Keith DeCandido - Cycle of Hatred

Aegwynn! What a pleasant surprise. I had thought you had long since died at the hands of your son. How fortunate that I get to do it myself, instead. I owe you for what you did to me.

Even as the demon ranted, Aegwynn heard strange cackling noises.

"I know that laugh." Lorena sounded disgusted. "Grellkin."

Sure enough, a score of little demons, covered in fur that matched the color of the mist, scampered toward them.

Moving forward to protect Aegwynn and Jaina both, Lorena said, "I really really hate these guys." Then she charged ahead and attacked.

The fuzzy creatures were too much for one woman to handle; luckily, there were two women to do so. Jaina cast several spells that had various effects on the grellkin. Some had their fur catch fire. Others stopped breathing. Others were blown into the cave walls by sudden gale—force winds in the enclosed space. None of these were particularly impressive spells, but they were all minor enough that they allowed Jaina to conserve her power.

But that was only the first wave. After the first twenty were killed, twenty more replaced them.

"This is a distraction," Aegwynn said.

"Yes," Jaina said. She cast another spell that disintegrated the twenty grellkin.

Another line of ten were behind them.

"Colonel," Jaina said quickly, "can you handle these?"

Lorena grinned. "Watch me."

"Good."

As the colonel waded into the demonic attackers, Jaina closed her eyes and almost stumbled. Aegwynn moved to grab her. "Are you all right?"

With refreshing honesty, Jaina said, "No. I can cast the banishment, but only if I don't cast anything else. Lorena has to take care—"

A piercing scream echoed throughout the cavern as Lorena managed to stab the last three grellkin with one thrust of her sword. She yanked the sword out, and the creatures collapsed to the floor. Staring at the ichor—encrusted blade, Lorena sighed. "I'm never going to get these stains off."

I suspect that will be the least of your problems.

This time the voice didn't come from everywhere: it came from right in front of them.

The orange mist parted, which Aegwynn knew couldn't possibly be a good sign. It revealed the massive form of Zmodlor.

Panic rooted Davin to the very spot. Around him, his soldiers were dying, their limbs being hacked off, blades slicing through their chests, axes cutting off their heads.

And Davin simply stood there, waiting to die.

He had thought for sure that as soon as the fighting commenced, Burx would cleave him in two with his ax. But the orc got sidetracked by a couple of other soldiers who leapt in to defend their commanding officer. Davin wasn't entirely clear what he had done to inspire such loyalty.

After that, no one came after him. Orcs and trolls picked humans to fight, or vice versa, and somehow Davin, standing closer to the shoreline than anyone else, got ignored.

The body of a troll fell at his feet. The body of Corporal Barnes flew past in a high arc and landed in the water. Davin wondered why Barnes's orc opponent felt the need to throw Barnes so far, then decided that he really didn't want to know.

Then the world exploded.

An earthquake shook the ground so heavily that it accomplished what panic had prevented: it got Davin to move, albeit to fall to the ground.

Though there hadn't been a cloud in the sky a moment ago—in fact, it had been a clear, sunny day—now the skies had gone dark, and thunder and lightning struck the ground with an ear—splitting crack.

Davin heard a rumble and looked to the shoreline to see a massive wave start to rise up. In all the time Davin had been assigned to Northwatch, he'd never seen a wave that big hit the shore that wasn't due to the wake of a boat.

However, this wave was as high as the keep's wall—and it was about to come crashing down right on Davin.

Quickly, he tried to clamber to his feet, but his boots could not gain purchase on the sand, and he fell on his face. Spitting sand out of his mouth and trying not to inhale all the sand in his nose, Davin gave in to the inevitable and braced himself by shoving his fists down into the sand.

The water slammed into him, almost uprooting him from the spot, but his armor and anchored hands kept him weighted down. He wondered how the other soldiers who were less secure fared; he didn't much care about the orcs and trolls. Mostly, though, he wondered if he'd ever be able to breathe again.

Seconds later, the water flowed back in the other direction. The wave had washed the sand off his face, though he was now drenched, water matting his hair and causing his beard to weigh heavily on his face.

"You have shamed me this day, my warriors!"

Davin rolled over onto his back and looked up. The skies were still dark, save for one spot, in which hovered a dirigible.

Briefly, Davin allowed himself to feel hope—perhaps the airship belonged to Colonel Lorena, who had freed herself and Lady Proudmoore from the Burning Blade. This sudden meteorological nightmare could easily have been the lady's doing, after all. They had come to rally the troops, drive the orcs back, and save the day.

Then he took a closer look at the dirigible, and his heart sank. The canvas was decorated with several bizarre symbols, all of which the major recognized as being orcish. At least two of those symbols were mirrors for ones he saw on armor and weaponry that orcs carried during the war—not to mention on the troops that were currently killing his soldiers. Davin's platoon commander during the war had said that they were the orc equivalent of coats—of—arms for their various clans.

Davin had never been a particularly religious sort. The only time in his life he'd ever prayed was when he was hiding behind the tree and praying that the demons wouldn't notice him. That particular prayer was answered, but Davin didn't want to push his luck, so he never prayed again.

Now, though, he prayed that he would survive this day. Somehow, he found the strength to get to his feet.

The words Davin had heard had come from the airship. A rope ladder fell toward the ground and went taut as the orc who owned the voice that spoke the words climbed down.

When the orc arrived on the shore, the orcs all around—or at least the ones Davin could see in his peripheral vision, as his eyes were focused on the new arrival—raised their weapons in salute. The major also noticed that this orc had blue eyes, and at once he realized who it had to be. Until now, Davin had never actually met the orc Warchief, and he recalled that Thrall was also a shaman of great power. Like Lady Proudmoore, he could easily be responsible for this inundation.

Holding aloft his two—handed hammer with one hand—this, Davin knew, was the legendary Doomhammer that had once belonged to Orgrim, Thrall's mentor—the orc cried out, "I am Thrall, Warchief of Durotar, Lord of the Clans, Leader of the Horde! I come to you now to say that—" He pointed at Burx. "—this orc does not speak for me!"

Over the past half—dozen years, Davin had had plenty of congress with orcs. There was the war, of course, and Northwatch's location on the Merchant Coast meant that plenty of orcs came through the area.

In all that time, Davin had never seen quite the expression on an orc's face that he now saw on Burx's.

"Warriors of Durotar, you will stand down!" Again he pointed at Burx, but this time with the hammer. "This foul creature has consorted with a demon in order to bring about war between our people. I will not violate our alliance to suit the needs of the very creatures who tried to destroy us."

Burx snarled. "I have been your loyal servant!"

Thrall shook his head. "Several warriors who served with you have reported a talisman you carry in the shape of a sword afire—that is the symbol of the Burning Blade. According to Jaina—as well as an ancient wizard who has allied herself with the humans—all those who carry that symbol are in the thrall of a demon known as Zmodlor, who is attempting to foment discontent on Kalimdor and sunder our alliance. As ever, demons do nothing but use us and then destroy us."