Although at first Vereesa felt too tense to even consider food, she accepted the simple fare that Gimmel offered her a few minutes later. That these struggling souls would share what little they had spoke of the depths of their compassion and camaraderie. Had the dwarves wanted to, they could have very well slain Falstad and her after having dealt with the trolls. No one outside of their group would have ever been the wiser.
Gimmel took charge of seeing to it that everyone shared equally in the provisions. Rom, after taking his portion, slowly wandered off, saying that he wished to inspect some of the side tunnels they had passed earlier for any sign of troll activity.
Falstad ate with gusto, seemingly enthused by the taste of the dried meat and fruit. Vereesa ate with less enthusiasm, dwarven fare not famous for its succulent taste in either the elven or human realms. She understood that they cured the meat in order to better preserve it, and even marveled that someone had found or grown fruit in this dismal land, but her more sensitive taste buds even now complained to her. However, the food was filling, and the ranger knew that she would need the energy.
After finishing her fare, Vereesa rose and looked around. Falstad and the other dwarves had settled in to relax, but the impatient elf needed to walk. She grimaced, thinking again how her instructor would have called her so human right now. Most elves early on outgrew their tendencies toward impatience, but some retained that trait for the rest of their lives. Those generally ended up either living beyond the homeland or taking on tasks that let them travel extensively in the name of their people. Perhaps, if she lived through this, she might choose one of those paths, maybe even visit Dalaran.
Fortunately for Vereesa, the tunnels here had been carved out somewhat higher than many of those through which she had earlier passed. For the most part, the elf managed to traverse the rocky corridors with minimal bending, even occasionally standing unhindered.
A muffled voice some distance ahead suddenly made her halt. The ranger had journeyed farther than she had intended, enough so that she might have very well dropped herself right into troll territory. With tremendous care so as not to make a sound, Vereesa drew her blade, then inched forward.
The voice did not sound like that of a troll. In fact, the nearer she moved, the more it seemed to her that she knew the speaker—but how?
“—couldn’t be helped, great one! Didn’t think ye wanted them to know about ye!” A pause. “Aye, an elf ranger fair of face and form, that’s her.” Another pause. “The other? A wild one from the Aerie. Said his mount escaped when the trolls took ’em.”
Try as she might, Vereesa could not hear the other half of the conversation, but she at least knew who presently spoke. A hill dwarf, and one very much familiar to her.
Rom. So his comment about searching the tunnels had not entirely been truth. But who did he speak with and why did the elf not hear that one? Had the dwarf gone mad? Did he talk with himself ?
Rom did not speak now save to acknowledge that he understood what his silent companion said. Risking discovery, Vereesa edged toward the corridor from which the dwarf’s voice came. She leaned around just enough in order to observe him with one eye.
The dwarf sat on a rock, staring down into his cupped palms, from which a faint, vermilion glow radiated. Vereesa squinted, trying to see what he held.
With some difficulty, she made out a small medallion with what appeared to be a jewel in the center. Vereesa did not have to be a wizard like Rhonin to recognize an object of power, an enchanted talisman created by magic. The great elven lords utilized similar devices in order to communicate with either their counterparts or their servants.
What wizard, though, now spoke with Rom? Dwarves were not known for their fondness for magic nor, for that matter, for their fondness for the ones who wielded it.
If Rom had links to a wizard, one whom the dwarf apparently even served, why did he and his band still wander the tunnels, hoping for the day when they might be free to walk under the heavens? Surely this great spellcaster could have done something for them.
“What?”Rom suddenly blurted. “Where?”
With startling swiftness, he looked up, his gaze focusing directly on her.
Vereesa backed out of sight, but she knew her reaction had been too late. The dwarven leader had spotted her, even despite the darkness.
“Come out where I can see ye!” he called. When she hesitated, Rom added, “I know ’tis ye, Lady Vereesa. . . .”
Seeing no more reason for subterfuge, the ranger stepped into the open. She made no attempt to sheathe her sword, not at all certain that Rom might not be a traitor to his own people, much less her.
She found him eyeing her in disappointment. “Here I thought I’d gone far away enough to avoid them sharp, elven ears! Why did ye have to come here?”
“My intent was innocent, Rom. I only needed to walk. Your intent, however, leaves many questions. . . .”
“This business is none of ye concern—eh?”
The gemstone in the medallion briefly flared, startling both of them. Rom tipped his head slightly to the side, as if again listening to the unheard speaker. If so, then he clearly did not like what he heard.
“Do ye think it wise—aye, as ye say. . . .”
Vereesa tightened her grip on her sword. “Who do you speak with?”
To her surprise, Rom held out the medallion. “He’ll tell ye himself.” When she did not take the proffered medallion, he added, “He’s a friend, not a foe.”
Still wielding the sword, the elf reached out with her free hand and gingerly took hold of the talisman. She waited for a jolt or searing heat, but the medallion actually felt cool, harmless.
My greetings to you, Vereesa Windrunner.
The words echoed in her skull. Vereesa nearly dropped the medallion, not because of the voice, but rather that the speaker knew her name. She glanced at Rom, who seemed to encourage her to converse.
Who are you? the ranger demanded, sending her own thoughts toward the unseen speaker.
Nothing happened. She glanced again at the dwarf.
“Did he say anything to ye?”
“In my mind he did. I replied the same way, but he does not answer back.”
“Ye have to talk to the talisman! He’ll hear ye voice as thought on his end. The same when he speaks to ye.” The canine features looked apologetic. “I’ve no reason why ’tis so, but that’s the way it works. . . .”
Returning her gaze to the medallion, Vereesa tried again. “Who are you?”
You know me through my missives to your superiors. I am Krasus of the Kirin Tor.
Krasus? That had been the name of the wizard who had arranged with the elves for Vereesa to guide Rhonin to the sea in the first place. She knew little more about him than that her masters had reacted with respect when presented with his request. Vereesa knew of few other humans who could command such from any elven lord.
“I know your name. You are also Rhonin’s patron.”
A pause. An uneasy pause if the ranger were any judge. I am responsible for his journey.
“You know that he may be a prisoner of the orcs?”
I do. It was not intended.
Not intended? Vereesa felt an unreasonable fury arise within her. Not intended?
His mission was to observe, after all. Nothing more.
The elf had long ago ceased believing that. “Observe from where? The dungeons of Grim Batol? Or was he to meet with the hill dwarves for some reason you have not stated?”
Another pause. Then, The situation is far more complex than that, young one, and growing more so by the moment. Your presence, for instance, was not part of the plan. You should have turned around at the seaport.
“I swore an oath. I felt that it extended beyond the shores of Lordaeron.”