Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War (17 page)

Kalec’s heart sank. The Horde was only a day’s march, perhaps two, and its forces were already gathered at Northwatch. Varian’s strategy was a good one, so far as it went. But all the king’s generals and all the king’s ships could not save Theramore if they arrived an hour too late. He wished he could speak but had to content himself with clenching his fists in frustration. What was worse than his own dismay was seeing Jaina looking stunned and worried.

“Are you sure? Varian, Ka—one of my scouts said he saw the Horde still assembled in full numbers at Northwatch.”

“If they are still gathered and not yet marching,” said Varian, “they obviously are not interested in a swift conquest. They have their own plots. I will move as fast as I may, Jaina, but nothing can change the fact that it will take time to assemble any kind of a fleet that would make a difference. I’m sorry. It’s the best I can do.”

Jaina nodded. “Of course I know that, Varian. And you raise a good
point. I’ll be contacting the other Alliance leaders as well. The kaldorei may be able to send both ships and warriors; the dwarves, warriors and perhaps gryphons. I think even the draenei would be willing to help.”

“I will speak with Greymane,” said Varian. “I know well a few worgen on the battlefield will strike fear even into the hearts of the more bestial members of the Horde.”

“Thank you,” Jaina said. “Sometimes it’s easy to feel a bit deserted here on this island.”

“Well, don’t,” said Varian, but his voice was kind. “Contact me again in a few hours, and we will share our information. Take care, Jaina. We will win this yet.”

“I know we will,” said Jaina.

And as the soft blue light of the magic mirror faded and her features returned to normal hues, Kalecgos resolved that whatever happened, he would do all he could to make sure Jaina’s faith was justified.

F
our days. Four full days had the massed army of the Horde waited for the order to march on Theramore. Garrosh had stayed in his warchief’s battle tent, and no request for an audience had been granted.

Loyal the Horde might have been to its warchief, but patient its members were not. There had been muttered complaints, quietly voiced questions. Baine, who had complaints and questions aplenty, had kept his sharp ears tuned to the murmurs and had discreetly spoken with those who, like he, were concerned about this inexplicable delay.

He and Hamuul Runetotem set up a meeting some distance away from the ruin, near a giant tree that had been on the right side of the Great Divide when the land had bucked and heaved during the Cataclysm, and were the first to arrive. They all came one by one: Captain Frandis Farley and a few companions from the Forsaken; Kelantir Bloodblade; Captain Zixx Grindergear, who commanded one of the zeppelins, and his first mate, Blar Xyzzik; Margolag, who represented Eitrigg; and more than a few of his own tauren. The last ones to come were Vol’jin and two of his people. Baine was both pleased and worried to see his friend present for this meeting.

For a moment, they all simply stood and regarded Baine. He looked at them each in turn. “No one here is a traitor to the Horde,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice. “It is possible to be loyal and yet question the
wisdom of certain behavior. But all of us gathered here tonight know well that treason is in the eye of the beholder and that Malkorok views us with a very unkind eye indeed.”

Silence, save the soft sound of weight being shifted from one foot to another. Baine continued.

“It is for love of the Horde that I have asked you to attend. And now, before anyone can be accused of treasonous behavior, I invite those who do not wish to be here to leave. No one will condemn you for withdrawing. But if you so choose, as we will forget your involvement up to this point if we are captured and interrogated, I would ask you to forget ours. Leave freely, and go in peace.”

A tauren, nothing more than a large shape to Baine’s eyes as he stood far from the small campfire, turned to go. One or two of the undead left as well. The rest remained.

“You are courageous,” Baine told them, indicating that they might sit.

“We’re scared witless, is what we is,” said Zixx’s first mate. “Anybody got any booze?” Wordlessly a troll handed him a wineskin, and the goblin took a huge swallow.

“Blar speaks truly, if somewhat inelegantly,” said Kelantir. “We have heard what happens to those who speak out against Garrosh. Thrall at least would have listened! And he never would have led us down this path! The Alliance will—”

Baine held up a hand. “Peace, my friend. You are right about such things, but Thrall is no longer our warchief. Garrosh Hellscream is. And our purpose here tonight is not to lead an insurrection, but to discuss what he has done up until this point and the wisdom—or lack thereof—of his choices.” He nodded to Hamuul, who handed him a branch around which feathers, beads, and bits of bone were tied. “This is the speaking stick. Only he or she who holds it may speak.” He held it out in front of him. “Who wishes to speak first?”

“I would speak, High Chieftain Bloodhoof.” It was Frandis Farley. Baine inclined his head, and the stick was passed to the leader of Garrosh’s Forsaken forces. “I serve the Horde. But it seems the Horde does not serve me, or my lady. We were once human; I myself once
lived in the very city of Stormwind, which is certain to come bearing down on us at any moment. The Alliance is surely aware of what has happened by now, and I think Lady Jaina too wise a leader not to know that Theramore could be next in line to fall.”

His supposition was truer than he knew. Baine did not reveal anything by a change of expression; he merely listened.

“Yet knowing all this, Lady Sylvanas agreed to send aid to the endeavor. But to what end? We are gathered! The Horde has food, supplies, and for those of you whose blood still flows in your veins, I know that blood burns hot for battle. Why is he waiting? Each day that passes, his troops become more uncertain. This is not wisdom. This is simply…” He groped for words. “Irresponsibility.”

Bloodblade extended her hand for the speaking stick. “I agree with Captain Farley. His lands and ours are vulnerable if the humans decide to retaliate there instead of sending ships to Theramore. The swifter the strike, the swifter the reward. I cannot comprehend why Garrosh delays. More time serves our enemies and harms us.”

“I don’t know why he—” began the goblin first mate.

“Wait for the stick, friend,” rumbled Baine. Blar looked a little embarrassed. He cleared his throat and began again, clutching the stick with both hands.

“What I was going to say is, I don’t know why he did this in the first place. Trade Prince Gallywix might see coffers overflowing with gold, but all I see are goblins being used as cannon fodder for no real profit.”

Vol’jin gestured for the stick. “Thank you, mah little green friend,” he said. “You all know da trolls be a proud and ancient people. We joined da Horde because Sen’jin had a vision that Thrall would help us. Lead us to safety. And he did. He was a good leader. Now Thrall be gone, and Garrosh be in his place. Thrall, he understand da elements, da spirits. He be da first new shaman his people had seen in a long, long time. We understand da elements, da spirits too, and I tell you true now, what dat Garrosh did wit’ his dark shaman—it make da spirits angry. I doan know how long he be able to control dose molten giants, and if he don’t…” He cackled. “Well, we all saw da Cataclysm. Dat was da world in pain from Deat’wing. How much worse
is it gonna be if de elements be in pain from da Horde? Who you tink dey gonna attack? It be us, mon.”

“Yes, it be you who will suffer,
mon,
but not from the elements!”

The deep, rough voice came from nowhere. At once Baine leaped to his hooves. The others assembled did likewise, many of them drawing weapons. But Baine recognized that voice and shouted, “Lay down your weapons!
Lay them down!
”

“The bull speaks wisely,” said Malkorok, stepping forward so he could be seen by the campfire’s light. “If I see any weapons in the next three heartbeats, I will slay their owners.”

The threat was not bellowed, but it did not need to be to chill the blood of everyone who heard it. Slowly, those Horde members who had drawn daggers or swords or who had nocked their arrows complied.

“I did not believe it,” said another voice. This one was not calm but angry. And, Baine realized, wounded.

Garrosh Hellscream strode forward, regarding the gathering with disgust. Baine could now see the two had not come alone; shapes were shifting about in the darkness. Kor’kron.

“I had word of your little meeting,” said Garrosh. His gaze fell upon Captain Zixx, and he beckoned. At once, the goblin scurried to Garrosh, trying to look calm and merely looking as though he was hiding behind the orc’s massive bulk. “I came to observe, with my own eyes and ears, if what Malkorok said was true.”

Baine turned toward him. “If you saw and heard it all,” he said, “then you know that this is not treachery. No one here sought to overthrow you. No one here chanted ‘Death to Garrosh.’ What was said here was said out of concern for the Horde, which we
all
are devoted to.”

“To question the Horde’s warchief is to question the Horde,” growled Malkorok.

“It does so only if in your mind, two plus two equals five,” retorted Baine. “Our concerns are valid, Warchief. Many of us have sought audience with you so that we might say things to your face, so that we might have answers or explanations. The only reason we are gathered here tonight is because you would not see us!”

“I do not need to answer to you, tauren,” spat Garrosh. “Or you, troll,” he said to Vol’jin. “You are not my keepers, nor are you puppet masters to make me dance to your tunes. You serve as the blade of the Horde. I am the wielder of that blade. I know things that you do not, and I tell you, you will
wait
. And you will continue to wait until I deem the time is right.”

“Thrall would have seen us,” Hamuul said angrily. “Thrall listened to advice when it was sound. And he did not keep his methods or plans overly secret. He knew that while he was the leader of the Horde, it was the Horde as a whole that mattered.”

Garrosh strode up to the elderly tauren, pointing to his brown face with its black tattoos. “Does
this
look like the green skin of Thrall?”

“No, Warchief,” said Hamuul. “No one would
ever
mistake you for Thrall.”

It was almost respectful, but Baine saw Malkorok’s eyes narrow at the comment. Garrosh, however, appeared mollified.

“The inexplicable love some of you have for that peace-hungry shaman astounds me,” he said. He moved as he spoke, looking from face to face. “You would do well to remember it is because of Thrall that we are in this position to begin with! It was Thrall, not Garrosh, who let the Alliance encroach. Thrall, who held secret meetings with the human mage Jaina Proudmoore and all but sat like a dog at her feet. Thrall, whose mistakes I must now correct!”

Bloodblade began to speak. “But, Warchief—”

Garrosh whirled on the blood elf, striking her hard across the face. There was an angry murmur and a slight surge of the crowd. At once, Garrosh had Gorehowl in his hands, and the Kor’kron had swords and maces in theirs.

“Your warchief is merciful,” Garrosh snarled. “You live, so that you may obey me, blood elf!”

Bloodblade nodded slowly; the gesture was clearly painful.

“Yes,” said Garrosh, eyeing Baine and Vol’jin. “Your warchief is indeed merciful. In your own tauren fashion, Baine, you are right. Your concern is for the Horde. I cannot be your leader and not value that, even if your way of showing concern could be viewed as treasonous
by a lesser leader. I need you—all of you. We will work together, for the glory of the Horde. And when the time is right, trust me—you will have no lack of Alliance scum to slaughter. Now it is time to return to your encampments… and await your warchief’s order.”

Baine, Vol’jin, and the others bowed as Garrosh passed. Like shadows, the Kor’kron followed behind him.

Baine breathed a sigh of relief. Word must not have reached the ears of Garrosh—or, more important, the ears of Malkorok—about Perith Stormhoof’s mission, or else Baine Bloodhoof would no longer be alive. Baine realized that in his own way, Garrosh needed Baine’s goodwill as much as Baine needed Garrosh’s. Garrosh had to know that there were many who did not follow willingly, and Baine was a known moderate. As Baine went, so went a large number of Horde. For a moment, Baine stood silently contemplating this revelation, then he retired to his tent. After tonight’s events, he badly needed to purify himself with the clean scent of sage smoke. He always felt sullied every time he acquiesced to anything Garrosh Hellscream demanded.

•   •   •

“You should have let me kill a few,” grumbled Malkorok. “Or at least punish them in some fashion.”

“They are all fine soldiers, and we will need them,” Garrosh replied. “They are afraid. That will suffice. For now.”

A younger orc ran up to Malkorok and whispered something in his ear. The Blackrock orc smiled.