Vol’jin cocked his head and looked at his father. Being a troll has nothing to do with shape or bloodlines.
Those things cannot be wholly discounted, my son, but the spirit which be making us trolls, which be making us worthy of gaining the notice of the loa, predates the forms we now wear. His father smiled more broadly. And, as you have seen, the shadow hunter turns away from paths that shear us from that spirit. Since spirit be defining us, discovering that same spirit in others be a cause for celebration.
Vol’jin laughed. You would be allowing me to believe that the Horde be more troll than the Zandalari.
There may be truth in that. Do you be knowing what we called ourselves before we called ourselves trolls?
I never… Vol’jin frowned. I don’t know, Father. What?
Neither do I, my son. The troll spirit bobbed his head. It be certain we were something before we became trolls, and likely gonna be something after. The Zandalari have always tried to shape what we be, and others have used circumstance to be reinforcing those ideas. However, I be not doubting that twenty millennia from now the question will be asked, “Do you know what they called us before we called ourselves Horde?”
Be that your vision for trolls, Father?
Sen’jin slowly shook his head. My vision for trolls was a simple one: for us to return to being a people following a shadow hunter. That required something special, however—a shadow hunter who could lead. Many shadow hunters be content to refuse a journey which leads to disaster. You, my son, be a shadow hunter who can lead away from disaster. If this means that you be leading us to a place where race matters less than the content of the heart, where deeds matter more than intent, then this be where we gonna thrive.
But will the loa believe that?
Bwonsamdi’s cold chuckle rippled through Vol’jin’s chest as the troll spun to face the loa. Have you not listened to your father, Shadow Hunter? The loa came before the troll. Your father be asking what trolls were called before they were called trolls. I be asking what they were called before that, or before that. What you are be a river. Some will say that means you be water. They would have you stagnate. You be more, as a river be more than water.
And the Horde?
The loa spread his hands. River be river. Wide and shallow, narrow, deep, and fast—it does not matter. We be spirits. Our concern be for your spirit. Abide by our compact, be true to your spirit and obligations, and you gonna prosper.
You gonna have your fill of Zandalari souls soon.
The loa’s laughter rang mirthlessly. You never gonna sate my appetite.
I gonna soon follow.
And I gonna welcome you. I be welcoming all trolls.
Vol’jin found that comment oddly comforting. Not because he had any desire to be dead, but because it meant he would not be separated from his friends. It didn’t seem like much with death looming so large, but for the shadow hunter, it was, at the moment, enough.
30
Chen felt sorry for the little bush behind which they’d hidden the pyramid of rocks. Each of the rocks—averaging the size of a troll’s skull, though far rounder in shape—would have been enough to snap the bush in half. All of them combined would be an avalanche, would scour the land, uprooting the plant and, with any luck, mowing down a half dozen Zandalari climbing up toward the monastery.
Chen set his rock on top, then squatted and sighted down the slope. The stones would funnel into a narrow channel, where the trail got steep. Warriors would stack up there as they climbed, which made it a rather obvious point for an ambush. While the bush might screen the rocks from most watchful eyes, the Zandalari wouldn’t miss them.
And we’d not want them to miss this, either. From a pouch on his belt, the pandaren pulled a pawful of small wooden disks. He inserted them into the gaps between stones. When the pile went rolling down the hill, the disks wouldn’t travel far, but the Zandalari would discover them in the aftermath.
Farther up the trail, back behind where Chen stood, Yalia knelt by a hole in the ground. She’d had to reach all the way down into it to firmly plant the sharpened bamboo stake that now pointed up at the sky. Chen had helped carve many of those stakes, first slashing the bamboo into a sharp point, then undercutting the edges to form solid barbs.
He trudged up the mountainside, being careful to stay off the trail. A tripwire had been stretched across it a foot in front of Yalia’s pit. The thinking had been that the trolls would send one scout up past the steep point. He’d continue on, probably spotting the stones once he drew parallel to them. He’d then see the tripwire, which wasn’t well hidden, and assume it would somehow trigger the stones to go crashing down. He’d cleverly step over the wire, plunging his foot into the pit. He’d scream, or his friends would see him go down, and they would rush to his aid.
At which time a small trebuchet farther up the mountain would launch rocks. They’d smash the area and trigger the avalanche, catching yet more trolls.
Chen offered Yalia his paw. She took one last glance at the thin slate shingle she’d placed over the pit, then accepted his aid and stood.
Chen liked it that she didn’t immediately release her grip. “That looks great, Yalia. The way you blew that dust on it makes it look like it’s been there forever. Tyrathan would be proud of that trap.”
She smiled but too fast and too briefly. “We’re not setting traps for dumb animals, are we, Chen?”
“No, the Zandalari are quite clever. That’s why we’re seeding them with the disks, too. But don’t worry; your preparation will fool them.”
She shook her head. “I have no concern over that. This will catch them, and catch them well.”
“Then… ?”
“I asked because I must ask.” Yalia sighed, partly weary but mostly something else. “I found myself being proud of my work, even though I know it will cause pain. And when I made that realization, I justified my feelings by seeing the Zandalari as animals. They were mindless killing machines. I transformed them into something unworthy of life, and that judgment of one is easily spread among the many. It can’t be true of all of them, can it?”
“No.” Chen gave her paw a squeeze. “You do well to think of that and remind me of it. Your willingness to see value in life, even of those who are opposed to you, is the mark of wisdom. It is one of the reasons I love you.”
Yalia glanced down shyly, but only for a moment. “That you listen to me and think about what I say are among the reasons I love you, Chen. I wish that we had more time. Together, yes, but also for you. You have sought a home for so long. I have hoped that you found one here. For you to lose it so soon, this makes me sad.”
He reached up and brushed away a brimming tear before it could dampen her silken fur. “Don’t be sad. Finding a home is to be made whole. That is a pleasure so wonderful that more time can’t increase it. I know all of it because I now have a sense for who I am and what I’ve been meant to be.”