Cycle of Hatred (world of warcraft) Page 4

  "We must also consider the possibility that the orcs are lying." Before Jaina could object to this notion—which she very much intended to do—Kristoff held up a long—fingered hand. "I do not speak of Thrall, now, milady. The orcs' Warchief is an honorable man, it's true. You do well to place your trust in him, and I believe that he is simply relaying what he was told by his people."

  "Then what are you saying?" Jaina knew the answer to the question, but wanted to hear Kristoff confirm it.

  "I am saying the same thing that I have said to you all along, milady—we cannot afford to blindly trust the orcs. Individual orcs have proven honorable, yes, but orcs as a whole? We would be fools to assume that they all wish us well, and that they all will be as enlightened as Thrall. He was a strong ally against the Burning Legion, and I have nothing but admiration for what he has done—but what he has done is temporary." Kristoff set his thin hands down on the desk, leaning toward Jaina. "The only thing keeping the orcs in line is Thrall, and the minute he is gone, I can assure you, milady, the orcs will revert to type and do everything they can to destroy us."

  Jaina barked a laugh, involuntarily. Kristoff's words mirrored Jaina and Thrall's conversation—yet it seemed less rational coming out of the chamberlain's mouth.

  Kristoff straightened. "Something amuses you, milady?"

  "No. I believe you are overestimating the situation."

  "And I believe you are underestimating it. This city—state is all that keeps Kalimdor from being run entirely by the orcs." Kristoff hesitated, which was unusual. The chamberlain had made a career out of being forthright, which was one of his more useful characteristics.

  "What is it, Kristoff?"

  "Our allies are…concerned. The notion of an entire continent under orc rule is…disturbing to many. At present, little is being done, in part because there are other issues, but—"

  "But right now I'm all that is preventing an invasion?"

  "As long as the Lady Proudmoore—great wizard, victor against the Burning Legion—rules the humans on Kalimdor, the rest of the world will sleep well at night. The moment they believe that the Lady Proudmoore cannot keep the orcs in line, that will change. And the invasion force will make your late father's fleet look like a pair of rowboats."

  Jaina leaned back in her chair. In truth, she had given little thought to the world beyond Kalimdor, busy as she had been with fighting the demons and then building Theramore. And her own father's attack drove home the fact that those who had not actually fought alongside the orcs still viewed them as little more than animals.

  But Kristoff should have known better. "What is it you are suggesting, Chamberlain?"

  "That this Captain Bolik might be an agitator, trying to turn Thrall against you—against us. Even with Northwatch, we are very much alone within Theramore's gates, and could easily find ourselves surrounded by orcs—and more, with the trolls already on their side and the goblins unlikely to take any side."

  Jaina shook her head. Kristoff's prediction was the worst nightmare of every human living on Kalimdor. It seemed like only yesterday that they were well on the road to making those nightmares an impossibility. Trade with the orcs was going smoothly, the Barrens—neutral territory between Durotar and Theramore—had been peaceful and orderly, and the two species that had once despised each other had lived in peace for three years.

  The question Jaina now asked herself was whether or not this was a portent of how things should be, or simply a resting period while they recovered from the Burning Legion and just the calm before the inevitable storm?

  Before Jaina could contemplate further, a tall, dark—haired woman with a square face, pointed nose, and broad shoulders entered. She wore the standard military uniform of plate armor with a green tabbard depicting the anchor—shaped emblem of Kul Tiras, the former home of the Proudmoore family.

  Raising her right hand to her forehead in salute, she said, "Colonel Lorena reporting as ordered, milady."

  Standing, Jaina said, "Thank you, Colonel. Stand easy. Duree told you what is required?" Jaina always felt short next to Lorena and so preferred to stand in her presence, to give herself as much height as her smaller form would provide.

  Lowering her hand and putting both arms behind her back, but otherwise still standing ramrod straight with perfect posture, Lorena said, "Yes, ma'am, she did. We leave for Northwatch within the hour, and I've sent a runner to inform Major Davin of our arrival."

  "Good. That'll be all, both of you."

  Lorena saluted, turned on her heel, and exited. Kristoff, however, hung back a moment.

  When the chamberlain refused to speak, Jaina prompted him. "What is it, Kristoff?"

  "It might be wise to have the detail accompanying Lorena remain at Northwatch to fortify it."

  Without hesitation, Jaina said, "No."

  "Milady—"

  "The orcs want us out of Northwatch altogether, Kristoff. And while I understand why we can't accede to that request, I am not going to do something as provocative as reinforce it, especially when they believe that we refused to help them against pirates."

  "I still think—"

  "You've been excused, Chamberlain," Jaina said frostily.

  Kristoff glowered at her for a moment before bowing low, spreading his arms, and saying, "Milady," before taking his leave.

  Four

  I'm not sure I understand what the problem is, Colonel."

  Lorena stared out the window of the small watch office for Northwatch Keep. The statement had been made by Major Davin, the current commandant of Northwatch, who had been frustrating Lorena since she and her six—soldier detail arrived an hour ago.

  From his seat at the small desk in the watch office's center, Davin, a stout man with a thick beard, had told Lorena that there was a convoy ship that had gotten lost in the fog. It was possible that that was the ship the orcs claimed to have seen.

  Lorena turned to look down at him—made easy by his being seated, though Lorena was taller than the major even when standing—and said, "The problem, Major, is that the orcs were expecting help from us. And they should've gotten it."

  "What for?" Davin sounded genuinely confused.

  "They're our allies." Lorena couldn't believe she needed to explain this. Davin was a hero during the war, having been the only survivor of a brutal massacre of his platoon, which was escorting a wizard who was also killed. The intelligence he brought back had been invaluable.

  But now the war hero just shrugged. "They fought with us, sure, but that was necessity. Colonel, they're not even civilized. Only reason to put up with 'em's 'cause of Thrall, and he's only worth it 'cause he was raised by humans. But what happens to them ain't our concern."

  "Lady Proudmoore disagrees with that sentiment," Lorena said in a tight voice, "and so do I." She turned back around. The view of the Great Sea from this window was quite spectacular, and Lorena found she preferred it to looking at Davin's annoying face. "I've sent my people to find Captain Avinal and his crew to get their side of the story."

  Now Davin stood up. "With all due respect, Colonel, there's no ‘side. Avinal's boat got lost. They got back on course. They came home. If an orc ship got itself attacked by pirates, then fine, but it's not our problem."

  "Yes, actually, it is." She refused to turn to look at him. "Pirates, on the whole, aren't especially picky about who they attack. They'll go after goblins, orcs, trolls, ogres, elves, dwarves—or humans. If there are pirates operating that close to Ratchet, it does concern us."

  "I've been assigned to this post for three years, Colonel." Davin sounded petulant now. "I don't need you to tell me about pirates."

  "If that's the case, then you shouldn't need me to remind you why an orc ship being harassed is your concern."

  A small private whose uniform looked as if it had been fitted for someone a full head taller, knocked meekly on the door to the watch office. "Uh, sir, there's some people here to see you and Colonel Lorena, sir, if that's okay, sir."

&
nbsp; "Who?" Davin asked.

  "Uh, Captain Avinal, sir, and a soldier I don't know, sir."

  "That'd be Strov," Lorena said. "He's the one I told to bring the captain here."

  Davin fixed Lorena with a glare. "And what's the use of embarrassing the man by bringin' him up to the watch office like a common prisoner?"

  Lorena started mentally composing the letter to Lady Proudmoore and General Norris recommending that Davin be reassigned to kitchen detail. "First of all, Major, I would think you'd prefer that I talk to your captain in your presence. Secondly—do you usually bring criminals to the watch office rather than the brig?"

  Apparently, Davin was content to continue glaring rather than answer her question.

  So Lorena turned to the young officer. "Send them both in please, Private."

  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.

  Five

  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.

  But at worst, these might be true invaders, and if they were, Byrok would not let them walk out of his fishing hole alive.

  Byrok had learned the human language during his time in captivity, and so was able to understand the words of these six—at least those he could hear. From where he was crouched down amid the tall grass, he could hear only a few words.

  The words he did hear, however, were not encouraging. «Overthrow» was one, «Thrall» another. So was "greenskin," a derogatory human term for orcs.

  Then he caught the phrase, "We'll kill them all and take this continent for ourselves."

  Another asked a question, the only word of which Byrok caught was "troll." The one who wished to take the continent then said, "We'll kill them, too."

  Pushing aside the grass, Byrok looked more closely at the humans. He didn't notice anything particularly distinguishing about them—all humans looked alike to Byrok—but the old orc did notice that the two closest to him had the image of a burning sword on their person: one as a tattoo on his arm, the other as an earring.

  His blood running cold, Byrok remembered where he'd seen that symbol before. It was long ago, when the orcs first came to this world at Gul'dan's urging: they called themselves the Burning Blade, and their armor and flags carried the same symbol that these two humans wore. The Burning Blade were among the fiercest devotees of the Shadow Council. They were later wiped out, and none of that demon—loving clan remained.