Cycle of Hatred

Fifteen

Kristoff hated sitting on the throne.

Intellectually, he understood the need for it. Leaders needed to convey that they were in a position of authority, and the intimidating physicality of a giant chair that was raised above everyone else in the room conveyed that authority beautifully.

But he hated sitting in it. He was convinced that he would damage the authority of the position by making some kind of mistake. Because Kristoff knew his limitations—he was no leader. He'd spent years observing leaders firsthand and studying leaders he didn't have access to, and knew as much as anyone living about what good leaders had to do right and what bad leaders often did wrong. One thing he had learned early on was that the arrogant rarely lasted long. Leaders made mistakes, and the arrogant never admitted to such a thing, a conflict that often resulted in self—destruction—or destruction from outside forces. Certainly, that was true of Kristoff's previous employer, Garithos; if the Highlord had simply listened to Kristoff—or any of the other six people giving him the same advice—he wouldn't have sided with the Forsaken. As Kristoff had predicted, the undead creatures betrayed Garithos and his warriors and led to his downfall. By that time, Kristoff had left for greener pastures.

This tendency was rather unfortunate, because the arrogant were usually the only ones who pursued leadership positions in the first place. The conundrum had fascinated Kristoff as a young student, and also explained why there were so few truly great leaders.

Kristoff was also self—aware enough to know that he was incredibly arrogant. That supreme confidence in his own abilities was why he made such a good advisor to Lady Proudmoore, but it was also why he was so terribly unfit to take her place.

Nevertheless, he did as he was told, and served in the lady's stead until she returned from her ridiculous errand.

On top of everything else, Kristoff also hated the throne because it was a damned uncomfortable piece of furniture. For the proper effect, one had to sit on it straight, with arms on the armrests, gazing down upon one's petitioners with an all—knowing eye. The problem was, sitting like that was hell on Kristoff's back. He could only avoid spine—chewing agony if he sat slumped, and off to the side. The problem there was that he looked like he was treating the throne like a sofa, which was not the right impression to give.

It was a difficult situation, and Kristoff fervently wished that the lady hadn't hared off into orc country to do whatever ludicrous thing she was doing. As if the needs of Theramore weren't of considerably more import than the disposition of some rampaging reptiles in Durotar.

Lady Proudmoore had done amazing things. For starters, few of her sex had been able to accomplish what she had done, either as a wizard or as a ruler. Oh, there were plenty of female monarchs, true, but they generally came to their position by heredity or marriage, not through sheer force of will as the lady had done. While it was Medivh who first encouraged the notion, it was Jaina Proudmoore who managed the heretofore inconceivable task of uniting human and orc. She was, in his expert opinion, the greatest leader the world had ever seen, and Kristoff considered it an honor to be her most trusted advisor.

Which was why her blind spot for the orcs was so maddening. Kristoff could understand it—of all the leaders he had encountered and studied, the only one he might consider Lady Proudmoore's equal was Thrall. His accomplishment—bringing the orcs together and throwing off the yoke of the demonic curse that had brought them so low—was even more impressive.

But Thrall was a unique individual among orcs. At their heart, orcs were uncivilized beasts, barely able to comprehend speech. Their customs and mores were barbaric, their behavior unacceptable. Yes, Thrall had kept them in line, using what he learned while being raised among humans to bring a semblance of civilization to them, but Thrall was mortal. When he died, so would the orcs' temporary flirtation with humanity, and they would descend right back into the vicious animals that they were when Sargeras first brought them here.

However, Lady Proudmoore would not hear those words. Certainly, Kristoff had tried, but even the greatest of leaders had their blind spots, and this was hers. She insisted on her belief that orcs could live in harmony with humans, to the point that she betrayed her own father.

That was when Kristoff realized that extraordinary action would need to be taken. The lady let her own father be killed rather than betray the trust of creatures who, beyond Thrall, would never return the favor.

Under other circumstances, Kristoff would never have done what he did. Every day, he awakened wondering if he had done the right thing. But every day, he also awakened in fear. From the moment he first came to Kalimdor through the end of the war and the founding of Theramore, Kristoff lived in abject terror that everything they had built would be destroyed. Aside from one fort on the Merchant Coast, the human presence on Kalimdor consisted of a small island off the eastern coast, surrounded on three sides by creatures who were at best indifferent, and at worst hostile to humans, and on the fourth by the Great Sea.

Despite his fears, despite his advice, the lady constantly took actions that favored the orcs to the detriment of humans. She claimed it was to benefit the alliance, that they were stronger united than they would be apart. The truly tragic thing was that she believed it.

But Kristoff knew better. And when Lady Proudmoore proved herself incapable of seeing the bigger picture, the very bigger picture that Kristoff had trained all his life to see, he got outside help.

Duree poked her shriveled head into the chambers. "Sir, the scrying stone from Northwatch is getting all glowy. I think it's got a message."

Dryly, Kristoff said, "That's usually what that means, yes." He got up from behind the lady's desk and went out into the throne room, where the stone was kept. Presumably, that was either Lorena or Davin informing him that the former had finally arrived, her troops having gotten there that morning. Kristoff's plan to have Lorena already in place when the troop carrier arrived was dashed by the airship's having mechanical problems that delayed its takeoff, plus the troop carrier benefited from a strong wind that hastened its arrival.

Walking up to the stone, which sat on a pedestal in the southwest corner of the throne room, Kristoff saw that it was indeed alight with the crimson glow that indicated that its counterpart at Northwatch had been activated and used.

Hesitating for a moment, Kristoff grabbed it. As expected, it sent a painful shock up his arm that almost forced him to drop it. The glow dissipated concurrently with the shock, followed by Major Davin's voice. It sounded like Davin was deep inside a cave and shouting toward the mouth.

"Lord Chamberlain, it's my sad duty to inform you that Colonel Lorena's airship has yet to report. Spotters saw the airship, but it was heading northeast. The troops have arrived, but I don't know what the colonel had in mind for 'em. Please advise."

Kristoff sighed as he put the stone back on its pedestal. "Damn that woman!"

"What woman?" Duree asked.

"Colonel Lorena. Who did she take with her on the airship?"

Without hesitating, the old woman called up the answer from memory. Peculiar though her manner might have been, the woman was incredibly efficient. "Major Bek, Captain Harcort, Captain Mirra, and Lieutenant Noroj. Oh, and Corporal Booraven."

Frowning, Kristoff asked, "Why did she bring a corporal along?" He had specifically told the colonel to have her senior staff on the airship and to send the troops along by boat. Then a memory started niggling at him. "I know that name from somewhere."

Duree, bless her, came to his rescue. "She's the one they called the good—luck charm, back during the war. A sensitive, if I'm rememberin' right—can sniff out magic at a hundred paces."

"Right, of course." Kristoff remembered that Booraven—who had been a private during the war—not only was able to detect demons that couldn't be seen with the naked eye, but also could tell when someone had been possessed by a member of the Burning Legion. She also was always able to find Lady Proudmoore, or any other wizard, a skill several generals made use of when the lady was difficult to track down during a chaotic campaign.

At once, Kristoff realized what Lorena had in mind. "Damn her!" Letting out a long sigh, he muttered, "And damn myself as well."

"What was that, sir?" Duree asked.

"Nothing," Kristoff said quickly. He couldn't afford to explain things to Duree. "That'll be all."

Sounding confused, Duree said, "All—all right, sir." Looking at him strangely, she left.

For his part, Kristoff stared out the large window. It was hazy today, and he couldn't see more than a league or two out on the Great Sea.

Belatedly, Kristoff realized that the mistake was truly his own. He had let the colonel's hostility toward him—which had always been there, going back to the days of the war—affect his own reactions to her. He treated her with the same contempt she treated him with, an indulgence that was acceptable, if sometimes counterproductive, when they both advised the lady, but suicidal when he sat on her throne. Part of the point of the symbolism of the raised throne was that the leader had to be above everything else—including the petty rivalries of the court.

The very arrogance that had done in Garithos and so many more before him, had done in Kristoff. If the chamberlain had treated Lorena with respect, she might have done as he asked. Because he didn't, she took Booraven with her to once again serve the purpose of finding Lady Proudmoore. That explained why she headed northeast: to Durotar, where the lady was taking care of the thunder lizards.

Much as it galled him, he had only one recourse. The plan had to go ahead, with some small variations. They might cause problems later, but by then the die would be cast. The only way for Jaina Proudmoore to see that the orcs were not to be trusted was to accelerate the inevitable war between them.

To that end, he picked up the stone once again, this time with both hands rather than one, which the stone registered as a desire to send a message. This time, the stone glowed blue. "This is Chamberlain Kristoff. I'm afraid our worst fears have been realized. Both Lady Proudmoore and Colonel Lorena have been taken by the foul orc cult known as the Burning Blade. The orcs must be made to pay for this. Major Davin, you are to take charge of all forces at Northwatch and prepare for war."

When he put the stone back down, the glow faded, its message sent through the aether to its counterpart in the keep.

After that, he retreated to the chambers to finish the work he had been in the middle of. However, the stink of sulfur permeated the air as soon as he arrived at the entryway, which meant that Zmodlor had arrived.

Galtak Ered'nash. Report, Chamberlain.

Kristoff wrinkled his nose, both because of the smell and in general disgust. He hated being involved with demons, and if the stakes weren't so high, he would just as soon run this creature through. But another lesson of leadership Kristoff had learned was that sometimes one had to make strange allies in order to serve the greater good of one's people. That was why Lady Proudmoore had taken the extraordinary step of bringing human and orc together in the first place, and why Kristoff now had to take the same step with Zmodlor. It was a temporary alliance with a minor demon who meant little in the grand scheme of things. In truth, Kristoff was using Zmodlor—playing on the creature's vanity and bowing and scraping before him in order for him to do precisely what Kristoff wished.

"All goes according to plan. The people of Theramore are primed to attack the orcs and destroy them."

Good. I will derive great pleasure from seeing those foul traitors wiped from this world.

"As will I." Kristoff meant those words. Zmodlor had been a useful ally to Kristoff because the two of them shared a fervent desire to rid the world of orcs. And when this was all over, and the orcs were no longer a factor, Kristoff fully intended to rid the world of Zmodlor as well…

May our hearts' desires come to us sooner rather than later, Chamberlain. Farewell. Galtak Ered'nash.

Nodding, Kristoff repeated those two words in Zmodlor's native tongue that translated as: "All hail the Burning Blade."