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moonshadowsArikara was scared.
The thought flashed through Ryxl’s mind so suddenly that the orc wasn’t sure what had tipped her off – but a childhood spent in Stranglethorn Vale had taught her to listen to her instincts. She leaped back several feet and crouched, ready to defend against the serpent’s strike, and watched her prey warily.
There! That funny little ducking motion before the charge, the way the tail came forward but pulled back awkwardly at the last second. The first motion was one that shows submission, baring the back of the neck the way other creatures bared their throats. The second was an aborted attack – a feint, a bluff.
Something was wrong.
This was Arikara, the spirit of vengeance. Arikara, whose name sent most tauren into a cold sweat. Arikara, the threat so great that even Magatha Grimtotem, the oldest and wisest tauren shaman, had shown fear at the news. This powerful spirit was afraid of one teenaged orc hunter? Ryxl suspected that there was more going on here than she’d been told – and if there was one thing she hated more than the warlocks of Blackrock Mountain, it was being used as a tool to do someone else’s dirty work. Combined with the idea of bending a spirit of vengeance to her will, this was too good an opportunity to waste. The orc dropped her weapon an tackled the red windserpent, who squawked in surprise and thrashed, trying to escape this unexpected attack. Years spent shimmying up vines made it quite natural for the young orc to clamp her legs around that thrashing tail and inch her way up the serpent’s body until she could clamp the serpent’s mouth shut and look it – her – in the eyes.
Then the battle of wills began.
When it was over, Ryxl petted the serpent’s headfeathers and fed her some bread and cheese. Arikara kept her wings tight against her body and her head down, completely submissive and still trembling with fear. There was no possibility that the spirit could try to kill Cairne Bloodhoof, now, but Ryxl still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something going on that she didn’t know about. For one, the spirit-beast was still terrified.
Gently, Ryxl lifted the serpent’s head and met her eyes, attempting to communicate. Where Rex gave her concepts and emotions, Arikara added images. The image of the red windserpent’s corpse, combined with dread, was very effective in communicating her fear of dying. The orc made soothing sounds and sent back reassurance until the image faded and was replaced with a more puzzling one: Thunder Bluff as a giant tree, rotting from within. The emotion that accompanied this bizarre image was a sense of purpose and determination. Ryxl pressed for more information, wanting know more about this spirit she had bound to herself. Arikara added herself to the image as a serpent of flame, devouring the rot that weakened the tree without harming the healthy parts.
The orc frowned. Something was rotten in Thunder Bluff, and the serpent had been…sent? Born? …to cleanse the tauren city. Had Magatha misunderstood the threat and sent her to kill the spirit in error? Carefully, she formed an image of Cairne Bloodhoof and projected it to Arikara with a question: is this your target?
The serpent jerked her head back, but not strongly enough to break the orc’s grip, and fanned her wings violently, tail lashing in agitation. The vehement rejection was equal parts outrage, confusion, and respect for the tauren leader – outrage that anyone thought she would be after Cairne, confusion as to why anyone would want to kill him in the first place. Ryxl stroked the agitated windserpent until she calmed down again, reassuring her that no one was asking her to do something so completely against her inclinations.
Calmer now, Arikara lifted her head and looked her master in the eyes, asking her own question: what purpose did the orc have for her? Ryxl grinned, pleased with the decision to tame this wild, alien intelligence. The image she sent the serpent was of them fighting side-by-side against a sea of enemies that sought to tear down the walls of Orgrimmar and slay the Warchief.
Vengeance? Arikara asked, golden eyes glowing briefly red.
The orc grinned, remembering the wild rush of bloodlust battle brought. Vengeance, she agreed.
==================================
Motega was pacing as Ryxl walked up, covered in dust and dried sweat. “Have you slain the vicious serpent Arikara?” he asked anxiously.
The young orc soothed her raptor for a moment before turning to the tauren. “I took care of it. Cairne Bloodhoof is safe from Arikara.”
“I am glad,” he said solemnly. “Still…it worries me. Why would Arikara have been after Cairne Bloodhoof? Magatha could not be wrong, she is our most powerful shaman.” He shook his horned head. “Regardless, your great deed to the Horde shall not go unnoticed. I will send a report to the Warchief, detailing the entire incident and praising your courage in facing what none of us were brave enough to.”
Ryxl’s heart jumped into her throat, and she stood a little straighter. “Anything for the Horde.”
“If I could impose on you, then…I know there are others you are performing tasks for, but if you could return in a few days and carry the report to Orgrimmar…? I’m sure the Warchief would want to hear about this from one who was there, as well.”
“Anything for the Horde,” she repeated, throat tight. Warchief Thrall would want to talk to her? The thought made her pulse pound with indescribable excitement.
Once out of sight, the red windserpent uncoiled from the dusty hollow she’d been hiding in and slithered anxiously around her young mistress. Rex bared his fangs; a sharp sound from Ryxl, and he subsided. She tried explaining that Arikara was part of the pack, but the violet raptor would have none of it. Finally, Arikara assured the orc that she would come when called, and faded into the spirit world. After she was gone and her scent swept away by the hot wind of Thousand Needles, the young raptor calmed and followed his packleader as she went about completing the rest of the errands she’d promised to perform.
==================================
The journey to Orgrimmar was uneventful. Arikara flitted in and out several times a day, staying just long enough to check on her mistress, and Rex sulked for an hour after each visit. Ryxl suspected the vengeance-spirit was doing it on purpose, taunting the raptor, and it amused her. The report Motega had written and entrusted to her was very detailed – as it had to be, considering that orcs would not know the tauren legend of Arikara – and although reading had never been more than a chore to her, she pored over it until she had gleaned every scrap of knowledge it held about the spirit she’d bound to her will. Although Ryxl had never met the Grimtotem matriarch, she trusted Motega’s word that Magatha was the wisest of his race’s shamans. Still…if Arikara had been thought only a legend, why would Magatha know how to pull the spirit into the world prematurely? If the vengeance-spirit was indeed born only to punish those who had committed heinous acts, why would the tauren even want to kill her?
The tauren were a good, honest people in Ryxl’s experience. The ones she’d met would never imagine being betrayed by one of their own, but the trolls she’d grown up around had taught her to see the world through more jaded eyes. If this Magatha Grimtotem had known immediately how to slay a vengeance-spirit, then she was suspect. Ryxl rolled the report up and tucked it into Rex’s saddlebags. She was glad that Motega had entrusted this errand to her, and not just because it meant she would meet the Warchief. If there was an enemy within the Horde, it was her duty to cry warning – discreetly, of course. She lay on her thin bedroll and stared blankly at the stars, smiling faintly when Arikara’s slender form slithered up to coil protectively around her. Finally, she slept.
==================================
The gates of Orgrimmar were just as high as Ryxl remembered them, and just as imposing – particularly since she’d only been inside them briefly to complete her hunter’s training and receive orders to report to the Barrens. When she’d arrived on the ship from Stranglethorn, she hadn’t gotten further than the zeppelin tower outside the city. Her letter had been looked over by the pompous official whose office was housed in the tower, and she’d been sent off to the Valley of Trials without ever seeing the city – or the Warchief.
Now she was bearing a report for his eyes only.
Rex grudgingly allowed himself to be left in a stable in the Drag, whining sulkily at the other raptors there while Ryxl continued on towards the hulking shape of Grommash Hold. Although the majority of the structure was carved into the cliff, there was still a good bit built up against the stone of the canyon wall. The fierce Kor’Kron Elites glanced at Motega’s letter and waved her through the gates, Arikara slithering out of the spirit realm to coil around her mistress. The serpent’s heavy coils around her shoulders and hips were a comfort as she entered the cool, dim passageways. The Elites pointed her deeper and deeper in, until suddenly she was in an enormous room, a cavern lit by flickering torches and softened only slightly by several furs sewn roughly together on the floor. At the other end, a massive thronelike chair of giant tusks and more fur loomed, with braziers on either side providing light and ominous shadows. It took her a moment to realize that the throne was, in fact, empty.
Before Ryxl had time to do more than wonder, What now?, an orc hurried in from a door in the back of the cavernous hall. Male, adult but not much past his second decade, he was dressed in simple cloth and leather and at first, Ryxl took him for a servant of some kind. As he came closer, however, she noted the easy grace with which he moved. He was a warrior, a predator, and instinctively she reached for the handle of her axe – particularly when she realized how big he was. Most orc men were half a head to a head taller than her; this orc loomed a full two heads above her, with shoulders twice as broad as hers. Instincts screaming to size him up as a threat suddenly silenced as her gaze travelled up his massive chest and froze on his eyes.
Blue.
His eyes were blue, like hers.
If she’d had hackles, they would have lowered. If she’d been a jungle panther, she would have purred. Childhood memories of playing with the raptors, before her mother had forbidden her from going back and her days had filled with weapons training and voodoo, rose around her like green shadows and she swallowed a whimper that would have been uttered by a hatchling to its packleader, a sound of trust and submission.
“Welcome to Orgrimmar,” said the orc that instinctively, she knew to be Thrall, Warchief of the Horde. “You are…?”
“Ryxl,” she replied, still fighting the urge to whimper submission to her packleader. “Warchief…”
“Thrall,” he corrected with an awkward smile and a gentle shake of his head. “I was having lunch when I got word that a messenger had a report for me, and there wasn’t time to put on my armor and receive you formally. So, since I’m off duty, as it were…” He smiled again, a tight-lipped expression. “Come, join me. You can refresh yourself from your journey and tell me what happened before I read the official report.”
“How…” Ryxl broke into a trot to catch up as Thrall led the way out of the hall.
“How did I know that you were involved?” He smiled again over his shoulder. “I’m afraid that’s not a secret I’m willing to reveal just yet. Ah, here we are. Have a seat and help yourself.”
The room was small and informal, with two doors leading elsewhere. Half of the space was taken up by a table and a handful of chairs, one of which was clearly crafted specifically for Thrall’s bulk. Heart pounding, Ryxl slid into a wooden chair and grabbed for an apple. Arikara re-arranged herself, and absently the young orc fed her bits of bread torn from a loaf while trying not to stare at her Warchief. Thall settled back down into his seat and took a bite of something still on its bone before gesturing that Ryxl should either speak, or eat. She opted to eat, mind working as she chewed through her apple. Finally, she spoke carefully about what she’d been asked to do, and why.
“Interesting,” Thrall rumbled when she’d finished. “And you’re not convinced that Cairne was the spirit’s target?”
“No, Wa- Thrall.” Ryxl felt her cheeks heat at the look of approval she got by correcting herself. “I…growing up, I was taught to look past the easy answers for hidden enemies. I don’t trust Magatha Grimtotem,” she said, almost defiantly. “Anyone who knows so easily how to kill a spirit thought of as legend…”
“I agree with you. Cairne is a friend of mine, and the spirits approve of him. I will send word – discreetly, of course – that he should keep an eye on Magatha. It’s a shame the vengeance-spirit was slain,” he said carefully, not looking at her, but somewhere off to the side. “It could have been very useful in sniffing out the true threat to this world, and…” Thrall trailed off, seemingly distracted by something as he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, but could you ask her to tone it down a bit? I’m trying to do this with a straight face, and it’s not easy when she glows like a streak of blue-white lightening.”
Ryxl blinked; he knew. The Warchief knew she hadn’t killed Arikara, and furthermore, he approved. Her lips split into a wide smile. “You should have seen me reporting to Motega that Arikara was no longer a threat.” Can you tone it down? She asked the vengeance-spirit silently.
On her shoulder, Arikara shook off her shock at having been so easily identified. Uncertainty; attempt. Shrinking, lowering.
Whatever she was doing, apparently it worked because Thrall relaxed and threw the serpent a grateful look. “So,” he said lightly. “You took it upon yourself to keep alive a creature from legend who you were told was a threat and had to be killed. Why?”
Ryxl thought for a moment. She wasn’t being chided for her actions or tested, and it was throwing her off-balance. “She was scared. I read it in her motions, and I thought it made no sense. I’m a half-grown whelp, I can’t possibly be a threat to something like her. So I used the hunter’s magic and bent her to my will. She wasn’t sent to kill Cairne,” she added fiercely, “although there is something wrong, something…rotting…and she was sent to cleanse that.”
“Good.” Thrall met her eyes solemnly and nodded. “You secured for the Horde a potential weapon against an unknown enemy, rather than destroying it blindly out of fear. Had I been made aware of this situation beforehand, that is precisely what I would have wanted.”
Surprised, Ryxl sat up straighter. “It is?”
“It is,” he repeated firmly. “And hope that when she identifies the threat she was sent to end, you will inform me of it. I am impressed by your foresight, Ryxl. This is not something that most orcs would think of. Tell me about yourself. I had hoped to speak with your mother, but…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
“Why?” Ryxl dropped her eyes to Arikara’s crested head, disappointed that her Warchief had implicitly ignored her in favor of her dam. “What makes my mother so special?”
Thrall watched her silently for a long moment. “Did she ever speak to you about what happened before you were born? The war between orcs and humans? The Dark Portal?” When she shook her head, his eyebrows climbed. “Nothing? Not even the name of her clan?”
“Nope. All I know is that the Blackrock clan is led by the false warchief Rend Blackhand, and they’re traitors for rejecting Orgrim Doomhammer.” She sneered. “And they dirty themselves by allowing warlocks and their filthy demonic magic.”
“So…like me, you were raised outside of your people.”
That got her attention. “You…”
“I was raised by humans,” he said softly.
“I was raised by the Zandalari tribe.”
“The elders of the Zandalari tribe spoke highly of you,” he said slowly. “Ryxl, if I have unique problems, may I call on you to assist with them?”
Her heart jumped into her mouth, any earlier hurt evaporating instantly. “Anything,” she whispered. “Anything you want me to do.”
“Stay in Orgrimmar for a while,” he rumbled. “Let me find you someone to teach you – which weapon do you favor?”
“Anything,” she said immediately. “Any weapon in a fight is better than none.”
Thrall’s look of approval made her wish he would ask her to do something, anything, because she burned to serve him in some way.
“We will make sure you get a wide education, then,” he said after a moment. “I will call on you occasionally to tell me about what you know already, and we will figure out how best to take advantage of your unique abilities.”
“The report,” she blurted out. I was supposed to deliver…”
“Later,” he interrupted firmly. “I will read it later. For now…” He pointed at the food half-forgotten on the table. “Eat, Ryxl.”
Obediently, not tasting a bit of it through the ecstasy of serving her Warchief , she ate.
==================================
“I think she’s ready, Warchief.”
Thrall made a reluctant sound at the assertion that Ryxl’s combat skills could have improved so much in a handful of weeks. “I want to see.”
Rather than being displeased at having his word doubted, Overlord Saurfang grinned. “It’s not like she didn’t know how to fight before this. Her methods are unorthodox, but they work – and she gives the lessons her entire attention. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she intended to devote her life to learning every weapon ever created. She’s quite a girl,” he added softly. “Almost makes me wish I’d had a daughter.”
Still unconvinced, the young Warchief stood and settled the Doomhammer on his back. “Show me. I want to see her fight.”
==================================
“Again,” the Warchief commanded.
In the dusty practice ring, Ryxl’s face glowed with something uncomfortably akin to zealotry and she hurled herself bodily at her mentor for the sixth time. Although both were armored and armed with blunted weapons, Saurfang was hard-pressed to keep the younger orc at a distance. She leaped and twisted, lashing out almost like a panther or raptor. Within a minute, she’d landed enough hits to add another win to her tally – although she’d clearly sacrificed one arm and taken a solid blow to the hip to score. Thrall frowned, and when she turned eagerly to him at the conclusion of the match, his expression made her cringe with sickeningly familiar despair. He was certain he’d looked at Blackmoore like that at least once, and the man’s dying words – that he was what Blackmoore had made him – rang mockingly in his ears. Angry at himself for not having seen it, or stopped it, Thrall beckoned Ryxl forward and called on his shamanistic magic to knit her bruised and damaged flesh back together.
“Had this been a real fight,” he said in a low, intense voice, “you would have lost the arm and possibly lamed yourself.”
“But I would have won,” she countered.
“You would have won, but what then? The next foe would have killed you. Or, if you had made your escape and somehow not died to your wounds, you would not be able to fight as effectively – if at all. Is one fight worth sacrificing your entire future?”
Ryxl went very quiet and still, and Thrall had the unnerving sense that she was devoting herself entirely to focusing on his question before she answered.
“If my winning the fight saved your life, I would sacrifice mine for that victory.”
“And then you would be dead,” he snapped, trying not to see Taretha’s blank eyes staring at him, “and I would have to live with the grief of losing yet another friend.”
She jerked as if he’d struck her and looked up at him, wide eyes reflecting the anguish he was trying not to feel. “I didn’t think of that,” she half-whimpered. “I’m sorry.”
Thrall sighed. “Just think before you act, Ryxl. In fact…” Before she could react, he’d snatched the blunted sword from her hands and waved Saurfang to the side. “Again,” he commanded, gesturing at himself.
That strangely focused look returned to her face as she took in his greater height and weight, the black plate armor he wore, and her unarmed state. A breath later, she dropped to one knee and hurled a fistful of dusty dirt at his face, diving to the side in almost the same motion. He turned to avoid the cloud of dust and follow her, only to find the mid-morning sun in his eyes. It only took a moment to adjust, but Ryxl was already racing towards a surprised Saurfang. He expected her to snatch the blunted weapon from his hand, and she did, but then she stopped behind him. Using him as living cover, eh? Thrall found himself grinning at her as she dared him with her expression to come and get her.
The fight, although not as quick as her matches against her teacher, was equally dirty. Knowing that she couldn’t easily score hits against his armor, she led him on a chase instead hoping to wear him down. In the end, however, he finally cornered her – crawling away from him, hiding behind a weapon rack because he’d landed a hit on one leg – and called the match with the blunted edge of his weapon against her throat.
“Good,” he panted, helping her to her feet. “Much better. I think you’re ready.”
Her face filled with that near-zealous joy. “Ready, W…Thrall? For what?”
“Ready to go back out into the world and use your skills to aid the Horde,” he rumbled, unable to entirely fight back a smile at her eager devotion. “Go wherever you like, give your aid to whatever task you feel needs to be done, and report back to me before you move on. Arikara can carry the messages; you don’t need to return to Grommash Hold each time, although you are always welcome here.” He laid both hands on her shoulders, willing her to think rather than succumb to mindless fanaticism. “Remember, you can’t serve me, or the Horde, if you’re dead. Understand?”
“I understand,” she answered calmly, her eyes clear.
The thought flashed through Ryxl’s mind so suddenly that the orc wasn’t sure what had tipped her off – but a childhood spent in Stranglethorn Vale had taught her to listen to her instincts. She leaped back several feet and crouched, ready to defend against the serpent’s strike, and watched her prey warily.
There! That funny little ducking motion before the charge, the way the tail came forward but pulled back awkwardly at the last second. The first motion was one that shows submission, baring the back of the neck the way other creatures bared their throats. The second was an aborted attack – a feint, a bluff.
Something was wrong.
This was Arikara, the spirit of vengeance. Arikara, whose name sent most tauren into a cold sweat. Arikara, the threat so great that even Magatha Grimtotem, the oldest and wisest tauren shaman, had shown fear at the news. This powerful spirit was afraid of one teenaged orc hunter? Ryxl suspected that there was more going on here than she’d been told – and if there was one thing she hated more than the warlocks of Blackrock Mountain, it was being used as a tool to do someone else’s dirty work. Combined with the idea of bending a spirit of vengeance to her will, this was too good an opportunity to waste. The orc dropped her weapon an tackled the red windserpent, who squawked in surprise and thrashed, trying to escape this unexpected attack. Years spent shimmying up vines made it quite natural for the young orc to clamp her legs around that thrashing tail and inch her way up the serpent’s body until she could clamp the serpent’s mouth shut and look it – her – in the eyes.
Then the battle of wills began.
When it was over, Ryxl petted the serpent’s headfeathers and fed her some bread and cheese. Arikara kept her wings tight against her body and her head down, completely submissive and still trembling with fear. There was no possibility that the spirit could try to kill Cairne Bloodhoof, now, but Ryxl still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something going on that she didn’t know about. For one, the spirit-beast was still terrified.
Gently, Ryxl lifted the serpent’s head and met her eyes, attempting to communicate. Where Rex gave her concepts and emotions, Arikara added images. The image of the red windserpent’s corpse, combined with dread, was very effective in communicating her fear of dying. The orc made soothing sounds and sent back reassurance until the image faded and was replaced with a more puzzling one: Thunder Bluff as a giant tree, rotting from within. The emotion that accompanied this bizarre image was a sense of purpose and determination. Ryxl pressed for more information, wanting know more about this spirit she had bound to herself. Arikara added herself to the image as a serpent of flame, devouring the rot that weakened the tree without harming the healthy parts.
The orc frowned. Something was rotten in Thunder Bluff, and the serpent had been…sent? Born? …to cleanse the tauren city. Had Magatha misunderstood the threat and sent her to kill the spirit in error? Carefully, she formed an image of Cairne Bloodhoof and projected it to Arikara with a question: is this your target?
The serpent jerked her head back, but not strongly enough to break the orc’s grip, and fanned her wings violently, tail lashing in agitation. The vehement rejection was equal parts outrage, confusion, and respect for the tauren leader – outrage that anyone thought she would be after Cairne, confusion as to why anyone would want to kill him in the first place. Ryxl stroked the agitated windserpent until she calmed down again, reassuring her that no one was asking her to do something so completely against her inclinations.
Calmer now, Arikara lifted her head and looked her master in the eyes, asking her own question: what purpose did the orc have for her? Ryxl grinned, pleased with the decision to tame this wild, alien intelligence. The image she sent the serpent was of them fighting side-by-side against a sea of enemies that sought to tear down the walls of Orgrimmar and slay the Warchief.
Vengeance? Arikara asked, golden eyes glowing briefly red.
The orc grinned, remembering the wild rush of bloodlust battle brought. Vengeance, she agreed.
==================================
Motega was pacing as Ryxl walked up, covered in dust and dried sweat. “Have you slain the vicious serpent Arikara?” he asked anxiously.
The young orc soothed her raptor for a moment before turning to the tauren. “I took care of it. Cairne Bloodhoof is safe from Arikara.”
“I am glad,” he said solemnly. “Still…it worries me. Why would Arikara have been after Cairne Bloodhoof? Magatha could not be wrong, she is our most powerful shaman.” He shook his horned head. “Regardless, your great deed to the Horde shall not go unnoticed. I will send a report to the Warchief, detailing the entire incident and praising your courage in facing what none of us were brave enough to.”
Ryxl’s heart jumped into her throat, and she stood a little straighter. “Anything for the Horde.”
“If I could impose on you, then…I know there are others you are performing tasks for, but if you could return in a few days and carry the report to Orgrimmar…? I’m sure the Warchief would want to hear about this from one who was there, as well.”
“Anything for the Horde,” she repeated, throat tight. Warchief Thrall would want to talk to her? The thought made her pulse pound with indescribable excitement.
Once out of sight, the red windserpent uncoiled from the dusty hollow she’d been hiding in and slithered anxiously around her young mistress. Rex bared his fangs; a sharp sound from Ryxl, and he subsided. She tried explaining that Arikara was part of the pack, but the violet raptor would have none of it. Finally, Arikara assured the orc that she would come when called, and faded into the spirit world. After she was gone and her scent swept away by the hot wind of Thousand Needles, the young raptor calmed and followed his packleader as she went about completing the rest of the errands she’d promised to perform.
==================================
The journey to Orgrimmar was uneventful. Arikara flitted in and out several times a day, staying just long enough to check on her mistress, and Rex sulked for an hour after each visit. Ryxl suspected the vengeance-spirit was doing it on purpose, taunting the raptor, and it amused her. The report Motega had written and entrusted to her was very detailed – as it had to be, considering that orcs would not know the tauren legend of Arikara – and although reading had never been more than a chore to her, she pored over it until she had gleaned every scrap of knowledge it held about the spirit she’d bound to her will. Although Ryxl had never met the Grimtotem matriarch, she trusted Motega’s word that Magatha was the wisest of his race’s shamans. Still…if Arikara had been thought only a legend, why would Magatha know how to pull the spirit into the world prematurely? If the vengeance-spirit was indeed born only to punish those who had committed heinous acts, why would the tauren even want to kill her?
The tauren were a good, honest people in Ryxl’s experience. The ones she’d met would never imagine being betrayed by one of their own, but the trolls she’d grown up around had taught her to see the world through more jaded eyes. If this Magatha Grimtotem had known immediately how to slay a vengeance-spirit, then she was suspect. Ryxl rolled the report up and tucked it into Rex’s saddlebags. She was glad that Motega had entrusted this errand to her, and not just because it meant she would meet the Warchief. If there was an enemy within the Horde, it was her duty to cry warning – discreetly, of course. She lay on her thin bedroll and stared blankly at the stars, smiling faintly when Arikara’s slender form slithered up to coil protectively around her. Finally, she slept.
==================================
The gates of Orgrimmar were just as high as Ryxl remembered them, and just as imposing – particularly since she’d only been inside them briefly to complete her hunter’s training and receive orders to report to the Barrens. When she’d arrived on the ship from Stranglethorn, she hadn’t gotten further than the zeppelin tower outside the city. Her letter had been looked over by the pompous official whose office was housed in the tower, and she’d been sent off to the Valley of Trials without ever seeing the city – or the Warchief.
Now she was bearing a report for his eyes only.
Rex grudgingly allowed himself to be left in a stable in the Drag, whining sulkily at the other raptors there while Ryxl continued on towards the hulking shape of Grommash Hold. Although the majority of the structure was carved into the cliff, there was still a good bit built up against the stone of the canyon wall. The fierce Kor’Kron Elites glanced at Motega’s letter and waved her through the gates, Arikara slithering out of the spirit realm to coil around her mistress. The serpent’s heavy coils around her shoulders and hips were a comfort as she entered the cool, dim passageways. The Elites pointed her deeper and deeper in, until suddenly she was in an enormous room, a cavern lit by flickering torches and softened only slightly by several furs sewn roughly together on the floor. At the other end, a massive thronelike chair of giant tusks and more fur loomed, with braziers on either side providing light and ominous shadows. It took her a moment to realize that the throne was, in fact, empty.
Before Ryxl had time to do more than wonder, What now?, an orc hurried in from a door in the back of the cavernous hall. Male, adult but not much past his second decade, he was dressed in simple cloth and leather and at first, Ryxl took him for a servant of some kind. As he came closer, however, she noted the easy grace with which he moved. He was a warrior, a predator, and instinctively she reached for the handle of her axe – particularly when she realized how big he was. Most orc men were half a head to a head taller than her; this orc loomed a full two heads above her, with shoulders twice as broad as hers. Instincts screaming to size him up as a threat suddenly silenced as her gaze travelled up his massive chest and froze on his eyes.
Blue.
His eyes were blue, like hers.
If she’d had hackles, they would have lowered. If she’d been a jungle panther, she would have purred. Childhood memories of playing with the raptors, before her mother had forbidden her from going back and her days had filled with weapons training and voodoo, rose around her like green shadows and she swallowed a whimper that would have been uttered by a hatchling to its packleader, a sound of trust and submission.
“Welcome to Orgrimmar,” said the orc that instinctively, she knew to be Thrall, Warchief of the Horde. “You are…?”
“Ryxl,” she replied, still fighting the urge to whimper submission to her packleader. “Warchief…”
“Thrall,” he corrected with an awkward smile and a gentle shake of his head. “I was having lunch when I got word that a messenger had a report for me, and there wasn’t time to put on my armor and receive you formally. So, since I’m off duty, as it were…” He smiled again, a tight-lipped expression. “Come, join me. You can refresh yourself from your journey and tell me what happened before I read the official report.”
“How…” Ryxl broke into a trot to catch up as Thrall led the way out of the hall.
“How did I know that you were involved?” He smiled again over his shoulder. “I’m afraid that’s not a secret I’m willing to reveal just yet. Ah, here we are. Have a seat and help yourself.”
The room was small and informal, with two doors leading elsewhere. Half of the space was taken up by a table and a handful of chairs, one of which was clearly crafted specifically for Thrall’s bulk. Heart pounding, Ryxl slid into a wooden chair and grabbed for an apple. Arikara re-arranged herself, and absently the young orc fed her bits of bread torn from a loaf while trying not to stare at her Warchief. Thall settled back down into his seat and took a bite of something still on its bone before gesturing that Ryxl should either speak, or eat. She opted to eat, mind working as she chewed through her apple. Finally, she spoke carefully about what she’d been asked to do, and why.
“Interesting,” Thrall rumbled when she’d finished. “And you’re not convinced that Cairne was the spirit’s target?”
“No, Wa- Thrall.” Ryxl felt her cheeks heat at the look of approval she got by correcting herself. “I…growing up, I was taught to look past the easy answers for hidden enemies. I don’t trust Magatha Grimtotem,” she said, almost defiantly. “Anyone who knows so easily how to kill a spirit thought of as legend…”
“I agree with you. Cairne is a friend of mine, and the spirits approve of him. I will send word – discreetly, of course – that he should keep an eye on Magatha. It’s a shame the vengeance-spirit was slain,” he said carefully, not looking at her, but somewhere off to the side. “It could have been very useful in sniffing out the true threat to this world, and…” Thrall trailed off, seemingly distracted by something as he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, but could you ask her to tone it down a bit? I’m trying to do this with a straight face, and it’s not easy when she glows like a streak of blue-white lightening.”
Ryxl blinked; he knew. The Warchief knew she hadn’t killed Arikara, and furthermore, he approved. Her lips split into a wide smile. “You should have seen me reporting to Motega that Arikara was no longer a threat.” Can you tone it down? She asked the vengeance-spirit silently.
On her shoulder, Arikara shook off her shock at having been so easily identified. Uncertainty; attempt. Shrinking, lowering.
Whatever she was doing, apparently it worked because Thrall relaxed and threw the serpent a grateful look. “So,” he said lightly. “You took it upon yourself to keep alive a creature from legend who you were told was a threat and had to be killed. Why?”
Ryxl thought for a moment. She wasn’t being chided for her actions or tested, and it was throwing her off-balance. “She was scared. I read it in her motions, and I thought it made no sense. I’m a half-grown whelp, I can’t possibly be a threat to something like her. So I used the hunter’s magic and bent her to my will. She wasn’t sent to kill Cairne,” she added fiercely, “although there is something wrong, something…rotting…and she was sent to cleanse that.”
“Good.” Thrall met her eyes solemnly and nodded. “You secured for the Horde a potential weapon against an unknown enemy, rather than destroying it blindly out of fear. Had I been made aware of this situation beforehand, that is precisely what I would have wanted.”
Surprised, Ryxl sat up straighter. “It is?”
“It is,” he repeated firmly. “And hope that when she identifies the threat she was sent to end, you will inform me of it. I am impressed by your foresight, Ryxl. This is not something that most orcs would think of. Tell me about yourself. I had hoped to speak with your mother, but…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
“Why?” Ryxl dropped her eyes to Arikara’s crested head, disappointed that her Warchief had implicitly ignored her in favor of her dam. “What makes my mother so special?”
Thrall watched her silently for a long moment. “Did she ever speak to you about what happened before you were born? The war between orcs and humans? The Dark Portal?” When she shook her head, his eyebrows climbed. “Nothing? Not even the name of her clan?”
“Nope. All I know is that the Blackrock clan is led by the false warchief Rend Blackhand, and they’re traitors for rejecting Orgrim Doomhammer.” She sneered. “And they dirty themselves by allowing warlocks and their filthy demonic magic.”
“So…like me, you were raised outside of your people.”
That got her attention. “You…”
“I was raised by humans,” he said softly.
“I was raised by the Zandalari tribe.”
“The elders of the Zandalari tribe spoke highly of you,” he said slowly. “Ryxl, if I have unique problems, may I call on you to assist with them?”
Her heart jumped into her mouth, any earlier hurt evaporating instantly. “Anything,” she whispered. “Anything you want me to do.”
“Stay in Orgrimmar for a while,” he rumbled. “Let me find you someone to teach you – which weapon do you favor?”
“Anything,” she said immediately. “Any weapon in a fight is better than none.”
Thrall’s look of approval made her wish he would ask her to do something, anything, because she burned to serve him in some way.
“We will make sure you get a wide education, then,” he said after a moment. “I will call on you occasionally to tell me about what you know already, and we will figure out how best to take advantage of your unique abilities.”
“The report,” she blurted out. I was supposed to deliver…”
“Later,” he interrupted firmly. “I will read it later. For now…” He pointed at the food half-forgotten on the table. “Eat, Ryxl.”
Obediently, not tasting a bit of it through the ecstasy of serving her Warchief , she ate.
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“I think she’s ready, Warchief.”
Thrall made a reluctant sound at the assertion that Ryxl’s combat skills could have improved so much in a handful of weeks. “I want to see.”
Rather than being displeased at having his word doubted, Overlord Saurfang grinned. “It’s not like she didn’t know how to fight before this. Her methods are unorthodox, but they work – and she gives the lessons her entire attention. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she intended to devote her life to learning every weapon ever created. She’s quite a girl,” he added softly. “Almost makes me wish I’d had a daughter.”
Still unconvinced, the young Warchief stood and settled the Doomhammer on his back. “Show me. I want to see her fight.”
==================================
“Again,” the Warchief commanded.
In the dusty practice ring, Ryxl’s face glowed with something uncomfortably akin to zealotry and she hurled herself bodily at her mentor for the sixth time. Although both were armored and armed with blunted weapons, Saurfang was hard-pressed to keep the younger orc at a distance. She leaped and twisted, lashing out almost like a panther or raptor. Within a minute, she’d landed enough hits to add another win to her tally – although she’d clearly sacrificed one arm and taken a solid blow to the hip to score. Thrall frowned, and when she turned eagerly to him at the conclusion of the match, his expression made her cringe with sickeningly familiar despair. He was certain he’d looked at Blackmoore like that at least once, and the man’s dying words – that he was what Blackmoore had made him – rang mockingly in his ears. Angry at himself for not having seen it, or stopped it, Thrall beckoned Ryxl forward and called on his shamanistic magic to knit her bruised and damaged flesh back together.
“Had this been a real fight,” he said in a low, intense voice, “you would have lost the arm and possibly lamed yourself.”
“But I would have won,” she countered.
“You would have won, but what then? The next foe would have killed you. Or, if you had made your escape and somehow not died to your wounds, you would not be able to fight as effectively – if at all. Is one fight worth sacrificing your entire future?”
Ryxl went very quiet and still, and Thrall had the unnerving sense that she was devoting herself entirely to focusing on his question before she answered.
“If my winning the fight saved your life, I would sacrifice mine for that victory.”
“And then you would be dead,” he snapped, trying not to see Taretha’s blank eyes staring at him, “and I would have to live with the grief of losing yet another friend.”
She jerked as if he’d struck her and looked up at him, wide eyes reflecting the anguish he was trying not to feel. “I didn’t think of that,” she half-whimpered. “I’m sorry.”
Thrall sighed. “Just think before you act, Ryxl. In fact…” Before she could react, he’d snatched the blunted sword from her hands and waved Saurfang to the side. “Again,” he commanded, gesturing at himself.
That strangely focused look returned to her face as she took in his greater height and weight, the black plate armor he wore, and her unarmed state. A breath later, she dropped to one knee and hurled a fistful of dusty dirt at his face, diving to the side in almost the same motion. He turned to avoid the cloud of dust and follow her, only to find the mid-morning sun in his eyes. It only took a moment to adjust, but Ryxl was already racing towards a surprised Saurfang. He expected her to snatch the blunted weapon from his hand, and she did, but then she stopped behind him. Using him as living cover, eh? Thrall found himself grinning at her as she dared him with her expression to come and get her.
The fight, although not as quick as her matches against her teacher, was equally dirty. Knowing that she couldn’t easily score hits against his armor, she led him on a chase instead hoping to wear him down. In the end, however, he finally cornered her – crawling away from him, hiding behind a weapon rack because he’d landed a hit on one leg – and called the match with the blunted edge of his weapon against her throat.
“Good,” he panted, helping her to her feet. “Much better. I think you’re ready.”
Her face filled with that near-zealous joy. “Ready, W…Thrall? For what?”
“Ready to go back out into the world and use your skills to aid the Horde,” he rumbled, unable to entirely fight back a smile at her eager devotion. “Go wherever you like, give your aid to whatever task you feel needs to be done, and report back to me before you move on. Arikara can carry the messages; you don’t need to return to Grommash Hold each time, although you are always welcome here.” He laid both hands on her shoulders, willing her to think rather than succumb to mindless fanaticism. “Remember, you can’t serve me, or the Horde, if you’re dead. Understand?”
“I understand,” she answered calmly, her eyes clear.