Lord of the Clans (16 page)

As soon as the thought struck, he banished it. He was with his own people now, although they continued
to regard him with hostility and grudging hospitality. He was always the last to eat. Even the wolves ate their fill before Thrall. He was given the coldest place to sleep, the thinnest cloak, the poorest weapons, the most onerous chores and tasks. He accepted this humbly, recognizing it for what it was: an attempt to test him, to make sure that he had not come to the Frostwolves expecting to be waited on like a king . . . like Blackmoore.

So he covered the refuse pits, skinned the animals, fetched the firewood, and did everything that was asked of him without a word. At least he had the frost wolves to keep him company in the blizzard this time.

One evening, he had asked Drek’Thar about the link between the wolves and the orcs. He was familiar with the concept of domesticating animals, of course, but this seemed different, deeper.

“It is,” Drek’Thar replied. “The wolves are not tamed, not as you understand the word. They have come to be our friends because I invited them. It is part of being a shaman. We have a bond with the things of the natural world, and strive always to work in harmony with them. It would be helpful to us if the wolves would be our companions. Hunt with us, keep us warm when the furs are not enough. Alert us to strangers, as they did with you. You would have died had not our wolf friends found you. And in return, we make sure they are well fed, that their injuries are healed, and their cubs need not fear the mighty wind
eagles that scour the mountains during the birthing times.

“We have made a similar pact with the goats, although they are not as wise as the wolves. They give us their wool and milk, and when we are in extreme need, one will surrender its life. We protect them in return. They are free to break the pact at any time, but in the last thirty years, none has done so.”

Thrall could not believe what he was hearing. This was potent magic indeed. “You link with things other than animals, though, do you not?”

Drek’Thar nodded. “I can call the snows, and wind, and lightning. The trees may bend to me when I ask. The rivers may flow where I ask them to.”

“If your power is so great, then why do you continue to live in such a harsh place?” Thrall asked. “If what you are saying is true, you could turn this barren mountain-top into a lush garden. Food would never be difficult to come by, your enemies would never find you —”

“And I would violate the primary agreement with the elements, and nothing of nature would ever respond to me again!” bellowed Drek’Thar. Thrall wished he could snatch back the words, but it was too late. He had obviously deeply offended the shaman. “Do you understand nothing? Have the humans sunk their greedy talons in you so deeply that you cannot see what lies at the heart of a shaman’s power? I am granted these things because I
ask
, with respect in my heart, and I am willing to offer something in return. I
request only the barest needs for myself and my people. At times, I ask great things, but only when the cause is good and just and wholesome. In return, I thank these powers, knowing that they are borrowed only, never bought. They come to me because they choose to, not because I demand it! These are not slaves, Thrall. They are powerful entities who come of their own free will, who are companions in my magic, not my servants. Pagh!” He snarled and turned away from Thrall. “You will never understand.”

For many days, he did not speak with Thrall. Thrall continued to do the lesser jobs, but it seemed that he grew only more distant from the Frostwolves, not closer, as time passed. One evening he was covering the refuse pits when one of the younger males called out, “Slave!”

“My name is Thrall,” Thrall said darkly.

The other orc shrugged. “Thrall, slave. It means the same thing. My wolf is ill and has soiled his bedding. Clean it.”

Thrall growled low in his throat. “Clean it yourself. I am not your servant, I am a guest of the Frostwolves,” he snarled.

“Oh? Really? With a name like slave? Here, human-boy, take it!” He threw a blanket and it covered Thrall before he could react. Cold moisture clung to his face and he smelled the stench of urine.

Something snapped inside him. Red anger flooded his vision and he screamed in outrage. He ripped the
filthy blanket off and clenched his fists. He began to stamp, rhythmically, angrily, as he had so long ago in the ring. Only there was no cheering crowd here, only a small circle of suddenly very quiet orcs who stared at him.

The young orc thrust his jaw out stubbornly. “I said, clean it, slave.”

Thrall bellowed and sprang. The young male went down, though not without fighting. Thrall didn’t feel his flesh part beneath sharp black nails. He felt only the fury, the outrage. He was no one’s slave.

Then they were pulling him off and throwing him into a snow bank. The shock of the cold wetness brought him to his senses, and he realized that he had ruined any chance of being accepted by these people. The thought devastated him, and he sat waist-deep in the snow, staring down. He had failed. There was no place that he belonged.

“I had wondered how long it would take you,” said Drek’Thar. Thrall glanced up listlessly to see the blind shaman standing over him. “You surprised me by lasting this long.”

Slowly, Thrall stood. “I have turned on my hosts,” he said heavily. “I will depart.”

“You will do no such thing,” said Drek’Thar. Thrall turned to stare at him. “The first test I had was to see if you were too arrogant to ask to be one of us. Had you come in here demanding the chieftainship as your birthright, we would have sent you away — and sent our
wolves to make sure you stayed away. You needed first to be humble before we would admit you.

“But also, we would not respect anyone who would stay servile for too long. Had you not challenged Uthul’s insults, you would not have been a true orc. I am pleased to see you are both humble and proud, Thrall.”

Gently, Drek’Thar placed a wizened hand on Thrall’s muscular arm. “Both qualities are needed for one who will follow the path of the shaman.”

T
hough the rest of that long winter was bitter, Thrall clung to the warmth he felt inside and thought the chill as little. He was accepted now as a member of the clan, and even the Warsongs had not made him feel so valued. Days were spent hunting with clan members who were now family and in listening to Drek’Thar. Nights were spent as part of a loud, happy gathering sitting around a group fire, singing songs and telling tales of past days of glory.

Though Drek’Thar often regaled him with tales of his courageous father Durotan, Thrall somehow sensed that the old orc was holding something back. He did not press the matter, however. Thrall trusted Drek’Thar completely now, and knew that the shaman would tell him what he needed to know, when he needed to know it.

He also made a unique friend. One evening, as the
clan and their wolf companions gathered around the fire as was their usual wont, a young wolf detached itself from the pack that usually slept just beyond the ring of firelight and approached. The Frostwolves fell silent.

“This female will Choose,” said Drek’Thar solemnly. Thrall had long since stopped being amazed at how Drek’Thar knew such things as the wolf’s gender and its — her — readiness to Choose, whatever that meant. Not without painful effort, Drek’Thar rose and extended his arms toward the she-wolf.

“Lovely one, you wish to form a bond with one of our clan,” he said. “Come forward and Choose the one with whom you will be bonded for the rest of your life.”

The wolf did not immediately rush forward. She took her time, ears twitching, dark eyes examining every orc present. Most of them already had companions, but many did not, particularly the younger ones. Uthul, who had become Thrall’s fast friend once Thrall had rebelled against his cruel treatment, now tensed. Thrall could tell that he wanted this lovely, graceful beast to Choose him.

The wolf’s eyes met Thrall’s, and it was as if a shock went through his entire body.

The female loped toward Thrall, and lay down at his side. Her eyes bored into his. Thrall felt a warm rush of kinship with this creature, although they were from two different species. He knew, without understanding quite how he knew, that she would be by his side until one of them left this life behind.

Slowly, Thrall reached to touch Snowsong’s finely shaped head. Her fur was so soft and thick. A warm wave of pleasure rushed over him.

The group grunted sounds of approval, and Uthul, though keenly disappointed, was the first to clap Thrall on the back.

“Tell us her name,” said Drek’Thar.

“Her name is Snowsong,” Thrall replied, again, not knowing how he knew. The wolf half-closed her eyes, and he sensed her satisfaction.

Drek’Thar finally revealed the reason for Durotan’s death one evening toward the end of winter. More and more, when the sun shone, they heard the sounds of melting snows. Thrall stood by that afternoon and watched respectfully as Drek’Thar performed a ritual to the spring snowmelt, asking that it alter its course only enough to avoid flooding the Frostwolf encampment. As always now, Snowsong stood at his side, a white, silent, faithful shadow.

Thrall felt something stir inside him. He heard a voice:
We hear Drek’Thar’s request, and find it not unseemly. We shall not flow where you and yours dwell, Shaman.

Drek’Thar bowed, and closed the ceremony formally. “I heard it,” Thrall said. “I heard the snow answer you.”

Drek’Thar turned his unseeing eyes toward Thrall. “I know you heard it,” he said. “It is a sign that you are ready, that you have learned and understood all that I
have to teach. Tomorrow, you will undergo your initiation. But tonight, come to my cave. I have things to say that you must hear.”

When darkness fell, Thrall appeared at the cave. Wise-ear, Drek’Thar’s wolf companion, whined happily. Drek’Thar waved Thrall inside.

“Sit,” he ordered. Thrall did so. Snowsong went to Wise-ear and they touched noses before curling up and quickly falling asleep. “You have many questions about your father and his fate. I have refrained from answering them, but the time has come that you must know. But first, swear by all you hold dear that you will never tell anyone what I am about to tell you, until you receive a sign that this must be said.”

“I swear,” said Thrall solemnly. His heart was beating fast. After so many years, he was about to learn the truth.

“You have heard that we were exiled by the late Gul’dan,” said Drek’Thar. “What you have not heard is why. No one knew the reason but your parents and myself, and that was as Durotan wished it to be. The fewer people who knew what he knew, the safer his clan.”

Thrall said nothing, but hung on Drek’Thar’s every word.

“We know now that Gul’dan was evil, and did not have the best interest of the orc people in his heart. What most do not know is how deeply he betrayed us, and what dreadful price we are now paying for what he
did to us. Durotan learned, and for that knowledge he was exiled. He and Draka — and you, young Thrall — returned to the southlands to tell the mighty orc chieftain Orgrim Doomhammer of Gul’dan’s treachery. We do not know if your parents reached Doomhammer, but we do know that they were murdered for that knowledge.”

Thrall bit back the impatient cry,
What knowledge?
Drek’Thar paused for a long moment, then continued.

“Gul’dan only ever wanted power for himself, and he sold us into a sort of slavery to achieve it. He formed a group called the Shadow Council, and this group, comprised of himself and many evil orc warlocks, dictated everything the orcs did. They united with demons, who gave them their vile powers, and who infused the Horde with such a love of killing and fighting that the people forgot the old ways, the way of nature, and the shaman. They lusted only for death. You have seen the red fire in the eyes of the orcs in the camps, Thrall. By that mark, you know that they have been ruled by demon powers.”

Thrall gasped. He immediately thought of Hellscream’s bright scarlet eyes, of how wasted Hellscream’s body was. Yet Hellscream’s mind was his own. He had acknowledged the power of mercy, had not given in to either mad bloodlust or the dreadful lethargy he’d seen at the camps. Grom Hellscream must have faced the demons every day, and continued
to resist them. Thrall’s admiration of the chieftain grew even more as he realized how strong Hellscream’s will must be.

“I believe that the lethargy you reported seeing in the camps is the emptiness our people are feeling when the demonic energies have been withdrawn. Without that external energy, they feel weak, bereft. They may not even know why they feel this way, or care enough to ponder it. They are like empty cups, Thrall, that were once filled with poison. Now they cry out to be filled with something wholesome once again. That which they yearn for is the nourishment of the old ways. Shamanism, a reconnection with the simple and pure powers of the natural forces and laws, will fill them again and assuage that dreadful hunger. This, and only this, will rouse them from their stupor and remind them of the proud, courageous line from which we have all come.”

Thrall continued to listen raptly, hanging on Drek’Thar’s every word.

“Your parents knew of the dark bargain. They knew that this bloodthirsty Horde was as unnatural a construct as could be imagined. The demons and Gul’dan had taken our people’s natural courage and warped it, twisted it for their own means. Durotan knew this, and for that knowledge his clan was banished. He accepted that, but when you were born, he knew he could no longer remain silent. He wanted a better world for you, Thrall. You were his son and heir. You would
have been the next chieftain. He and Draka went into the southlands, as I have told you, to find their old friend Orgrim Doomhammer.”

“I know that name,” said Thrall. “He was the mighty Warchief who led all the clans together against the humans.”

Drek’Thar nodded. “He was wise and brave, a good leader of our people. The humans eventually were the victors, Gul’dan’s treachery — at least a pale shadow of its true depths — was discovered, and the demons withdrew. You know the rest.”