Cycle of Hatred

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."