Christie Golden: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm

Cairne's posture eased as the murmurs turned approving. "I stand by that choice. I well know what the sons and daughters of Durotar were able to give in Northrend. But our land gave, too. No one could have expected the high cost of supplies for the campaign in Northrend. And yet, could we have turned away from the call?"

No one spoke. No one present would have turned away, whatever the cost might be. "And thus it is that our land has given, as we have; given until it has almost given out. The war to the north is over. We must now turn our attention to our own lands, and our own needs. It is an unfortunate consequence of the events of the Wrath Gate that the Alliance has a fresh reason to oppose us. While I realize that to some of you this means nothing, and others are glad of it, I assure you that no one is glad of the fact that the night elves have, for the moment, shut down all trade avenues with us."

Everyone present knew what that meant — no fresh lumber for building, no hunting rights in Ashenvale, no safe passage anywhere the Sentinels patrolled. There was silence for a moment, then unhappy murmuring.

"Warchief, if I may?"

It was Cairne, in his slow, calm voice. Thrall smiled at his old friend. "Please. Your advice is always welcome."

"Our people have a connection with the night elves that the other races of the Horde do not," Cairne continued. "We are both followers of the teachings of Cenarius. We even have a joint sanctuary, the Moonglade, where we meet in peace and converse, sharing what knowledge and wisdom we have obtained. While I understand that they are angry with the Horde, I do not think that all bonds will be severed. I think the druids might be good ambassadors for reopening discussions. Archdruid Hamuul Runetotem knows many kaldorei."

He nodded at the archdruid, who rose to speak. "Indeed, Warchief. I have friendships with them that are years in the making. They may, as a race, resent us, but would take no pleasure in the thought of children starving to death, even the children of their so - called enemy. I have a high position in the Cenarion Circle. Negotiations could potentially be reopened, especially in light of the cooperation we have received with the treaty.

If the warchief would permit me to approach them, perhaps we could prevail upon them to — "

"Prevail upon them? Negotiate? Pagh!" Garrosh actually spat on the floor as he spoke. "I am ashamed to hear such mewling words come from the mouth of any member of the Horde! What happened at the Wrath Gate harmed us all, or has everyone here already forgotten Saurfang the Younger and the many who died with him — and who were later obscenely raised as the walking dead to fight against us? The elves have no greater claim to being attacked than we!"

"Impertinent youth," growled Cairne, turning on Garrosh. 'You use the name of Saurfang the Younger to your advantage when you openly disrespect the wisdom of his bereaved father!"

"Just because I disagree with Saurfang's tactics does not mean I belittle his son's sacrifice!" Garrosh retorted. 'You, who have seen so many battles in your many, many years, should understand that! Yes, I disagreed with him. I said to him as I say to you, Warchief Thrall, let us not fret and whimper like kicked dogs about the night elves' oh - so - delicate feelings. Let us move into Ashenvale now, before my troops are scattered, and simply take what we need!"

The two had been leaning to their sides, shouting over Thrall as if he were not there. Thrall had permitted it because he wanted to judge the relationship between the two, but now he lifted a commanding hand and his voice was biting.

"It is not that simple, Garrosh!"

Garrosh turned to protest, but Thrall narrowed his blue eyes in warning, and the younger orc closed his mouth and sat sullenly silent.

"High Overlord Saurfang knows that," Thrall continued. "Cairne and I and Hamuul know that. You have had your first taste of battle and proved more than worthy at such a noble endeavor, but you will soon learn that nothing is black and white in this world."

Cairne leaned back in his chair, apparently mollified, but Thrall could see that Garrosh was still seething. At least, Thrall thought, he was listening and not talking.

"Varian Wrynn's stance against our people is becoming increasingly militaristic." He did not add, thanks to you, because he knew Garrosh would hear the unspoken words. "Jaina Proudmoore is his friend and is sympathetic to our cause."

"She is still Alliance scum!"

"She is still Alliance, yes," Thrall said, his voice deepening and growing louder, "but anyone who has served with me or who has bothered to read a single historical scroll over the last few years knows that she is a human with integrity and wisdom. Do you think Cairne Bloodhoof disloyal?"

Garrosh seemed taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. His eyes darted to Cairne, who sat up straighter and snorted.

"I — of course not. No one here questions his devotion and service to the Horde." He spoke carefully, looking for the trap. Thrall nodded. Although his tone was defensive, Garrosh's words did seem sincere to him.

"They would be a fool to do so. Jaina's loyalty to the Alliance does not preclude her working toward peace and prosperity for all who dwell in Azeroth. Nor does Cairne's loyalty to the Horde. His proposition is a sound one. It costs us little and could gain us much. If the night elves agree to open negotiations, well and good. If not, then we pursue other avenues."

Cairne looked over at Hamuul Runetotem, who nodded and said, "Thank you, Warchief. It is my deeply held belief that this is the right path, both to honor the Earth Mother, who seems so distressed, and to obtain what is needed for the Horde to recover from this terrible war."

"As always, my friend, I thank you for your service." Thrall turned to Garrosh. "Garrosh, you are the son of one who was very dear to me. I have heard you called the Hero of Northrend, and I think that an apt title. But I personally have found that sometimes after war, it is difficult for the warrior to find where he belongs. I, Thrall, son of Durotan and Draka, promise you that I will work with you to find a suitable position where your skills and abilities can best be used to serve the Horde."

He had meant this exactly as he said it. He did admire Garrosh's work in Northrend. But those talents were limited, and he needed time to think about where best to position Garrosh to work for the Horde.

Apparently, though, Garrosh did not understand Thrall's intention. His eyes narrowed and he growled softly beneath his breath.

"As the warchief wills, of course. With your permission, great Thrall, I find the air in here a bit stuffy."

Without waiting for the sarcastically requested permission, Garrosh rose, gave Thrall a nod that was only barely courteous enough, and strode outside.

"That boy is a kodo disliking the bridle," Cairne murmured.

Thrall sighed. "But too valuable to give up on." He lifted his arm and, pitching his voice to carry, announced, "The air is close. More liquid to wet dry throats!"

A cheer went up, and the crowd was momentarily distracted. Thrall thought about Cairne's words and his own, and wondered how in the world he would tame the wild kodo without breaking him.

But Garrosh's role in the Horde, while an important concern to Thrall, was not uppermost in his mind. What troubled him most were the good of his people, of the Horde as a whole, and the unhappiness of the elements. His people were clamoring for more wood to build homes, but the very world itself seemed troubled.

He had chosen Durotar for the exact reasons he had spoken — because it enabled his people to atone for the harm they had done, and because this land had toughened and strengthened them. But he had never anticipated that so many rivers would dry up; that so much of what little forest there was would be denuded by a war that, while utterly necessary, was also utterly damaging.