Zul'jin Has Returned

Although my exchange with Ulathek had gotten off to a rocky start, once things got moving, I found her fairly easy to get along with. She was just a little too calculating. She might make me her errand boy someday, but that was still better than dealing with someone unreasonable.

Ulathek was true to her word. She had promised to help me grow back all ten fingers, and she hadn't lied. After just a few days, the skin around the six fingers on my hands began to wither, and my palms started to ache and swell. The bones were growing back inside them.

In less than half a month, my palms had swollen and widened. Then two bumps began to rise at the edges where my fingers had been. Another half month later, the bumps had grown into delicate new fingers.

By the time my strong, nimble fingers had fully grown back, winter had arrived. My hands were no longer plump and six-fingered like carrots. Instead, I had ten slightly bony fingers, their veins standing out beneath the skin.

Though my fingers had grown back as promised, I couldn't feel happy. The cold winds sweeping down from the north had blanketed Zul'Aman in thick snow, which meant we could no longer gather food.

With no more food to gather in winter and so many people crowded together, our supplies weren't enough. To conserve food, I had to ration it. Apart from the warriors guarding the outside, all the old and young could have only a little thin gruel and pickles each day.

Hunger was a small matter. More devastating than the northern cold was the news that the Horde had been utterly defeated. Forest Trolls trickled back from the south, bringing scraps of information.

After failing to take Quel'Thalas, the Horde had concentrated its forces on Lordaeron City, intending to wipe out humanity first. But at the last moment, the Orc Warlock Gul'dan betrayed them by fleeing overseas, ruining the campaign.

Furious at the betrayal, Warchief Orgrim sent troops after Gul'dan. He was willing to abandon the fruits of victory just to hunt him down. But when the pursuers turned back, humans ambushed them at sea, sinking most of their ships.

Orgrim had no choice but to retreat south, and the Alliance pressed its advantage. The two sides fought a great battle at Blackrock Spire. Orgrim challenged the Alliance commander, Lothar, to a duel on the battlefield. He managed to kill Lothar, but was captured by the Alliance himself.

With their commander captured, the Horde army collapsed completely. Under Lothar's deputy, Turalyon, the Alliance counterattacked. Most of the Orcs were captured, while the Trolls scattered in every direction. As for Zul'jin, chief of the Trolls, no one knew whether he was alive or dead, or where he had gone.

The Trolls who returned brought back only scattered scraps of news, but they were enough to piece together a rough picture. The Forest Trolls couldn't accept it. In their fury, they executed the returnees and ate them. I was powerless to stop the grisly scene.

The news of defeat left the Forest Trolls grief-stricken. Their hopes of reclaiming the forest had come to nothing, and they had suffered another defeat. Many Trolls, overcome by despair and hopelessness, chose to throw themselves into the flames.

In the face of their despair, even the Loa were helpless, let alone me. Then, amid all the chaos, Zul'jin—the chief who had been missing for so long—returned to Zul'Aman with his followers.

There was no welcoming feast for Zul'jin's return. But his arrival calmed Zul'Aman and the Forest Trolls, who had been on the brink of despair. They waited for an explanation, and Zul'jin...

Inside the spacious stone dwelling, Forest Troll warriors sat on the ground, slurping gruel from their bowls. They grabbed pickles and potatoes and shoved them into their mouths, doing their best to fill their stomachs.

At the heart of the group, Zul'jin sat on the cold stone floor. His white hair, like thatch, was tied atop his head, and a purple scarf was wrapped around his neck. With his only remaining eye, he watched the Witch Doctor priests and senior hunters seated around the fire facing him.

"..." I looked at the silent Troll sitting across the fire, missing his left arm and right eye. Then I glanced at my companions and held back the question rising in my heart.

I believed I wasn't the only one holding back. No one could bring themselves to ask. Why? Because Zul'jin was the Amani chief, the one all Forest Trolls were bound to obey.

Though he had lost his left arm and right eye in the war, his fearsome reputation, built over many years, kept almost everyone from questioning him. They knew he might spring up and kill them on the spot. Being the one all Trolls were bound to obey wasn't just a figure of speech.

Like the others present, I didn't have the nerve to challenge Zul'jin. This was, in a sense, my first time interacting with him, but I still had no courage.

Just like me and the others, who couldn't bring ourselves to question him, Zul'jin remained silent. He felt guilty. He had dragged the Trolls into this war, and he bore most of the blame for their defeat.

In the spacious stone chamber, apart from the Troll warriors slurping as they ate, a silence thick enough to freeze the air dragged on.

"Ah!" The oppressive silence got to me, and I couldn't help drawing in a breath. Everyone turned to look at me.

"Zul'jin, this defeat wasn't your fault." I swallowed nervously under the many watching eyes, then looked at the one-armed Troll and spoke.

"..." Zul'jin raised his eyes to me, looking somewhat taken aback. He wasn't the only one; many others nearby seemed unable to react.

"This defeat came down to the Orcs' strategic blunder. They dragged the Pale Ones into the war too soon. The Horde should have concentrated its forces on wiping out the humans, who were determined to resist, before dealing with the Pale Ones." I composed myself and offered Zul'jin a way out, breaking the strange silence.

"That's right. Zul'ra is right," Lostro said, looking at Zul'jin's grim face.

"Exactly."

"It's all those Orcs' fault."

"We provoked the Pale Ones too soon."

"I think so too." At Lostro's words, the Witch Doctor priests and senior hunters quickly chimed in. Zul'jin's expression, at first tense, gradually eased.

"I was at fault too. I failed to stop the Horde from making the wrong decision." Zul'jin quickly weighed his options and offered his own confession.

"Given our relationship with the Pale Ones, your decision wasn't surprising. But we don't have the strength to worry about that anymore. Or rather, we can't keep focusing on it." I looked at Zul'jin, who was making a show of admitting his fault. I felt a little contempt for him, but had to speak up and redirect everyone's attention.

"We need to solve the food problem now. We've already gone through half the food in the storage pits. Zul'jin, we have to find a way to get more, or most of us will starve to death here. Then none of those mistakes will matter." I addressed everyone.

"Do you have a solution, Son of Kal'ma?" Zul'jin lowered his remaining eye, then looked up at the Troll boy sitting straight-backed before him.

"I do. We can take boats out to sea and catch large fish. There's nothing left to gather in the mountains, and game is scarce." I lowered my gaze to Zul'jin to show my deference, then offered my suggestion.

"Then we'll do as you say." Zul'jin watched the youngster avert his gaze. He thought of the prestige priest he had abandoned in the enemy camp, and, feeling guilty, murmured an apology. Then he made his decision. They would deal with the immediate crisis first; he could put his own mistakes aside for now.