For a moment, they all simply stood and regarded Baine. He looked at them each in turn. “No one here is a traitor to the Horde,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice. “It is possible to be loyal and yet question the wisdom of certain behavior. But all of us gathered here tonight know well that treason is in the eye of the beholder and that Malkorok views us with a very unkind eye indeed.”
Silence, save the soft sound of weight being shifted from one foot to another. Baine continued.
“It is for love of the Horde that I have asked you to attend. And now, before anyone can be accused of treasonous behavior, I invite those who do not wish to be here to leave. No one will condemn you for withdrawing. But if you so choose, as we will forget your involvement up to this point if we are captured and interrogated, I would ask you to forget ours. Leave freely, and go in peace.”
A tauren, nothing more than a large shape to Baine’s eyes as he stood far from the small campfire, turned to go. One or two of the undead left as well. The rest remained.
“You are courageous,” Baine told them, indicating that they might sit.
“We’re scared witless, is what we is,” said Zixx’s first mate. “Anybody got any booze?” Wordlessly a troll handed him a wineskin, and the goblin took a huge swallow.
“Blar speaks truly, if somewhat inelegantly,” said Kelantir. “We have heard what happens to those who speak out against Garrosh. Thrall at least would have listened! And he never would have led us down this path! The Alliance will—”
Baine held up a hand. “Peace, my friend. You are right about such things, but Thrall is no longer our warchief. Garrosh Hellscream is. And our purpose here tonight is not to lead an insurrection, but to discuss what he has done up until this point and the wisdom—or lack thereof—of his choices.” He nodded to Hamuul, who handed him a branch around which feathers, beads, and bits of bone were tied. “This is the speaking stick. Only he or she who holds it may speak.” He held it out in front of him. “Who wishes to speak first?”
“I would speak, High Chieftain Bloodhoof.” It was Frandis Farley. Baine inclined his head, and the stick was passed to the leader of Garrosh’s Forsaken forces. “I serve the Horde. But it seems the Horde does not serve me, or my lady. We were once human; I myself once lived in the very city of Stormwind, which is certain to come bearing down on us at any moment. The Alliance is surely aware of what has happened by now, and I think Lady Jaina too wise a leader not to know that Theramore could be next in line to fall.”
His supposition was truer than he knew. Baine did not reveal anything by a change of expression; he merely listened.
“Yet knowing all this, Lady Sylvanas agreed to send aid to the endeavor. But to what end? We are gathered! The Horde has food, supplies, and for those of you whose blood still flows in your veins, I know that blood burns hot for battle. Why is he waiting? Each day that passes, his troops become more uncertain. This is not wisdom. This is simply…” He groped for words. “Irresponsibility.”
Bloodblade extended her hand for the speaking stick. “I agree with Captain Farley. His lands and ours are vulnerable if the humans decide to retaliate there instead of sending ships to Theramore. The swifter the strike, the swifter the reward. I cannot comprehend why Garrosh delays. More time serves our enemies and harms us.”
“I don’t know why he—” began the goblin first mate.
“Wait for the stick, friend,” rumbled Baine. Blar looked a little embarrassed. He cleared his throat and began again, clutching the stick with both hands.
“What I was going to say is, I don’t know why he did this in the first place. Trade Prince Gallywix might see coffers overflowing with gold, but all I see are goblins being used as cannon fodder for no real profit.”
Vol’jin gestured for the stick. “Thank you, mah little green friend,” he said. “You all know da trolls be a proud and ancient people. We joined da Horde because Sen’jin had a vision that Thrall would help us. Lead us to safety. And he did. He was a good leader. Now Thrall be gone, and Garrosh be in his place. Thrall, he understand da elements, da spirits. He be da first new shaman his people had seen in a long, long time. We understand da elements, da spirits too, and I tell you true now, what dat Garrosh did wit’ his dark shaman—it make da spirits angry. I doan know how long he be able to control dose molten giants, and if he don’t…” He cackled. “Well, we all saw da Cataclysm. Dat was da world in pain from Deat’wing. How much worse is it gonna be if de elements be in pain from da Horde? Who you tink dey gonna attack? It be us, mon.”
“Yes, it be you who will suffer, mon, but not from the elements!”
The deep, rough voice came from nowhere. At once Baine leaped to his hooves. The others assembled did likewise, many of them drawing weapons. But Baine recognized that voice and shouted, “Lay down your weapons! Lay them down!”
“The bull speaks wisely,” said Malkorok, stepping forward so he could be seen by the campfire’s light. “If I see any weapons in the next three heartbeats, I will slay their owners.”
The threat was not bellowed, but it did not need to be to chill the blood of everyone who heard it. Slowly, those Horde members who had drawn daggers or swords or who had nocked their arrows complied.
“I did not believe it,” said another voice. This one was not calm but angry. And, Baine realized, wounded.
Garrosh Hellscream strode forward, regarding the gathering with disgust. Baine could now see the two had not come alone; shapes were shifting about in the darkness. Kor’kron.
“I had word of your little meeting,” said Garrosh. His gaze fell upon Captain Zixx, and he beckoned. At once, the goblin scurried to Garrosh, trying to look calm and merely looking as though he was hiding behind the orc’s massive bulk. “I came to observe, with my own eyes and ears, if what Malkorok said was true.”
Baine turned toward him. “If you saw and heard it all,” he said, “then you know that this is not treachery. No one here sought to overthrow you. No one here chanted ‘Death to Garrosh.’ What was said here was said out of concern for the Horde, which we all are devoted to.”
“To question the Horde’s warchief is to question the Horde,” growled Malkorok.
“It does so only if in your mind, two plus two equals five,” retorted Baine. “Our concerns are valid, Warchief. Many of us have sought audience with you so that we might say things to your face, so that we might have answers or explanations. The only reason we are gathered here tonight is because you would not see us!”
“I do not need to answer to you, tauren,” spat Garrosh. “Or you, troll,” he said to Vol’jin. “You are not my keepers, nor are you puppet masters to make me dance to your tunes. You serve as the blade of the Horde. I am the wielder of that blade. I know things that you do not, and I tell you, you will wait. And you will continue to wait until I deem the time is right.”
“Thrall would have seen us,” Hamuul said angrily. “Thrall listened to advice when it was sound. And he did not keep his methods or plans overly secret. He knew that while he was the leader of the Horde, it was the Horde as a whole that mattered.”
Garrosh strode up to the elderly tauren, pointing to his brown face with its black tattoos. “Does this look like the green skin of Thrall?”
“No, Warchief,” said Hamuul. “No one would ever mistake you for Thrall.”
It was almost respectful, but Baine saw Malkorok’s eyes narrow at the comment. Garrosh, however, appeared mollified.
“The inexplicable love some of you have for that peace-hungry shaman astounds me,” he said. He moved as he spoke, looking from face to face. “You would do well to remember it is because of Thrall that we are in this position to begin with! It was Thrall, not Garrosh, who let the Alliance encroach. Thrall, who held secret meetings with the human mage Jaina Proudmoore and all but sat like a dog at her feet. Thrall, whose mistakes I must now correct!”
Bloodblade began to speak. “But, Warchief—”
Garrosh whirled on the blood elf, striking her hard
across the face. There was an angry murmur and a slight surge of the crowd. At once, Garrosh had Gorehowl in his hands, and the Kor’kron had swords and maces in theirs.
“Your warchief is merciful,” Garrosh snarled. “You live, so that you may obey me, blood elf!”
Bloodblade nodded slowly; the gesture was clearly painful.
“Yes,” said Garrosh, eyeing Baine and Vol’jin. “Your warchief is indeed merciful. In your own tauren fashion, Baine, you are right. Your concern is for the Horde. I cannot be your leader and not value that, even if your way of showing concern could be viewed as treasonous by a lesser leader. I need you—all of you. We will work together, for the glory of the Horde. And when the time is right, trust me—you will have no lack of Alliance scum to slaughter. Now it is time to return to your encampments… and await your warchief’s order.”
Baine, Vol’jin, and the others bowed as Garrosh passed. Like shadows, the Kor’kron followed behind him.
Baine breathed a sigh of relief. Word must not have reached the ears of Garrosh—or, more important, the ears of Malkorok—about Perith Stormhoof’s mission, or else Baine Bloodhoof would no longer be alive. Baine realized that in his own way, Garrosh needed Baine’s goodwill as much as Baine needed Garrosh’s. Garrosh had to know that there were many who did not follow willingly, and Baine was a known moderate. As Baine went, so went a large number of Horde. For a moment, Baine stood silently contemplating this revelation, then he retired to his tent. After tonight’s events, he badly needed to purify himself with the clean scent of sage smoke. He always felt sullied every time he acquiesced to anything Garrosh Hellscream demanded.
• • •
“You should have let me kill a few,” grumbled Malkorok. “Or at least punish them in some fashion.”
“They are all fine soldiers, and we will need them,” Garrosh replied. “They are afraid. That will suffice. For now.”
A younger orc ran up to Malkorok and whispered something in his ear. The Blackrock orc smiled.
“On the heels of such an unpleasant encounter,” he said, “I have good news for my warchief. Phase two of your campaign has begun.”
• • •
Captain Gharga squinted one eye against the bright sunlight and peered through a spyglass with the other. The waves were cooperating—the sailing was smooth. His lips curved around his tusks as he grinned at what he saw, and then he lowered the spyglass. He looked aft to see the other ships of the warchief’s navy sailing steadily behind.
The Blood and Thunder and the other vessels, all crowded with cannons and crewed by orcs eager for the battle that was yet to come, moved closer to their destination.
Initially Gharga had been insulted when the Blood and Thunder and the other orc vessels had not been asked to participate in the Razing of Northwatch Hold, as it was coming to be known. He was mollified when Garrosh had told him that while Northwatch was being taken by the goblins, Forsaken, and blood elves, he was saving his orcs for another, more glorious battle. Garrosh had informed him, “You, Captain Gharga, will lead the fleet against Theramore!”
Gharga’s barrel chest had swelled with pride. It was not the first time Garrosh had shown the Blood and Thunder favor. Well did Gharga recall when, as first mate, he had assisted in ferrying several Magnataur from Northrend to unleash upon the Alliance. Briln, the captain, had taken full responsibility for the loss of two Magnataur during a terrible storm. Briln had fully expected to be executed for the setback. Instead, Garrosh had held the captain blameless and had actually promoted him—and, with that gesture, promoted Gharga to captain.
The Blood and Thunder was a lucky ship, it would seem. Everyone wanted to transfer to her, so Gharga had had his pick of sea dogs from which to choose. It boded well for the battle.
While the blood elf, goblin, and Forsaken ships had assembled in Ratchet, the orc ships had set sail for Theramore. They had waited in Horde waters, safely out of sight. Waited… and waited… for further instructions, which had come in the form of a hawk with a message tied to its leg:
Move into position. Take care you do not cross into Alliance territory. Do not flush the quarry too soon. Await my order.
So it was that now, eagerly, they moved close enough to see the towers of Theramore through a spyglass. Satisfied that they were still technically in Horde waters, Gharga barked the order that the anchor be dropped. With much grunting, two crewmen wrestled the giant iron hook into the water. It splashed loudly, then sank to the ocean bottom.
Gharga noticed his first mate looking both sad and sullen. He smacked the young orc gently on the head. “An expression like that will spoil the rum,” he said.
The young orc snapped to attention, saluting. “Pardon, Captain, sir! I was just…”
“Just what?”
“Sir! Wondering why we moved at all, sir, if we’re not going to attack.”
“A fair question, but a foolish one,” Gharga replied. “We are now close enough so that when the order to attack does come, we will be able to respond at once. And yet, we are not in Alliance waters. They will see us, and wring their hands, and worry, but they can do nothing unless we violate their waters. Even here, so far from shore, the Horde causes the Alliance to quake with fear. Our duty is to hold position, Lokhor. Garrosh knows more than we do. We will stay put until the moment he tells us the time is right to strike. Do not worry,” he said, gentling his voice. “Alliance blood will flow, and you will be one who sheds it. All of you!”
Lokhor smiled, and the crew of the Blood and Thunder cheered.
• • •
Jaina had hoped that what the dockmaster had told her wasn’t true. Prayed, even. But when she looked through the spyglass herself in the topmost part of the tower, her heart sank.
“So many,” she murmured.
Kalec, Kinndy, Pained, and Tervosh peered through the spyglass, and all looked solemn.
“It seems as though your information was correct,” said Tervosh.
“And you said Varian’s fleet isn’t due to arrive for at least another day, probably two,” said Kinndy somberly. “I counted at least eight warships. If they decide to attack before the 7th gets here, we all might as well start getting used to eating cactus apple surprise.”
Jaina placed a hand on Kinndy’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be sure that Garrosh even takes prisoners, Kinndy.”
“My lady,” said Pained, “let us strike now! Surely Garrosh is not sending only a few ships. Remember the numbers gathered, waiting, at Northwatch! It will cost lives, but at least—”
“No,” Jaina said firmly. “They are not in Alliance waters. I will defend Theramore, but I cannot condone being the aggressor. We’ll just have to wait.”
“And hope,” muttered Tervosh.
Kalecgos had remained silent through the conversation, no doubt because he wished to remain neutral. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Kinndy piped up.
“Lady… I think you should go to Dalaran.”
Jaina’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You have friends there, and admirers.”
“That’s so, but the Kirin Tor is composed of both Horde and Alliance magi. They cannot side with us; they would betray that neutrality.”
“Maybe they would, and maybe they wouldn’t,” Kinndy said. “I mean—they don’t want to see the kind of bloodshed Garrosh is after. And we know there are even some Horde members who were willing to risk everything to warn us. It’s worth asking.”
“Indeed it is,” said Kalec, looking pleased. “There is such a thing as the greater good.”
Jaina looked at Tervosh. “I agree with Kinndy,” he said.
“Quite rightly,” said the gnome. Pained was nodding as well.
Jaina sighed. “Very well, let’s see what Master Rhonin has to say. Please—do not get your hopes up. Pained, start talking with the soldiers. We should be ready in case the captains of those ships decide that now is a fine time to attack.”
She met Kalec’s eyes. He ga
ve her a reassuring smile. She returned it with one that did not feel reassured, and went to her parlor.
She touched the three books, and the bookshelf slid aside, revealing the mirror.
Chanting the spell and moving her hands, Jaina stood before the mirror, gazing into her own eyes for a moment before the blue swirl obscured its reflective surface. For several tense heartbeats, she worried that Rhonin was too far away, but then his face came into view, tinted in hues of blue. His strong features looked weary until he recognized Jaina. Then he brightened.
“Lady,” he said. “Please tell me you are contacting me because Kalecgos has recovered the Focusing Iris.”
“Unfortunately, no. We were able to find a way for him to detect it again, but it seems whoever has it is ferrying it about to distract him. He is waiting—they must stop at some point if they are to use it.”
Rhonin nodded his red head and rubbed his eyes. “That assumes he’ll be able to get to it in time before they do—whatever it is they intend to do with it.”
“He is well aware of that,” said Jaina. “But there seems to be no other option.”
“Even dragons tire,” said Rhonin. “Well, if that isn’t what you wish to talk about, what is?”
Rhonin’s no-nonsense attitude often irritated others, but not Jaina. She found it refreshing. He had been a seemingly strange choice to lead the Kirin Tor, and no one knew that better than he. He was well aware that he was chosen because he had a history of looking at things in a different way from past leaders. And he was also a damned fine mage.
“Have you heard about Northwatch?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “It’s a rather small outpost, isn’t it?”
“It is—it was a respectably sized garrison, designed to keep an eye on the Horde activity in the Southern Barrens.” Rhonin had gone instantly alert at the usage of the past tense. “Four days ago, the Horde destroyed it utterly. It is reported that they used elemental magic of a very dark kind to do so. I received a warning from someone who was at that battle that the Horde’s plan is to march on Theramore.”
Rhonin narrowed his eyes. “And you will not name the source?”
Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War Page 13
