The warlord took a step toward where Chen and Brother Cuo stood, but centuries of death had made him a bit slow. Khal’ak interposed herself between him and the prisoners. As Vol’jin stood beside her and back one step, he realized that she’d chosen their vantage point for the ceremony anticipating this eventuality.
She bowed but did not go to a knee. “Warlord Kao, I be welcoming you in the name of General Vilnak’dor. He awaits your pleasure at the Isle of Thunder, where he resides with your resurrected master.”
The mogu looked her up and down. “Killing pandaren will honor my master and will not delay us.”
Khal’ak gestured with an open hand toward Vol’jin. “But it would be spoiling the gift Shadow Hunter Vol’jin Darkspear wishes to make of these two to your master. If it be pandaren you wish to slay, I gonna arrange a hunt as we travel. But dese two be promised.”
Kao and Vol’jin exchanged glances. The warlord understood what was happening but was not prepared to deal with it at the moment. The hatred flaring in his dark eyes, however, informed Vol’jin that his part in this play of manners would not be forgiven.
The mogu warlord nodded. “I wish to kill a pandaren for every year I have been in the grave, and two for every year my master has been dead. Arrange it, troll, unless your shadow hunter has promised more of them to my master.”
Vol’jin’s eyes narrowed. “Warlord Kao, you would be slaying thousands upon thousands. Your empire fell for the want of pandaren labor. What you want may be just. The result would be tragic. Much has changed, my lord.”
Kao snorted and turned away, stalking off to where the other mogu stood with Zandalari officials.
Khal’ak cautiously exhaled. “Well played.”
“And you, for anticipating him.” Vol’jin shook his head. “He gonna demand the lives of Chen and Cuo.”
“I know. The monk I gonna likely have to give him. The mogu be hatin’ the Shado-pan to the depths of their dark souls. I gonna find another to replace Chen. To the mogu, they all be lookin’ alike anyway.”
“If he discovers the deception, you gonna be killed.”
“As you and Chen and your human gonna be.” Khal’ak smiled. “Like it or not, Vol’jin Darkspear, our fortunes now be hopelessly intertwined.”
25
“Which means some discomfort for me. It be unavoidable,” said Vol’jin.
Khal’ak turned to regard him as troops guided the prisoners out and loaded them back on their wagon. “Meaning?”
“Kao is angry at being defied. Your master fears me. If I be traveling to this Isle of Thunder unfettered, their feelings gonna be encouraged.” Vol’jin shrugged. “You be needing to demonstrate control over me. I be still a prisoner. I must be treated as such.”
She considered for a moment, then nodded. “Plus this gonna put you close to your friends, so you can see after dem.”
“I would be hoping any generosity that extends to me might be shared.”
“They gonna be in irons. I gonna find you shackles of gold.”
“Acceptable.”
She held out a hand. “Your dagger.”
Vol’jin smiled. “Of course. After we have ridden back.”
“Of course.”
Vol’jin allowed himself to enjoy his freedom on the return ride to Khal’ak’s home. The clouds, as if embarrassed by their inability to match Kao for darkness, lightened. The vale again returned to its golden luster. Were I trapped in a tomb for centuries, this be the place I’d welcome for resurrecting.
Khal’ak kept him in her home. True to her word, she produced golden shackles with thick chains linking them. They proved heavier than iron, but she gave him enough chain that he could move freely. She also gave him great freedom, posting no guard, but then they both knew he’d not run while Chen and Tyrathan were being held with other prisoners.
Khal’ak and Vol’jin spent the time constructively, discussing the forthcoming conquest of Pandaria. The decision to refrain from using goblin cannons in taking Zouchin had been hers. Vilnak’dor had disagreed and ordered cannons and gunpowder for the invasion. She felt it was a sign of weakness, but the mogu had made good use of them in the past, so her master said their purpose would honor their allies.
The mogu, it appeared, had done a bit more than daydream since their empire fell. Khal’ak felt they’d done little that could be considered constructive, but despite being unorganized, they had been breeding. The plan for the invasion was straightforward enough. Zandalari troops would support mogu troops in securing the heart of Pandaria, at which point, the mogu apparently believed, everything would magically reset like jihui pieces at the start of a game.
She assumed that the Zandalari would defend the mogu holdings until they organized themselves. Then they would strike at the Alliance or Horde, eliminating it before crushing the remaining faction. The mantid to the west had always been a problem and would be saved for last. Then the mogu empire could use its magic to support the Zandalari in their reconquest of Kalimdor, then the other half of the sundered continent.
In the morning, they set out again, and early this time. The nightly festivities at Mogu’shan Palace had been muted, so everyone was up early for fear that any tardiness would displease Warlord Kao. Vol’jin was allowed to ride a raptor, with his golden chains on full display. Chen, Cuo, Tyrathan, and other prisoners came on in wagons. Vol’jin saw little of them until they reached Zouchin, where he found himself being loaded onto a smaller ship and placed belowdecks in a cabin that was locked from the outside.
His three companions, dirty from the road and bloody from abuses, smiled nonetheless when Vol’jin ducked his head to get through the hatch. Chen clapped his paws. “Just like you to be a prisoner and have chains of gold.”
“They still be chains.” Vol’jin bowed to Cuo. “I be sorry for the loss of your brothers.”
The monk returned the bow. “I am happy for their courage.”
Tyrathan looked up at him. “Who is the female? Why… ?”
“We gonna have time to discuss that, but I be having a question for you, my friend. The truth. It be important.”
The man nodded. “Ask.”
“Did Chen tell you what I said to the man we freed?”
“That I was dead. That you’d killed me? Yes.” Tyrathan half smiled. “Nice to know that nothing less than the Horde’s elite could kill me. But that wasn’t the question you wanted me to answer.”
“No.” Vol’jin frowned. “The man was wanting to know where you were. Fearing and hoping, that be what he was. He wanted you breathing, saving him, and was terrified that you were. Why?”
The man fell silent for a bit, picking at one dirty fingernail with another. He didn’t look up before he began to speak. “You were in my skin at Serpent’s Heart, when the Sha of Doubt’s energy touched me. You saw the man who gave me my orders. The man you saved was Morelan Vanyst, his nephew. My father was a huntsman before me, his before him, and we’ve always been in service to the Vanyst family. Bolten Vanyst, my lord, is a vain man with a scheming harridan of a wife. This is why he is a great comfort to Stormwind—if there is a campaign, he is all for it since it takes him away. Not that he is not manipulative himself. He has only three daughters, each married to an ambitious man with the promise of his realm if they please him. Yet, when he leaves, it’s Morelan who is regent.”
Vol’jin watched emotions play over the man’s face as he spoke. Pride shone brightly at his family’s service, only to be swallowed by disgust for his master’s family drama. Tyrathan had clearly served as best as he was able, but a master such as Bolten Vanyst could never truly be satisfied or trusted. Not unlike Garrosh.
“With anyone else, the Sha of Doubt would have ripped them wide open. They’d have doubted their worthiness to live. They would have doubted their own minds and memories. They would have unmade themselves in the blink of an eye, unable to make a decision because the sha would convince them each choice was wrong. Like a mule placed between two equally appetizing piles of hay, they’d starve amid plenty simply because they could not make a choice.”