"Neither of you will survive the night," the orc said.
Vindicator Maraad and Sentinel Commander Lyalia ignored him. He had made similar threats every night since he had been captured. Lyalia poked the campfire with one of her moonglaive's blades, repositioning a log. The flames roared briefly. The light played off Maraad's hammer, sending thin, flickering violet rays across his armor.
"The night elf will die first," the orc said a few minutes later. "I will make you watch her die, draenei. I promise this to you." He shifted his posture, and the shackles on his wrists jingled softly.
Maraad didn't bother responding to him. "You should sleep tonight, Lyalia," the draenei said.
"So should you," she said. "But since you cannot, I will not." Even as she stirred the ashes in the fire, her eyes swept over the wide, open terrain. "Besides, he is talkative tonight. Maybe he will finally tell us his name." She gave the orc a level glance. "No? What is the harm in a name if we will not survive the night?"
The green-skinned prisoner glared at her but said nothing.
"Suit yourself," she said.
The sun touched the horizon.
***
"What exactly do you mean," Haohan Mudclaw asked, "by 'When Thunder blow, Thunder gonna blow big'?"
The hozen farmhand loped along the roadway through the heart of the valley, keeping pace with Haohan's cart. "Since you been gone, Thunder not go."
"'Not go'?"
Mung-Mung waved his hands in front of his nose as though smelling something foul. "Me not want to be around when three days of dook comes out of his ooker."
"Wonderful," Haohan said. The last thing he needed to deal with today was a constipated mushan. "Mix up some olive oil into his feed. Should clear him right out."
Mung-Mung shivered. "Did. Began two days ago. Still nothing."
Haohan stared in disbelief. "You've fed him oil for two days? And nothing?" He shivered too. When Thunder blow...
They passed the next half-mile in silence. "You know, Farmer Fung arrive early. Already at your house," Mung-Mung said.
"Good. Wait," Haohan said, giving him a suspicious look. "What are you thinking?"
"Mung-Mung think that grouch obsessed with fertilizer."
Haohan grinned broadly. "And maybe he'd like fresh ingredients. That's the best idea I've heard in weeks." One problem solved, hopefully. "Who else is at the house?"
"Geezer." Old Hillpaw, he meant. Not a member of the council but a neighbor. "Gina." Haohan's daughter.
"Who else?"
"Just them," Mung-Mung said.
"Where's Nana and Mina and Tina and Den?"
"Jade Forest, still."
"Still?" Haohan frowned. "I thought they'd be back today. I wanted this to be a full council meeting. What about Yoon?"
"He went with them."
"Oh." Now Haohan remembered. Yoon was planning a food-delivery contract with some dwarven masons on behalf of the Tillers' Union.
With a light touch on the reins, Haohan steered to the right, and the two horses turned onto the road to the Mudclaw property. Mung-Mung continued to knuckle-walk alongside the cart but made no move to jump on. He didn't trust horses. Haohan preferred mushan leads, too, but that Alliance quartermaster down at Lion's Landing had offered to trade two healthy horses for a cartload of carrots, and that was a deal a Mudclaw couldn't pass up. He had to admit the horses were a lot easier to handle. Even well-trained mushan had a tendency to wander a bit on the reins.
Mung-Mung suddenly sprinted ahead and climbed a signpost, peering into the distance. "Uh-oh," he said.
"What?"
"Listen, boss."
"Your ears are better than mine," Haohan said.
"I hear virmen," Mung-Mung said.
Haohan sighed. "Let's scare 'em off before they annoy anyone to death."
***
One of the virmen, a larger male with white-streaked fur and a strangely curved front tooth, hopped forward and flung a paw's worth of woodchips at Vindicator Maraad. "Here money. Give carrots!"
The draenei let them bounce off his face and chest armor. "I do not have any carrots," he said calmly.
Angry chattering rose from the dozens of red-eyed rodents that had surrounded the trio. Several thumped the ground threateningly with their feet. At Maraad's side, Lyalia put her hand on her moonglaive's grip but did not remove it from her belt loop.
"Think they will be trouble?" she asked lightly.
Maraad chuckled. "I doubt it," he said. In a louder voice, he asked, "You want to buy carrots?" The virmen's grumbling took on a passionate tone. "I am sorry to disappoint you. I do not have any carrots to sell."
The virmen with the woodchips bounced on his hind legs, agitated. "We see Halfhill! We see market. Tall ones like you give round things and get carrots." He flung another pawful of chips at them. "Now give carrots!"
The small pieces of wood showered the prisoner. The orc growled and kicked out but missed the virmen. His shackles jingled.
Vindicator Maraad kept a firm grip on the orc's arm. "As I said, I have none to sell or give," he said. "And most merchants deal in gold, not... the coins you have."
"Hey!" A voice cut through the din. Lyalia could see a pandaren and a hozen huffing toward them. A cry of alarm went up among the virmen. "Get out of my fields!" the pandaren bellowed.
The virmen scattered. One darted around the hooves of the draenei, picking up most of the "coins." The hozen flung a rock at him, narrowly missing. Soon all of the rodents had retreated to their warrens.
"Stupid ookers," the hozen muttered.
"Sorry 'bout that," the pandaren said. "They ain't as crazy as they were a couple months back, but they still need a swift kick every now and then."
Lyalia smiled. "I do not think they meant any harm," the night elf said.
The hozen inspected the woodchips. He sniffed one and grinned. "Hey, boss," he said. "Axle." He hooted with laughter.
The pandaren uttered a strong oath under his breath. "Those idiot virmen... This is why they gnawed through the axles on three of my carts? Of course it is. Probably saw me buy them with coins and assumed the carts were actually made of 'em." He ran a paw through the fur on his head and sighed. "Well, comes with the territory, I suppose. You want to live in the valley, you get to deal with them.
"My name's Haohan Mudclaw. I own this farm."
"Thank you for your help, sir. My name is Lyalia. I am the commander of the Sentinels on Pandaria. My friend here is Vindicator Maraad of the Exodar. And him... We do not know his name, so I cannot introduce you properly."
The pandaren's eyes lingered on the orc. And the shackles. "You're an odd group to see around these parts."
"We do not mean to trespass. If you wish us to leave, we will," Maraad said.
Haohan shook his head. "Ain't nothing growing where you're sitting, so it's no problem." He glanced again at the restrained orc. "I thought the issues between y'all had been settled for now," the pandaren said carefully.
"The ceasefire is still in place," Lyalia said. "This one wiped out a small Horde caravan two weeks ago and tried to ambush my Sentinels ten days past. After the ceasefire." The night elf's expression was cold. "He committed murder against both sides. If I had to guess, I think he is unhappy with Hellscream's fall."
"So a criminal, not a soldier," Haohan mused. The orc grunted but said nothing intelligible. Haohan raised an eyebrow. "And the Horde accepts your... custody... of him?"
"We decided to avoid the Horde altogether," Vindicator Maraad said. "Simple misunderstandings have a way of spiraling out of control. Tensions are still high. We do not wish to threaten the peace."
"And what they don't know won't bother them." Haohan scratched his chin. "Makes sense. Well, come on. I have a cart just around that hill."
Lyalia and Maraad exchanged glances. "And where would we be going?" Lyalia asked.
"To my home. Bed you three down for the night."
"We appreciate the offer," Maraad said, "but we have to decline."
"It's no trouble."
"No, thank you."
"Those virmen will come back."
"We will handle them," Lyalia said.
"I don't think you understand," Haohan said. "If I know these virmen, they're arguing in their warrens right now about why their plan failed. When they come up with another scheme, they'll go to the other warrens first and rally even more troops. You might turn around in a couple hours and see a few thousand drooling virmen staring at you, chanting about carrots, and if you can't produce the goods..." He shrugged. "Maybe you can take care of yourselves, but I'm not sure you'll enjoy fighting them all off."
Vindicator Maraad looked troubled. "Very well. We will pick another place to settle for the night."
"You definitely don't understand," Haohan said. "Unless you get yourself a dozen miles away from here within the next half-hour, they will find you. You won't believe how persistent they'll be until you're willing to kill a few to show you mean business. They've learned to steer clear of Tiller homes, though. We have rakes and we know how to swing 'em. You'll be fine at my place."
"Still," Lyalia said, giving Maraad a worried look, "we cannot accept."
The orc suddenly spoke up. "Do not offer aid to the Alliance, farmer," he said, "unless you wish to share their fate."
Haohan blinked. "Oh. I see." He smiled at the draenei and the night elf. "You think your prisoner is dangerous. That I can't take care of myself."
Lyalia guided the pandaren a few steps away, out of the orc's hearing. "We cannot put you at risk," she said. "We do not know anything about him or whom he might have been working with. We have skirted wide—very wide—of the Horde presence in Krasarang to get him to Lion's Landing unseen. If he was not acting alone, we could be attacked at any time."
Haohan peered at the orc. "He's a Hellscream loyalist? And maybe other loyalists will come to rescue him? It's settled. You're staying at my home."
"We cannot."
"Well, you can't stay out here. I'm serious about the virmen," Haohan said. "I want to help. People like him have done enough damage to our land. Tomorrow morning, I'll take all three of you to Lion's Landing on my cart."
Lyalia hesitated. That would shave days off their journey.
"I won't take no for an answer," Haohan said.
***
Farmer Fung scowled at the newcomers as they arrived at the Mudclaw property. "More guests, Haohan? Outsiders, even?" he said. "Is this your way of manipulating me?"
"They were being harassed by virmen," Haohan said. "Just giving them shelter for the night."
"Don't play games." Fung jabbed a finger toward Haohan's chest. "You happened to bring some outsiders on the night we're talking about outsiders? At least Farmer Yoon isn't here. He got lucky. He partnered up with a good one. Just because I like one outsider doesn't mean I want our valley overrun by them forever."
"Your opinion is noted, Fung," Haohan said wearily. "Hey, Mung-Mung, weren't you going to talk to Fung about something? The mushan, perhaps? Fertilizer ingredients?"
"Really?" Fung said, brightening.
Mung-Mung gave Haohan an annoyed look as Fung dragged him inside.
"Haohan," a new voice said. Haohan turned. Old Hillpaw was standing near the mushan pen, calling out to him. "You got a sick mushan."
"Mung-Mung told me, Hillpaw," Haohan said, joining him at the fence. They both looked at the mushan pen, where Thunder noisily chewed hay. "I don't know. He seems fine to me."
The mushan belched roughly, and a horrible smell filled the air. Haohan wrinkled his nose. It was a wonder the nearby crops didn't wilt. The sound echoed off the mountains to the north. He could have sworn the smellechoed, too. Haohan sighed. "Yeah, the old boy's sick."
"Feed him some oil," Hillpaw said. Haohan felt a headache coming on.
***
Lyalia helped the orc off the cart. Maraad stepped down after him.
The night elf noticed the older pandaren standing next to Haohan. Hillpaw looked away from the mushan and appeared to be closely studying the trio of outsiders. She nodded to him. He didn't nod back. A wide-brimmed straw hat kept his eyes in shadow. The fur on his chin had grown into a long beard. The other one, Fung, had at least made his hostility clear. Lyalia couldn't read this one's intentions.
She turned her attention back to her duty: the prisoner, and any who might try to rescue him. She scanned the horizon.
The Mudclaw home stood near the top of a small hill, close to the mountain range separating the Valley of the Four Winds from the Vale of Eternal Blossoms, and had a spectacular view of the surrounding farmland. Even in the waning light, Lyalia could see rows and rows of gigantic vegetables and other plants stretching into the distance. Between the home and the mountain range, the ground sharply sloped down into a body of water.
Not a single threat in sight. Time to deal with more pedestrian matters.
"Can you handle the orc alone for a moment?" she asked Maraad. He grunted in agreement.
Lyalia grabbed her empty waterskins and carefully moved down to the pond's shore. A moment later, that older pandaren, Hillpaw, joined her.
"Don't step in there," he advised.
The surface of the large pond seemed calm enough. "Why?"
"Watch," Hillpaw said. He whipped his arm forward, and a stone skipped across the water. Ripples spread from each bounce. And then...
... something massive surged from the deep, breaking the surface. A giant eye stared at the two figures at the water's edge. The creature was easily six or seven times as long as Lyalia was tall. Maybe even more.
It sank out of sight, and the water returned to its tranquil state.
"What was that?"
"Cattail grouper," Hillpaw said. "They get big sometimes."
"That is a little more than big," Lyalia said.
"That's why you cull 'em. Or rather, why you're supposed to. Mung-Mung has been slacking." Old Hillpaw grunted. "You're safe on the edge of the shore unless it decides it doesn't like you. Just don't go jumping in the water."
"I will remember that." Lyalia finished refilling her waterskins.
Old Hillpaw didn't leave. "I recognized that orc's shackles. I saw the sigil of the White Tiger," he said.
"Ah."
"Shado-pan manacles. The kind they use to restrain people with... unusual power. Unknown power."
"You're right," Lyalia said. "They were a gift."
"The Shado-pan aren't in the habit of giving gifts," Hillpaw said.
"True enough. Call them a payment instead," Lyalia said. "In exchange for removing anyone who might wear them from your land as quickly and quietly as possible."
"Now that sounds like the Shado-pan."
"You have dealt with them before?"
Old Hillpaw didn't answer. Lyalia didn't press him.
"How long have you and your friend been in Pandaria?" asked Hillpaw.
"Vindicator Maraad arrived rather recently, and he will probably be leaving soon. But I was one of the first of my people to land on your shores," Lyalia said.
"Why? What brought you here?"
She hesitated. Hillpaw showed no expression at all. She didn't know if he was asking out of curiosity or suspicion. She decided to be honest. "One of our leaders saw a vision of a blessed land. Some of us were looking for other things"—Lyalia bowed her head for a moment as memories of her father suddenly surfaced—"but it was that vision that launched our ships. It turned out to be the Vale of Eternal Blossoms."
"And what did you do there?"
Fought off the mogu for months, only to see a tyrannical orc raze the place. There was a limit to what Lyalia wanted to share. "I tried to protect it." Her voice dropped into a whisper. "Elune knows I tried."
Silence settled over the pond. The water rippled. Finally, Hillpaw grunted again and left her alone at the shore without another word.
Lyalia looked back at the pond. Of the danger lurking beneath its surface, there was no sign.
***
A thick green finger stirred the ashes of the extinguished campfire. "Still warm. They were here tonight." The orc turned toward the other eight. "We take them before sunrise. Pair up. Prepare."
One of the others shifted uneasily. "The spirits won't behave, Zertin."
"The spirits here are spoiled and soft, Kishok." Zertin's response was laced with anger. "They are children in need of discipline. If you can't handle a child, open your veins now and save me the trouble of gutting you."
There were no more objections.
"Good. Move."
They did. Quietly. The dark of night cloaked them.
