The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm wowct-1

by Christie Golden

  "My heart says: They took from you, take from them. Take the Grimtotem who entered a peaceful city of their own kind in the dark of night, and who slew by smothering or stabbing victims too deep in slumber to fight back. Take their matriarch who placed poison on a blade instead of sacredly anointing it. Take the arrogant fool who dared fight my father and who could only win by stooping to—"

  Baine was beginning to raise his voice, and the calmness in his eyes was slowly being replaced by anger. His hands tightened into fists the size of Anduin's head, and his tail began to lash. Abruptly he halted in midsentence and took a deep breath.

  "As you see, my heart is not wise at this moment. I am in agreement with it on one thing. I must retake my people's territory—Thunder Bluff, Bloodhoof Village, Sun Rock Retreat, Camp Mojache, any other village or outpost where they have made incursions and spilled innocent blood."

  Anduin found himself nodding. He agreed completely, for many reasons. The Grimtotem shouldn't be rewarded for such violence and cruelty, Baine would be a better leader than this Magatha, and besides, any hope of peace with the Alliance would only be made with this brave young tauren at the head of his people.

  "I think you should as well," Jaina said, but Anduin caught the note of caution in her voice. He knew she was wondering what exactly he intended to do—and what would be asked of her. She must be willing to help in some way, or else she would never have permitted Baine to come speak with her in the first place. He held his tongue and let Baine continue.

  "But there is something I cannot, I must not do. Even though my heart drives me to it. I cannot do this thing because I know my father would not wish me to, and I must honor his wishes—what he fought for, what he did with his life—rather than my own emotions." Baine heaved an enormous sigh. "Much as I long to… I cannot attack Garrosh Hellscream."

  Jaina relaxed almost imperceptibly.

  "Garrosh was appointed by my warchief, Thrall. My father swore loyalty to Thrall, as did I. My father believed in his heart Garrosh was responsible for the attack against the Sentinels in Ashenvale and also an attack on a peaceful gathering of druids. He therefore issued the mak'gora against Garrosh, for the good of the Horde, and even stood by his challenge when Garrosh changed the rules and made it a battle to the death. In that situation, I believe what he did was right. His motives were not anger, or hatred, or vengeance."

  Baine's voice broke, ever so slightly. "His motives were love of the Horde, and a desire to see it safe. He was willing to risk his life for it—and it was with his life that he paid."

  Anduin found the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "But no one would deny you your right to vengeance, especially if you can prove that Garrosh let Magatha poison his blade! And the attack on the druids—"

  Jaina wasn't happy with his outburst, and Baine appeared startled. He swung his large head around to face Anduin for a moment.

  "Yes. But what you do not understand—and even you might not, Jaina—is that my father issued the challenge of the mak'gora. The outcome determines the matter once and for all. The Earth Mother has spoken."

  "But if Garrosh cheated - "

  "We have evidence that Magatha poisoned the blade. None that Garrosh consented. There was no doubt in my father's heart. There is doubt in mine. If I challenge him without absolute faith that I am right, I then ignore the ancient tradition of my people. I say, I do not like these laws, so I will not obey them. I deny the Earth Mother. What does that make me, young Anduin?"

  Anduin nodded his fair head slowly. 'You can't say it's a fair way to determine right or wrong one day, and then say it's unfair the next because you don't like the outcome."

  Baine snorted gently in approval. 'You do understand, then. Good. My father challenged Garrosh to try to heal the Horde. Yet if I do so, I will be ripping it apart. I would be destroying the tauren way of life, everything for which they have striven, in a misguided effort to protect that very thing. That is not what Cairne Bloodhoof gave his life for his son to do. And so… I shall not do it."

  Anduin felt a chill run down his spine. He knew what many humans and, indeed, other races in the Alliance thought about the tauren, about the Horde. He'd heard it muttered often enough—sometimes shouted. Monsters, the Horde were called. And the tauren, little more than beasts. And yet Anduin knew that in all his admittedly short time in this world, he had never been witness to such integrity under strain.

  He also knew that Baine was not entirely at peace with his decision. He knew what was right, but he did not want to do it. Anduin realized, without understanding how that realization came, that Baine… didn't think he Baine didn't believe he could be the tauren his father was, and underneath the words that were clearly bought with such anguished thought and pain was a fear that, somehow he would fail.

  Anduin knew what it was like to live in the shadow of a powerful father. It was obvious to anyone with eyes and ears that Baine and Cairne had been very close. Anduin felt a shameful wave of envy at the realization; he was not close with Varian now, although he once had been and longed to be again. How would he feel if his father had been so brutally taken away from him? How had Varian felt when his own father had been murdered? Had Varian not had the wisdom of Anduin's namesake, Anduin Lothar, to guide him, what would he have done?

  Would either Wrynn have been able to feel the hurt—for assuredly Baine was not pretending it did not exist—and still choose the path that best served his people rather than his personal needs?

  "I'll be right back," Anduin said suddenly. He rose and bowed, then, feeling the curious glances behind him, raced to the room Jaina had been letting him use. Under the bed was the pack he had brought with him when he had used the hearthstone to escape Ironforge and the gilded cage Moira had wrought for him. He grabbed the pack and hurried back to Jaina and Baine. Jaina had the little furrow between her brows that told Anduin she was slightly annoyed with him. He sat down again and reached inside the bag, pulling out something carefully wrapped in cloth.

  "Baine… I don't know…. Maybe this is a little forward of me, and I don't really know if you care what I think, but… I want you to know I understand why you're choosing this path. And I think it's the right one."

  Baine narrowed his eyes speculatively but did not interrupt.

  "But… it feels to me…"Anduin groped for words, heat rising in his face. He was guided by an impulse he did not fully understand, and he hoped he wouldn't end up regretting it. He took a deep breath.

  "It feels to me like you yourself don't believe the path you've chosen is the right one. That you're worried that… you might not be able to walk it. That you won't be the best leader of your people, like your father was."

  "Anduin—" Jaina's voice was sharp, a warning.

  Baine held up a hand. "No, Lady Jaina. Let him finish." His brown eyes bore intensely into Anduin's blue ones.

  "But… I believe in you. I believe that Cairne Bloodhoof would be very proud of what you've said here tonight. You're like me—we were born to become rulers of our people. We didn't ask for it, and anyone who thinks our lives are fun or easy… they don't know anything about what it means to be us. To be the sons of leaders, and to have to think about leading ourselves. Somebody believed in me once, and gave me this."

  He unwrapped the item that was lying in his lap. Fearbreaker caught the light of the fire and glimmered brightly. Anduin caressed the ancient weapon as he spoke. His hand ached to close around it, but he resisted the urge.

  "King Magni Bronzebeard gave this to me the night before—before the ritual that killed him. It's an ancient weapon. Its name is Fearbreaker. We were talking about duties, and sometimes the things everyone expects of us aren't what we're really meant to be doing." He looked up at Baine. "I think the tauren will be as angry and as hungry for vengeance as you are. Some aren't going to be happy that you're not out for blood. But you know you're on the right path—for you, and for them, too. They just won't see it now. But they will, one day."
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  He lifted Fearbreaker, holding it carefully in two hands. Magni's words floated back to him: It's known th' taste o' blood, and in certain hands, has been known tae also stanch blood. Here, take it. Hold it in yer hand. Let's

  see if it likes ye.

  He didn't want to let it go. If ever a thing was meant fer someone, that weapon was meant fer ye, Magni had said with certainty.

  But Anduin wasn't so sure. Maybe it was meant for him for only a short time. There was only one way to find out.

  He lifted the weapon and handed it to Baine. "Take it. Hold it. Let's—let's see if it likes you."

  Baine was puzzled, but obeyed. The mace was too large for Anduin, and yet it looked small in Baine's huge hands. Baine regarded the weapon for a long moment. Then he took a long, deep inhalation and sighed, letting the breath go, letting his body relax a little. Anduin smiled softly at Baine's reaction to the weapon.

  And sure enough, a few seconds later, Fearbreaker began to glow, ever so slightly.

  "It does like you," Anduin said quietly. He felt a sense of loss. He had never even had the chance to wield the weapon before it had wanted to be passed on. But at the same time he had no regrets about what he had done. In some way that Anduin didn't quite understand—and perhaps never would—the weapon had chosen Baine, just as it had chosen him.

  "It thinks you are making the right decision, too. It has faith in you—just like I do, just like Jaina does. Please take it. I think I was meant to have it so I could give it to you."

  For a moment Baine did not move. Then his large fingers curled tightly around Fearbreaker.

  Anduin felt the Light tickling gently at the center of his chest, within his heart. Still unsure, he lifted his hand. It flashed brightly, and Baine was suddenly bathed in a gentle glow that disappeared as quickly as it had come.

  Baine's eyes widened. He took another deep breath, and before Anduin's eyes, settled into calmness.

  Now Anduin recognized the feeling—except this time, it was coming from him, to be bestowed on Baine, not from Rohan to be bestowed on him. Baine was feeling the same peace that Anduin had felt when Rohan had blessed him with a ward against his own fear. Baine lifted his head.

  "An honor, from you, Anduin, and from Magni Bronzebeard. Know that I will treasure this."

  Anduin smiled. Beside him, Jaina was looking at him with an expression akin to awe. Her eyes, wide and bright, looked from him to Baine and back again, and her face curved into a gentle, tender smile.

  The tauren gazed at the glowing weapon. "Light," he said. "My people do not think the darkness is evil, Anduin. It is a naturally occurring thing, and therefore right. But we, too, have our own Light. We honor the eyes of the Earth Mother, the sun, and the moon—An'she and Mu'sha. Neither is better than the other, and together they see with balanced vision. I feel in this weapon a kinship to them, even though it comes from a culture very different from my own."

  Anduin smiled gently. "Light is light, whatever its source," he agreed.

  "I wish I had something comparable to give you in return," Baine said. "There are certainly honored weapons that have been handed down in my line, but I am in possession of very little at the moment. The only thing I can give you is some advice my father shared with me.

  "Our people were once nomads. It is only recently, in the last few years, that we have halted our wandering and made a home for ourselves in Mulgore. It was a challenge. But we created villages and cities of peace, of tranquility and beauty. We imbued the places in which we dwelt with a sense of who and what we are. And that is what I wish to restore now. My father once said, 'Destruction is easy.' Look what havoc the Grimtotem were able to wreak in a single night. But creating something that lasts—that, my father said, was a challenge. I am determined to make sure that what he created—Thunder Bluff and all the other villages, the goodwill between the members of the Horde—I will devote my life to seeing that they last."

  Anduin felt his heart both swell and calm at the words. It was indeed a challenge, but he knew Baine, son of Cairne, was up to the task. "What else did your father say?" Cairne, as described by his son, seemed so very wise to Anduin, and he hungered for more.

  Baine snorted slightly in laughter that was warm and genuine and yet laced with the pain of remembering too early for nostalgia.

  "There was something about… eating all your vegetables."

  Twenty eight

  The Grimtotem were powerful and uniquely trained. From early childhood, while others their age were learning to be in harmony with nature and learning the rites of the Great Hunt, the Grimtotem were taught how to fight one another. They learned to kill, quickly, cleanly, with hands, horns, and whatever weapon was at hand. In any given conflict, the odds were with a Grimtotem to win a fight. They did not fight honorably; they fought to win.

  But their numbers were not inexhaustible. Magatha was able to target only certain places, and she had chosen to focus primarily on seizing the main city from which Cairne had led, the heart of Mulgore, which was the first real "home" the tauren had ever known, and on slaving the son he had fathered. The first victory had been obtained. Dawn had shone light on hundreds of corpses in and around Thunder Bluff. Their goal had been twofold: to eliminate those most highly positioned to oppose them, and to strike utter, crippling terror into the tauren population by slaughtering anyone who lifted a weapon to them.

  Their enemies lay stiffening in congealing pools of blood, as did many who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. But those deaths, too, were a powerful propaganda tool. Magatha and the Grimtotem held Thunder Bluff. They held all of that city's resources and hostages with which to negotiate. The recent attacks combined with the loss of Cairne and the disappearance of his son had left the tauren people unsettled. She felt certain that, in a desperate attempt to find normalcy again, the tauren would acknowledge her as their leader.

  Baine, however, had slipped through their fingers. A spy had informed her that one of her own, Stormsong, had turned traitor. As Magatha sat in the lodge that had once been Cairne Bloodhoof s seat of power, she fumed quietly. She had, of course, marked Stormsong for assassination but did not entertain any notions that he would be easily located. Doubtless he was with the pretender, as she had taken to calling (and encouraging others to call) Baine since the Grimtotem uprising. Stormsong would die with him, once Baine was found, but likely not until that anxiously awaited hour.

  And as she had expected, for Magatha was no fool, the tauren in more far - flung places such as Feralas and of course the druidic stronghold Moonglade had already begun their rebellion. Couriers from other tribes brought word of their defiance, facing the expected immediate execution after bearing such bad news with a stoicism that irritated Magatha.

  Other rumors were flying as well. That the pretender was in hiding in the Moonglade. That he had struck a deal with the Alliance in exchange for free trade with a recaptured Thunder Bluff. That he had the power of the Earth Mother behind him, and that his shaman and druids were able to harness trees to march and fight alongside them.

  Of all these, there was one thing of which Magatha was certain: Baine was gathering reinforcements, and when he was strong enough, he would challenge her.

  So lost in thought was she that it took Rahauro two tries to get her attention. She snorted, angry at woolgathering, knowing that among the younger ones it would appear as senility. She started to direct her anger not at her

  faithful servant but at the young orc courier who stood before her. Then her ears lifted as realization struck her. An orc meant…

  She waved a hand. "Speak."

  "Elder Crone Magatha, I come from the acting warchief of the Horde, Garrosh Hellscream."

  Her eyes widened. Two days ago she had sent out a plea to Garrosh for assistance, knowing that at some point—and probably sooner than later—Baine would come, and many would come with him. The letter had been full of sincere - sounding compliments and praise for how he had managed the Horde. She had a
lso dangled the lure of a formal alliance between the Grimtotem and the Horde if Garrosh lent his support in this venture. Surely Garrosh could use the Grimtotem's unique… methods. Magatha had hoped that a response would come in the form of troops marching to assist her in defending Thunder Bluff, but apparently Garrosh had some questions, or else he wanted to apprise her of his thoughts.

  Either way, she was pleased at the swift response. She smiled kindly at the orc.

  "You are welcome here, courier. Please—take a moment to refresh yourself. Then read what your master has to say to me."

  She settled back in the chair, folding her arms across her belly, and waited as the orc gratefully took a long pull on the waterskin but declined food. Then, with a bow, he retrieved a leather tube from his pack, withdrew a scroll, and read in a strong, clear voice:

  "Unto Elder Crone Magatha of the Grimtotem,

  Acting warchief of the Horde, Garrosh Hellscream,

  Sends his most sincere wishes for a slow and painful death."

  A gasp rippled around the room. Magatha went very still, then with a speed that belied her age she bolted from the chair, backhanded the courier, and held the scroll at arm's length to accommodate her increasingly poor vision to read it for herself.

  It has come to my attention that you have deprived me of a rightful kill. Cairne Bloodhoof was a hero to the Horde, and an honorable member of a usually honorable race. It is with disgust and anger that I discover you have caused me to bring about his death through accidental treachery.

  Such tactics may work well for your renegade, honorless tribe and Alliance scum, but I despise them. It was my wish to fight Cairne fairly, and win or lose by my own skill or lack of it. Now I shall never know, and the cry of traitor will dog my steps until such time as I can sport your head on a pike and point to you as the real traitor.