Book Two — Chapter Eleven
The Shimmering Flats and Gadgetzan, years before the events of Book One
The first machine Vegetaone saw exploded.
Not completely.
Only enough to convince him that whatever the goblins were doing on the Shimmering Flats, they had not yet mastered it.
A metal cart screamed across the white ground trailing smoke.
Another followed.
The first turned too sharply.
A wheel came off.
The machine spun twice, crossed the track sideways, and disappeared into a pile of empty crates.
Silence.
Then a goblin climbed out.
He raised both arms.
“I MEANT TO DO THAT!”
The crowd cheered.
Vegetaone looked at Borak.
“I like this place.”
“I knew you would.”
The raceway was chaos.
Goblin engineers argued with gnome engineers. Merchants sold parts that looked used, stolen, burned, or all three.
Drivers bragged.
Spectators bet.
Mechanics crawled beneath machines while those machines were still running. Vegetaone had never seen so many people willingly stand near explosions.
He respected the confidence.
His attention changed when he saw the enchantment table. It sat beneath a patched awning between an engineering stall and a merchant selling goggles. A goblin named Fizznak stood behind it. Fizznak claimed to be an enchanter. He also claimed to be an engineer.
And an alchemist.
And briefly claimed to be a dentist until Vegetaone asked what that meant.
“Never mind.”
Fizznak examined the small pouch of glittering dust Vegetaone had carried since the Crossroads.
“Cheap.”
Vegetaone frowned.
“I paid for that.”
“Then someone was very happy to meet you.”
Vegetaone sighed.
Fizznak tossed him a battered bracer.
Faint magic shimmered across the metal.
“Break it.”
Vegetaone reached for his axe.
Fizznak slapped the table.
“No.”
“You said break it.”
“Disenchant it.”
“That is a different word.”
“That is why I used it.”
Fizznak demonstrated.
Magic lifted from the bracer in thin lines of light.
The metal dimmed.
Dust remained.
Vegetaone leaned closer.
Again.
Fizznak showed him twice.
Then made him try.
The first time, nothing happened.
The second time, the bracer smoked.
Fizznak threw it into the dirt.
The third time—
Light gathered between Vegetaone’s hands.
The bracer went dull.
A small pinch of glowing dust remained.
Vegetaone stared.
Something ordinary.
Taken apart.
Its useful strength preserved.
Not repaired.
Transformed.
He liked that.
Very much.
Fizznak saw his expression.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“You have the look.”
“What look?”
“The expensive hobby look.”
Vegetaone looked at the dust.
“How expensive?”
Fizznak grinned.
Vegetaone sighed.
“Of course.”
Before leaving the Flats, Vegetaone enchanted his axe.
Nothing powerful.
Nothing anyone would write songs about.
A small sharpening enchantment.
Fizznak guided him through the work.
Dust.
Oil.
Words Vegetaone pronounced incorrectly twice.
A faint line of light traveled along the axe edge.
Then vanished.
Vegetaone lifted it.
“Did it work?”
Fizznak pointed at a wooden crate.
“Try.”
Vegetaone swung.
The blade passed through the top.
And the side.
The crate collapsed.
Both stared.
A merchant shouted from across the camp.
“YOU BUY THAT!”
Vegetaone lowered the axe.
Borak nodded.
“It works.”
They left quickly.
At the southern edge of the Flats, Borak stopped.
The road divided.
North led back toward Freewind.
South crossed into Tanaris.
Vegetaone knew before Borak spoke.
“You’re going back.”
“Yes.”
“You could come south.”
“I could.”
“But you won’t.”
“My people are north.”
Vegetaone looked toward the desert.
“And mine?”
Borak smiled.
“You seem determined to find them one road at a time.”
They clasped forearms.
It reminded Vegetaone of Zuro. Once, that would have made the leaving hurt more.
Now it made the friendship feel real.
Not ended.
Just somewhere else.
“Your bag is still badly made,” Borak said.
Vegetaone looked offended.
“You helped repair it.”
“I know.”
“That makes it partly your fault.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Borak turned north.
After several steps, Vegetaone called after him.
“Borak.”
The Tauren looked back.
“Thank you.”
Borak nodded.
Then continued walking.
Vegetaone watched until the heat swallowed him.
Then he faced south.
Alone again.
But not the same kind of alone.
Tanaris tried to kill him before lunch.
The Barrens had heat.
Durotar had heat.
Tanaris had a personal grudge.
Sand entered his boots.
His gloves.
His bag.
Places sand had no reasonable method of reaching. After an hour, Vegetaone stopped beside a rock and emptied one boot.
A small dune fell out.
He stared.
“How?”
The desert offered no explanation. Ten minutes after putting the boot back on, it contained sand again. Vegetaone decided the desert was cheating.
He nearly missed Gadgetzan.
Not because it was hidden.
Because by then he had begun seeing things.
A tower became a rock.
Water became sand.
A shaded camp vanished when he approached.
Then he saw walls.
He ignored them.
The walls shouted.
“HEY! ROAD’S OVER HERE!”
Vegetaone stopped.
A goblin guard stood outside a gate.
Vegetaone walked closer.
“You’re real?”
The goblin stared.
“Depends who’s collecting.”
Beyond the gate stood Gadgetzan.
Merchants shouted.
Steam hissed.
Forges rang.
Travelers moved through crowded streets.
Horde.
Alliance.
Neutral traders.
Mercenaries.
Explorers.
People who looked like thieves pretending to be merchants. And merchants who had stopped pretending. Vegetaone stepped through the gate.
A goblin immediately approached.
“First time?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
“Why?”
“You still have money.”
The map Vegetaone bought was terrible. Half the streets were labeled incorrectly.
One building did not exist.
Another was marked:
DEFINITELY SAFE INN
Smoke came from a broken window.
A man flew through the door.
Vegetaone folded the map.
“No.”
He found the tailoring shop first.
Of course he did.
Better cloth.
Stronger thread.
Patterns that made the work he had been doing look childish.
Vegetaone picked up a bolt.
“How much?”
The merchant named the price.
Vegetaone put it down carefully.
“Does touching it cost anything?”
“Not yet.”
The enchanting shop was worse.
Dust.
Essences.
Shards.
Rods.
Oils.
Everything cost more than Vegetaone owned.
He counted his money twice.
The amount did not improve.
A notice board stood across the street.
Work.
Caravans.
Bounties.
Missing travelers.
Ruins.
He read one notice twice.
Armed help required. Survey expedition east of Gadgetzan. Lost party. Recovery pay offered.
A goblin beside him noticed.
“Bad idea.”
“Why?”
“Ruins.”
“So?”
“Ancient.”
“So?”
“Desert.”
Vegetaone waited.
The goblin shrugged.
“That usually adds up badly.”
Vegetaone removed the notice.
The expedition camp stood among broken stone east of Gadgetzan.
Two tents.
One wagon.
No people.
Vegetaone approached slowly.
His younger self would have walked directly into the middle.
Now he circled.
Tracks.
Several.
Boots entering.
Boots leaving.
Then stopping.
He saw the drag marks.
Something had been pulled toward the ruins.
Vegetaone drew his axe.
The enchanted edge gave the faintest shimmer.
Inside the first chamber, he found the expedition leader.
Alive.
Trapped beneath a fallen stone beam.
A woman in dust-covered mail looked up.
“You with the rescue party?”
“Apparently.”
“You’re alone.”
“That is still a party if expectations are low.”
She laughed once.
Then winced.
Three other survivors had barricaded themselves deeper inside.
Something moved through the ruins.
Not undead.
Not bandits.
Sandfury trolls.
Vegetaone freed the woman by levering the beam with his axe haft and a broken column.
Then he did something that would have been unthinkable in the Valley of Trials.
He waited.
Listened.
Asked what was ahead.
The trolls expected him to charge the central corridor.
So he did not.
He climbed through a collapsed side passage.
Found the survivors.
Moved them first.
Then fought only when the trolls discovered them.
It was not dramatic.
No heroic stand.
No impossible battle.
Just choices.
Position.
Timing.
Protecting people who could not protect themselves. By sunset, four survivors walked back toward Gadgetzan. Vegetaone carried one of their packs. The expedition leader looked at him.
“You always this careful?”
Vegetaone almost laughed.
“No.”
“What changed?”
He thought of Gornek.
Gadrin.
Jorn.
Aderic disappearing while the lift burned.
“A lot of people repeated themselves.”
The reward was good.
Very good.
Vegetaone bought cloth.
Thread.
A new enchanting rod.
Two bags of dust.
A stronger chest piece.
And, after staring at it for nearly ten minutes, a larger bag.
The merchant held it out.
“Best stitching in Gadgetzan.”
Vegetaone examined the seams.
“Corners are wrong.”
The merchant blinked.
“What?”
Vegetaone folded one edge inward.
“Weight pulls here.”
The merchant stared.
Vegetaone realized what he was doing.
Slowly lowered the bag.
“I’ll take it.”
That night, he transferred his belongings.
The old bag lay empty beside him.
Crooked.
Patched.
Arrow hole repaired.
One corner darker from blood.
He could throw it away.
He almost did.
Instead, he folded it carefully and placed it inside the new bag.
Not because he needed it.
Because it had held.
A caravan master told him the road north would eventually reconnect with the Barrens.
From there, Ratchet.
Ships left Ratchet for the Eastern Kingdoms.
Vegetaone stopped eating.
“Ships?”
The goblin nodded.
“Booty Bay.”
“Where’s that?”
“Stranglethorn.”
Vegetaone waited.
“That did not help.”
“Other continent.”
Vegetaone slowly set down his spoon.
Other continent.
Another road.
Except this one crossed an ocean. He thought about the Valley of Trials.
The sea at Sen’jin.
Zuro saying it was only water.
A lot of it.
Vegetaone smiled.
The next morning he left Gadgetzan.
The desert wind pushed at his back.
His new bag held.
His axe carried its first enchantment.
And for once, the road ahead had no enemy waiting at the end of it.
Only distance.
That was enough.
End of Chapter Eleven