“Ah,” Gul’dan interrupted. “I remember … Durotan, who is currently the Frostwolf chieftain, and Orgrim Doomhammer.”
Ner’zhul nodded absently, his thoughts distracted for a moment, then resumed reading.
We can only assume there is a terrible misunderstanding, and wish to speak with you so that no more lives—orc or draenei—are lost in such a tragic fashion.
It is my understanding that the mountain you call Oshu’gun is sacred to your people, that this is where the wise spirits of your ancestors dwell. While this place has long had deep meaning for the draenei as well, we have always respected your decision to claim it as your holy site. However, the time has come for us to recognize that there is more that we share than that divides us. I am called the Prophet among my people, because at times I am granted wisdom and insight. I seek to lead well and peacefully, as I am sure you and the leaders of the various clans do your own people.
Let us meet peaceably, at the place that holds so much meaning for both our races. On the third day of the fifth month, I and a small party will be moving in pilgrimage to enter the heart of the mountain. No one in the group will bear arms. I invite you and any others who feel so moved to join me, as we enter the deep place of magic and power, and ask the wisdom of beings much wiser than we how we can heal this rift between us.
In Light and blessings, I bid you peace.
Gul’dan was the first to speak. Or, more accurately, to laugh.
“Such arrogance! My lord, great Kil’jaeden, this is an opportunity not to be missed. Their leader comes like a clefthoof calf to the slaughter, unarmed and stupidly thinking that we know nothing of his evil intentions. And he thinks to violate Oshu’gun! He will die before he sets a vile blue hoof upon even the root of our holy mountain!”
“What you say pleases me, Gul’dan,” Kil’jaeden rumbled in that smooth-as-water voice. “Ner’zhul, your apprentice speaks wisdom.”
But Ner’zhul found words stuck in his throat. He opened his mouth twice to speak, and finally words rasped forth on the third attempt. “I do not disagree that the draenei are dangerous,” he said haltingly, “But … we are not gronn, to kill unarmed foes.”
“The courier was slain,” Gul’dan pointed out. “He was unarmed and even unmounted.”
“And I regret that!” Ner’zhul snapped. “He should have been taken into custody and brought to me at once, not killed!”
Kil’jaeden said nothing. The scarlet radiance bathed Ner’zhul as he continued, groping his way to a solution.
“He will not be permitted to defile our sacred place,” the shaman continued. “Have no worries about that, Gul’dan. But I will not have him killed without having the chance to speak to him. Who knows but that we might learn something.”
“Yes,” said Kil’jaeden, his voice rich and warm. “When one is in pain, one will reveal all he knows.”
The words startled Ner’zhul, but he did not reveal his surprise. This magnificent being wanted him to torture Velen? Something inside him was excited at the prospect. But something else inside him recoiled. Not yet. He would not do such a thing yet.
“We will be waiting for him,” he assured both his great lord and his apprentice. “He will not escape.”
“Lord,” said Gul’dan slowly, “a suggestion, if I may?”
“What is it?”
“The closest clan to the mountain is the Frostwolf clan,” Gul’dan pointed out. “Let us have them take Velen and his party and bring them to us. Their leader once tasted draenei hospitality. And although he has not hindered our efforts, I do not recall hearing that he has led any attacks against the draenei. We shall kill two birds with one stone: take the draenei leader captive, and make Durotan of the Frostwolves prove his loyalty to our cause.”
Ner’zhul felt two pairs of eyes boring into his—the small, dark ones of his apprentice, and the glowing orbs of his master Kil’jaeden. What Gul’dan had suggested sounded like wisdom. Then why was Ner’zhul so reluctant to agree?
The heartbeats ticked away and perspiration sprouted on Ner’zhul’s low brow. Finally, he spoke, and was relieved to hear his voice sounded sure and strong.
“Agreed. It is a good plan. Find me pen and parchment, and I shall notify Durotan as to his duty.”
10
I have never been so proud of my father as when Drek’Thar told me of this incident. I have good cause to know how hard it is to make the right decision at times. He had much to lose and nothing to gain by making the choices he did.
No, that is not right.
He retained his honor. And there can be no price high enough to sacrifice that.
The letter brooked no disagreement. Durotan stared at it, and then with a deep sigh passed it to his mate. Draka read it quickly, her eyes darting over the words, and growled soft and low in her throat.
“Ner’zhul is cowardly, to lay this at your feet,” she said softly, so as not to be overheard by the courier who waited outside. “The request comes to him, not you.”
“I have promised to obey.” Durotan said, his voice equally soft, “Ner’zhul speaks for the ancestors.”
Draka cocked her head thoughtfully. A stray beam of sunlight penetrating the tent from a gap in the scams caught her face, throwing her strong jaw and high cheekbones into sharp relief. Durotan’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at his beloved. For ail the chaos—madness, even—that seemed to have suddenly descended upon himself and his people, he was grateful for her. He touched her brown face lightly with a sharp-clawed finger, and she smiled briefly.
“My mate … I do not know that I trust Ner’zhul,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded. “But we both trust Drek’Thar, and he has confirmed what Ner’zhul has said. The draenei have been plotting against us. Ner’zhul says that Velen has even insisted on entering Oshu’gun.”
Again, the chieftain of the Frostwolf clan regarded the letter. “I am pleased that Ner’zhul has not asked me to slay Velen. Perhaps, once we have him in our power, we can convince him to change his ways, have him explain why they are so bent on harming us. Perhaps we can negotiate a peace.”
The thought seized his heart and squeezed it hard. As glorious as his life with Draka was, as proud as he was of his clan, how much happier would he be simply doing as his father had done—hunting the beasts of the woods and fields, dancing in the moonlight at Kosh’harg festivals, listening to the old tales and basking in the loving warmth of the ancestors. He had not said anything to Draka, but he was secretly glad that they had not yet conceived a child. This was not a time that was easy on the young orcs. Their childhood had been stolen from them; adult duties had been placed on shoulders still not quite broad enough to bear them. If Draka were to bear a child. Durotan would not hesitate to have his son or daughter trained as other children were. He would ask nothing of other parents that he would not do himself, but he was glad that he was not faced with that decision quite yet.
Draka watched him with intense, narrowed eyes. It was as if she could read his thoughts.
“You have met Velen before,” she said. “I watched you try to reconcile your memories of that encounter with the news that they were trying to destroy us all. It was not easy for you.”
“Nor is it now,” he replied. “Perhaps it is just as well that I am assigned this task. Velen will remember that night, of that I am certain. He may be willing to treat with me, whereas he might not be so willing to treat with Ner’zhul. I wish I had seen the letter he had sent.”
Draka sighed and got to her feet. “I think that would have been most enlightening,” she said.