The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm (14 page)

The sum Gazlowe quoted was astronomical. Yet it would have to be done. Orgrimmar was the capital of the Horde. It could not be permitted to stay damaged. Unfortunately, the tragedy only emphasized the two great issues that consumed Thrall’s thoughts every waking moment and during his dreams as well:
Why were the elements so agitated, and how best could he lead this postwar Horde?

The decision he had reached during his conversation with Eitrigg was the right one. Thrall realized he needed to go to the home of his people—to Nagrand, where a legacy of shamanism had been practiced and understood for so long its origins had been swallowed by time. Geyah was wise and her mind still sharp. She, and those she had personally trained, would have answers he could not possibly find here in Azeroth. Answers to questions Thrall didn’t even know he should be asking. The more he thought about it, the more it called to his soul as the right thing, the absolutely perfectly right thing, to do. The shaman of Outland had learned how to help a broken world. They could help the distressed elements in Azeroth.

Thrall also knew this was no self-indulgent vision quest for his own peace of mind. His people were enduring great hardships. Even verdant Mulgore was starting to feel the effects of the drought creeping westward from the Barrens. And the fire of the previous night was undoubtedly testimony to the dire need to do something now, before the next fire perhaps razed Orgrimmar, or Thunder Bluff. Before the next storm swept Theramore, and Jaina Proudmoore with it, off the map. Before any other lives or livelihoods were lost.

And in this way, Thrall realized, he could best serve the Horde. He knew he was unique—a warrior, a shaman, of the worlds of humans and orcs both. No one else could be who he was. No one else could do what he could do. Because no one else had the experience and skills he had.

But the Horde must not be paralyzed while he was not at its head. One day Thrall would pass, as all things must, to walk with the ancestors. For a moment he permitted his thoughts to wander to the things Eitrigg had said. To the thought of a child, and a lifemate. Someone courageous and strong and great of heart, as Draka had been to his father, Durotan. He had not known his parents, but he had heard the stories. Theirs had been a fine
match, one of the heart. They had loved one another and stood by each other through the darkest of times, even giving their lives together to protect Thrall. Walking on the streets of the Horde capital, Thrall realized that he did, as Eitrigg had implied, long for such a stalwart companion, to share the hard times and the joyful both. And for a child of that union, a fine son or daughter.

But he had no mate, no child. Perhaps that was just as well, for now—he would leave no brokenhearted family if he passed. Only the Horde, which would have to learn to do without him. Perhaps it could do without him now. For a short time, anyway. Long enough for him to go to Nagrand and find out what was amiss with the elements and somehow put an end to the aberrant behavior that was claiming so many lives.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Handing over control of the Horde that he had founded was like entrusting the care of a loved child to another. What if something went wrong?

But something
was
going wrong, terribly wrong. Another would have to lead the Horde for a time. He nodded his head once, firmly, and felt his soul and heart settle somewhat. Yes, this was the right thing to do. There was no longer a question of if he should go, or even when—as soon as possible. The only question that remained was to whom would he surrender care of this loved “child.”

His first thought was Cairne. His oldest friend here in Kalimdor, Cairne and he thought alike on many things. He was wise and ruled his people well. But Thrall, like Cairne himself, knew there were those who thought him old-fashioned and out of touch with what was needed. If there was slight unrest in the form of the Grimtotem in Cairne’s own city, then there would surely be unrest and murmuring if Thrall appointed an elderly tauren to lead the Horde now.

No, Cairne would definitely have a part to play, but it could not be the role of leader. An orc would be better. One the people knew and liked already.

Thrall sighed deeply. The perfect choice was one he could not have—Saurfang the Younger. Youthful, charismatic, and yet
wise beyond his years, he had been the brightest star in the sky of Horde warriors before the Lich King had slain him. His father, though not quite broken, had been emotionally devastated by the recent events. Too, the orc was too old, as was Cairne, as was the deeply trusted Eitrigg. Thrall realized that there could be only one choice, and he made a sour expression.

There was only one who could do it. Only one who was young and vibrant, who was well known and loved, who was a warrior without equal. Only one who could on such short notice bring the disparate factions of the Horde together and keep their spirits high and proud.

A perfect figurehead.

Thrall’s glower deepened. Yes, Garrosh was loved and a fine fighter, but he was also rash and impulsive. Thrall was about to deliver him the ultimate power. A word floated to his mind,
usurper,
but he did not truly believe such a thing would happen. Garrosh needed something to placate an ego as mammoth as his legend—an ego that Thrall now realized he might have unwittingly helped to inflate. He had been concerned when he learned that Garrosh despised his father, and had wanted to show the son of Grom that Hellscream had done great good. But perhaps he might have made Grom look better than he was. If so, then the younger Hellscream’s arrogance might be, at least in part, due to Thrall himself. He had not been able to save Grom’s life; he had hoped to inspire and guide his son.

Still, Eitrigg would be there to temper Garrosh, as would Cairne, if Thrall asked it of his old friends. Thrall would not be gone long. Let Garrosh sit in his place temporarily in Grommash Hold, with Cairne and Eitrigg on either side. If the rumors were true, Garrosh had already tipped his hand with the Ashenvale incident, and Thrall knew Cairne would sit on the orc before he’d let anything like that get by him, now that he knew to be watchful of it. There wouldn’t be a lot that Garrosh could do, really, to harm the Horde, and—Thrall had to admit—there was much Garrosh
could
do to inspire it.

Their leader would be gone. They would be worried and
afraid. Garrosh would remind them that they were proud and fierce and unconquerable, and the Horde would cheer and be content until Thrall returned with the real answers to the problems that besieged them. Calm the land, and all would have a chance to become better. Ignore the land, the elements, and no glorious victory in battle could ever make up for the disasters that would inevitably follow.

Garrosh saluted as he stood before Thrall. “I am here as you have asked, Warchief. How may I serve the Horde?”

“It is precisely to request such service that I have summoned you here. Walk with me.”

Thrall had been seated on his throne when Garrosh arrived, flanked by four of the large, intimidating Kor’kron. He had sent one of them ahead to deliberately make the younger orc wait for a while, and made no effort to stand when he did enter. Now Thrall rose, slowly and in control of the situation, and spread out his arms in a welcoming, friendly, but slightly patronizing gesture. Garrosh needed to understand his place before Thrall could change it.

He nodded to the Kor’kron, who saluted smartly and stayed where they were as Thrall guided Garrosh to the private areas of Grommash Hold, where they could speak without being overheard. “You know I am a shaman as well as a warrior,” Thrall said as they walked.

“Of course.”

“You have seen enough to know that the elements are deeply disturbed. The strange waves you encountered coming home from Northrend. The fire that raced through Orgrimmar.”

“Yes, I am aware of these things. But how can I possibly change them?”

“You cannot. But I can.”

Garrosh narrowed his eyes. “Then why do you not do so?
Warchief?
”

“It is not as warchief that I can do these things, Garrosh. It is as a shaman. And you ask the very question I have been wrestling
with—why do I not do it? The answer is, to do so would mean I would need to leave Orgrimmar. To leave Azeroth altogether.”

Garrosh looked alarmed. “Leave Azeroth? I don’t understand.”

“I intend to travel to Nagrand. The shaman there deal with elements that have suffered terribly, yet there are places where the land is still verdant. Perhaps I can learn why that is … and apply that understanding to our troubled elementals here.”

Garrosh smiled around his tusks. “My homeland,” he said. “I would like to see it again. Speak with the Greatmother before she leaves us to walk with the ancestors. It was she who healed me and so many others when the red pox was upon us.”

“She is a great treasure,” Thrall agreed, “and one whose wisdom I would seek.”

“You will be returning soon?”

“I—do not know,” Thrall said honestly. “It may take time to learn what I must. I trust I will not be gone too long, but it could be weeks—even months.”

“But—the Horde! We need a warchief!”

“It is for the Horde that I go,” Thrall said. “Do not worry, Garrosh. I do not forsake it. I travel where I must, to serve as I must. We all serve the Horde. Even its warchief does so—perhaps especially its warchief. And well do I know that you serve it loyally too.”

“I do, Warchief. You were the one who taught me that my father was someone to be proud of, because of what he was willing to do for others. For the Horde.” Garrosh’s voice was earnest, the naked emotions plain on his face. “I have not been part of it for long. But even so, I have seen enough to know that, like my father, I would die for it.”

“You have already faced and cheated death,” Thrall admitted. “You have slain many of its minions. You have done more for this new Horde than many who have been part of it since the beginning. And know this: I would never leave without appointing someone able to take care of it, even during so brief a sojourn.”

The younger orc’s eyes widened, this time in excitement. “You—you are making me warchief?”

“No. But I
am
instructing you to lead the Horde on my behalf until I return.”

Thrall had never expected to see Garrosh lost for words, but now the brown-skinned orc seemed struck dumb for a moment. “I understand battle, yes,” he said. “Tactics, how to rally troops—these things I know. Let me serve that way. Find me a foe to face and defeat, and you will see how proudly I will continue to serve the Horde. But I know nothing of politics, of … of
ruling.
I would rather have a sword in my fist than a scroll!”

“I understand that,” Thrall said, slightly amused that he found himself reassuring the normally proud Garrosh. “But you will not be without sound advisors. I will ask Eitrigg and Cairne, both of whom have shared their wisdom with me through the years, to guide and advise you. Politics can be learned. Your obvious love for the Horde?” He shook his head. “That is more important to me than political acumen right now. And that, Garrosh Hellscream, you have in abundance.”

Still Garrosh seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. Finally he said, “If you deem me worthy, then know this. I shall do all that I can to bring glory to the Horde!”

“No need for glory at the moment,” Thrall said. “There will be enough of a challenge for you without any extra effort. The Horde’s honor is already assured. You just need to take care of it. Put its needs before your own, as your father did. The Kor’kron will be instructed to protect you as they would me. I go to Nagrand as a shaman, not as warchief of the Horde. Make good use of them—and of Cairne and Eitrigg.” He paused, and amusement quirked his lips. “Would you go into battle without a weapon?”

Garrosh looked at him, confused at what, to him, seemed a sudden change of subject. “That is a foolish question, Warchief, and you know it.”

“Oh, I do. I am making sure you understand what powerful
weapons you have,” Thrall said. “My advisors are my weapons as I struggle to always do what is best for the Horde. They see things I do not, present options I did not know I had. Only a fool would scorn such things. And I do not think you a fool.”

Garrosh smiled, relaxing slightly as Thrall’s intention became clear. With a touch of his former arrogance, he said, “I am not a fool, Warchief. You would not ask me to serve so if you thought me one.”

“True. So, Garrosh, do you agree to lead the Horde until such time as I return? Taking advice from Eitrigg and Cairne when they offer it?”

The young Hellscream took a deep breath. “It is my true longing to lead the Horde to the best of my ability. And so, yes, a thousand times yes, my warchief. I will lead as well as I can, and I will consult with the advisors you suggest. I know what a tremendous honor you do me, and I will strive to be worthy of it.”

“Then it is done,” Thrall said. “For the Horde!”

“For the Horde!”

Ancestors,
Thrall thought as he watched Garrosh stride away, chest swelled with pride and pleasure,
I pray I am doing the right thing.