Christie Golden: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm

There were several of the giant humanoids on the ship already. Captain Tula was shouting to shove off, and her crew was scrambling to obey. The anchor was hauled up and the ship pushed off toward open water. The Kvaldir vessels, wreathed in the cold, clinging fog, pursued. The sight was less frightening now that everyone understood they faced a living foe, but the danger was still very real. The crew had held its own while the remnants of the Warsong offensive struggled to get to the ship, but now they were able to attend to their duties while the soldiers fought. The Kvaldir ships pulled up alongside, close enough for Cairne to see the leering, furious faces of the murderous enemy.

"Do not let them board!" shouted Garrosh. He dispatched a foe and, leaping over the still - twitching corpse, chopped the hands off of a Kvaldir attempting to climb aboard. The Kvaldir screamed and fell into the freezing waters. "Tula! Push us out to sea! We must outrun them!"

The frantic crew obeyed. Cairne, Garrosh, and the others fought like demons. Archers and gunmen fired at the enemy vessel. Several bowmen lit their arrows on fire, aiming for the sails. A great cheer went up as one of them caught. Bright orange flames pierced the cold gray of the fog, and the sail began to crackle as the fire spread. Mannoroth's Bones lurched toward open water. Cairne fully expected the Kvaldir to follow, but they did not.

He heard cries in their ugly language as some hastened to put out the fire that was consuming their ship while others rushed to the bow and hurled curses at the rapidly disappearing Horde vessel.

Cairne suddenly felt the pain of his wounds and grimaced. He permitted himself to lie down in the boat and close his eyes for a moment. Let the pretend ghosts rail. Today, fewer than they expected have fallen to them. And for now, Cairne thought wearily, that was enough.

I am saddened to depart this place," Garrosh said as they stood on the deck of Mannoroth's Bones a few hours into their journey.

Cairne stared at him. "Saddened? I would think Northrend symbolized a place of carnage and loss. Many of our best and brightest were slain here. I have never been one to mourn leaving a battlefield."

Garrosh snorted. "It has been a long time since you were on a battlefield… elder."

Cairne's brows drew together and he straightened, towering over even Garrosh. "For an elder, it seems my memory is sharper than yours, young one. What do you think the last few hours were? Do you disregard the sacrifices that your soldiers made? Do you sneer at the wounds I and others now bear because of it?"

Garrosh muttered something and did not answer, but it was clear to the tauren that Garrosh did not regard a siege in the same light as a no doubt glorious battle on some open plain. Perhaps he thought there was some shame in being trapped in the first place. Cairne had seen too much to be so foolish, but the blood ran hot in the young ore. Garrosh would learn that it was in how one fought, not where or when, that honor was born. And by that standard, the Horde had given a proud accounting of itself.

And so, he had to admit, had Garrosh. His reckless leaping into the fray had paid off — this time. But apparently, according to others he had talked with, even Saurfang, who clearly disliked the young ore, it had paid off a number of times before. Where did boldness become recklessness? Instinct become bloodlust? As he shivered a little in the sharp, biting wind blowing off the arctic seas despite his thick fur, his body stiffening up from its wounds and the exertion, Cairne was forced to admit that it had indeed been a while since he had fought with any regularity, though he had still been able to hold his own when he needed to.

"The Horde won victory against all odds, against a terrible foe in Northrend," said Garrosh, returning to the original subject of the conversation. "Each life counted toward that goal. Toward the honor and glory of the Horde. Saurfang's own son was lost. He and the others shall have lok'vadnods composed and sung for them. One day, ancestors willing, I shall have one written for me as well. And that is why I am saddened to depart, Cairne Bloodhoof."

Cairne nodded his grizzled head. "Though I do not think you want a lok'vadnod terribly soon, hmm?"

It was an attempt to interject levity, but Grom Hellscream's boy was too earnest to chuckle along. "Whenever death comes, I will meet it proudly. Fighting for my people, a weapon in my hand, my battle cry on my lips."

"Hrmmm," rumbled Cairne. "It is a glorious way to go. With honor and pride. May we each be granted such a dignity. But I have much more stargazing to do, more listening to drumming circles. More teaching the young ones and watching them come of age before I am willing to go with death on that final journey."

Garrosh opened his mouth to speak, but it was as if the wind snatched the words out of his tusked mouth. Cairne, massive and solid as he was, stumbled under the force of the gale that erupted out of nowhere. The ship lurched beneath them, tipping wildly to one side, and suddenly the deck was awash in water.

"What is happening?" Garrosh bellowed, even that loud sound almost drowned out by the abrupt howling of the wind. Cairne did not know the proper seaman's term for this type of storm and thought that identifying it was the least of their worries. Captain Tula rushed on deck, her blue skin pale and her eyes wide. Her functional clothing — black foot wraps, pants, and a plain white shirt — was drenched and plastered to her skin. Her black hair had come undone from its topknot and looked like a mop atop her head.

"What can I do?" Cairne asked at once, unsettled more by her obvious concern than the storm that had quite literally seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Get below so I won't be haviir t' worry about you landlubbers!" she shouted, too focused to worry about rank and courtesies. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Cairne would have chuckled. As it was, he reached out, seized Garrosh unceremoniously by the back of his gorget, and had begun to steer the protesting orc toward the center of the ship when the wave crashed over them all.

Cairne was slammed to the deck as if by a giant hand. The breath was knocked out of him, and even as he struggled, water surged into his lungs to take its place. As quickly as it had come, the wave receded, nearly taking both him and Garrosh with it as easily as if they were but twigs in a stream wending through Quel'Thalas. As one, they reached out to one another, hands gripping painfully hard. They slammed into the curving bulwark, their progress halted for the moment. Cairne rose, his hooves caning a deep gouge in the slippery wooden deck as he stubbornly sought purchase. Snorting and bellowing with the effort, he fought his way fonvard, hauling Garrosh until the orc could scramble upright. There came a sudden crack of lightning far, far too close and the shattering rumble of thunder almost immediately afterward.

Still Cairne moved forward, one arm around Garrosh, the other reaching out until it grasped the slippery but solid doorframe, and the two half - stumbled, half - slid down into the hold.

Garrosh vomited up water, then stubbornly reached out a brown hand and tried to rise. "Cowards and children stay in the hold while others risk their lives," he gasped.

Cairne placed a hand none too gently on Garrosh's armor - clad shoulder. "And self - centered fools get in the way of those trying to save lives," he growled. "Do not be a fool, Garrosh Hellscream. Captain Tula needs to tend the ship so that it won't snap in two, not waste precious energy and time trying to stop us from being washed overboard!"

Garrosh stared at him, then threw back his head and howled his frustration. But to his credit, he did not attempt to rush back up the stairs.