Chapter 063: Wanderer

Thrall?

Thrall was the son of the Frostwolf clan's former chief, and later he'd become Warchief of the entire Horde. But right now he wasn't even ten years old. Who would know him?

Besides, Thrall was a name humans had given him, a name in Common. No orc would recognize it.

His real name was Go'el, but his parents had chosen that name in private. How many Frostwolves could have heard it this early?

Of course!

Thrall's father. The former chief of the Frostwolf clan.

Durotan!

Jess immediately tried saying Durotan's name several times with slightly different pronunciations. At last, the orc understood.

"Durotan... Durotan!"

Thank goodness this simple name sounded much the same in Orcish, English, and Chinese.

Jess pressed his advantage.

"Durotan's son. Alive!"

"Durotan's son..." The orc froze. After a while, he said quietly, "Drek'Thar. I understand. Drek'Thar."

So the orc simply hadn't realized Jess had been saying a person's name before. In his Orcish pronunciation of Drek'Thar, the stress fell heavily on the thar, while the opening drek was said lightly and almost swallowed, like a simple prefix.

Jess had emphasized the name the other way around. No wonder the orc hadn't understood. For all he knew, the way he'd said it might mean something entirely different in Orcish.

At least it hadn't been an insult.

"Durotan's son. Where?" the orc asked.

"Durotan's son. Durnholde," Jess replied.

He used his staff to sketch a rough outline of the Eastern Kingdoms in the sand. Then he pointed to two approximate locations.

"Alterac Valley. Durnholde."

"Durnholde..." the orc repeated imperfectly.

He threw his dagger to the ground and raised both hands to show he wanted to come closer without attacking.

Of course, Jess knew this orc could kill him with one punch even without a weapon. What good did dropping the dagger really do?

But they didn't exactly have many options. He couldn't ask the orc to cut off his hands.

Holding his wounded stomach, the orc dragged himself closer and examined the rough map. Slowly, he nodded.

He was close enough now that Jess could clearly smell sulfur on him. Even all this rain hadn't washed away the stench. It had to be the smell of an orc who'd drunk demon blood.

Then the orc looked up, pointed at Jess's staff, and said, "Teron'gor."

Jess had guessed right. The orcs recognized the staff as something that had belonged to Teron Gorefiend.

Jess tossed the staff aside, bent down to pick it up again, and said one word in Orcish.

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"Forest."

He pointed toward Elwynn, far to the southeast. The orc seemed to understand and nodded, then glanced at the imp, who had just managed to sit up and was coughing nonstop.

"No trust. Warlock. Demon."

The orc had said "no trust" in Common, and "warlock" and "demon" in Orcish. For once, Jess understood every word.

Jess pointed to the swollen veins in the orc's arm and said in Orcish, "Demon. Alive."

Then he pointed at his own chest.

"Warlock. Alive."

The orc's expression became deeply complicated. A long time passed before he sighed and said in Common, "Human. Alive."

Then he turned and limped away. He disappeared deep into the forest, hidden by the curtain of rain and the shadows of the trees.

Some orc shamans had abandoned their traditions and their shamanic faith, obeying Gul'dan and drinking demon blood to become servants of demons. It wasn't necessarily because they longed for fel magic or the Burning Legion.

They were afraid that defying Gul'dan and his master, Kil'jaeden, would mean the destruction of their entire clan. It had happened more than once on Draenor.

And Jess had studied warlock magic because he wanted to stay alive in this world.

The orc had understood that much.

Jess finally let out a long breath. He'd managed to survive.

At last he'd sent that terrifying creature away. Whether the orc would be captured by the lord of Durnholde and made a gladiator, find the Frostwolves, or freeze to death in the snows of Alterac was up to fate.

More likely, a dwarf patrol in Khaz Modan would send him to an early grave before he got anywhere near his destination.

Just then Saeno came hopping over.

"The monster left! Where does the monster want to go?"

"Who cares? He can go wherever he likes, as long as he never comes looking for me again."

Now that Jess could finally relax, the pain from that terrible blast of electricity surged through him. Gred still hadn't woken up.

"Oh, right." He looked at the little demon. "Do you... know any healing magic?"

"Not a bit!"

Saeno sounded strangely delighted about it.

"Then how about bringing my bag back?" Jess pointed in the direction the orc had gone. "It's over there!"

"Understood!"

The imp bounded off, leaving a trail of little flames that sprang from his eyes.

Jess collapsed beside Gred. He raised an arm to check whether the dwarf was still breathing, then noticed Gred's mustache twitching with each breath.

His own arm still ached from the lightning. He couldn't be bothered to move it any farther.

Jess had no idea how much time passed. He lay flat on his back on the lakeshore, close to falling asleep, before Saeno finally dragged their things back.

The rain kept striking Jess's upturned face.

"Thanks, demon. You spent most of that fight playing dead, but that one thing you did earlier saved my life. Without you, I'd be finished."

"Ha! Thanks! Ha, thanks! What's that mean?" the imp asked, repeating the word as he bounced back and forth like he'd had far too much energy drink.

Jess had no idea where he got all that energy. Jess himself was completely drained.

But he couldn't fall asleep. If they stayed here, the two lives they'd fought so hard to save might be taken by some random monster along Lake Everstill—murlocs, for instance.

Jess let out a shout to give himself courage, swung his arms, and sat up. At least his body didn't hurt quite as badly now.

He hauled the whole dwarf upright and got him onto his shoulder. The weight nearly forced him to his knees again.

Gred weighed close to 220 pounds. In his previous life, Jess wouldn't have expected to lift him at all.

But here in Azeroth he'd worked carrying heavy loads. He'd hauled sacks about this heavy before. If he could just remember how he'd done it...

One step. Then another.

He walked and rested, then walked again. After a while he felt numb with exhaustion.

He didn't know how far he'd gone or where he was. The rain swallowed everything he could see. All he knew was that he had to follow the road.

It kept raining. Everything in sight was soaked. Every piece of clothing he wore, every possession he carried—everything was drenched.

Then a flicker of firelight appeared ahead.

A Lakeshire militia patrol!

"Anyone out there?" a militiaman called from a distance. "Is somebody hurt?"

"Yes! Someone's hurt!" Jess shouted with all the strength he had left. "Get over here and help!"

Several militiamen ran up and helped lift Gred off his shoulder.

Jess suddenly remembered the imp behind him. His heart started pounding at the thought of the militia seeing Saeno.

But when he looked back, the imp had vanished.

The clasp on his bag had somehow come undone, and its string was swinging loose. So the imp still remembered the order to disappear whenever other people were around.

Thank goodness.

Jess sighed with relief and sat down on the ground. The militiamen helped him back up. As they carried Gred away, his chest tightened with worry.

He didn't know whether the spell had been a Lightning Bolt or Chain Lightning. Whichever it was, he had no idea how powerful it had been. He knew almost nothing about shaman magic.

Would Gred survive?