Thrall - Christie Golden [42]
Those were the exact same words he had said at the end of his actual first meeting with Medivh. And he realized with a start that the words were as true this time as they had been then. The spirits were telling him that he should trust the mage. He closed his eyes and opened to them, to the elements of earth, air, fire, water, and the last element, life, which was always in his heart.
He still did not truly understand what the mage had been getting at. The words still seemed nonsense. But Thrall was calmer and knew that somehow, when the moment was right, he would understand.
Guide me, he asked of the elemental spirits. I wish to help, I truly do, but I cannot seem to find this great being I was sent to find. I see images of him, hints, but each time I only fall further into my own life’s situation and am no nearer to reaching him.
He opened his eyes.
Nozdormu was before him. Or rather, a translucent image of him was. The great dragon had opened his mouth and was saying something, but Thrall heard nothing.
“What is it you wish, Timeless One?” he cried. “I am trying to find you!”
Nozdormu extended a foreleg, palm turned up, and beckoned to Thrall. The orc raced forward—
And there it was, coming faster each time: the twinkle of sunlight on Nozdormu’s bronze scales. This was not yet the place in time that Thrall was supposed to be, it would seem.
He recalled something that Cairne had once said to him long, long ago. Destiny … it will find you in time. …
Then where is the right time? Thrall wanted to shout. He was sick, soul sick, of chasing this mysterious illusion, who seemingly appeared only to tease and trick and plunge Thrall into yet another timeway.
Each time he followed the image of the Timeless One, it led him to a different point in his life. Some were pleasant to relive; others, far from it. But each one was a significant moment, a profound place in time. And in every one of these moments Thrall saw Nozdormu. Thrall was alert for the reappearance of the mysterious assassin, but there seemed to be no sign of the persistent human. Thrall hoped that the bastard had drowned, sunk with the weight of that oddly familiar armor in a stream that was much more than a stream. But hope that another encounter would not happen did not make him any less alert.
Thrall realized that he had gone for far too long without food or sleep when he stepped through another portal into a twilit forest. It was familiar … too familiar.
“Hillsbrad again,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his face. Well, at least he knew his way around. The forest had changed since he had last been here—how long ago? His rumbling belly and weary body told him it had been almost a day. The trees were older-seeming, which made him think that years had passed since—since he had seen his parents fall. And the season was different. It was full-on summer. That meant plentiful game and berries and fruit to be harvested, so at least he would not starve while awaiting whatever past moment he was to experience to show itself.
He quickly rigged a snare to catch rabbits and then went foraging for a time, enjoying the quiet, long twilight. One noose was successful. Thrall expertly built a small fire to roast the small animal—though many orcs enjoyed raw meat, he preferred his cooked—and then stretched out by the fire for some desperately needed sleep.
He awoke some time later, instantly alert. He did not move; something cold and metallic was pressing against his throat.
“Stupid, filthy orcs,” came a voice. It was female, and rough somehow, as if it had not been used in some time. “If it weren’t for the money you’re about to bring me, I’d kill you where you lie.”
Money? She must be talking about some kind of bounty. Was there one on his head now, in Alliance lands, and had she identified him so readily in the darkness? No, she would have said so, not made a general, all-encompassing statement against orcs.
“I will not harm you,” Thrall said, keeping his voice as calm as possible.