World of Warcraft: Vol'jin: Shadows of the Horde by Michael A. Stackpole Read Free Book Online Page B

piece forward. “Your Pandaren. Good. Better than they be knowing.”
    The man raised an eyebrow without lifting his gaze from the board. “Taran Zhu knows.”
    Vol’jin studied the board, watching the man’s flanking maneuver develop. “You hunt. His track?”
    “Elusive but strong where he means you to see it.” The man nibbled at a thumbnail. “Interesting choice in refacing your archer.”
    “Your kite move too.” Vol’jin had seen no hesitation in making the move, but his praise of it caused Tyrathan’s glance to flick toward that piece again. He stared hard, searching for something, then glanced at the canister.
    The troll anticipated him. He shook out a cube, which spun and clattered to a stop. The fireship. He placed it contiguous to the archer, strengthening that flank. The game’s balance shifted—not in either player’s favor, but away from that side of the board.
    Tyrathan added another piece—a warrior that did not fall on its strongest side, but strong enough. Knights, which could move far, came up quickly on that other flank. Tyrathan played his moves swiftly, but not in haste.
    Vol’jin picked up the canister again, but the man grabbed his hand. “Don’t.”
    “Remove. Your. Hand.” Vol’jin’s grip tightened. One twitch of his hand and the canister would shatter. Game pieces and splinters would fly everywhere. He wanted to shout at the man, asking how he dared touch a shadow hunter, the leader of the Darkspears. Do you know who I be?
    But he didn’t twitch. Because his hand couldn’t tighten any more than it had. In fact, that brief exertion was enough to fatigue his muscles. Already his grip was failing, and only the man’s hand kept the canister from crashing onto the board.
    Tyrathan opened his other hand, dispelling any hint of malice. “I am given to teaching you this game. You do not need to draw another piece. Were I to allow you to draw, I would win and your draw would inflate the value of my victory.”
    Vol’jin surveyed the pieces. Black’s warrior, with the change of a face, could crush his warlord. The fireship would have to come back to counter that threat, but in doing so would come into range of Tyrathan’s kite. Both pieces would be destroyed, leaving the warrior and the cavalry on the right to crumple that flank. Even the best draw out of the canister, even if it fell well, could not save things. If he reinforced the right, the man would renew his assault on the left. If he reinforced the left, the right would go.
    Vol’jin let the canister drop into Tyrathan’s hand. “For my honor. Thank you.”
    The man set the canister down on the table. “I know what you were doing. I would win, but I would have defeated a student whom I allowed to make a frightful mistake. So you would have won. And you have won, because you forced me to act at your whim.”
    And should it not be so, manthing? Vol’jin’s eyes narrowed. “You win. You read me. I lose.”
    Tyrathan shook his head and sat back. “Then we both lose. No, this is not a semantic game. They are watching. I read you. Youread me. They read the both of us. They read how we played the game and how we played each other. Taran Zhu reads them all and how they read us.”
    A chill ran down Vol’jin’s spine. He nodded once. He’d hoped it was all but imperceptible, but Taran Zhu would know. It was enough, however, that the man caught it, and, for the moment, the two outsiders were united.
    Tyrathan’s voice shrank as he scooped pieces back into the canisters. “The pandaren are used to the mists. They see through them and are unseen within them. They would be a terrible force unleashed were they not so balanced and concerned with balance. In it they find peace and, with reason, are reluctant to surrender that peace.”
    “They be watching. Looking at how we balance.”
    “They would like us to balance.” Tyrathan shook his head. “On the other hand, perhaps Taran Zhu wants to know how to unbalance us so