The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm by Christie Golden Read Free Book Online Page B

Thunder Bluff and her tribe enjoyed all the rights of being a tauren. A powerful shaman who had come to lead the Grimtotem thanks to the tragic, accidental death of her mate—a death that, it was whispered, was not quite so accidental as it had appeared—she and Cairne had clashed before. Cairne was more than happy to make her welcome onThunder Bluff and to invite her to important ceremonies such as this one, as he firmly believed in the old adage, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” She had not opposed him openly, and he doubted she ever would. Magatha might plot and scheme safely in the shadows, but in the end Cairne believed she was a coward. Let Magatha think herself powerful for merely running her own tribe. He, Cairne Bloodhoof, was the one who truly led the tauren people.
    Thrall took his seat in the massive throne that afforded him a view of the entire enormous room and watched as the throng filed in. The braziers that normally burned on either side of the throne had been extinguished. In front of the cold braziers were now two lesser, but still ornate, seats that had been moved there for the occasion. Per Thrall’s request, Cairne and Garrosh each took one—Garrosh on Thrall’s right, as the hero of the hour. In various places about the room, the Kor’kron, Thrall’s bodyguards, stood quietly and unobtrusively.
    Thrall eyed Cairne and Garrosh, watching their reactions. Cairne shifted slightly in the somewhat too-small chair. Thrall grimaced; the orcish carpenters had tried hard to take a tauren physique into consideration when they had designed the chair but had obviously failed. The old bull was clearly filled with pride as his people settled in. He, like Thrall, knew they had all given, and in some cases forever lost, so much to this war.
    The years were starting to take their toll on the tauren high chieftain. Thrall had heard how well Cairne had fought when his group had come under siege, how he had returned again and again to bear more wounded to safety. That did not surprise him. He well knew Cairne’s courage, great heart, and compassion. What did surprise him was how many wounds the tauren had suffered in the conflict and how slowly he appeared to be healing from them.
    Thrall’s heart suddenly hurt. He had lost so many dear to him—Taretha Foxton, the human girl who had shown him that lovingfriendship could exist between the races; Grom Hellscream, who had taught him so much about what it meant to be an orc; and perhaps soon now Drek’Thar, who, according to the orc who attended him, was growing frail and whose mind was drifting away. The thought of having to say the final farewell to Cairne, who had been so close for so many years, was painful.
    He turned his attention to Garrosh. The young Hellscream, Gorehowl across his lap, ate and drank and laughed raucously, fully enjoying himself and utterly present in the moment. But now and then he, too, paused and looked out on those assembled with shining eyes and a chest swelled with pride. Thrall had not missed the enthusiasm with which the population of Orgrimmar had received Garrosh. Not even he, Thrall, had been so completely adored during any kind of ceremony. That was as it should be, Thrall thought. Not all of his decisions were welcome ones among his people, but he knew he led them well and they respected him. Garrosh, however, seemed to have tasted nothing but approbation and the love of his people.
    Garrosh caught Thrall looking at him and smiled. “It is good to be here,” he said.
    “Good to enjoy the accolades you have earned?” Thrall asked.
    “Of course. But it is also good to see the orcs. To see them remembering, as I did, what it means to be an orc. To fight the just battle, to defeat your foes, to celebrate your victory with the same passion that let you earn it.”
    “The Horde is more than just orcs, Garrosh,” Thrall reminded him.
    “Yes. But we are its core. Its center. And if we hold firmly to that, to