Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War Read Free Page B

Azeroth best.”
    There was nothing more to say. In silence, Kalecgos leaped upward and flew out into the cold, snowy day, following the gentle tug that whispered this way, this way . Kirygosa had said she thought Kalec knew Azeroth better than any other blue dragon. He could only hope she was right.

2

    B aine Bloodhoof looked about uneasily as he and a small retinue entered the city of Orgrimmar. The sole progeny of the late, much beloved and mourned tauren high chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof, Baine had only recently stepped into the position his father had occupied for so many years. It was a responsibility he had never actively sought, and he had accepted the duty with both humility and regret at the time of his father’s death. Since then, the world had changed in every respect.
    His personal world had shattered the night of his father’s murder. Cairne had been slain in a mak’gora, a ritual duel, by Garrosh Hellscream. Garrosh, who had recently been named warchief of the Horde by Thrall, had intended to fight honorably, but someone else did not wish him to. Magatha Grimtotem, a shaman who had long harbored a hatred of Cairne and a desire to lead the tauren, had painted Garrosh’s axe, Gorehowl, with poison rather than simple anointing oil. And so the noble Cairne had died by betrayal.
    Garrosh had stayed out of the ensuing conflict that arose when Magatha made a blatant bid for conquest of the tauren. Baine had defeated the would-be usurper, banishing her and those who refused to swear loyalty to him. Afterward, he had vowed his own loyalty to Garrosh in the orc’s role as warchief for a reason that was twofold—because his father would have wished it, and because Baine knew he had to do so in order to keep his people safe.
    Since then, Baine Bloodhoof had not come to Orgrimmar. He had no desire to. Now he wished even more heartily that he could have stayed away.
    But Garrosh had sent a summons to all the leaders of the various Horde races, and Baine, having pledged his support to Grom Hellscream’s son, had come. So had the others. To disobey would be to risk open war.
    Baine and his entourage rode their kodos through the massive gates. More than one tauren stared, ears flicking, at the towering scaffolding and the massive crane that moved above them. While Orgrimmar had never been as pastoral as Thunder Bluff, it was now actively martial. Looming iron construction, heavy and black and ominous, had replaced the simple wooden huts, “to prevent another fire,” Garrosh had said. And, Baine knew, to evoke the so-called glory days of the Horde. To remind everyone after the chaos of the Cataclysm and the subsequent terrorizing of Deathwing that the orcs, and by extension the Horde itself, were not to be trifled with. To Baine, the ugly changes did not represent strength. The “new Orgrimmar” represented domination. Conquest. Subjugation. Its hard, jagged metal was a threat, not a comfort. He did not feel safe here. He did not think anyone who was not an orc could feel safe here.
    Garrosh had even moved Grommash Hold from the Valley of Wisdom, where it had been under Thrall since the founding of the city, to the Valley of Strength—a decision, Baine thought, that reflected the nature of each warchief. As the tauren approached the hold, they were joined by a cluster of blood elves in their red and gold regalia. Lor’themar Theron, his long, pale blond hair in a topknot and his chin decorated with a small patch of beard, caught Baine’s eye and nodded coolly. Baine returned the gesture.
    “Friend Baine!” called an unctuously cheerful voice. Baine looked over to his right, then down. A sly-looking, obese goblin with a slightly battered top hat chomped a cigar and waved boisterously at him.
    “You must be Trade Prince Jastor Gallywix,” Baine said.
    “That I am, that I am indeed,” said the goblin with enthusiasm, giving him a toothy, somewhat predatory grin. “And delighted to be heretoday, as I am sure you