Thrall - Christie Golden [41]
“It’s unsalvageable,” the orc grunt continued.
Thrall-of-this-timeway nodded. “I knew it. Can we confirm our location? Is this Kalimdor?”
“We traveled due west as you instructed. This should be it.”
“Very well.”
Still watching surreptitiously, Thrall thought back to this moment eight years past, recalled what had been uppermost on his mind.
“Has there been any sign of Grom Hellscream or the other ships?” Thrall-of-this-timeway asked.
“No, Warchief. Not since we got separated.”
“Hmm. Prepare to move out. If our comrades did make it here, we should be able to find them along the coast.”
Thrall turned back to look at the long, sandy stretch.
And saw a glimmer of gold. It was brief, and vanished; it could have been nothing more than the haze of sunlight on sand. But Thrall knew better.
The others were busy scouring the damaged vessels and bringing supplies ashore. Soon camp would be built. Thrall would leave that to his old self.
He headed west, following the glimmering scales.
This time he found a small hole in the earth the size of an animal burrow. And encircling it … the now-familiar glimmer of a timeways portal.
Was Nozdormu truly trapped? Thrall wondered as he stepped forward. Or was he merely leading Thrall on some sort of chase? The hole grew to accommodate him. He fell, but even before he had a chance to be alarmed, he emerged on the other side of the portal, climbing out of it to see a huge black bird sitting in the grass before him. It cocked its head and fixed him with gleaming red eyes.
The bird’s beak opened. “Greetings, son of Durotan. I knew you’d find your way.”
Medivh! The great mage had come to Thrall in a dream, telling him to follow. Thrall had obliged, and Medivh had rewarded his persistence. Except hadn’t he been human during this conversation?
Thrall tried to remember what he had said. “It was you I saw in the vision. Who are you? How do you know me?”
The raven cocked its ebony head. “I know many things, young warchief, about you and your people. For instance, I know that right now, you are looking for Nozdormu.”
Thrall’s jaw dropped.
“You are out of time … in many ways. Know that I have seen the future and beheld the burning shadow that came to consume your world. And in glimpsing that future, I have seen others. I will tell you what I may, but you must do the rest.”
Thrall suddenly laughed, wondering why he was at all surprised. This was, after all, Medivh. Whatever he was, jumping around in time was probably not beyond him.
“Listening to you served me well once,” he said. “I cannot think but that it will serve me well again.”
“Are you familiar with weaving, Thrall?”
Surprised at the question, Thrall answered, “I … have seen loom work done, but it is most definitely not a skill I possess.”
“You do not need to have the skill to understand it,” the raven-that-was-no-raven said. “The warp and the weft. Seeing the pattern. Guiding the shuttle. Understanding that something that did not exist before is being created, and that the loom is a miniature world. And being aware that to unravel part of the piece, all you need to do is pull on a single loose thread.”
Thrall shook his head slowly. “Mage, you confound me. I have witnessed today the murder of my parents. Have fought against a mysterious assassin sent likely by the infinite dragonflight. And I am trying to find the Timeless One, who seems to be leading me on a fruitless hunt. And the best advice you can give is to think about weaving?”
The bird gave what looked like a shrug, ducking its head and lifting its shoulders.
“Listen to me, or do not. I know what you are chasing. Be careful you are chasing the right thing. This place is full of illusions. There is only one way you can find what you truly seek—only one way you can find yourself. Farewell, Go’el, son of Durotan and Draka.”
The bird’s wings flapped, and in a few seconds it had flown completely out of sight.
Thrall was at a loss. Words escaped his lips, and he was surprised at their content.