodded. "Heads, undead, gold," Yinny said.

Widge frowned, as Yinny smiled. He'd tried to talk with Yinny, but Lugni had just come barging in. He looked at Jarlath, but the paladin offered little help. Chances were he wanted nothing more than to get to the cave and start bringing the Holy Light to the dead.

And his hammer.

Maith'hal, meanwhile, was talking with Lugni.

"So you were up here," the high elf said.

Lugni looked back at him.

"Searching for ore."

"Prospecting, yes. It is here that I found the cave of the necromancer. Saw him raise the dead."

"And hence you came to us," the high elf added.

Lugni shot him a smile. "Of course."

Maith'hal looked at Widge.

"Is there a problem?" Lugni asked.

Silence lingered between them. Silence broken only by Botrek if he asked whether they were ready to go.

"No problem," Jarlath murmured, giving Lugni a look before swinging his hammer over his shoulder. "Come. My hammer needs skulls to crack."

No more words were exchanged as the group kept walking up the hills, to the mountain path that existed in the far west of the valley. A path that Widge supposed was carved by the dwarves long ago, when like the gnomes, they had just emerged into this world. If not for what had happened the night prior, he might have been excited – gnomes focused on the present and future far more than the past, but even so…

So they kept walking, snow crunching under every footstep. They walked in silence, they walked in winter's chill, they walked in the absence of any sound bar the scrunch-scrunch-scrunch of snow. Widge kept his eyes open in the passes above for any sign of the undead, but no signs were to be found. Either the necromancer didn't know of their coming, or he had no means to ambush them.

Or he plans to ambush us in the cave.

Or, alternatively, plans might have gone awry, as Cerise called the party to stop, as she examined something in the snow.

"Is this necessary?" Lugni grunted.

She ignored him, as knelt down, staring at the snow. When she spoke, it was to all of them.

"Footprints," she said, not taking her eyes off the white substance. "Two sets of them." She got to her feet and scanned the snow, her silver eyes shining brighter than the sun. "They came out…waited…then went the other way."

"Could they have been planning an ambush?" Maith'hal asked.

"Possibly. But if so, what happened to it?"

"Maybe they saw you and were so terrified that they fled," the high elf sneered.

"Or they saw your staff and feared a mage who could bring demons into the world."

"They should fear me. More than you."

"Oh I don't fear you."

"Or," said Widge, trying to calm things over, "maybe they saw me!"

The group stared at him.

"Or, I dunno, something else…"

"It doesn't matter," grunted Jarlath. "Come on."

He kept walking, as did most of them. Cerise, however, remained standing, biting her lip.

"Bit odd, isn't it?" The gnome asked her. "Footsteps coming, then going? If they're undead, wouldn't they stay put? Attack us?"

"That's assuming they are undead," Cerise murmured. "Or, alternatively, they've been watching us the whole time and…" She sighed, and looked at Widge. "You know I won't me as much use in the cave as elsewhere. The roots I summon won't penetrate rock."

"Come on, you're better in a fight than me. Right now, all I've got my club. Least you've got a sword, and really, you're not too bad at it."

She smiled. "You're a good person, Widge Whistlevale." She looked further up the mountain path. "I just wish everyone else saw it."

Widge smiled as well, but only for a second. As they started to walk across the snow, he felt like asking Cerise about her constant antagonism with Maith'hal. Purportedly, the kin-strife between quel'dorei and kaldorei went back millennia, but neither of them were even alive for that, despite their respective ages. Surely they couldn't stew in hatred forever.

But then, he was thinking like a gnome – for gnomekind, the present and future took precedence over the past. So with a glance out over the valley, at Mirrormark, at the pine trees, against the snow-covered slopes that glistened in the summer sun, he followed the party.

---

"We're here," said Lugni, before long.

After a week of travelling, they'd finally arrived at the cave Lugni had told them about back in Ironforge. A cave built into the side of the valley's cliff-face. From here, Widge could see it make its way through the rock, twisting and curving beyond his sight. It was, in all its natural, final glory…a cave.

One of many caves in the world. Caves that were usually filled with beasties, and explored by adventurers in a never-ending quest for plunder. Get to the end of a cave, and there was usually some big monster or chest at the end. Usually both.

"Doesn't look like much," Botrek said.

"It isn't," Jarlath said. He walked up to the cave, pressing his hand against its walls. "But my ancestors would have once called a cave like this home."

Botrek shrugged – he couldn't see what the dwarves could, Widge supposed. The distinction between a natural formation, and the mark of dwarven hands.

Cerise walked up the cave entrance. "Surprisingly high for dwarves."

"Perhaps high enough to bring in rams," Jarlath said.

Cerise conceded the point.

"So what now?" Widge asked. "We go in?"

"Plenty of chances to ambush us in those tunnels," Maith'hal pointed out.

"True," said Botrek. "But in those narrow tunnels, the necromancer might find it harder to bring his numbers to bare."

"And those numbers are…what?" Cerise asked. "Twenty? Thirty?"

Lugni looked at Widge. "Why don't you find out?"

Widge blinked. "Me?"

"Outside Ironforge, you mentioned your mind control remote. Good for controlling and detecting undead, if I so recall."

"I…" He looked at Jarlath, still carrying the rucksack. "I did."

"You did what?"

"Gimme that."

Jarlath obliged, and Widge began rustling through it. Past the toys, past the experimental Tanza coil, past his sketches for an arclight reactor, until finally, he pulled out the gizmo, along with a retractable iron rod."

"What is that?" Botrek asked.

"My mind control remote," said Widge proudly. "I set it up, I detect the undead, I might even be able to control the undead."

"No, sure, I get that. I mean, what's the stick for?"

Widge plunged it into the ground. "Botrek Pahno, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you should never go anywhere without a big stick."

The truth of the matter was that the iron rod would allow him to keep the remote in place rather than carrying it. Plus, the increased elevation made things easier. So within three minutes, he'd set the remote up, and three minutes after that, he started getting results.

"Twenty skeletons," said Widge. "Give or take." Seeing the looks on the party's faces, he added, "I'm detecting something else in the cave. The necromancer, probably. Other things too, but their thought patterns are pretty dim."

Botrek twisted one of his feet behind the other.

"So that's that," said Jarlath, looking at Lugni. "You were telling the truth."

The prospector scowled. "Surprised, Bronzebeard?"

"…pleasantly," the paladin murmured, taking his shield in one hand, and hammer in the other. "So. Now or never. We march in, smite this servant of the Scourge, and get our hundred gold pieces."

No-one said anything, but as if taking cue, Jarlath walked in. Bold, and unafraid. He was a paladin ready to smite the undead, and a dwarf in tunnels. Both factors meant it was his natural habitat.

It would have been Widge's too. Not so much the others, but each of them in turn began to prepare – Yinny her bow, Cerise her sword, and so on. But as he moved to dismantle the control, he was stopped by Botrek.

"Stay here," the human said.

"What? Why? You saying I can't fight?"

"Your orczapper's gone. You're handy with a club, but not so handy that you might not be a, well…"

"Liability," Widge whispered.

Botrek nodded. Widge, looking at the others, tried to find someone to back him up, but found nothing.

"You don't trust me," he said. He gestured to the remote. "I could wrangle up an undead."

"Like you did last night?" Maith'hal murmured.

"Last night didn't give me time to prepare."

"And if the undead ambush us in the tunnels, will you have more, or less time?"

Less, Widge silently conceded. And as much as he hated to admit it, the mind control remote had never actually been used to control anything. It couldn't control a living mind (and yes, he'd tested on rats), and an undead one…well, there was some appeal to it, but he'd never been in the right circumstances. Not before last night, and not since either.

"I can detect them," Widge whispered eventually. "Maybe I can't control them, but…"

Maith'hal sighed.

"It's not just that," Botrek added. "We need someone to cover our exit. If any undead come at us from behind…"

Widge looked aghast. "If undead come at me from behind, what do you want me to do? Use my stick? Shout at them?"

"Something like that." Botrek nodded at the cliff-edge. "Let them meet gravity if you want."

Widge wasn't sure whether Botrek was showing that he had enough faith in him to hold off undead coming from the rear, or so little faith that he thought the gnome would be more of a hinderance than a help. But he supposed it didn't matter. He could already tell that the party felt the same way.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to cut me out of my share," Widge murmured.

"Something about shares?"

Widge looked at Yinny. A blade spun between her fingers – for a moment, he was afraid she was going to cut herself, but her smile, her skill, dissuaded it.

Now if he could only see her smile again for different reasons.

"Widge is staying out here," Botrek said.

"Oh, really? Well, that makes sense," she said.

Maith'hal, whispering something in Thalassian, headed for the cave. Botrek did so as well, but not before giving Widge a sympathetic look.

"So this is it then," the gnome said, as he looked in Yinny. "The moment of truth."

She shrugged. "Something like that."

"Something like that," Widge repeated, trying not to feel like a child with their disparate heights, even if he was her elder by decades. "Listen, if, I mean, when you come out…well, I want you to know that-"

"Oh don't' worry Widge, you'll get what's owed to you."

"…that's not what I was worried about."

Yinny gave no sign that she'd even heard, as she rushed to join the others.

"Stay safe, Yinny…"

Widge watched as his friends disappeared into the gloom. Trying to imagine himself with gold pieces running through his fingers. Of enough orczappers to set him up for life. Maybe even with his own guild – Whistlevale's Wizard Devices, or something. Come one, come all, for all your zappy needs.

Tried, and failed, as he sat and shivered in midday's chill.