Keith DeCandido: Cycle of Hatred

Indicating Davin with his weapon, Burx said, "These are the bastards who tried to destroy us! They enslaved us and humiliated us and denied us our heritage!"

His voice a calm contrast to Burx's near hysteria, Thrall said, "Yes, some of them did—and they did so because of demons who drained our very souls and forced us to fight their war on the people of this world, a war that we eventually lost. But we have thrown off those shackles and risen to be as strong as ever. And the reason why, Burx, is because we are warriors. Because we are pure of spirit. Or, rather, most of us are. I cannot call pure one who consorts with foul creatures to cause orcs to violate their word."

The orcs and trolls all looked at Burx with a mixture of surprise and revulsion. There were a few, Davin noticed, who seemed confused. One of the latter spoke up. "Is this true, Burx? You made a deal with a demon?"

"To wipe out the humans, I'd make a deal with a thousand demons! They gotta be destroyed!"

Then, to accentuate his point, Burx charged right at Davin.

Every instinct in Davin's body cried to run away, but he could no more make his legs move now than he could when the wave hit. He saw Burx's ax as the orc swung it upward in preparation for cleaving Davin's skull.

But before he could complete the swing, Burx's entire body convulsed. He stopped moving forward and fell to the sand. As he did so, Davin saw that Thrall had struck Burx from behind with Doomhammer.

"You have brought disgrace to Durotar, Burx. You have caused the dishonorable deaths of orc and troll and human warrior alike. This blight can only be eliminated by your death. As Warchief, it is my solemn duty to carry out that sentence."

Thrall raised Doomhammer over his head and then brought it down hard on Burx's head.

Davin flinched as blood and gore splattered all over the sand, onto Thrall, and onto Davin himself. He was, however, too frightened to actually move to wipe any of it off, not even the blood that mixed in with the water on his left cheek or the bits of skull in his beard.

Thrall likewise made no attempt to remove the stains of Burx's death from his person—and he was much more fouled by it. Davin supposed that it served as a badge of honor to an orc. The Warchief stepped forward and said to Davin, "You have the apologies of Durotar for this traitor's behavior, Major, and for this terrible battle that has happened this day. I will not permit the Burning Blade to influence my people anymore. I hope the same will be said for you."

Not trusting his mouth to work properly, Davin simply nodded.

"We will depart. I am sorry we did not arrive soon enough to avoid bloodshed, but first I had to order the troops amassed on land to stand down. We all shall return to Durotar, and not attack you again." The Warchief stepped forward. "Unless you give us reason to."

Again, Davin nodded, more eagerly this time.

He continued to stand there as Thrall ordered his troops to gather their dead and wounded and return to their boats and set sail northward for Kolkar Crag. Davin remained standing with his boots sunk into the sand, bits of Burx's blood, skull, and brains on various portions of his armor and person, as Thrall climbed back up the ladder to his airship, and both airship and waterborne vessels proceeded northward.

Davin was stunned to realize that, for the second time, his prayer had been answered, and he was starting to think there might be something to the whole praying thing.

He was equally stunned at how quickly everything had changed—all because of Thrall's words. Yes, his rather spectacular actions got everyone to stop fighting for a minute, but that would've been only temporary. Thrall's words were what convinced the orcs and trolls to stop fighting and retreat.

Much as he hated to admit it about an orc, Davin was impressed.

Finally, a captain whose name Davin couldn't for the life of him remember, asked, "Orders, Major?"

"Ah—stand down, Captain." He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, suddenly feeling very exhausted. "Stand down."

Not five minutes ago, Aegwynn had urged Zmodlor to cease his parlor tricks. The disembodied voice trick was probably menacing to the average person, but it was a simple trick that any first—year apprentice could pull off. So it didn't impress Aegwynn all that much.

Now, seeing the huge, leathery—skinned, bat—winged, flame—eyed Zmodlor standing before her, she realized she should have kept her mouth shut. Demons on the whole were not pretty creatures, but Zmodlor was hideous even by their standards.

Surrounding the demon were eight hooded figures. These, presumably, were the warlocks, who were chanting rhythmically.

Jaina reached into her cloak and grabbed the scroll. Aegwynn was grateful, as it meant this would be over soon. Now that Zmodlor had revealed himself, Jaina would be able to cast the banishment.

Suddenly, Jaina screamed and fell to the floor.

"Jaina!" Aegwynn ran to the young mage's side. Lorena, good soldier that she was, moved to stand between the demon and Jaina.

Sweat beaded on Jaina's forehead as she managed to get to her knees. Through clenched teeth, she said, "Warlocks…blocking the spell."

This close, Aegwynn could feel the warlocks' spellcasting. It was fairly weak, though there were about a dozen of them, which added power to their spells. Still, a mage of Jaina's stature should have been able to punch through that.

Unless, of course, she'd overextended herself.

Jaina was struggling—Aegwynn could feel it—but she was losing ground to Zmodlor's minions.

This is even better than I'd hoped. I'll make sure that the orcs are blamed for Proudmoore's death. It will send the humans into a frenzy. Nothing will stop them from going to war, and without her to guide them, they'll lose—but not before they kill as many orcs as possible. It will be glorious!

"Like hell," Aegwynn muttered. There was only one thing for her to do.

It had been almost four years since she brought Medivh back. That had drained all her magic at the time, as she'd told Jaina—but the magic never went away forever. Two decades after she had escaped to Bladescar, she had built up enough magical power to bring back her son. While she hadn't regained anywhere near that much in the four years since, she might well have enough to do what was necessary. If not—well, she'd lived almost a full millennium. As Lorena had so eloquently pointed out, that was a lot more than most people got.

Sweat was now pouring down Jaina's face. She was still kneeling, fists clenched and resting on her thighs. Aegwynn could feel the spell that she herself had written struggling to push past the blocks the warlocks were putting up.

Down on one knee at Jaina's side, Aegwynn grabbed the younger woman's left fist with both hands. She closed her eyes, gathered up her thoughts, her power, her very life essence. Focusing it, molding it, moving it, she channeled it all into her arms…then her forearms…then her hands…

And then to Jaina.

Fatigue rather suddenly overwhelmed her. Her bones felt heavy in her skin, her muscles ached as if she had just run a race, and her breaths came in shallow gasps. Ignoring all of it, Aegwynn continued to focus, willing her life, her magic, her very soul to Jaina Proudmoore.

Jaina opened her eyes. Normally an icy blue, they were now a fiery red.

No!

Simultaneously, both Aegwynn and Jaina said, "Yes!"

You cannot stop the Burning Blade! We will prevail over all, destroying everything in our path, and then we—aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGH!

Zmodlor's screams echoed—not only off the walls, but from the mouths of the warlocks, who felt sympathetic agony through the bond the demon had with them. Though Aegwynn's vision was fading, she saw Zmodlor's hideous body twist and contort, ichor spewing from wounds that suddenly ripped open.