Cycle of Hatred (world of warcraft)

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Aegwynn nodded. Both she and Jaina had sensed the simple entrapment spell. A low—level spell that any first—year apprentice could cast successfully, it was probably designed mostly to stop any stray animals or people from wandering in unannounced. It was unlikely that someone would be walking about up in this nightmare, but Aegwynn had seen stranger in her time. It would be just like some wolf or a lunatic mountain—climbing dwarf to come up here and meander into the cavern just as Zmodlor and his minions were in the middle of casting something that required concentration. Best not to take chances.

  However, dismantling the spell might well serve as an alarm. Aegwynn made sure to keep Lorena and her sword and Jaina and her magicks between herself and the rest of the cave at all times.

  Moments later, Lorena cried, "Get down!"

  Not being a fool, Aegwynn immediately dropped to the cold floor. Lorena did likewise.

  Jaina, however, stood her ground and held up her hands. The fireball that roared toward her looked about to consume her—but it stopped an arm's—length before doing so, dissipating instantly.

  Clambering to her feet, Aegwynn said, "I'd say they know we're here."

  "Indeed." Jaina's voice was only a whisper.

  Oh yes.

  Aegwynn sighed. The voice seemed to come from everywhere—a popular demon trick. "Can the theatrics, Zmodlor. We're not your brainless minions, and we're not impressed."

  Aegwynn! What a pleasant surprise. I had thought you had long since died at the hands of your son. How fortunate that I get to do it myself, instead. I owe you for what you did to me.

  Even as the demon ranted, Aegwynn heard strange cackling noises.

  "I know that laugh." Lorena sounded disgusted. "Grellkin."

  Sure enough, a score of little demons, covered in fur that matched the color of the mist, scampered toward them.

  Moving forward to protect Aegwynn and Jaina both, Lorena said, "I really really hate these guys." Then she charged ahead and attacked.

  The fuzzy creatures were too much for one woman to handle; luckily, there were two women to do so. Jaina cast several spells that had various effects on the grellkin. Some had their fur catch fire. Others stopped breathing. Others were blown into the cave walls by sudden gale—force winds in the enclosed space. None of these were particularly impressive spells, but they were all minor enough that they allowed Jaina to conserve her power.

  But that was only the first wave. After the first twenty were killed, twenty more replaced them.

  "This is a distraction," Aegwynn said.

  "Yes," Jaina said. She cast another spell that disintegrated the twenty grellkin.

  Another line of ten were behind them.

  "Colonel," Jaina said quickly, "can you handle these?"

  Lorena grinned. "Watch me."

  "Good."

  As the colonel waded into the demonic attackers, Jaina closed her eyes and almost stumbled. Aegwynn moved to grab her. "Are you all right?"

  With refreshing honesty, Jaina said, "No. I can cast the banishment, but only if I don't cast anything else. Lorena has to take care—"

  A piercing scream echoed throughout the cavern as Lorena managed to stab the last three grellkin with one thrust of her sword. She yanked the sword out, and the creatures collapsed to the floor. Staring at the ichor—encrusted blade, Lorena sighed. "I'm never going to get these stains off."

  I suspect that will be the least of your problems.

  This time the voice didn't come from everywhere: it came from right in front of them.

  The orange mist parted, which Aegwynn knew couldn't possibly be a good sign. It revealed the massive form of Zmodlor.

  Twenty—Three

  Panic rooted Davin to the very spot. Around him, his soldiers were dying, their limbs being hacked off, blades slicing through their chests, axes cutting off their heads.

  And Davin simply stood there, waiting to die.

  He had thought for sure that as soon as the fighting commenced, Burx would cleave him in two with his ax. But the orc got sidetracked by a couple of other soldiers who leapt in to defend their commanding officer. Davin wasn't entirely clear what he had done to inspire such loyalty.

  After that, no one came after him. Orcs and trolls picked humans to fight, or vice versa, and somehow Davin, standing closer to the shoreline than anyone else, got ignored.

  The body of a troll fell at his feet. The body of Corporal Barnes flew past in a high arc and landed in the water. Davin wondered why Barnes's orc opponent felt the need to throw Barnes so far, then decided that he really didn't want to know.

  Then the world exploded.

  An earthquake shook the ground so heavily that it accomplished what panic had prevented: it got Davin to move, albeit to fall to the ground.

  Though there hadn't been a cloud in the sky a moment ago—in fact, it had been a clear, sunny day—now the skies had gone dark, and thunder and lightning struck the ground with an ear—splitting crack.

  Davin heard a rumble and looked to the shoreline to see a massive wave start to rise up. In all the time Davin had been assigned to Northwatch, he'd never seen a wave that big hit the shore that wasn't due to the wake of a boat.

  However, this wave was as high as the keep's wall—and it was about to come crashing down right on Davin.

  Quickly, he tried to clamber to his feet, but his boots could not gain purchase on the sand, and he fell on his face. Spitting sand out of his mouth and trying not to inhale all the sand in his nose, Davin gave in to the inevitable and braced himself by shoving his fists down into the sand.

  The water slammed into him, almost uprooting him from the spot, but his armor and anchored hands kept him weighted down. He wondered how the other soldiers who were less secure fared; he didn't much care about the orcs and trolls. Mostly, though, he wondered if he'd ever be able to breathe again.

  Seconds later, the water flowed back in the other direction. The wave had washed the sand off his face, though he was now drenched, water matting his hair and causing his beard to weigh heavily on his face.

  "You have shamed me this day, my warriors!"

  Davin rolled over onto his back and looked up. The skies were still dark, save for one spot, in which hovered a dirigible.

  Briefly, Davin allowed himself to feel hope—perhaps the airship belonged to Colonel Lorena, who had freed herself and Lady Proudmoore from the Burning Blade. This sudden meteorological nightmare could easily have been the lady's doing, after all. They had come to rally the troops, drive the orcs back, and save the day.

  Then he took a closer look at the dirigible, and his heart sank. The canvas was decorated with several bizarre symbols, all of which the major recognized as being orcish. At least two of those symbols were mirrors for ones he saw on armor and weaponry that orcs carried during the war—not to mention on the troops that were currently killing his soldiers. Davin's platoon commander during the war had said that they were the orc equivalent of coats—of—arms for their various clans.

  Davin had never been a particularly religious sort. The only time in his life he'd ever prayed was when he was hiding behind the tree and praying that the demons wouldn't notice him. That particular prayer was answered, but Davin didn't want to push his luck, so he never prayed again.

  Now, though, he prayed that he would survive this day. Somehow, he found the strength to get to his feet.

  The words Davin had heard had come from the airship. A rope ladder fell toward the ground and went taut as the orc who owned the voice that spoke the words climbed down.

  When the orc arrived on the shore, the orcs all around—or at least the ones Davin could see in his peripheral vision, as his eyes were focused on the new arrival—raised their weapons in salute. The major also noticed that this orc had blue eyes, and at once he realized who it had to be. Until now, Davin had never actually met the orc Warchief, and he recalled that Thrall was also a shaman of great power. Like Lady Proudmoore, he could easily be responsible for this inundation. />
  Holding aloft his two—handed hammer with one hand—this, Davin knew, was the legendary Doomhammer that had once belonged to Orgrim, Thrall's mentor—the orc cried out, "I am Thrall, Warchief of Durotar, Lord of the Clans, Leader of the Horde! I come to you now to say that—" He pointed at Burx. "—this orc does not speak for me!"

  Over the past half—dozen years, Davin had had plenty of congress with orcs. There was the war, of course, and Northwatch's location on the Merchant Coast meant that plenty of orcs came through the area.

  In all that time, Davin had never seen quite the expression on an orc's face that he now saw on Burx's.

  "Warriors of Durotar, you will stand down!" Again he pointed at Burx, but this time with the hammer. "This foul creature has consorted with a demon in order to bring about war between our people. I will not violate our alliance to suit the needs of the very creatures who tried to destroy us."

  Burx snarled. "I have been your loyal servant!"

  Thrall shook his head. "Several warriors who served with you have reported a talisman you carry in the shape of a sword afire—that is the symbol of the Burning Blade. According to Jaina—as well as an ancient wizard who has allied herself with the humans—all those who carry that symbol are in the thrall of a demon known as Zmodlor, who is attempting to foment discontent on Kalimdor and sunder our alliance. As ever, demons do nothing but use us and then destroy us."

  Indicating Davin with his weapon, Burx said, "These are the bastards who tried to destroy us! They enslaved us and humiliated us and denied us our heritage!"

  His voice a calm contrast to Burx's near hysteria, Thrall said, "Yes, some of them did—and they did so because of demons who drained our very souls and forced us to fight their war on the people of this world, a war that we eventually lost. But we have thrown off those shackles and risen to be as strong as ever. And the reason why, Burx, is because we are warriors. Because we are pure of spirit. Or, rather, most of us are. I cannot call pure one who consorts with foul creatures to cause orcs to violate their word."

  The orcs and trolls all looked at Burx with a mixture of surprise and revulsion. There were a few, Davin noticed, who seemed confused. One of the latter spoke up. "Is this true, Burx? You made a deal with a demon?"

  "To wipe out the humans, I'd make a deal with a thousand demons! They gotta be destroyed!"

  Then, to accentuate his point, Burx charged right at Davin.

  Every instinct in Davin's body cried to run away, but he could no more make his legs move now than he could when the wave hit. He saw Burx's ax as the orc swung it upward in preparation for cleaving Davin's skull.

  But before he could complete the swing, Burx's entire body convulsed. He stopped moving forward and fell to the sand. As he did so, Davin saw that Thrall had struck Burx from behind with Doomhammer.

  "You have brought disgrace to Durotar, Burx. You have caused the dishonorable deaths of orc and troll and human warrior alike. This blight can only be eliminated by your death. As Warchief, it is my solemn duty to carry out that sentence."

  Thrall raised Doomhammer over his head and then brought it down hard on Burx's head.

  Davin flinched as blood and gore splattered all over the sand, onto Thrall, and onto Davin himself. He was, however, too frightened to actually move to wipe any of it off, not even the blood that mixed in with the water on his left cheek or the bits of skull in his beard.

  Thrall likewise made no attempt to remove the stains of Burx's death from his person—and he was much more fouled by it. Davin supposed that it served as a badge of honor to an orc. The Warchief stepped forward and said to Davin, "You have the apologies of Durotar for this traitor's behavior, Major, and for this terrible battle that has happened this day. I will not permit the Burning Blade to influence my people anymore. I hope the same will be said for you."

  Not trusting his mouth to work properly, Davin simply nodded.

  "We will depart. I am sorry we did not arrive soon enough to avoid bloodshed, but first I had to order the troops amassed on land to stand down. We all shall return to Durotar, and not attack you again." The Warchief stepped forward. "Unless you give us reason to."

  Again, Davin nodded, more eagerly this time.

  He continued to stand there as Thrall ordered his troops to gather their dead and wounded and return to their boats and set sail northward for Kolkar Crag. Davin remained standing with his boots sunk into the sand, bits of Burx's blood, skull, and brains on various portions of his armor and person, as Thrall climbed back up the ladder to his airship, and both airship and waterborne vessels proceeded northward.

  Davin was stunned to realize that, for the second time, his prayer had been answered, and he was starting to think there might be something to the whole praying thing.

  He was equally stunned at how quickly everything had changed—all because of Thrall's words. Yes, his rather spectacular actions got everyone to stop fighting for a minute, but that would've been only temporary. Thrall's words were what convinced the orcs and trolls to stop fighting and retreat.

  Much as he hated to admit it about an orc, Davin was impressed.

  Finally, a captain whose name Davin couldn't for the life of him remember, asked, "Orders, Major?"

  "Ah—stand down, Captain." He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, suddenly feeling very exhausted. "Stand down."

  Twenty—Four

  Not five minutes ago, Aegwynn had urged Zmodlor to cease his parlor tricks. The disembodied voice trick was probably menacing to the average person, but it was a simple trick that any first—year apprentice could pull off. So it didn't impress Aegwynn all that much.

  Now, seeing the huge, leathery—skinned, bat—winged, flame—eyed Zmodlor standing before her, she realized she should have kept her mouth shut. Demons on the whole were not pretty creatures, but Zmodlor was hideous even by their standards.

  Surrounding the demon were eight hooded figures. These, presumably, were the warlocks, who were chanting rhythmically.

  Jaina reached into her cloak and grabbed the scroll. Aegwynn was grateful, as it meant this would be over soon. Now that Zmodlor had revealed himself, Jaina would be able to cast the banishment.

  Suddenly, Jaina screamed and fell to the floor.

  "Jaina!" Aegwynn ran to the young mage's side. Lorena, good soldier that she was, moved to stand between the demon and Jaina.

  Sweat beaded on Jaina's forehead as she managed to get to her knees. Through clenched teeth, she said, "Warlocks…blocking the spell."

  This close, Aegwynn could feel the warlocks' spellcasting. It was fairly weak, though there were about a dozen of them, which added power to their spells. Still, a mage of Jaina's stature should have been able to punch through that.

  Unless, of course, she'd overextended herself.

  Jaina was struggling—Aegwynn could feel it—but she was losing ground to Zmodlor's minions.

  This is even better than I'd hoped. I'll make sure that the orcs are blamed for Proudmoore's death. It will send the humans into a frenzy. Nothing will stop them from going to war, and without her to guide them, they'll lose—but not before they kill as many orcs as possible. It will be glorious!

  "Like hell," Aegwynn muttered. There was only one thing for her to do.

  It had been almost four years since she brought Medivh back. That had drained all her magic at the time, as she'd told Jaina—but the magic never went away forever. Two decades after she had escaped to Bladescar, she had built up enough magical power to bring back her son. While she hadn't regained anywhere near that much in the four years since, she might well have enough to do what was necessary. If not—well, she'd lived almost a full millennium. As Lorena had so eloquently pointed out, that was a lot more than most people got.

  Sweat was now pouring down Jaina's face. She was still kneeling, fists clenched and resting on her thighs. Aegwynn could feel the spell that she herself had written struggling to push past the blocks the warlocks were putting up.

  D
own on one knee at Jaina's side, Aegwynn grabbed the younger woman's left fist with both hands. She closed her eyes, gathered up her thoughts, her power, her very life essence. Focusing it, molding it, moving it, she channeled it all into her arms…then her forearms…then her hands…

  And then to Jaina.

  Fatigue rather suddenly overwhelmed her. Her bones felt heavy in her skin, her muscles ached as if she had just run a race, and her breaths came in shallow gasps. Ignoring all of it, Aegwynn continued to focus, willing her life, her magic, her very soul to Jaina Proudmoore.

  Jaina opened her eyes. Normally an icy blue, they were now a fiery red.

  No!

  Simultaneously, both Aegwynn and Jaina said, "Yes!"

  You cannot stop the Burning Blade! We will prevail over all, destroying everything in our path, and then we—aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGH!

  Zmodlor's screams echoed—not only off the walls, but from the mouths of the warlocks, who felt sympathetic agony through the bond the demon had with them. Though Aegwynn's vision was fading, she saw Zmodlor's hideous body twist and contort, ichor spewing from wounds that suddenly ripped open.

  A wind kicked up as the air itself was rent asunder by the spell Aegwynn had written—a portal to the Twisting Nether—pulling Zmodlor's body into the tear.

  Noooooooo! I won't let you trap me aga—

  The demon's words were cut off by his head being sucked in.

  But the screams continued from the warlocks, even as the ground shook under Aegwynn's unsteady legs. Moments later, they stopped as they, too, were sucked into the Twisting Nether, where they would suffer anguish several orders of magnitude worse than what they had planned for the residents of Kalimdor.

  The tear closed—but the cavern was still shaking.

  Showing a soldier's capacity for stating the obvious, Lorena said, "We've got to get out of here!"

  But Aegwynn couldn't make her limbs move. Her arms and legs felt like dead weights, and it took all her energy just to keep her eyes open.

  One of the stalactites ripped from the cave roof with a sharp crack and impaled the floor less than a hands—breadth from where Aegwynn and Jaina both knelt.