Keith DeCandido: Cycle of Hatred

Irritatingly, the private looked to Davin first. The major nodded, and only then did the private go back out.

Two men then entered the small office. Strov was the most average person Lorena knew—average height, weight, and build, brown hair, brown eyes, small mustache. He looked like every other adult human male in the world, which was one of several reasons why he was such a good tracker. So nondescript was he that nobody noticed he was there.

Following Strov was a man with the weathered look of an experienced sailor. His gait was awkward, as if he walked expecting the deck to buckle under him, and his face bore the wrinkles and redness of long exposure to the sun.

"Captain Avinal," Davin said, moving back to his chair, "this is Colonel Lorena. Lady Proudmoore sent her up from Theramore to find out why a pirate ship attacked an orc ship."

Avinal frowned. "I'd think that'd be obvious, Colonel."

Sparing a moment to give Davin a glare of her own, Lorena then regarded Avinal. "The major's stated reason for my being here is not quite accurate. I know why a pirate ship attacked an orc trader—what I don't know is why you didn't help them."

Pointing at Strov, Avinal asked, "That why this man and his people've been harassin' my crew?"

"Private Strov and his comrades are following the lady's orders, Captain, as am I."

"I've got a patrol to make, ma'am. There any way this can wait—"

"No, Captain, there isn't."

Avinal looked at Davin. Davin shrugged, as if to say that it was out of his hands. Then the captain looked witheringly at Lorena. "Fine. When's this attack supposed to've happened?"

"Five days ago. According to Major Davin you were fogbound that morning."

"Yes'm, we were."

"Did you see any other ships that morning?"

"Might've—some shapes that might'a been a boat here an' there, but couldn't be sure. We were near a boat at one point, I know that much—rang their foghorn."

Lorena nodded. That tracked with what the orcs told Lady Proudmoore.

"But we didn't see nothin' solid. Couldn't see the nose in front of your face, and that's a fact. Fifty years, I been sailin', Colonel, and I ain't never seen fog the like of that. Sargeras himself could've taken a stroll on the deck and I might not'a seen it. It was all I could do to keep my own people from mutiny, truth be told. Last thing any of us'd be concerned about is a buncha greenskins."

For several seconds, Lorena stared at the captain. Then she sighed. "Very well, Captain, thank you. That will be all."

Muttering, "Blessed waste of time," under his breath, Avinal departed.

After the captain left, Strov said, "Most of the crew say the same, ma'am."

"Of course they do," Davin said. "Because it's the truth, as'd be obvious to anyone who'd think about it for a second."

Whirling on the major, Lorena asked, "Tell me, Major, why didn't you mention that Captain Avinal was near another boat—or that it rang its foghorn?"

"I didn't think it was relevant."

Lorena changed her mental letter so that Davin would be transferred to cesspool duty. "It isn't your job to assess relevance, Major. It's your job—your duty—to follow the orders of your superiors."

Davin let out a long breath. "Look, Colonel—you were sent here to find out if Captain Avinal did anything wrong. He didn't. And what does it matter if a bunch of greenskins got their cargo took?"

"Actually, they didn't—they fought off the pirates on their own."

Now Davin stood again, looking at Lorena like she was mad. "Then—with all due respect, ma'am, what's the meaning of this inquiry? It's not like the greenskins needed our help—so why treat us like criminals? As I said, we did nothing wrong."

Lorena shook her head, not agreeing with that statement at all.

Byrok never imagined that the happiest time in his life would be when he went fishing.

On the face of it, it didn't seem to be the life for an orc. Fishing involved no battle, no glory, no challenging combat, no testing of one's mettle against an equal foe. No weaponry was involved, no blood was shed.

But it was less what he did than why he did it. Byrok went fishing because he was free.

As a youth, he had heard the false promises of Gul'dan and his Shadow Council who promised a new world where the sky was blue and the inhabitants easy prey for superior orc might to conquer. Byrok, along with the others of his clan, followed Gul'dan's instructions, never knowing that he and his council did the bidding of Sargeras and his foul demons, never realizing that the price for this new world would be their very souls.

It took a decade for the orcs to be defeated. Either they were enslaved by the demons they thought were their benefactors, or they were enslaved by the humans, who proved to have more fight in them than the demons imagined.

Demon magic had made Byrok's memories of his life in the orcs' native land dim. A lack of interest in remembering had had a similar effect on his recollections of his life in human bondage. He recalled mainly that the work was backbreaking and menial, and it destroyed what little of his spirit the demons had left intact.

Then Thrall came.

Everything changed then. The son of the great Durotan—whose death had, in many ways, been the end of the orcs' former way of life—Thrall had escaped his overseers and used the humans' own tactics against them. He reminded the orcs of their long—forgotten past.

On the day that Thrall and his growing army liberated Byrok, he swore that he would serve the young orc until one of them died.

So far, that death had not come, despite the finest efforts of human soldiers or demon hordes. One lesser member of the Burning Legion did, however, claim Byrok's right eye. In exchange, Byrok removed the demon's entire head.

When the fighting ended, and when the orcs settled in Durotar, Byrok requested that he be relieved of his service. Should the call to battle be sounded, Byrok promised he would be the first in line to take up the mantle of the warrior once again, even with one eye missing, but now he wished to make use of the freedom he had fought so hard for.

Thrall naturally granted it to him, and to all those who requested it.

Byrok did not need to fish, of course. Durotar included some excellent farmland. Since the human lands were located in the marshy territory to the south, humans could not grow crops, and so turned most of their energy to fishing. They would trade their surplus to the orcs in exchange for their surplus crops.

But Byrok wanted no fish caught by humans. He wanted nothing to do with humans if he could possibly avoid it. Yes, the humans had fought at the orcs' side against the Burning Legion, but that was an alliance of necessity. Humans were monsters, and Byrok wanted nothing to do with such uncivilized creatures.

So it was rather a shock to the one—eyed orc to find six humans in his usual fishing spot on Deadeye Shore.

For starters, the area surrounding Byrok's fishing hole was high grassland. Byrok's tracking skills had been reduced a bit by the lack of a good right eye, but he still saw no indication that any but he had traversed through the grasses—especially not any humans, who, for such small, lightweight creatures, were pathetically overt in their movements. Nor did Byrok see any airships nearby, nor any boats on the water within sight of the fishing spot.

How they arrived, though, was of considerably less concern to Byrok than the fact that they had arrived. Setting down his fishing gear, he unstrapped the morningstar from his back. The weapon had been a gift from Thrall after the Warchief had freed him from bondage, and Byrok went nowhere without it.

Were these fellow orcs in Byrok's spot, he would have questioned their presence, but humans—particularly human trespassers—deserved no such consideration. He would find out their intent by stealthier means. At best, they might simply be fools who strayed too far north and did not realize they were invading. Byrok had lived a long time, and had come to understand that stupidity was a far more common explanation than malice.