Thrall - Christie Golden [6]
His eyes narrowed. “You will hold your tongue.”
“Ah, and yet again you show me the truth of what I say: you will not hear disagreement. You would silence me rather than listen to me!”
There was truth in the statement, and it stung. With difficulty, Thrall took a deep breath and tried to rein in his anger.
“Then tell me: What do you mean?”
“I have only been in Azeroth a short while, and already I have heard the rumors. They outrage me to my core, and surely they should outrage you as well. Gossip pairs you and Jaina, or even you and Taretha, depending on the brew on tap, it seems.” Her voice dripped anger and disgust—at him or at the rumors, Thrall wasn’t sure and didn’t care.
“You tread on dangerous ground, Aggra,” he growled. “Jaina Proudmoore is a strong, brave, intelligent woman who has risked her life to help me. Taretha Foxton was the same—only she lost her life. I will not stand by and hear your bigoted slurs against them simply because they were not born orcs!”
He had advanced on her now, his face only inches from hers. She did not flinch, merely raised an eyebrow.
“You do not listen well, Go’el. I repeated rumors. I did not say I believed them. Nor did I say anything against either female other than they did not know how to criticize an orc. If anything, they have shown me that humans are capable of inspiring respect. But they are not orcs, Thrall, and you are not a human, and you do not know how to handle being challenged by a female of your own race. Or perhaps by anyone.”
“I cannot believe I am hearing this!”
“I cannot, either, because until this moment, you have not listened!” Both their voices were rising, and Thrall knew that the little shelters offered no barriers to others’ ability to hear their argument. Still Aggra pressed on.
“You have been able to hide behind the mantle of warchief. And that is why you are finding it so hard to free yourself of it now.” She pressed her face even closer to his and hissed, “You bear the name of a slave, because you are a thrall to the Horde. A slave to what you think is duty. And you use that duty as a shield—a barrier between you and the dark places, between you and guilt, and fear, and second-guessing. And truly belonging to yourself—or to anyone else. You always plan ahead, and you do not take time to think about how far you have come, the amazing gift that your life has been. You strategize for tomorrow, but what about now? This moment … the little things …?”
She softened, her eyes growing kind instead of angry, and with surprising gentleness reached for his hand. “What about this strong hand in yours?”
Irritated, Thrall yanked his hand away. He had had enough of this. First from the Earthen Ring, now from Aggra, who was supposed to stand by him and support him. He turned his back on her, heading for the entranceway.
Aggra’s words followed him.
“You do not know who you are without the Horde, Go’el,” she said. As always, she used the name his parents had given him—a name he himself had never used, given to him by a family he had never known. Suddenly, although she had used it a thousand times before, this time the name made him angry.
“I am not Go’el!” he growled. “How many times must I tell you to not call me that?”
She didn’t flinch. “You see?” she said, and her voice was sad. “If you do not know who you are, how can you know what to do?”
He did not reply.
TWO
This meeting,” said Alexstrasza the Life-Binder, the great red Dragon Aspect, “will likely not be pleasant.”
Korialstrasz chuckled. “My beloved has a gift for understatement.”
Both the red dragons, the Great Aspect and Korialstrasz—her one remaining consort—had opted for more elven, less draconic forms as they spoke in the Ruby Sanctum. Each dragonflight had such a refuge, a place out of time and space that was a magical dimension unto itself. How each sanctum appeared was reflective of each flight. The Ruby Sanctum had once looked almost like the high elven lands did before the coming of the Scourge. The leaves of the trees