The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm (5 page)

“What can I do?” Cairne asked at once, unsettled more by her obvious concern than the storm that had quite literally seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Get below so I won’t be havin’ t’ worry about you landlubbers!” she shouted, too focused to worry about rank and courtesies. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Cairne would have chuckled. As it was, he reached out, seized Garrosh unceremoniously by the back of his gorget, and had begun to steer the protesting orc toward the center of the ship when the wave crashed over them all.

Cairne was slammed to the deck as if by a giant hand. The breath was knocked out of him, and even as he struggled, water surged into his lungs to take its place. As quickly as it had come, the wave receded, nearly taking both him and Garrosh with it as easily as if they were but twigs in a stream wending through Quel’Thalas. As one, they reached out to one another, hands gripping painfully hard. They slammed into the curving bulwark, their progress halted for the moment. Cairne rose, his hooves carving a deep gouge in the slippery wooden deck as he stubbornly sought purchase. Snorting and bellowing with the effort, he fought his way forward, hauling Garrosh until the orc could scramble upright. There came a sudden crack of lightning far, far too close and the shattering rumble of thunder almost immediately afterward.

Still Cairne moved forward, one arm around Garrosh, the other reaching out until it grasped the slippery but solid doorframe, and the two half-stumbled, half-slid down into the hold.

Garrosh vomited up water, then stubbornly reached out a brown hand and tried to rise. “Cowards and children stay in the hold while others risk their lives,” he gasped.

Cairne placed a hand none too gently on Garrosh’s armor-clad shoulder. “And self-centered fools get in the way of those
trying to
save
lives,” he growled. “Do not be a fool, Garrosh Hellscream. Captain Tula needs to tend the ship so that it won’t snap in two, not waste precious energy and time trying to stop us from being washed overboard!”

Garrosh stared at him, then threw back his head and howled his frustration. But to his credit, he did not attempt to rush back up the stairs.

Cairne braced himself for a long, bruising wait at best, a cold, wet death at worst. Instead, the storm abated as suddenly as it had come. They had not even caught their breath when the ship’s violent, rocking movements stilled. They stared at one another for a moment, then both turned and hastened up the stairs.

Unbelievably the sun was already coming out from behind rapidly dissipating clouds. It was an incongruously cheerful sight compared to what greeted Cairne’s eyes as he emerged.

Sunlight glinted on the calm, silver surface of an ocean littered with debris. Cairne glanced wildly around, counting ships as he saw them. He counted only three, and prayed to the ancestors that the remaining two ships were merely scattered, although the debris bobbing in the water was mute testimony to the fact that some of them, at least, had not made it.

Survivors, clutching the floating crates, were crying out for aid, and both Cairne and Garrosh rushed to assist. This, at least, they could help with, and so spent the next hour bringing gasping, soaked orcs, trolls, and tauren—with the occasional sodden Forsaken or blood elf—aboard the ships that remained.

Captain Tula was grim-faced and taciturn as she barked out orders.
Mannoroth’s Bones
had survived the—hurricane? Typhoon? Tsunami? Cairne wasn’t sure. Their ship was largely intact, and was now crowded to the gills with shivering survivors huddled in blankets. Cairne patted a young troll on the shoulder as he handed her a mug of hot soup, then moved to the captain.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

“Cursed if I know,” was the reply. “I be on de ocean since I be a youngster. I be makin’ dis voyage dozens of times, resupplying
Warsong Hold until dem Kvaldir stopped me. And I never be seein’ anyting like dat.”

Cairne nodded solemnly. “I hope I do not offend if I say, I guessed as much. Do you think perhaps—”

A howl of outrage that could only issue from the throat of a Hellscream interrupted him. Cairne whirled to see Garrosh pointing at the horizon. He was visibly shaking, but it was clear that it was with anger, not fear or cold.

“Look there!” he cried. Cairne gazed where he pointed, but again, his aged eyes failed him. Not so Captain Tula’s. They widened.

“They be flyin’ de flag of Stormwind,” she said.

“Alliance? In our waters?” said Garrosh. “They are in clear violation of the treaty.”

Garrosh referred to a treaty between the Horde and the Alliance, signed shortly after the fall of the Lich King. Both factions had been sorely damaged by the long battle, and both sides had agreed to a cessation of hostilities, including the struggles at Alterac Valley, Arathi Basin, and Warsong Gulch, for a brief time.

“
Are
we still in Horde waters?” asked Cairne quietly. Tula nodded.

Garrosh grinned. “Then by all laws, theirs and ours, they are ours for the taking! We are allowed by the treaty to defend our territory—including our waters!”

Cairne couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Garrosh, we are not in any condition to be mounting an attack. Nor do they seem to be interested in us. Have you considered the possibility that the same storm that so damaged us blew them off course? That they are not here to attack, but are here only by accident?”

“The winds of fate, then,” Garrosh said. “They should face their destiny with honor.”

Cairne understood at once what was going on. Garrosh had a perfectly valid excuse for action, and he obviously intended to take it. He could not take revenge on the storm that had damaged Horde ships and taken the lives of many of his people, but he could vent his anger and frustration on the hapless Alliance vessel.

To Cairne’s dismay even Captain Tula was nodding.
“We be needin’ more supplies to replace what was lost,” she said, tapping her chin, her eyes narrowed in thought.

“Then let us claim what is rightfully ours. Can
Mannoroth’s Bones
engage in battle?”

“Aye, mon, dat she can, wit’ a little bit of preparation.”

“I am sure you will find many hands eager to aid you,” Garrosh replied. Tula nodded and strode off, barking orders left and right. Garrosh’s statement had been correct. Everyone leaped to attention, desperately eager to do something, anything, rather than sit and bemoan their fate. Cairne understood and approved of the desire and need, but if his suspicion was correct and the crew of the Alliance vessel were simply innocent victims …

The ship turned slowly, its sails swelling, and headed swiftly for the “enemy” ship. As they drew closer, Cairne could now see it more clearly and his heart sank.

It made no effort to elude their obvious pursuit. It could not have, even if the captain had wished to. The vessel was listing badly to port. Its sails had been shredded by the vicious wind that had played slightly less cruelly with the Horde fleet, and it was taking on water. Cairne could only just make out what was on the ship’s standards—the lion’s head of Stormwind.

Garrosh laughed. “Excellent,” he said. “Truly a gift. Another chance to show Varian how
highly
I regard him.”

The last time Garrosh and King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind had been in the same room, they had come to blows. Cairne had no particular fondness for humans, but no true dislike of them, either. Had this ship attacked his own, he would have been the first to issue orders to return fire. But this ship was broken, sinking, and even without their “help” would likely soon vanish beneath the icy waters forever.

“Vengeance is petty and beneath you, Garrosh,” Cairne snapped. “And what honor is there in slaying those about to drown? You may not violate the letter of the treaty, but you do its spirit.” He turned to Tula, hoping she would see reason. “I am the commander of this mission, Captain. As such, I outrank Garrosh. I order you
to give aid to these victims of the storm. Their being here was not provocative, but accidental, and there is greater honor in aiding than in butchering.”

She regarded him steadily. “With all due respect, mon, our warchief be appointin’ you leader only with regard to overseeing the return of the Warsong offensive veterans. Overlord Garrosh be in charge of all martial decisions.”

Cairne’s jaw dropped as he stared at her. She was correct. The thought had not occurred to him when they had been fighting tooth and nail against the surprise onslaught of the Kvaldir. Then, he and Garrosh had been thinking completely as one. There was no question but that aggression and battle were utterly necessary, so they had not been in conflict over that, only over how best to defeat the enemy. But now, though he was in charge of the voyage to bring the troops home, they were still obliged to obey Garrosh until such time as Thrall formally relieved Garrosh of his command. There was nothing Cairne could do.

Quietly, for Garrosh’s ears alone, he said, “I ask you, please. Do not do this thing. Our enemy is already broken. If we do not choose to assist them, they will likely die here anyway.”

“Then a swift kill is a mercy,” was Garrosh’s reply. And as if to punctuate the statement, the roar of cannons echoed. Cairne was staring straight at the ill-fated Alliance ship as the cannonballs punched holes in its side. From other vessels, a rain of arrows descended, and the sound that no Alliance soldier would ever forget, the sound of the Horde in full battle cry, rose up over the sound of waves and wind.

“Again!” Garrosh yelled, racing forward to the bow, quivering like an eager wolf on the hunt as they drew yet closer to the ship.

The mast was now broken on the Alliance vessel, but Cairne could make out a figure on the deck frantically waving the white flag of surrender. If Garrosh noticed it, he gave no sign. As soon as
Mannoroth’s Bones
was close enough, he let out a howl and leaped to the enemy vessel, a weapon in each hand, and began to attack the humans.

Cairne turned away, sickened. Legally Garrosh was right, but by any other reckoning, morally or spiritually, what he was doing was wrong. Horribly wrong, and Cairne darkly wondered how the spirits would exact their revenge upon the Horde, or Garrosh, or perhaps even him, Cairne Bloodhoof, for standing by and permitting it to happen.

It was over quickly, too quickly, as far as the orcs were concerned. Garrosh, somewhat to Cairne’s surprise, actually shouted to his troops to “Hold!” after only a few moments. The tauren pricked his long ears up and moved close, straining to see and hear what Garrosh would do next.

“Bring me the captain!” Garrosh demanded. A short while later, a troll, holding a human male tightly by both arms, hurried over and tossed the hapless captain to the deck.

Garrosh prodded the figure with a foot. “You are in Horde waters, Alliance dog.”

The man, sinewy, tall for his race, and tanned, with short-cropped black hair and a neatly trimmed beard, simply stared up at the orc. “There is a treaty—”

“Which does not apply to incursions into our territory. That is obviously an act of aggression!”

“You saw what shape we were in,” the captain replied, disbelief in his voice. “A rabbit wouldn’t have found us aggressive!”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Garrosh kicked him in the ribs. Cairne could hear one or two of them break. The man grunted and his face went pale, then flushed.

“You are in Horde waters,” Garrosh repeated. “Whatever state your ship was in, I am well within my rights for everything I do here. Do you know who I am?”

The man shook his head.

“I am Garrosh Hellscream, son of the great Horde hero Grom Hellscream!” The captain’s eyes widened, and he paled again. Clearly he did indeed recognize the name—if not the first, then surely the surname. Grom Hellscream was legend in the Alliance as well as the Horde.

“I have defeated my enemies and claimed your vessel for the Horde, and you as prisoners of war. The question is, what should I do with you now? I could set fire to your ship and let you burn,” he mused, rubbing his chin. “Or simply leave. It has not escaped my notice that you have no skiffs. There are sharks and orcas in these waters, and I am certain they love the taste of Alliance flesh almost as much as my troll warriors do.”

The captain swallowed hard, no doubt keenly aware that it was a troll who had brought him before Garrosh and was now standing beside him. The troll cackled and licked his lips exaggeratedly. Cairne and Garrosh both knew the Darkspear trolls were not cannibals, but clearly the captain didn’t.

“My friend Cairne Bloodhoof there,” Garrosh continued, jerking his thumb over his shoulder without turning to actually look at Cairne, “urged me to be merciful. And do you know, I think he might be right.”

The captain’s eyes darted to Cairne. The old bull was certain that he himself looked almost as surprised as the human. What was Garrosh doing? He had swarmed the ship, along with his men, slaying all but a handful of the crew. And he was talking about
mercy
?

“Today, Captain, I have shown you the mighty arm of the Horde, and I also show you its mercy. There are eleven of you who seem to have survived the … storm.” He smiled a little. “We will give you two skiffs, along with some of our own precious rations. That, and luck, should be enough to see you to safety. And when you reach home, tell them what has happened here. Tell them that Garrosh Hellscream was both death and life to you and your people today.”

Without another word, he turned and gracefully leaped back onto the deck of
Mannoroth’s Bones
. He spoke quickly and quietly to Tula, who nodded and issued orders of her own. Cairne watched as a few supplies and a single water keg were brought forth from below and two small skiffs were cut loose. At least Garrosh was keeping to his bizarre bargain. The tauren watched with mournful eyes as the humans scrambled into the boats and began to row back in the direction of Northrend.

He shifted his gaze to Garrosh, who stood straight and tall, his arms folded, still in his armor this entire time despite the storm and near-drowning.

Garrosh was a brilliant tactician, a fierce warrior, and loved by those he led.