The lessons from that time were bitter, bought with blood and death and torment. But ironically, the thing that nearly destroyed us was the thing that would redeem us later: a sense of unity. Each clan was loyal to itself, fiercely dedicated to its members, but not to others. What we united under, and against, was dreadfully wrong and for that, we are atoning stilt Generations after me will still pay for those mistakes. But the unity itself was glorious. And it is that lesson I wish to recover from the ashes. It is that lesson that caused me to speak with the leaders of so many seemingly different peoples, to work together toward goals we can all be proud of.

Unity. Harmony That is the good lesson of the past. I have learned it well.

Ner'zhul looked up into the twilight sky, content. The sunset was brilliant tonight. The ancestors must be pleased, he mused, taking a small amount of pride in the thought. Another Kosh'harg had come and gone. They seemed to him to come much harder on each other's heels than they had in the past, and each time the celebration occurred, there was something to rejoice in, and something to mourn.

His old friend, Kashur—he understood that her clan, the Frostwolves, had addressed her revcrendy as "Mother"—had passed to the ancestors. From what he had heard, she had died bravely. She had insisted on joining a hunt, something she had not done for years. The Frostwolves had hunted clcfthoovcs, and the ancient Mother had been in the vanguard of the charging warriors. She had been trampled to death before anyone could intervene to save her, and Ner’zhul knew that even as her clan mourned her, they celebrated her life and how she had chosen to depart it. Such was the way of the ores. He wondered if he would see her, and then chided himself for the thought. He would see her if she saw fit to reveal herself to him. Death was not the vast desert of sorrow to a shaman that it was to other orcs,for they had the privilege to again be in the presence of the beloved dead, learn their wisdom, feel their affection.

The Frostwolves had had a double tragedy, for the intervening time between Kosh'hargs had claimed their leader Garad as well. The Frostwolves had had the misfortune on one deceptively sunny day to stumble across no fewer than three ogres and one of their monstrous masters. The hideous creatures were stupid but fierce.

and the gronn was a cunning foe. The ores were victorious, but at a grave cost. Despite all the healers could do, Garad and several others died from their injuries that black day.

But in the sorrow of losing a leader, and one that Ner’zhul had known and respected, was the joy of seeing new blood come into its own. Kashur had spoken well of young Durotan, and from all Ner’zhul had seen, the youth would make a fine leader. He had watched as Durotan was named chieftain, and had noticed an attractive, fierce-looking female looking on with more than simple clan interest in the proceedings. Ner’zhul felt certain that by the next Kosh'harg, the lovely Draka would be the mate of the new Frostwolf chieftain.

He sighed, sifting through the images in his mind while filling his eyes with the delights of the glorious sunset. The years came and went, and gave their blessings, and demanded their sacrifices.

He went to his small hut, which he had once shared with a mate who had passed to the ancestors several years ago. Rulkan visited him from time to time, imparting no words of wisdom, but filling his heart with tenderness and opening him afresh to the needs of his people each time her spirit brushed his. He missed her rough laughter and her warmth beside him at night, but he was content. Perhaps, he mused, Rulkan would come to him in a vision tonight.

He prepared a potion, chanting over it softly, then drinking it slowly. It would not actually cause a vision; nothing would unless the ancestors willed it, and sometimes visions came upon him when he least expected them. But over many long years the shaman had learned that some herbs opened the mind while one slept, so mat if one was indeed granted the gift of a vision, one would remember it more clearly the following morning.

Ner’zhul closed his eyes, and then opened them again almost immediately, although he knew he was fast asleep.

They were standing on a mountaintop, he and his beloved Rulkan. At first he thought they were observing the sunset together, then realized that the sun was rising, not descending into slumber for the night. The sky was glorious, but in a way that roused and moved him rather than calmed and comforted him. The colors were scarlet and purple and orange, almost violent, and Ner’zhul's heart lifted.

Rulkan turned to him, smiling, and for the first time since she had exhaled her final breath as a living being, she spoke to him.

"Ner’zhul, my mate, this is a new beginning,"

He gasped, trembling, overcome with love for her, flooded with a simmering excitement roused by the vibrant colors of the sunrise. A new beginning?

"You have led our people well," she said. "But the time has come to deepen the old ways, take them further, for the good of all."

Something rose inside his mind to nudge at his conscious thought. Rulkan had not been a shaman. She

had not been a chieftain. She had only been her wonderful self, which had been more than enough for Ner’zhul, but she had held no position in life that would make it likely that she would speak so authoritatively. Annoyed at his lack of faith, Ner’zhul pushed the voice down. He was not a spirit. He was only flesh and blood and though he understood the spirit ways more than most, he also knew that there was much he would never understand until he stood with them. Why wouldn't Rulkan speak for the ancestors?

"I am listening," he said.

She smiled. "I knew you would," she said. "There are dark and dangerous times ahead for the ores. Hitherto, we have only come together at the Kosh'harg festivals. Such isolation must end if we are to survive as a race.

Rulkan looked into the sunrise, her face thoughtful and shadowed. Ner’zhul ached to hold her, to take her burdens as his own as he always had in life. But now, he knew he could not touch her, nor force her to speak. So he sat silently, drinking in her beauty, cars straining for her voice.

"There is upon this world a blight," Rulkan said quietly. "It must be eliminated."

"Say it, and it will be done," Ner’zhul swore fervently. "I will always honor the advice of the ancestors.

She turned to him then, her eyes searching his as the light grew brighter. "When it is eliminated, our people will stand proud and tall . . . even more than they are now. Power and strength will be ours. This world will be ours. And you . . . you, Ner’zhul, will lead them."

Something in the way she said the words made Ner’zhul's heart leap. He was already powerful. He was honored, perhaps even revered, by his own clan, the Shadowmoon dan. He was the leader of all the orcs,in fact if not in name. But now desire stirred in his heart for more. And fear stirred in him too, dark and unpleasant, but something that must be faced.

"What is this threat that must be eliminated before the ores can claim what is rightfully theirs?"

She told him.

"What docs this mean?" Durotan asked.

He broke his fast with the two people in his clan he trusted most: Draka, his intended, whom he would wed with full ceremony at the next full moon, and Drek’Thar, the new head shaman of the clan.

Durotan, along with everyone else, had mourned the passing of Mother Kashur. Durotan knew in his bones that she had intended to die that day, and wished to make a good death. She would be missed, but Drek’Thar had proved himself a worthy successor. Fighting back his personal grief, he had stepped in as the primary healer of the hunt then and subsequently. Kashur would have been proud. Now the three sat and ate in the chieftain's tent, where Durotan. chieftain