SEVEN
The Drums of War
Tirion made good time reaching Stratholme. The sun had just barely crested the distant Alterac peaks by
the time he reached the city’s outskirts. He had tethered Mirador in the woods and ran the last quarter
mile to the city. As he ran, he attempted to formulate a plan to save old Eitrigg. Much to his dismay, he
came up with nothing. He hoped that when the time came, he would think of something brilliant that
didn’t involve killing or injuring his own people. However, seeing as how he was a convicted traitor, they
certainly would have no qualms about killing him. He knew that the likelihood of saving the orc and
escaping Stratholme alive was slim.
Undeterred, Tirion stealthily made his way through Stratholme’s quiet, cobblestone streets. A few
merchants and vendors were beginning to set up their wares for the day’s transactions in the
marketplace, but there were few others about at that early hour. He managed to evade the few guards he
saw walking the streets. Fearing that the local guardsmen would recognize him, Tirion kept to the
shadows and stayed well out of sight.
As Tirion neared the public square, he began to hear loud voices shouting and jeering. He hoped he was
not too late to save the orc. He stepped into the square and saw a large gathering of men at its center.
Clinging to the shadows, Tirion climbed a short staircase and situated himself in a small, recessed alcove
that offered a full view of the newly erected gallows. The crowd that had gathered around the scaffolding
was comprised mostly of guards and footmen. They had all come to see the spectacle of the old orc’s
hanging. Thankfully, Tirion realized that the prisoner had not yet been brought out. The gathered men
merely jeered and shouted at one another in anticipation.
There were a number of knights, dressed in their finest armor, surrounding the square. They stood quiet
and vigilant, ready to intercede if the volatile crowd turned into a mob. Tirion recognized many of the
knights who had been present at his trial. Although they were relatively calm, Tirion knew that they
wanted to see the orc hanged as much as the footmen and the guards did.
After a few moments, the gathering stirred as a newcomer strode up to the gallows. Tirion saw that it
was Barthilas. The young Paladin waved and shouted to the crowd enthusiastically, riling them up for
what he obviously considered to be the morning’s entertainment. Tirion was glad that he couldn’t hear
Barthilas’ words. He suspected that they were filled with poison and hatred. He felt a momentary pang of
remorse, knowing that his beloved Hearthglen was now in Barthilas’ unstable hands.
* * *
Tirion watched as a second figure emerged from the throng and ascended the scaffolding. Lord
Dathrohan, seemingly oblivious to the crowd’s raucous din, walked up to Barthilas’ side and scanned the
square with stern eyes. He spoke to the crowd for a moment and the jeering died down to a low roar.
Tirion held his breath. He knew they would bring Eitrigg out soon. Minutes passed by slowly as Tirion
waited anxiously beneath the alcove. A tension built amongst the onlookers as well. They seemed more
eager to watch a neck snap than see true justice met. As the din rose up again, more and more people
gathered in the square. Even women and children edged closer, hoping to catch sight of the terrible orcish
monster.
Finally, the gates to the nearby holding cell opened and a squad of footmen strode out in tight formation.
The gathered onlookers erupted in cheers and began to hurl garbage and stones at the newcomers.
Armored as they were, the footmen took little notice of the crowd’s fervor or its harmless projectiles.
Their shiny armor flashed in the morning light, but Tirion could see that they dragged a huddled shape
among them.
It was Eitrigg.
They stopped at the base of the scaffolding, and two men dragged the old orc up the rest of the way.
The orc was barely able to stand and his green body was covered with dark bruises and lacerations.
Tirion wondered how the weakened orc could even walk. Apparently the interrogators had taken their
time in beating him. Despite his injuries, Eitrigg did his best to keep his head raised. He would not give his
tormentors the satisfaction of seeing him broken. Tirion knew that Eitrigg’s orcish spirit was too proud for
that.
Tirion’s heart pounded in his chest. Against such a spirited group of warriors, he didn’t stand a chance
of saving the old orc.He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even have a weapon of any kind. He looked
down and saw that the hangman was adjusting the tightly wound noose.Eitrigg was only moments
away from death.
Frantically, Tirion leaped down from his perch and pushed his way through the boisterous crowd. In
their excitement, no one noticed the disgraced exile passing by them. Their attention was focused on the
gallows and the beaten green beast that stood before them.
Tirion watched as Lord Dathrohan gave Barthilas a stiff salute and walked back down toward the
holding cell’s gates. Apparently the Lord Commander had no interest in watching the vulgar spectacle so
soon after Tirion’s trial. Barthilas was none too concerned to see him go. Smiling broadly, Barthilas
ordered the hangman to put the noose around the orc’s throat. Eitrigg scowled as the rope was tightened
around his muscular neck. The orc’s dark eyes stared straight forward, as if he were looking into another
world that no one else could see. Tirion clawed and shoved his way closer to the scaffolding. Barthilas
waved his hand in the air, motioning for silence. Surprisingly, the raucous crowd quieted down.
“My fellow defenders of Lordaeron,” he began proudly, “I am glad to see that so many of you turned
out this morning. This loathsome creature that stands before you is an affront to the Light and an enemy
of our people. Its cursed race brought war and suffering to our shores and murdered many of our loved
ones with little or no remorse. Thus,” Barthilas continued, staring Eitrigg in the eye, “we will extinguish this
wretched creature’s life just as remorselessly.” Eitrigg met Barthilas’ fevered gaze with his own. “Blood
for blood. Debt for debt,” the young Paladin finished.
The crowd cheered wildly for Barthilas and screamed for the orc’s blood. Tirion marveled that his own
people could be so savage and vile. He felt sick and overwhelmed by their smothering, collective hatred.
Barthilas stepped back as the hangman moved Eitrigg into position over the scaffolding’s trap door. The
old orc’s stoic mask began to slip as death approached. Eitrigg began to shake and growl and fight
against his restraints. The onlookers merely laughed at his futile efforts. They seemed to revel in the old
orc’s panic and confusion.
Searching for some type of weapon, Tirion saw an old, rusted sledgehammer leaning against the base of
the scaffolding. He pushed his way through the front row of onlookers and dove for the sledgehammer.
Time seemed to stand still as Tirion reached out to grasp the unwieldy tool. As if in slow motion, he
watched as the hangman placed his hand upon the trap door lever while Barthilas raised his arm, ready to
give the signal that would end the orc’s life. Tirion’s hands closed over the sledgehammer’s wooden haft
as, in a surge of light and adrenaline, he charged forward.
* * *
The assembled knights and footmen yelled in anger at seeing Tirion emerge from the roiling crowd. The
former Paladin struck fast and hard, leaving the surprised footmen scattered in his wake. A few alert
guards rushed at him, but Tirion swung the old sledgehammer in a wide arc. Careful not to use lethal
force, Tirion punched a deep dent in one guard’s breastplate and smashed in another’s helmet-visor.
Seeing that he had bought himself a few, precious seconds, Tirion leaped up onto the scaffolding and
headed straight for Barthilas.
The young Paladin was shocked at seeing Tirion charging at him. He fumbled awkwardly for his
warhammer, but Tirion was too fast. He rammed his shoulder into Barthilas’ gut and sent the young
Paladin careening wildly off the platform. Barthilas landed with a loud thud and was nearly trampled by
the raging crowd.
The hooded hangman rushed forward to overpower Tirion, but the former Paladin stood his ground.
Grabbing the hangman by the arm, Tirion flipped him over his shoulder and sent him tumbling down the
scaffolding’s steps. He could hear the knights and footmen charging up the steps behind him.They would
hang him for this, he thought frantically. Not even the Lightbringer himself could pardon Tirion for this
affront.
As quickly as he could, Tirion ran over to Eitrigg and unfastened the noose around the orc’s neck. Left
too weak to stand, Eitrigg slumped heavily into Tirion’s arms. The orc barely recognized his savior’s
face.
“Human?” Eitrigg mumbled questioningly. Tirion smiled down at him.
“Yes, Eitrigg,” Tirion said. “It’s me.” Eitrigg shuddered in pain and exhaustion, but fixed Tirion with his
hazy gaze.
“You must be crazy,” the old orc said. Tirion laughed to himself and nodded in agreement. He turned
just in time to see Barthilas climbing up over the edge of the scaffolding. Tirion knew that the knights and
footmen were only seconds away. Barthilas straightened and glowered at him.
“Traitor! You have damned yourself this day!” the young Paladin screamed. The shocked crowd yelled
their assent and began throwing garbage at Tirion and Eitrigg both.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tirion could see Lord Dathrohan looming in the background. Apparently,
he hadn’t left after all. The Lord Commander’s face was a mask of grief and revulsion. Tirion wished
there was some way to make his old friend understand that what he was doing, he was doing for honor’s
sake.
Barthilas yelled for the knights to seize Tirion and the orc. As they approached, Tirion stretched out his
hand and commanded them to halt. He had spent his life leading men into battle and his deep voice still
carried the weight of command. Many of the knights who had served under him previously found
themselves cowed by his presence. Tirion faced them boldly.
“Hear me!” Tirion shouted. His voice boomed out over the crowd and reverberated against the
surrounding structures. Many of the onlookers fell strangely silent. “This orc has done you no harm! He is
old and infirm. His death would accomplish nothing!” The honorable knights paused for a moment,
considering Tirion’s protests.
“But it’s an orc! Are we not at war with its kind?” one of the knights yelled incredulously. Tirion steadied
himself and tightened his grip on Eitrigg.
“We may very well be! But this one’s warlike days are over!” Tirion said. “There is no honor in hanging
such a defenseless creature.” He saw that a few of the knights nodded reluctantly. The rest of the
onlookers remained to be convinced. They continued to jeer and call Tirion an orc-loving traitor.
“You’re not fit to even speak of honor, Tirion,” Barthilas spat angrily. “You’re a traitorous mongrel who
deserves to die right beside that inhuman beast!”
Tirion tensed. Barthilas’ words hit him like a slap in the face. “I took a vow, long ago, to protect the
weak and defenseless,” Tirion said through gritted teeth, “and I intend to do just that. You see, boy,
that’s what it truly means to be a Paladin—knowing the difference between right and wrong and being
able to separate justice from vengeance. You’ve never been able to make those distinctions, have you,
Barthilas?” Tirion asked. Barthilas nearly choked with rage.
Above the din of the shouting crowd, a single beating drum boomed out loud and clear. Eitrigg’s weary
head jerked up suddenly. He scanned the square’s periphery as if he expected to see a familiar sight,
then bowed his head again. Tirion looked at the orc questioningly, certain that the orc recognized the
strange beat. A few of the onlookers turned to see where the drumming was coming from, but Barthilas
paid it no mind. The young Paladin stepped toward Tirion with his fists clenched.
“Have you forgotten so soon, Tirion? You’re no longer a Paladin! You’re a disgrace—an exile! It
doesn’t make any difference what you think or believe!” Barthilas yelled.
“Damn it, Barthilas, you’ve got to open your eyes!” Tirion said urgently. “After all the years I ruled over
Hearthglen, the one thing I’m absolutely certain of is that war begets only war! If we can’t master our
own hatreds, then this senseless conflict will never cease! There will never be a future for our people!”
Barthilas laughed contemptuously in Tirion’s face.
The strange drumming sound grew louder and was joined by newer, stronger drums. At that point most
of the onlookers became aware of the ominous beating of the drums as well. They were startled to note
that the unnerving sounds were getting closer. The few women and children who were present began to
cover their ears and huddle together in fear and confusion. The attendant guards moved to the edges of
the square, searching for whatever was causing the incessant drumming.
“The future of our people is no longer your concern,” Barthilas said coldly. “I rule Hearthglen now,
Tirion. And as long as I do, I swear that there will never be peace with the orcs! On my parents’
departed souls, I swear that every last orc in Lordaeron will burn for what they’ve done!”
Tirion was shocked by Barthilas’ words. There was no reasoning with the young Paladin. He had given
over completely to his rage and grief.
The mighty drums thundered all around the panicked square as Barthilas ordered his troops to strike.
“Kill the orc now! Kill them both!” he yelled in fury. His roar was cut short as a crude, razor-sharp
spear tore through his chest. Barthilas’ blood splattered across the gallows as a legion of shadowy
shapes leapt down into the square from the surrounding rooftops. Furious, high-pitched war cries filled
the air as the savage orcs waded into the unsuspecting defenders of Stratholme. The mighty war-drums
thundered through the panic-gripped square.
* * *
Tirion sat stunned as Barthilas slumped to the ground in a heap. Instinctively, he reached out to help the
young Paladin, but Barthilas spat at him and waved him off.
“You’ve brought this down upon us,” the young Paladin said shakily as blood poured from his mouth.
His wild, hate-filled eyes locked on Tirion. “I always knew you’d betray . . .” was all he managed before
he fell facedown on the blood-soaked scaffolding. The crude orcish spear stuck up from his back like a
ship’s mast.
Tirion immediately snapped to attention. He threw down the sledgehammer and hauled Eitrigg up on his
feet. Leaning the heavy orc on his shoulder, Tirion led Eitrigg away from the gallows. Tirion couldn’t
imagine how the orcish force had bypassed the city’s outer defenses. Typically, the orcs had always
assaulted their targets head-on. Yet, as he watched the battle unfold around him, he saw that the stealthy
orcs were using the rooftops and surrounding catwalks to their advantage.
Knights and footmen ran forward to meet the orcish onslaught as all hell erupted in the public square.
Tirion kept his head down and headed for the side street he had used earlier. The sounds of clashing steel
and the combatants’ furious shouts of rage and pain mixed, creating a maddening din above Stratholme.
Tirion tried to shut out the noise and concentrate on staying alive. All around him was a killing ground.
Mighty orc warriors hacked at their enemies with great war axes while others hurled long, wicked spears
with startling precision. A few orcs, garbed in what looked like wolf furs, charged forward and lifted their
hands to the heavens. Before Tirion knew what they were doing, lightning arced down from the darkened
sky and struck the front ranks of the human force. Charred human bodies and large chunks of stone flew
through the air and rained down upon the chaotic battlefield. Stunned by the savage elemental attack, the
remaining human ranks were forced to pull back before the orcs’ awesome wrath.
Tirion was surprised to see that the orcs were working in unison to outmaneuver and flank the frayed
human defenders. To his memory, orcs had never been so singularly united in battle. Despite their
apparent cunning and skill, the orcs’ numbers were few. Tirion wondered what the orcs were after,
recklessly attacking a defended human city with such an insubstantial force. Soon every soldier in
Stratholme would be bearing down on the square.The outnumbered orcs wouldn’t stand a chance
against a fully armored garrison, he thought.
Despite the chaos around him, Tirion managed to reach the edge of the square and escape down a small
alley. Hefting Eitrigg’s deadweight up once more, Tirion turned to take a last look at the ensuing carnage.
He caught sight of an enormous orc, dressed in a full suit of black plate armor. The orc carried a mighty
warhammer that resembled those used by the Paladins—except for the fact that the orc’s hammer
seemed to be ignited by living lightning. The dark orc waded his way through the ardent human defenders
as if they were harmless children. It smashed and battered everyone that came near it with a calm
lethality—all the while shouting sharp commands to its warriors. For a moment, Tirion could only watch
in amazement and horror. The mighty orc leader was unlike any he had witnessed before. Tirion snapped
out of his daze and hurriedly made his way out of the beleaguered city with Eitrigg in his arms.
* * *
With a supreme effort, Tirion succeeded in hauling Eitrigg out of the city and into the surrounding woods.
Looking back, he could see that a number of fires had been started in various parts of the city. He could
hear screams and clashing weapons even from this distance. Apparently the cunning orcs were attempting
to distract and divide the human forces. Tirion noted that whoever the orcs’ leader was, he was far more
clever than any chieftain he’d ever heard of.
Wearily, Tirion laid Eitrigg down on the leafy ground and crouched next to him. He tried to calm himself
and think clearly about the situation. He couldn’t account for the orcs’ unprecedented attack on the city,
and wondered if the creatures had come to free Eitrigg, just as he had. Whatever the case, he was glad
that they’d come. He was genuinely sorry to see so many of his brethren fall before the orcs, but at least
he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. Eitrigg was alive. And, as frayed and thin as it was, Tirion’s
precious honor was still intact.
Eitrigg lay silently on the matted forest floor. Tirion bent down to check the orc’s pulse. Hopefully the
orc was just exhausted from his trying ordeal, he mused. Gasping in panic, Tirion realized that Eitrigg’s
heart had stopped. The beating the humans had given the orc had obviously done serious internal
damage. If he didn’t do something quickly, he knew that Eitrigg would die. Instinctively, he placed his
hands on Eitrigg’s chest and prayed for the healing powers of the Light to wash over the battered orc.
Surely he was still strong enough to heal even these grievous wounds?
Slowly, a feeling of dread spread through Tirion’s heart. Nothing was happening. He bowed his head in
defeat, remembering that he had been excommunicated from the Light.This can’t be happening, he
thought miserably. He could almost sense Eitrigg’s life ebbing away into nothingness.
“No!” Tirion growled in hopelessness. “You will not die, Eitrigg! Do you hear me? You will not die on
me!” he yelled at the comatose orc. Once again he slapped his hands on the orc’s chest and
concentrated with all of his will.“By the grace of the Light, may your brethren be healed.” The
phrase wafted through his mind repeatedly as he reached deep for the power that lurked somewhere
within his spirit.“In its grace he will be made anew.”
The Light could not be taken from him, he insisted. Men could strip him of his armor and titles, they
could take away his home and his wealth—but the Light would always been within him.It had to be.
Slowly, Tirion felt a searing heat rising within his body. It filled his center with strength and light that
snaked out toward his limbs. He almost cried out in joy as the familiar energies raced through his hands
and engulfed the orc’s ravaged body. Tirion felt as if he were floating on air. The strength and purity of
the Light flooded his being and cascaded out through his body like a halo of holy fire. Awed and humbled
by the reawakened power, Tirion opened his eyes and saw that a warm, golden glow had enveloped
Eitrigg. He watched in amazement as the bruises on the orc’s body healed before his very eyes. Even the
infected laceration on the orc’s leg sealed up as if it had never been.
The soothing energies subsided and Tirion dropped to the ground in exhaustion. He lay there for a few
moments panting, attempting to keep his head from spinning. With a snort, Eitrigg sat up and looked
around frantically. The old orc was pale and obviously weak, but his eyes were bright and alert. Eitrigg
quickly sprung up in a defensive crouch and sniffed the air. He scanned the immediate tree line for any
signs of danger and seemed to find none. Eitrigg looked down and saw Tirion lying near him. He shifted
back on his haunches doubtfully and stared at the exhausted human with surprise.
“Human?” Eitrigg asked. “What’s happened? How did we get here?” Tirion got to his knees and patted
the orc reassuringly on the shoulder.
“We’re outside the city, Eitrigg,” Tirion said evenly. “You’re safe for the time being. If we’re both very
lucky, there’ll be no more hangings in our immediate future.” Eitrigg grunted and looked at Tirion
doubtfully. He glanced down at his big green hands and traced his fingers over where his wounds had
been.
“This power you have, human,” the orc began, “did it heal my wounds?”
Tirion nodded. “Yes. You told me before that pain is a good teacher. Well, you were about to have
your final lesson. It would have been a rough one, I think,” Tirion said jokingly.
Eitrigg grinned and slapped Tirion on the back. “Perhaps I’ve studied enough, after all,” the orc replied
wryly. The old orc coughed a few times and eased himself back down to a sitting position. The strain of
the past few days proved to be too much for his tired old body, and he passed out in a heap. Although
he was healed, Tirion knew from experience that the orc would be weak for days.
He was surprised to hear a sudden rustling in the dense branches and undergrowth all around him.
Looking around frantically, he braced himself for danger. Slowly—ominously—the shadows of the trees
began to move and shift in every direction. Huge, dark shapes took form and moved forward, encircling
the sleeping orc and the nervous human.
Twelve in all, the creatures wore loose armor plates and tattered leathers that covered only the most vital
areas of their muscular, green-skinned bodies. Feathers, multiple tribal trinkets and bone necklaces
adorned the mighty orcish warriors who emerged with catlike grace from the shadowy tree line. Their
bulging arms and bestial, tusked faces were marked by jagged, primitive tattoos that augmented their
already feral appearance. They carried broad-bladed axes and heavy warblades with such practiced
ease that the weapons appeared to be natural extensions of their bodies. Tirion was overwhelmed by the
orcs’ savage presence. He was most disconcerted to see the change in their beady eyes—no longer
were the orcs’ eyes ablaze with depravity and hate; they were cool and alert, showing an intelligence and
wit that he could scarcely credit to them.
Tirion held his breath and made sure not to make any sudden moves. For all he knew, the orcs might
think that he had attacked Eitrigg somehow. The orcs simply stood, staring at the two on the ground as if
waiting for a command. Panic grated across Tirion’s nerves. After all he had tried to do, he’d be damned
if he just let himself be hacked to bits in the wilds. Yet no matter what he tried, he knew that he’d last less
than a minute against such fierce warriors.
Suddenly, a larger form emerged from behind the warriors. A number of the orcs stepped aside silently
as their leader made his way forward. Tirion gasped. It was the orc chieftain he had seen during the
battle. Being this close, Tirion could see that the gargantuan orc’s black plate armor was trimmed with
bronze runic inscriptions. Never before had Tirion ever seen an orc in full armor. The sight was both
impressive and chilling. The orc’s mighty stone warhammer seemed to be as old as the world itself. The
creature’s black hair was tied into long braids that hung down over its armored torso. Its green face was
somewhat less bestial than the other orcs’, and its fierce, intelligent eyes were a striking blue. Tirion knew
that this was no ordinary orc.
The mighty creature stepped forward and kneeled down beside Eitrigg. Tirion tensed. He remembered
that Eitrigg had abandoned his duties as an orcish warrior.Perhaps these orcs had come to punish
him?
Fighting back his fear, Tirion inched forward, intending to defend Eitrigg if necessary. The large orc gave
Tirion a fierce, threatening glare – warning the human to stay put and remain silent. Surrounded as he was
by the chieftain’s guards, Tirion was forced to comply with the orc’s silent command. Seeing that he
would be obeyed, the mysterious orc placed his large hand on Eitrigg’s head and closed his eyes,
concentrating. Eitrigg’s eyes fluttered open and focused on the dark orc looming over him. The
mysterious orc’s features softened slightly.
“You are Eitrigg of the Blackrock clan, are you not?” the orc asked in the human tongue. Tirion raised
his eyebrows in surprise.Did all of the orcs speak so clearly? he wondered.
Shakily, Eitrigg looked around at the other orcs and nodded his weary head. “I am he,” he said in a low
tone.
The larger orc nodded and straightened. “I thought so. It’s taken me a long time to track you down, old
one,” he said evenly.
Eitrigg sat up and looked upon the larger orc intently. “Your face is familiar to me, warrior. But you are
far too young to be . . .” Eitrigg studied the orc’s strong features for a moment and said, “Who are you?”
The orc nodded slightly and stood up to his full height. The gathered orcs seemed to straighten and lift
their chins high as their leader spoke. “I am known as Thrall, old one. I am Warchief of the Horde,” he
said proudly. Eitrigg’s jaw dropped wide open. Tirion stared in awe. This, obviously, was the upstart
Warchief of which Dathrohan had spoken.
“I have heard of you,” Tirion said, his voice heavy with contempt. He saw the surrounding orc guards
stiffen and ready their weapons. Apparently they didn’t take well to their leader being insulted. The orc
turned to stare at the former Paladin in surprise. “And what exactly have you heard, human?”
Tirion held the orc’s fierce gaze. “I have heard that you plan to rebuild the Horde and renew your war
against my people,” he said coolly.
“You are partially correct,” Thrall began, with mild amusement evident in his tone. “Iam rebuilding the
Horde. You can be sure that my people will not remain in chains for long. However, I have no interest in
making war for war’s sake. Those dark days are over.”
“Those days are over?” Tirion asked skeptically. “I just watched as you and your warriors hacked your
way through Stratholme.”
Thrall met the human’s accusing stare levelly. “You presume much, human. We only attacked the city to
reclaim one of our own. Times have changed. Your kingdoms and your people mean nothing to me. I
seek only to finish my father’s work and find a new homeland for my people,” Thrall replied evenly.
Eitrigg’s eyes were wide with sudden recognition. “Your father’s work?” he sputtered excitedly. “I knew
I recognized your face, warrior! You are the son of Durotan!” Thrall merely nodded once, never taking
his piercing eyes off Tirion. Eitrigg was beside himself with joy.
“Could it be, after all these years?” he asked, flabbergasted. He looked around at the orcs’ faces,
searching for further confirmation. Their proud, stone-like faces revealed nothing.
Thrall turned his back on Tirion and knelt beside Eitrigg. “I have come to bring you home, old one,” he
said warmly. “I’m sorry it took us so long to find you, but we’ve been somewhat busy these past months.
I have already freed a number of clans, but I need wise veterans like you to help me teach them of the
old ways. Your people have need of you again, brave Eitrigg.”
The old orc shook his head in shocked disbelief. He stared into Thrall’s sharp blue eyes and found hope
within their shining depths. After years of dispirited isolation, his heart was filled with pride again. Slowly,
Eitrigg began to believe that there could be a future for his people after all.
“I will follow you, son of Durotan,” Eitrigg said proudly. “I will help heal our people in any way that I
can.” Thrall nodded once and placed his hand on the old orc’s shoulder.
Casting a sidelong glance at the surrounding guards, Tirion cautiously stood up and faced Thrall. “Eitrigg
told me of your father—and of his fate. He must have been a great hero to elicit such devotion from his
son.”
Thrall’s face was expressionless as he replied, “My people have always held that it is a son’s duty to
finish his father’s work.” Tirion nodded sadly. He wondered if Taelan would ever share that sentiment.
Probably not, he concluded.What boy would ever be proud of having a disgraced exile as a father?
More than likely, Taelan would only revile me for what I’ve done.
Thrall motioned toward Eitrigg and shouted a number of short guttural commands in the orcish tongue.
Tirion looked around as the guards moved forward, unsure as to what to expect.Would the orcs kill
him? Would they let him go? A number of warriors knelt down beside Eitrigg and hooked their arms
under his shoulders. Tirion looked back at Thrall, questioningly.
The young Warchief smirked knowingly and said, “You risked your life to save our brother, human. We
have no quarrel with you. You are free to go, so long as you do not follow us.”
Tirion exhaled in relief and watched as the orc warriors gently gathered Eitrigg up. Thrall gave Tirion an
orcish salute and, without a second glance, turned to leave. Many of the orcs had already disappeared
back into the densely shadowed woods. Tirion shook his head as if in a daze. A strong hand grabbed
hold of his arm. He looked down and saw that it was Eitrigg. The old orc had a look of peace and
fulfillment upon his gnarled face.
“We are both bound by blood and honor,brother. I will not forget you,” Eitrigg said.
Tirion smiled and raised his hand to his heart as the orcs led Eitrigg away. He stood for a moment,
watching them go. The sounds of battle still echoed from within Stratholme’s walls. He decided that he
had better make himself scarce before the human troops arrived.
With a silent prayer to the Light, Tirion Fordring turned his back on Stratholme and set out to find solace
within the perilous, uncharted wildlands of Lordaeron.
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