Burned the bodies

[moonshadows]

“They burned the bodies,” gasps Sarok, son of Saurfang. “They weren’t pillaging or looting. The Telaari were burning the bodies of the Sunspring villagers slain by the Murkbloods.” The fight drains out of him.

The old shaman who accompanied us kneels and communes with the earth and water, pales, and rises again. “Good thing, too. The bodies were starting to sicken the land and the lake.”

Sarok shakes his head, braids swinging. “I had not thought they would care for our dead, but they would not want to foul the lake any more than we.” He turns to me, brown eyes serious. “We owe them a debt of honor, Ryxl, but we have no way to pay it. Years of war and misunderstanding lie between us, and I fear they will not hear words of peace from us.”

The cool logic of Champion Ironheart kicks into overdrive. The problem is tasted, worried, shaken, and prodded from all sides. “Maybe, maybe not. But they’re no longer alone.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“The group from the Alliance includes a druid. I don’t expect it will be one who knows me personally, but I made enough of a name for myself that they might listen to me anyway.”

“You’re going to go to Telaar?” Pensively, he watches Takk come at my call. “You’re leaving now.”

He crosses his arms as if holding back the desire to tell me no, but he knows better than to try to argue or forcibly keep me out of danger if he wants to keep our friendship intact. I grab one of the sheets we’d brought to shroud the dead and stuff it into a saddlebag, and he makes no move to stop me as I swing into my raptor’s saddle.

“I may be gone a few days.”

“And if you don’t come back?” The one question is all he lets himself utter to express how unhappy he is about this.

“I will.” My smile doesn’t reassure him, but I’m not about to explain.

“Ryxl…” Sarok shakes his head, then offers me his arm. “You do what you have to. I don’t like it, but I trust you. Good luck.”

I clasp forearms with him. “Just keep Garrosh from doing anything rash until I get back.”

He laughs at my deadpan delivery, the tense air between us fading into absurdity. It would take a minor miracle to make the son of Hellscream do anything without being sharply prodded first.

==================================

The sheet, combined with a sapling stripped of its branches, makes a splendidly large white flag. No doubt the guards saw me coming a mile away – which was the whole point. Even so, once I get within sight of the city, I slow Takk to a walk. Don’t want to look remotely threatening, and by the time I’m within bowshot of the walls, I ought to have them dying of curiosity as to why one orc flying a flag of truce is coming to call.

It takes almost an hour before we reach bowshot from the walls. I can see lookouts watching as I stop within their range and dismount. Bow, axe, and armor are all piled on the grass to the side of the road and I retreat with my flag until I am well out of easy reach of my weapons. Disarmed now, the flag gets planted in the soil and Takk and I settle down to wait.

To my surprise, it’s not the druid who comes out to meet me, but a wizened Broken. Or maybe a young one, it’s hard to tell with them. They all move limpingly, unused to how their bodies have failed them. Fearlessly, he hobbles up to where I recline against my dozing raptor, bows, and sits.

“The spirits have much to say about you,” he says in a gravelly voice. “What brings you to us?”

“The party from Telaar that visited the ruins of Sunspring Village burned the bodies of the dead.” I can see his expression fall and harden; he think we’re unhappy about that, but feels what he did was right. “I came on behalf of the Mag’har to extend thanks for that act.”

The shaman looks surprised and pleased. “I feared the act would be misunderstood, and the Mag’har angered, but it had to be done.”

“We burn our dead,” I say quietly. “You have done the Mag’har a great service, and Garadar owes you a debt of honor.”

“And yet only you come to express gratitude.” Whole paragraphs lie unsaid between those words.

“My raptor is swifter than a war wolf and my face both unknown to the Telaari and known to the Cenarian Circle. Years of distrust are an easier chasm to span by a stranger than by a known enemy.”

“Wise words,” the shaman says in satisfaction. “You serve your leader well. Come, eat with us. Take your rest within our walls. Talk to our warriors of peace and understanding. We have much in common and more to gain together than either of us could hope to gain from the elimination of the other.”

“Any weapon in a fight is better than none,” I agree. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that I’m not your enemy – and, by extension, neither are the Mag’har.”