earth. Gleaming gems were everywhere, and there was that curious overabundance of light brown metal unlike any Durotan had ever seen. The ores knew metal; they worked it to serve them. Durotan himself had helped in the hunt with axe and sword. But this .. .

"What is your city made of?" Orgrim asked. It was the first thing he had said since the two began their odd journey in the company of the draenei.

"Many things," Restalaan said amiably. They were passing through the gates now, and receiving curious, but not hostile, looks from the denizens of this place. "We are travelers, fairly new to your world."

"New?" Durotan said. "It was over two hundred summers ago that your people came here. We were not as We are now."

"No, you are not," Restalaan agreed smoothly. "We have watched the ores grow in strength and skill and talent. You have impressed us."

Durotan knew it was meant as a compliment, but somehow the comment stung. As if ... as if the draenei thought they were somehow better than the ores. The thought came and went, fleeting as a brush from a butterfly's wings. He kept looking around, and to his shame, wondered if that was not indeed the case. No orc dwelling was this ornate, this complicated. But then . . . the ores were not draenei. They did not need, or choose, to live like the draenei.

"To answer your question, Orgrim, when We arrived here, We utilized everything We had brought with us. I know your people build boats, to travel the rivers and lakes. Well, we came on a boat that could travel in the sky ... a boat that brought us here. It was made of metal and . . . other things. Once we realized that this was to be our new home, we took part of the boat and used it in our architecture,"

So that was the giant, muted, swirling metal that seemed at once to be made of copper and skin. Durotan's breath caught.

Beside him, Orgrim scowled.

"You lie! Metal cannot float!"

An orc would have growled and boxed Orgrim's cars—hard—for such insolence. The draenei merely chuckled.

"So one would think. But one would think that it would not be possible to summon the elements to fight an ogre if one did not know better."

"That is different," sniffed Orgrim. "That is magic."

"So is this, of a sort," Restalaan said. He beckoned to one of his men and said something in his native tongue. The other draenei nodded and hurried ahead.

"There is someone I would like you to meet, if he is not too busy," Restalaan said, then fell silent. Durotan had a thousand questions but did not dare voice them, fearing that he would make himself look foolish. Orgrim seemed to have accepted Restalaan's comment about magic, but both youths still craned their necks looking around.

They passed many draenei in the street, and once

saw a female who looked about their age. She was delicately built, but tall, and when Durotan met her gaze, she seemed startled. Then a soft smile curved her lips and she ducked her head shyly.

Durotan felt himself smiling in return. Without thinking, he said, "In our encampment you would find many children. Where are the draenei children?"

"We do not have many," Restalaan said. "Our people are very long-lived, and because of that we do not often have children."

"How long-lived?" asked Orgrim.

"Very," was all Restalaan would say. "Suffice it to say that I remember our arrival here."

Orgrim stared openly at their companion. Durotan wanted to elbow him, but he was too far away. He suddenly realized that the young-seeming female they had just seen was probably nowhere near his age after all. At that moment, the scout that Restalaan had dispatched returned and spoke quickly. Restalaan looked pleased at whatever the scout had to say, then turned, smiling, to the two ores.

"The one who brought us to this world, our prophet, Velen, is staying here for several days. I thought he might wish to see you. It is not often We get such visitors." Restalaan's smile widened. "I am very pleased to say that not only has Velen agreed to meet you, he has invited you to stay with him this evening. You are to dine with him and sleep in the magister's house. This is a very high honor indeed." Both boys were struck dumb. Dinner with the Prophet, the leader of all the draenei?

Durotan was beginning to think it might have been better if he had been squashed flat by the ogre's club.

They followed dutifully as Restalaan led them down the winding, climbing streets up through the foothills and to the large building that sat highest on the mountain. The steps, perfectly square and solid, seemed to go on forever, and Durotan's breath came quickly as they climbed. He reached the top and was regarding the snail-shell structure with interest when Restalaan said, "Look back."

Durotan and Orgrim obeyed, and Durotan's breath caught in his throat. Below them, spread out like jewels on a meadow, was the draenei city. The last bit of sunset painted them in flaming colors, then the sun settled over the horizon and all was bathed in shades of purple and gray. Lights came on in the houses, and Durotan thought of the stars in the sky settling on the earth.

"I do not mean to brag, but I am proud of my people and our city," Restalaan said. "We have worked hard here. We love Draenor. And I never thought to have the chance to share it with an ore. The ways of destiny are strange indeed."

As he said this, a deep, almost ancient sorrow seemed to settle on his strong blue features. He shook off the mood and smiled.

"Come in, and you will be attended to,"

Silent, shocked almost beyond the ability to speak, their young minds wide open to all the sights and sounds and smells of this thoroughly alien place, Durotan and Orgrim entered the magister's scat. They were shown into rooms that while ornate and beautiful made them feel oddly penned in. The curving walls, so attractive from the outside and no less lovely here, seemed to confine rather than embrace them. Fruits sat in bowls ready for consumption, strange clothes were set out for them to wear, and a tub of water so hot that it steamed sat in the middle of the room.

"That water is too hot to drink and is too much for steeping leaves," Durotan said.

"It is for bathing," the draenei replied.

"Bathing?”

"To wash the dirt from one's body," Restalaan said. Orgrim shot him a look, but Restalaan seemed to be quite serious.

"We do not bathe," Orgrim growled.

"We swim in the rivers in summer," Durotan said. "Perhaps this is similar."

"You do not need to do anything you feel uncomfortable with," said Restalaan. "The bath, the food, the clothes are here for your pleasure. Prophet Velen will expect to see you in an hour. I will come for you then. Is there anything you need?"

They shook their heads. Restalaan nodded and closed the door. Durotan turned to Orgrim.

"Do you think we are in danger?" Orgrim eyed the strange materials and the hot water. "No," he said. "But... I feel like I am in a cave. I would rather be in a tent."

"Me, too." Durotan went to the wall and tentatively touched the curving surface. It felt cool and smooth beneath his fingers; he realized that he had expected it to feel warm and ... somehow alive.

Durotan turned and pointed at the water. "Do you want to try it?"

"No," Orgrim said. Both ores started laughing, and both eventually splashed their faces and found the warm water to be more pleasant than anticipated. They ate the fruit, drank the water, and decided that the cloth vests laid out for their use were acceptable to wear in place of their soiled, sweat-stiff tunics, but that they would keep their leather breeches.

The time passed more swiftly than they anticipated, and dicy were engaged in a challenge to bend one of the metal legs of a chair when there came a soft knock on the door. They jumped guiltily; Orgrim had managed to twist the chair leg somewhat and it stood a bit crookcdlv now.