Baine did not recall getting to his hooves, but suddenly he was standing. He was not alone. There was cheering, of course, but hard on its heels were cries of protest.
“Warchief! The lady Jaina is too powerful!” came a voice. It sounded like a Forsaken. “She has been passive and quiet. Rouse her, and we will have war on our hands—a war we are not prepared to fight!”
“She has behaved with fairness time and again, when she could have responded with force or deceit!” Baine shouted. “Her diplomatic efforts and her decision to work with Warchief Thrall have saved countless lives! To storm her realm with no provocation does not give honor to the Horde, and it is foolish besides!”
There were many murmurs of agreement. Other Alliance leaders were far less favored, and the lady Jaina had those who respected her among the Horde. Baine was heartened to hear the murmurs, but Garrosh’s next words plunged the tauren back into despair.
“First,” Garrosh snapped, “Thrall has given leadership of the Horde to me. Whatever he did or did not do means nothing now. I am the warchief, to whom you have all sworn loyalty. My decisions are what matter. And those of you who condemn my plan do not even know what it entails. Be silent and listen!”
The muttering died down, but not all of those who had risen took their seats.
“You respond to this as if the conquest of Theramore were the goal. I tell you now, it is only the beginning! I do not speak solely of destroying the human foothold in Kalimdor. I speak also, and even more vigorously, of the night elves. Let them flee to the Eastern Kingdoms as we crush their cities and take their resources!”
“Drive dem all out?” said Vol’jin, baffled. “Dey been here longer dan we have. An’ we try something like dat, da Alliance be over us like bees on da honey! You just be giving dem de excuse dey been looking for!”
Garrosh turned slowly to the leader of the Darkspear trolls. Inwardly, Baine winced. Vol’jin had been among the most outspoken of Garrosh’s critics after the death of Cairne. There was little love lost between the troll and orc leaders. Garrosh had forced the Darkspears into Orgrimmar’s slums. Outraged at the insult, Vol’jin had ordered the trolls to leave Orgrimmar altogether. Now, the Darkspear leader came to the city only when summoned.
“My soul is sick of the back-and-forth in Ashenvale that has gone on nearly since we set foot in this world,” growled Garrosh. Baine knew the orc was still smarting from the latest defeat there at the hands of Varian Wrynn. “And I am even more sickened by our own blindness to what we should and must do. The night elves claim compassion and wisdom, yet they murder us when we harvest a few trees that would provide life-giving shelter! The night elves have lived here long enough. Let them now linger only as a bad memory. It is the Horde’s hour to reign on this continent, and reign we shall! This is why Theramore is key, do you not understand?” Garrosh stared at the Horde members as if they were small children. “We crush Theramore, we stop the potential of Alliance reinforcements from the south. And then—we give the night elves their due.”
“Warchief!” The voice was female, at once both musical and cold. Sylvanas Windrunner, former high elf ranger-general and now the leader of the Forsaken, rose and gazed at Garrosh with intense glowing eyes. “The Alliance may indeed not send reinforcements. Not at once, at least. They will turn and vent their wrath instead upon those of us in the Eastern Kingdoms—my people and the sin’dorei.”
She looked at Lor’themar almost imploringly. The blood elf leader’s face remained impassive. “Varian will march on my borders and destroy us!” The comment was addressed to Garrosh, but she continued to stare at Lor’themar. Baine felt for her; she was hoping for support from one who might reasonably be expected to give it, and finding none.
“Warchief! A word?” It was Eitrigg, turning with the respect he owed to his leader.
“I have heard from you already, my advisor,” said Garrosh.
“We have not,” Baine stated. “Eitrigg was friend to my father and advisor to Thrall. He knows the Alliance in a way few do. Surely you do not object to the rest of us hearing what such a wise elder has to say?”
The look that Garrosh shot Baine could have melted stone. The tauren met the gaze with deceptive placidness. Nonetheless, the orc nodded to Eitrigg. “You may speak,” he said curtly.
“It is true that the Horde has done much to recover from the Cataclysm,” Eitrigg began. “And it has been under your leadership, Warchief Garrosh. You are right. Yours is the title. Yours are the decisions. But yours also is the responsibility. Think for a moment about the consequences of this choice.”
“The night elves will be gone; the Alliance will be afraid to attack; and Kalimdor will belong to the Horde. Those will be the consequences, elder.” Garrosh uttered the word not with respect, but almost with contempt. Baine noticed that two or three orcs frowned at the warchief’s tone of voice and were listening intently to Eitrigg.
Eitrigg shook his head. “No,” he said. “That is a hope. You hope to begin claiming this continent as ours. And you might. You would also begin a war that would involve armies from all over this world, Horde and Alliance, locked in a combat that would take lives and drain resources. Have we not suffered through enough of those costs?” The orcs who had been paying close attention now started nodding. Baine recognized one of them as a shopkeeper here in Orgrimmar. Another, surprisingly, was one of the guards, though not a member of the elite Kor’kron.
“Costs?” said a slightly screechy voice. “I hadn’t heard Warchief Garrosh mention costs, friend Eitrigg.” It was, of course, Trade Prince Gallywix. He was standing—not that anyone could tell. The crown of his top hat was all that could be seen of him, but it bobbed up and down animatedly with his speech. “What I hear is talk of profit for everyone. Why not expand, taking the resources of our enemies and driving them away at the same time? Even war is good business if you go about it properly!”
Baine had had enough. The greedy, self-absorbed goblin’s quip about the blood of heroes and foes alike being spilled for profit pushed Baine’s anger past prudent silence.
“Garrosh!” he said. “There is none here who can say that I do not love the Horde. Nor any who can say that I do not honor your title.”
Garrosh did not speak. He well knew that he had not come to Baine’s aid when it was needed, and yet the tauren still had acknowledged him as warchief. Baine had even saved Garrosh’s life once. The orc made no attempt to silence Baine… yet.
“I know this lady. You do not. She has worked tirelessly for peace, knowing well that we are not monsters but people—like the people who compose the Alliance.” His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, and any rabble-rousers who might have been tempted to protest his labeling humans, night elves, dwarves, draenei, worgen, and gnomes as “people” wisely held their tongues. “I have received aid and shelter in her home. She helped me when even members of the Horde would not. She does not deserve this treachery, this—”
“Baine Bloodhoof!” snarled Garrosh, closing the distance between himself and the tauren high chieftain in a few strides. Baine towered over him, but Garrosh was not cowed. “If you do not wish to share your father’s fate, I would advise you to watch what you say!”
“You mean dying betrayed?” Baine shot back.
Garrosh roared. Archdruid Hamuul Runetotem stepped forward at the same time as Eitrigg. But another interposed himself between Baine and Garrosh—the Blackrock orc. He did not touch Baine, but the tauren could almost feel the fire of the other’s banked rage churning. The gray-skinned orc’s eyes glittered, their coldness not tempering the heat of his anger but rather augmenting it. And Baine felt a prickle of unease. Who was this orc?