Even as he stared into the ghostly eyes of his beloved, she turned away from him. One by one, the myriad faces reflected in the water followed suit.
Ner’zhul trembled with the horror of what he had done. There was nothing he could do to make it right. Nothing he could do except continue on this path that Kil’jaeden had so carefully contrived for him to walk, and pray to ancestors who no longer listened to him that somehow, some way, things would turn out all right. He buried his face in his hands and wept.
Crouching in the darkness in a bend in the tunnel, Gul’dan listened to the sound of his master sobbing, and smiled to himself.
Kil’jaeden would be grateful for the information.
12
We are all weak, in one way or another. It does not matter the species. Sometimes that weakness is a strength in disguise. Sometimes it is our utter undoing. Sometimes it is both. The wise man understands his weakness and seeks to find a lesson from it. The fool lets it control and destroy him.
And sometimes, the wise man is a fool.
As he rode back atop Skychaser, hands so cold that he wondered if he would ever be able to unclench them entwined in the thick black fur, Ner’zhul wished for the dark night to swallow him. How could he return to his people, knowing what he had done to them? On the other hand, how could he flee—and where could he possibly go that Kil’jaeden would not find him? He longed bitterly for the courage to take the ritual knife he carried at all times and drive it into his heart, but knew that he could not. Suicide was not regarded with honor among his people; it was a coward’s answer to the problems that came at him. He would not be permitted to live on as a spirit if he took that seductive way to escape the horrors that confronted him.
He could continue to pretend that he suspected nothing, and even perhaps subtly undercut Kil’jaeden. Despite his massive powers, there had been no evidence that the so-called “Beautiful One” had the ability to read thoughts. The thought brightened Ner’zhul somewhat. Yes … he could mitigate the damage this interloper was trying to do to his people. That was how he could continue to serve.
Exhausted both physically and emotionally, Ner’zhul stumbled into his tent in that faint hour before dawn, looking forward to simply collapsing on the skins and sleeping in an effort to forget, for at least a brief while, the agony of what he had brought about.
Instead a bright light nearly blinded him and he fell to his knees.
“You would betray me, then?” said the Beautiful One.
Ner’zhul threw up his hands, trying vainly to protect his eves from the awesome radiance. His stomach roiled and he feared he was about to be sick in his terror. The light dimmed somewhat and he lowered his hands. Standing beside Kil’jaeden was Ner’zhul’s apprentice, grinning darkly.
“Gul’dan,” whispered Ner’zhul sickly. “What have you done?”
“I have informed Kil’jaeden of a rodent,” Gul’dan said calmly. That dreadful smile never left his face. “And he will decide what to do with the vermin who would so turn against him.”
There was still snow on Gul’dan’s shoulders. Dully, Ner’zhul realized what had happened. His apprentice, hungry for power—how was it Ner’zhul had closed his eyes to the obvious for so long?—had followed him. Had heard the ancestors’ words. And still he clung to Kil’jaeden, after hearing the same things Ner’zhul had heard? For a moment, his own fear and selfishness went away, and Ner’zhul felt only a wave of pity for an orc who had fallen so far.
“It wounds me,” Kil’jaeden said. Ner’zhul looked at him, startled. “I chose you, Ner’zhul. I gave you my powers. I showed you what you need to do to advance your people and ensure that they are never second in this world.”
Ner’zhul spoke without thinking. “You have deceived me. You have sent me false visions. You have maligned the ancestors and all they stood for. I don’t know why you are doing this, but I know that it is not out of love for my people.”
“And yet they flourish. They are united, for the first time in many centuries.”
“United under a lie,” Ner’zhul said. He was giddy in his rebellion. It felt good. Perhaps if he continued, Kil’jaeden would lose patience with him and slay him, and Ner’zhul’s problem would be solved. But Kil’jaeden did not respond with deadly fury as Ner’zhul hoped he would. Instead the being sighed deeply and shook his head, like a parent disappointed in a wayward child.
“You may yet regain my favor, Ner’zhul,” Kil’jaeden said, “I have a task for you. If you complete it, your lapse of faith will be overlooked.”
Ner’zhul’s lips moved. He wanted to shout out his rebellion again, but this time the words would not come. He realized that the moment had passed. He did not want to die, any more than any sane, living being wanted to die, and so he remained silent.
“What happened with the Frostwolf chieftain troubles me,” Kil’jaeden continued. “Not least because he is not the only one who has murmured against what is happening. There are others—the one who wields the Doomhammer, some among the Bladewind and Redwalker clans as well. It would be one thing if these opposing voices belonged to those of no consequence, but many of them do not. There must be no risk to the success of my plan. Therefore, I will guarantee their obedience.
“It is not enough for them to swear loyalty,” Kil’jaeden continued. He tapped his check with one long red finger thoughtfully. “Too many seem enamored of changing what ‘honor’ and ‘oath’ mean. We must … ensure their cooperation, for now, and for all time.”
Gul’dan’s small eyes glinted. “What is it you suggest. Great One?”
Kil’jaeden smiled at Gul’dan. Already, Ner’zhul could see the bond between them—see how like Kil’jaeden Gul’dan was in a way that Ner’zhul had never been. Kil’jaeden had been forced to use seductive lies and trickery in order to pull Ner’zhul to his cause; with Gul’dan, he could speak openly.
“There is such a way,” Kil’jaeden said, speaking to both orc shaman now. “A way to make them forever bound to us. Forever loyal.”
Ner’zhul had thought that he had become inured to horror after what the ancestors had revealed to him, but now he realized that he was capable of experiencing an entirely new level of shock as he listened to Kil’jaeden outline the plan. Forever bound. Forever loyal.
Forever enslaved.
He looked up into Kil’jaeden’s blazing eyes, and words would not come. A nod would suffice, he knew, but he could not even bring himself to do that. Instead he simply stared, transfixed, like a bird before a snake.
Kil’jaeden heaved a deep sigh. “You refuse your chance at redemption in my eyes, then?”
As he heard Kil’jaeden speak, it was as if a spell had been removed from Ner’zhul. The words that had been stuck in his throat came rushing out, and although he knew they would mean his doom, the shaman made no move to stop them.
“I refuse utterly to forever doom my people to a life of slavery,” he cried. Kil’jaeden listened, then nodded his massive head. “This is your choice. You have also chosen the consequences. Know this, shaman. Your choice averts nothing. My desires will still be carried out. Your people will still be slaves. But instead of leading them and lingering in my favor, you will be forced to be a helpless observer. I think that will be sweeter than if I simply slew you.”
Ner’zhul opened his mouth to speak, but he could not. Kil’jaeden narrowed his great eyes, and Ner’zhul could not even move. Even his heart, slamming wildly in his chest, beat only by the will of Lord Kil’jaeden, and he knew it.
How had he been such a gullible fool? How had he not seen through the lies?
How could he have mistaken an illusion sent by this … this monster to be the spirit of his beloved mate? Tears welled in his eyes and slipped down his checks, only, he knew, because Kil’jaeden permitted it.