Thrall - Christie Golden [27]
They must learn again what is true. Someone must teach them. If not, then burn they shall. Burn they must.
“That is what the spirit of fire was trying to say,” Thrall said. “It knew that their memories were wrong, incorrect. But it thought they could learn the correct memories again. That means there’s hope.”
Desharin nodded, thinking aloud. “Something is wrong with the memories of the ancients. They are not as we are; their memories cannot be altered unless the things they remember themselves were altered. That means that time itself has been interfered with.” He turned to Thrall, solemn and excited both. “This, then, is your journey. You must travel to the Caverns of Time. You must find out what has happened and help set the timeways right.”
Thrall looked at him, stunned. “The timeways … so they do exist. I had suspected—”
“They exist. Nozdormu and the rest of the bronze dragonflight manage them. And he is the one you must go to with this information.”
“I? Why would he talk to me? Wouldn’t a fellow dragon be a better choice?” It was an almost overwhelming thought: to travel back in time, to alter or adjust history. He felt out of his depth. What had initially seemed like a trivial errand had now taken on dire significance.
“I will accompany you if you like,” Desharin offered. “But the Aspect was adamant that you were important somehow. Do not take offense, but I am as puzzled as you are as to why she thought so.” He gave a sudden grin that made him look much younger than he doubtless was. “At least your skin is green.”
Thrall started to bridle, then found himself chuckling instead. “I would welcome any aid and illumination you care to give, and I am honored that Ysera regards me in such a light. I will do my utmost to help.” He turned to the ancients. “Help all of you, if I can.”
The ancients rustled, and Thrall heard the gentle sound of something dropping on the earth. It rolled down the slight incline and came to a stop at Thrall’s feet.
“That is a gift for you,” Desharin said.
Thrall stooped and picked it up. It was an acorn, looking to his eyes much like any other one. But he knew it was so much more, and felt a shiver as he closed his hand around it protectively for a moment before carefully putting it in his pouch.
“Take good care of it,” Desharin said with sudden solemnity. “That acorn holds all the knowledge of its parent tree, and all the knowledge of that parent’s parent tree … and on and on, back toward the beginning of all things. You are to plant it where it seems right for it to grow.”
Thrall nodded, his throat closing up at the gift and the duty.
“I will do so,” he assured the ancients.
“And now, friend orc,” Desharin said, looking up at the lightening sky, “we head to the Caverns of Time.”
SIX
The trip would be swift on dragonback, Desharin said, and Thrall had to agree. Snowsong perforce was left behind. Telaron himself assured Thrall that she would be well taken care of. “Your friendship with the lady Jaina is well known,” the night elf had said. “We will care for your wolf friend until arrangements can be made to return her safely. Snowsong is a noble beast, and deserves no less.” Of course—druids would care greatly about an animal’s welfare, and Jaina would be able to arrange a peaceful transfer. Snowsong could not be in better hands. Thrall gave Snowsong a final scratch behind the ears before turning to Desharin.
Desharin had assumed his true form and regarded Thrall as he approached.
“You honor me by bearing me,” Thrall said to the green dragon.
“You are charged with a task by Ysera,” Desharin replied. “The honor is mine. Do not fear. I will bear you swiftly and safely. You have my word. It would be more than my life is worth to disappoint my lady Aspect.”
“She is terrible in her anger?”
“She can be, when she is roused to anger. She is an Aspect. The power she wields is tremendous. But her heart is gentle,