The younglings who lined up for training looked very young indeed to Durotan, who was one of many instructors. He recalled his father teaching him the ways of axe and spear. What would he think of these small ones, all but buckling beneath shiny metal armor, holding weapons that no orc had ever before borne?
Draka, with whom he had joined in a quick, quiet ritual as he did not want to take time or resources away from war training, touched his back gently. Always, she knew what he was thinking.
“It would be better if we had been born in a time of peace,” she agreed. “Even the most bloodthirsty knows the truth of that. But We are where we are, my mate, and I know you will not shirk this task.”
He smiled sadly at her. “Nay, I will not. We are warriors. We thrive on the hunt, on the challenge, on the spilling of blood and the cries of victory. They are small, but they are not weak. They will learn. They are Frostwolves.” He paused, then added fiercely, “They are orcs.”
“Time is passing,” said Rulkan.
“I know … but you would not have our people go into battle unprepared,” Ner’zhul replied. “The draenei are vastly superior as it stands now.”
Rulkan grunted unhappily, then smiled. Ner’zhul looked at her. Was it his imagination, or did the smile seem forced?
“We are training as fast as We can,” Ner’zhul added quickly, not wishing to offend the spirit who had been his lifemate.
Rulkan was silent. Clearly, it was not fast enough.
“Perhaps you can help us,” he said. He was aware that he was babbling. “Perhaps there is knowledge you have that … that …”
Rulkan frowned, then cocked her head. “I have told you all I know,” she said, “but there are other powers … other beings … that the living do not know of.”
Ner’zhul almost stumbled at her words. “There are the elements, and there are the ancestral spirits,” he managed. “What other beings are there?”
She smiled at him. “You yet breathe, my mate. You are not ready to treat with them. They are the ones who have been aiding us, so that We may aid you, the beloved ones We left behind.”
“No!” Ner’zhul realized he was pleading, but he could not help it. “Please … We need aid if We are to protect the future generations from the draenei’s insidious plots.”
He did not say that he was enjoying being the center of attention from every single orc in every single clan. He did not say that her earlier promise of power had made him think on such things, and begin to desire them. But even more than that, she had instilled such terror of the monstrous draenei that this sudden holding back on her part unnerved him totally.
Rulkan looked at him appraisingly. “Perhaps you are right,” she said. “I will see if they will speak to you. There is one whom I trust the most, whose concern for our people is deep and abiding. I will ask him.”
He nodded, almost ridiculously pleased at her words, then blinked awake. A smile stretched his lips.
Soon. He would see this mysterious spirit, this benefactor, very soon.
Gul’dan smiled at him as he brought in fruit and fish to break his master’s fast. “Another vision, my master?” He bowed low as he presented the food and cup of steaming herbal tea. Upon Rulkan’s advice, Ner’zhul had begun drinking a tincture of certain herbs brewed to a precise strength. Rulkan assured him that it would continue to ensure that his mind and spirit remained open to visions. Ner’zhul had found the concoction unpleasant at first, but had showed no sign of his dislike. Now, he found he enjoyed the beverage first thing in the morning and three more times throughout the day. He accepted the cup and sipped it as he nodded in response to Gul’dan’s question.
“Indeed … and I have learned something important. Gul’dan, for as long as there have been orcs, there have been shaman. And the shaman work with the elements and with the ancestors,”
Gul’dan’s face wore an expression of puzzlement. “Yes … of course …”
Ner’zhul couldn’t stifle a grin that stretched his lips wide over his tusks. “And that is still true. But there is more than we know of. More that the ancestors can see, but we as living beings cannot. Rulkan has told me she has been in contact with such beings. They have wisdom and knowledge even beyond that of the ancestors, and they will come to us to aid us. Rulkan says there is one in particular who has chosen to take the orcs under his wing. And soon … soon he will show himself to me!”
Gul’dan’s eyes sparkled. “And … to me too, perhaps, master?”
Ner’zhul smiled. “You are a strong one, Gul’dan,” he said. “I would not have chosen you as my apprentice if that were not the case. Yes, I think so. When he has deemed you worthy, as he has deemed me.”
Gul’dan lowered his head. “May it be so.” he said. “I am so honored to serve. This is a time of great glory for the orcs. We are blessed to live to see it.”
The Blackrock clan, with Blackhand himself in the vanguard, had begged for the honor of being the first to strike. There had been some resentment and grumbling, but the hunting skills of the Blackrock were legendary, and they were logical first choice as they also lived fairly near Telmor, one of the smaller, more isolated cities. They had been given the first efforts at armor, swords, metal-tipped arrows, and other weapons of war that would bring down the draenei.
Orgrim, the Doomhammer strapped across his back and clad from head to foot in metal that made him chafe and feel confined, rode at his chieftain’s side. The wolf beneath him seemed to have an equal dislike of the heavy armor, and now and then turned his massive head to snap at Orgrim’s leg, as if at some insect that annoyed him. He also seemed to be laboring a bit as he bore his rider across the soft meadow grass, panting more than usual, pink tongue lolling.
Orgrim muttered under his breath. It had sounded so simple: go to war against this new, insidious foe. But when they had all, including Orgrim, stood and cheered the decision, no one had stopped to think of how difficult it would be simply to prepare. They would need to breed the wolves for size even more now, if the animals were to carry armor as well as orc bodies already heavy with dense bone and powerful muscle.
The weapons were not untried. Several times already they had attacked the ogres, rationalizing that although they were lumbering and stupid and the draenei were quick and intelligent, fighting them was more akin to fighting the new enemy than killing talbuk would be. They had lost a few, at first, who were burned on a pyre with due ceremony for their honorable sacrifice. The weapons felt alien in their hands, the armor slowed them down, but each time, the attacks went more smoothly. The last time, they had faced not only a pair of ogres but one of their masters, a gronn who had the ferocity of the ogres it dominated and a vile cleverness that made it a much more challenging foe. Two brave Blackrock soldiers fell before Orgrim got in the final blow, swinging his hammer of prophecy and bringing doom upon the bellowing gronn.
Blackhand stood beside him, panting and sweating, blood, his own and that of the creature they had just slain, spattering his face. He wiped his face with his mailed hand and licked the blood, grunting.
“Two ogres and their master,” he muttered, reaching out a hand to clap Orgrim on the shoulder. “The pitiful draenei do not stand a chance against our might!”
Standing sweating in the sun, its bright light glinting off the metal plate and almost blinding his eyes, Orgrim agreed. Bloodlust rose high in him. He trusted Ner’zhul and the shaman of his clan. Further, he had spoken with Durotan, and they both agreed that though they had been treated fairly by the draenei on that long-ago day when they had been rescued by the blueskins, there had been something peculiar about them. The spirits had never guided them falsely before. Why would they do so now?