Thrall: Twilight of the Aspects

13

Thrall had to admit to himself that he was uneasy about approaching the blue dragonflight in its own lair. Exposure to the great leviathans had in no way lessened their majesty in his eyes. Indeed, the more he learned of dragons, the more impressed he became. Green, bronze, the mighty yet heartbroken Life-Binder, who was arguably the most powerful dragon in all of Azeroth—even the least of them could destroy him with a single tail swipe or crush him beneath a clawed foot.

They had impressed him more than physically as well. Their minds were not those of the “shorter-lived” races, as they termed them. They thought on a larger scale, and no matter how long he lived, Thrall knew he could only grasp the merest fraction of their complexity: Ysera’s dreaminess even as the Awakened, seeing things no other being had or ever could; the weaving of a life in Nozdormu’s scales; the aching pain of one who held the world’s compassion in her heart. …

Now Thrall and Tick were heading directly for the dragonflight that had recently caused so much harm—whose Aspect had been chosen to be the guardian of arcane magic in the world. Malygos had gone mad, and then, fearfully sane, had done worse things than he had ever done in the grasp of his insanity. Thrall had not walked in the Emerald Dream, but he had exchanged jokes with Desharin. He had done his best to help Alexstrasza, huddled and broken. He had been able to enlighten the Timeless One.

But the blues …

No love of the “lesser races” had they, this flight—masters of arcane magic, living in climates as blue and white and cold as they themselves were said to be.

He chuckled ruefully as he anticipated the meeting. “Perhaps I should have just stayed home,” he said to Tick.

“Had you done so,” Tick mused, “then this timeway would have been altered even more, and you would have created yet more work for my brethren.”

It took Thrall a moment to realize that while in a way the bronze was serious, she was also attempting humor. Thrall laughed.

The blue-gray of the frigid ocean beneath them, which was all Thrall had been able to see for much of the journey, gave way to white and gray cliffs. Thrall had seen many impressive sights in his day, but the Nexus came close to topping them all.

Blue, it was all blue, with shades of silver and white here and there. Several flat disks hovered in the air, spaced around the Nexus itself. As Tick flew closer, Thrall could see that these disks were platforms. Their flooring was ornamented with glowing, inlaid sigils, and on a few of them were beautiful crystalline trees, their branches seemingly made of ice and leafed with frost.

The Nexus itself seemed to comprise many levels, each one connected to the one above by magical strands of arcane energy. It was, all in all, one of the most beautiful things Thrall had seen. Several dragons were lazily circling, their bodies in all shades of cerulean, aquamarine, or cobalt.

Thrall and Tick were spotted almost at once, of course, and four blue dragons broke away from their brethren and approached. Their challenge was not issued to the orc but rather to the mighty bronze dragon. Thrall was, for the moment, utterly ignored.

“We greet our bronze sister,” one of them said as they flew in an apparently casual but nonetheless intimidating loose circle around Tick. “But the Nexus is not a timeway for you to explore. Why have you come to our sanctuary? No one invited you here.”

“It is not I who come to you but this orc whom I bear,” Tick said. “Nor is it I who send him this way. He was sent first by Ysera the Awakened, and then by Nozdormu the Timeless One, to this place. His name is Thrall.”

The blues exchanged glances. “For a short-lived being, he comes heralded,” one said.

“Thrall,” another said, as if trying to recall. “The warchief of the Horde.”

“No longer,” Thrall said. “I am but a shaman working with the Earthen Ring now, in an attempt to help heal a world brutally wounded by Deathwing.”

For an instant he wondered if that was the wrong thing to say. Instantly the blues looked angry, and one of them darted off and wheeled before returning, visibly needing to calm himself.

“That traitor would have seen all of our flight destroyed,” one of them growled, his voice as cold as the blue ice he so resembled. “We will bring word of your coming to the others. Tarry here until we bid you approach closer or order you to leave.”

The blues dove off, azure shapes against a dark blue and lavender sky. To Thrall’s surprise, they did not alight on one of the floating tiers of the Nexus but instead flew downward, to the ice and snow below.

Kalecgos sighed. Here we go again, he thought, gazing at the icy ceiling that arched above this cavernous meeting hall.

The blue flight had done a great deal of talking, and more arrived daily at the Nexus to augment their meager number, but he did not feel that any solid conclusion had been reached.

Most agreed that the timing of the conjunction between the two moons was auspicious, if nothing else. One or two had dug up ancient spells they had wanted to try that, upon further investigation, had been proved inadequate. So far, it did seem that the blues were more than content with “anointing” one of their number during what was sure to be a visually stirring astronomical moment, but there was no real emotion behind it, no real sense that this was the single right thing to do.

Arygos was holding forth on his bloodline and how being the son of Malygos really did mean that, all things considered, he was the best choice. Kalec had heard this before, and was too disheartened to interrupt. He glanced out as two more blues approached, and frowned, his interest piqued.

These were not more newcomers to the Nexus but rather two of the Nexus’s protectors. They landed beside Arygos, interrupting that dragon in his speech, and spoke quietly to him.

Arygos looked angry. “Under no circumstances!” he said harshly.

“Narygos,” Kalec called, “what is it?”

“Stay out of this,” Arygos said quickly. To Narygos he said bluntly, “Kill him.”

“Kill whom?” demanded Kalec, ignoring the implied warning and moving quickly to Arygos and the others. “Narygos, what has happened?”

Narygos glanced from Arygos to Kalec, then said, “There is a stranger who comes to speak with us. He is one of the lesser races. An orc, once warchief of what is known as the Horde: Thrall. He and the bronze dragon who bears him insist that both Ysera and Nozdormu have sent him to us.”

Kalec’s ears pricked up. “Nozdormu? He has returned?”

“So it would seem,” said Narygos. Kalec turned a stunned gaze to Arygos.

“Kill him?” Kalecgos repeated, loudly and disbelievingly. “One whom two Aspects have sent to us? Borne atop a willing dragon?”

They were attracting attention from others now, and Arygos scowled.

“Very well, then, do not harm him,” said Arygos. “But a member of the lesser races has no purpose here. I will not see him.”

Angry, Kalec turned to Narygos. “ I will,” he said. “Bring him.”

“I would not care if the titans themselves brought him to us. I will see no short-lived being in our private refuge!”

Arygos was livid. He stalked back and forth, his huge tail twitching, his wings furling and unfurling in his agitation. Others had overheard the argument between the two and began to chime in.

“But … Ysera, and Nozdormu!” Narygos protested. “This is a far from common incident. Ysera has seen much in her dreaming, and finding Nozdormu is something the Timeless One’s own flight could not manage on its own. Surely it would do no harm to listen to him!”

“The lesser races, as some have dubbed them, have proven themselves to be surprising at times. There is more to them than we often give them credit for. The fact that two Aspects have urged him toward us tells me all I need to know,” said Kalec. “I say we bring him and find out what he has to tell us.”

“You would,” sneered Arygos. “You like to play in the mud with the lesser beings. I’ve never understood that about you, Kalecgos.”

Kalec regarded Arygos sadly. “And I never understood your refusal to take help or information when it came from any source other than our own flight,” he replied. “Why do you scorn them so? It was the short-lived races who freed you from your thousand-year imprisonment in Ahn’Qiraj! I would think you would be grateful.”

Before Arygos could sputter out an angry and embarrassed reply, another, older dragon, Teralygos, snapped, “Surely no one knows the business of our flight better than we do!”

“Indeed! We have our own business to mind, Kalecgos, or have you forgotten?” Arygos continued. “The ceremony to choose a new Aspect is but a few days away. We should be preparing for that, not letting ourselves become distracted by the prattling of an orc!”

“Kill him and be done with it,” muttered Teralygos.

Kalec turned. “No. We are not butchers. Besides, do you want to look Ysera and Nozdormu in the face and tell them you murdered one they specifically sent to us? I don’t. No matter how disoriented the awakened Ysera might be.”

There was some murmuring among the dragons, and Kalec saw some heads nodding.

“Let the orc come before us and state his reasons for being here,” Kalec continued. “If we do not like what he has to say, we can send him away. But at least we should hear him out.”

Arygos glowered, but he, too, could see that more were in agreement with Kalecgos than with him. “Ysera and Nozdormu, it seems, have more influence on the blue dragonflight than we ourselves do,” he muttered.

“You are not Aspect yet, Arygos,” Kalec said sharply. “If you are chosen, then you will have final say. Until then, with no leader, the majority’s will shall be followed on this.”

Arygos turned toward Narygos. “Bring him,” he said. Narygos nodded and leaped skyward. When Arygos turned back, he frowned. Kalecgos had assumed his half-elven form. Some other dragons had also taken on the less threatening forms of human or elf, in an unspoken effort to show courtesy to their guest. Arygos did not emulate them, retaining his dragon form.

Kalecgos looked around. The chamber was hardly inviting to anyone other than the blues. He concentrated and waved his hands.

In one area of the cavern two braziers appeared. Dozens of furs now covered the floor for several feet. A thick fur cloak was draped over the curving arm of a chair made of mammoth tusks and hide. Food and drink sat on a short table: haunches of meat, cactus apples, mugs of foaming beer. Animal heads and weapons—axes and swords and wicked-looking daggers—were now mounted on the stone walls.

Kalec smiled. He was more accustomed to interacting with the Alliance races, but he had seen something of this world, and felt that he had created a fairly comfortable Horde enclave here in the heart of blue dragon territory.

A few moments later a bronze dragon came into sight, escorted by four blues. She flew low, but the spaces here were vast—they were, after all, meant to accommodate dragons. Kalecgos recognized her. It was Tick, one of the dragons who regularly patrolled the entrance to the Caverns of Time. It was a testament to Thrall’s importance that so notable a bronze would be willing to serve as a mere method of transportation. Their eyes met, and Kalec nodded acknowledgment. Tick landed gracefully, lowering herself so that the orc atop her back could dismount.

Kalec gazed intently at their orcish guest. He wore only a brown, nondescript robe, and he bowed with proper courtesy to the assembled flight. Even so, when he straightened, there was a set to his shoulders and a calm alertness in his blue eyes that revealed his past as a thoughtful and powerful leader. Kalec smiled warmly and opened his mouth to speak.

“You are permitted here only because two Aspects have sent you, Thrall,” said Arygos before Kalec could get a word out. “I suggest you speak quickly. You are not among friends.”

The orc smiled slightly. “I did not expect to be,” he said. “But I am here because I believe in my mission. I will speak as quickly as I may, but it might take longer than you think.”

“Then start,” said Arygos bluntly.

Thrall took a deep breath and began to speak, telling the dragons about Ysera’s request, the confused ancients, becoming lost in the timeways and finding himself, finding Nozdormu. Despite Arygos’s rudeness, they all listened attentively. These were dragons of magic, of intellect. Knowledge, even one brought by an orc, was meat and drink to them.

“Nozdormu believes that all the events—the tragedies—that have challenged the dragonflights are interconnected,” Thrall finished. “He suspects the infinite dragonflight, and has lingered behind to gather more information before he comes to you with what he knows. He bade me find the Life-Binder and bring her with me, but … she has suffered a grave loss, and remains too shaken by it to come. So Tick agreed to bear me here. That is all I know, but if there is anything else you wish to ask, I will answer as best I can. I stand more than ready to help.”

Kalec stared at the orc, shaken to his very core. “This is all … extraordinary news,” he said, seeing his own concern and apprehension reflected on the faces of many of the other blues.

But not all of them. Arygos and his contingent seemed unaffected. “With all due respect to Ysera, she has much to sort out after thousands of years of abiding almost entirely in the Emerald Dream. She has admitted to being … confused. She does not know what is true, what is a dream, and what might be her own imagination. As for Nozdormu, you said he had been … caught? In his own timeways? And you were able to help him escape? Please enlighten us as to how.”

Thrall’s cheeks darkened slightly at the obvious skepticism in Arygos’s voice, but his expression didn’t change, and when he spoke, it was in calm tones.

“I understand your doubt, Arygos. I myself had very serious doubts. But it does seem that Ysera was correct. I have already been able to be of some use to two dragonflights—if not to Alexstrasza herself. If you are perhaps implying that Nozdormu has been somehow addled by his experiences in the timeways, then I urge you to talk to Tick and see what she thinks. I for one think not. You ask how I, a mere orc, was able to pull the Timeless One out? It … was simple.”

There was angry and offended murmuring at that, but Thrall held up his hand. “Know that I do not belittle anyone when I say this. ‘Simple’ does not mean ‘easy.’ I have learned that the things that seem the simplest are often the most powerful of all. They are the things that matter, in the end. Regarding Nozdormu: to free one trapped in all moments of time, I had to learn to be truly in one moment—the moment.”

Arygos’s disapproval deepened. “Anyone can do that!”

“Anyone can, ” Thrall agreed readily. “But no one had. It is a simple thought, to be in the moment—but one that I had to learn myself.” He smiled a bit self-deprecatingly as some of the dragons began to look less annoyed and more thoughtful. “While the lesson itself was simple, the learning of it was most certainly not. We best teach what we ourselves have learned. If I could help two Aspects … perhaps I can help you.”

“We are without an Aspect for our flight,” said Arygos. “I somehow think that if such a problem is new and confusing to us, then you will be unable to assist.”

“It’s new and confusing to me too. That makes us equals, in that at least.”

Mirth rippled through the assembled blues, even those who were allied with Arygos.

“Orc, you are here as a guest of our flight,” said Arygos, a hint of warning in his voice. “You would be well advised not to mock us.”

Kalec sighed; before his madness, Malygos had been known for a sense of humor and playfulness, two attributes which seemed completely lacking in his son.

“Arygos, he’s not mocking; he’s making a serious point in a light manner. These are uncertain times. We are blazing new trails, making history in a way even the Aspects have never made history. Thrall comes with the approval of two Aspects. What is the harm in letting him listen and offer his opinion?” Kalec spread his hands. “He is not one of us, and he’s very well aware of it. He therefore can have no influence other than what we ourselves give him. He might notice things we miss. I think it would be a grave error if we do not let him stay, and observe, and speak his piece.”

Arygos shook himself and lifted his head, peering down imperiously at the smaller half-elven form.

“You would give every member of the lesser races a soft bed and plenty of food if you could,” he said, sneering.

Kalec smiled, gently. “And I fail to see the harm in that manner of thinking. He is but one orc. I can’t believe that you are afraid of him.”

That got to Arygos. He slammed his tail down, and the others who tended to think as he did looked offended as well. “Afraid? I? Not of a puny orc I could crush with one talon!”

“Well, then,” Kalec said, continuing to smile, “there should be no problem with his staying, should there?”

Arygos suddenly froze. His eyes narrowed to slits, and he stared at Kalecgos for a long time.

“I fear nothing from this lesser being. But what we do here is of deep meaning to the blue dragonflight. I do not know that it is appropriate for a lesser being to witness these events, let alone be part of them.”

Kalec folded his arms and gazed for a long, searching moment at the orc. Something inside him was saying that Thrall needed to be here. Something more than the simple respect all dragons should have for the opinion of an Aspect. If the world was indeed facing the sort of danger that Nozdormu implied, the blues could not afford to ignore any wise thought, regardless of the source. Moreover, they could not afford to isolate themselves under a false sense of superiority born of ignorance and arrogance. He turned his piercing eyes to Tick, lifting an eyebrow in a question. The bronze met Kalec’s gaze evenly. In those eyes, Kalec read an unshakable certainty that echoed his own.

He made his decision. It was a calculated gamble, but one he knew, bone deep, that he had to take.

“Thrall stays,” Kalecgos said quietly, “or I go.”

An unhappy murmur arose. Arygos said nothing, but his tail twitched.

“I honored and respected your father, Malygos—for himself, and for the Aspect he embodied. But his choices were the wrong ones—not just for others, but for us. It may be that we, too, end up stumbling down the wrong path. But as long as I have breath and life in my body, I will not go down that path knowingly. Thrall should be here; he has done nearly as much for the dragonflights as most dragons themselves have done. I repeat: if he goes, I go. And others with me.”

It was not an idle threat. If Arygos was going to force a schism, then let it happen here and now. Kalecgos would not depart the Nexus alone. And Arygos could not afford for that to happen. Too much was uncertain as it was.

Arygos was silent for several heartbeats. Then, moving swiftly, he went to Thrall and dropped his head down until it was within inches of the orc’s.

“You are here as a guest,” Arygos rumbled, repeating his earlier words. “You will deport yourself with respect and courtesy and obey our wishes.”

“I am an ambassador,” Thrall said. “I understand that. I have dealt with many ambassadors in my time, Arygos. I understand respect and courtesy.”

There was almost, but not quite, an overemphasis on the word “I.” Arygos’s nostrils flared, and then he turned to the bronze dragon visitor. “Tick, you are no longer needed here. Thrall is now our responsibility.”

Tick bridled, ever so slightly, then gave a bow that was so low as to border on impudence.

“I will return to my flight, then. Take good care of this one, Arygos.”

Arygos watched her depart, then turned back to the assembled blues. “It is my understanding that there might be new information as to how this … ritual … will work,” the dragon said. “Let us hear from the magi newly returned.”

As it turned out, very little was revealed by the newcomers. Like many of those deeply focused on the minutiae of the arcane, they were excited about uncovering a few details that shed enlightenment on the possible process of determining a new Aspect, but there was nothing of great significance. After some discussion and several arguments—one of which erupted in shouting and a near-attack on one of Kalec’s colleagues—an agreement was reached to continue to research and see if anything new came to light.

Thrall sat quietly in his small area, partaking of the fare provided and listening and watching. He said almost nothing, speaking only once to ask for clarification on something. The rest of the time he leaned back, arms folded across his barrel chest, simply observing.

When the meeting was over, there was some milling about, and many glances thrown in the orc’s direction. At last, though, most of the blues left. Arygos was the final one to depart, pausing at the cavern’s exit. He lifted his head and craned it over his shoulder, gazing balefully. He said nothing, and Thrall did not shrink from the angry stare. Finally, narrowing his eyes, Arygos turned and left.

Kalecgos exhaled, conjured a second crude chair, and plopped down into it. He propped his elbows on the table and rubbed his tired eyes.

“I sensed some tension at the gathering,” Thrall said.

Kalec laughed. He waved a hand, created a goblet of wine, and took a sip.

“You have a gift for understatement, friend Thrall. I anticipated out-and-out violence on at least three separate occasions this afternoon alone. Perhaps it is your presence that keeps Arygos civil. After what happened to his father, he wouldn’t want to appear erratic in front of someone who has the ear of two Aspects. For that alone, I will buy you a drink one day in some tavern when you least expect it.”

He grinned, his blue eyes dancing with mirth. Thrall found himself smiling back. He liked Kalec. The young blue seemed quite comfortable in his half-elven form. Thrall realized Kalec reminded him of Desharin, and the pleasure grew bittersweet. He felt the smile ebb from his face.

Kalec did not miss the expression. “Is something wrong?”

“There was another dragon I encountered on my journey. He was much like you. His name was Desharin. He was—”

“A green dragon,” Kalec finished, his eyes somber. “Past tense.”

Thrall nodded. “He helped me on my journey, taking me to the Caverns of Time. He was killed there, by the assassin who ambushed us both while we were falling into a meditative state.”

He could not keep the anger from his voice, and Kalec nodded. “Effective … but a coward’s way to fight.”

Thrall was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “I discovered who he was in the final timeway in which I was trapped. You likely do not know the name Aedelas Blackmoore, and for that I am glad. He amounted to very little in this timeway, fortunately. He found me when I was an infant and trained me to be a gladiator. His goal was to put me at the head of an army of orcs and overthrow the Alliance.”

“Obviously he did not succeed,” said Kalec.

“Not in this timeway. In that one … I died in infancy, and Blackmoore rose himself to lead that army.”

“A chilling scenario,” Kalec said, “but you said he attacked you outside the timeways. How—?” His eyes widened as comprehension dawned. “The infinite dragonflight must have pulled him out of the timeway to hunt you down.” Thrall nodded. “That is … disturbing that they can do so.”

“Everything I have learned since I began this journey is disturbing,” Thrall said. He peered at his mug. “Except for the fact that conjured beer tastes delicious.” He toasted his host, smiling slightly.

Kalecgos threw back his blue head and laughed.

The moons were close to full tonight, but that couldn’t be helped. Arygos could not wait for another evening to conduct his business. Like all blues, he did not feel the cold as his wings beat steadily, carrying him through the freezing night that was so clear, the stars looked like chips of ice in the sky.

He took the utmost care to make sure he was not followed, wheeling back often. He flew due east, his wings beating rapidly. The jagged teeth of Coldarra gave way to slightly more temperate landscapes. Pools of scalding water, gushing straight from Azeroth’s core, spat and hissed. Geysers, steam springs, floodplains—he ignored them, obsessed with his destination.

The spires of Wyrmrest Temple appeared ghostly in the moonslight. They were damaged, but they were not uninhabited. Shapes like shadows, black and purple and indigo, wheeled about slowly while others slept in various nooks of the temple. Two lounged about, sprawled like giant winged lizards, right on the mosaic floor of the highest level.

He was spotted.

Several of the twilight dragons assigned to guard the temple veered from their regular circuits, heading right for Arygos, and a voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

“Arygos, son of Malygos,” came a familiar voice—the same voice that had taunted Alexstrasza and the rest of the dragons on that fateful day not so long ago.

“It is I,” Arygos cried in response. He landed on the topmost level.

And bowed humbly before the Twilight Father.