“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!”