He looked at each worried face in turn, some merely friends, some, like Drek’Thar and Draka, known and loved.

"The Frostwolf clan will prepare for war."

How easily the mind can be turned to hate from a place of fear—an instinctive, natural, protective response. Instead of focusing on the things that unite us, we focus on what divides us. My skin is green; yours is pink. I have tusks; you have long ears. Mysfein is bare;yours is covered with fir. I breathe air; you do not. If we had dung to such things, the Burning Legion would not have been defeated, for I would never have wished to ally with Jaina Proudmoore, or fight alongside elves. My people would then not have survived to befriend the tauren, or the forsaken.

So it was with draenei. Our skin was reddish-brown then; theirs was blue. We had feet, they had hooves and a tail. We lived mostly in the open, they lived in enclosed spaces. We had a fairly short life span; no one knew how long-lived they were.

Nevermind that they had shown us nothing but courtesy and openness. That they had traded with us, taught us, shared whatever they were asked to share. That had no bearing now. We had heard from the ancestors, and we saw with our own eyes how different they were.

My prayer, every day, is for wisdom to guide my people. And in that prayer is couched a plea, never to be blinded by such trivial differences.

The training began. It had always been custom among nearly every clan to begin training the younglings once they celebrated their sixth year, but previously, the training had been serious but relaxed. Weapons were for hunting animals, not sentient beings who had their own weapons and skills and technological advantages, and there were plenty of hunters who could easily bring down prey. A young orc learned at his or her own pace, and there was plenty of time for play and enjoying simply being young.

No longer.

The plea for unity among the ores was answered. The couriers exhausted their beasts riding to and fro between clans carrying messages. At one point some bright fellow came up with the idea of training bloodhawks to carry the letters. It took some doing and did not happen overnight, but gradually, Durotan grew used to seeing the scarlet birds fluttering to Drek’Thar and others in the clan. He approved of the idea; every warm body was needed if battle plans were to be successful.

While spears, arrows, axes, and other weapons worked well against the animals of the fields and

forests, they would need to be supplemented with other types of weapons if they were to be used against the draenei. Protection would be vital, and whereas before the smiths and lcathcrcraftcrs focused on armor that would blunt attacks from claws and teeth, now they had to create things that would save the wearer if he were impaled or slashed by a sword. Those who understood the craft of smithing had been few previously; now, the master smiths found themselves teaching dozens at a time. The forges rang day and night with the sound of hammers and the hiss of hot metal being plunged into water barrels. Many spent long days swinging picks, forcing the earth to yield the necessary minerals for crafting weapons and metal armor. Hunts, which had been conducted as the need arose, now were daily events, as food needed to be dried and preserved and skins were required for armor.

The younglings who lined up for training looked very young indeed to Durotan, who was one of many instructors. He recalled his father teaching him the ways of axe and spear. What would he think of these small ones, all but buckling beneath shiny metal armor, holding weapons that no orc had ever before borne?

Draka, with whom he had joined in a quick, quiet ritual as he did not want to take time or resources away from war training, touched his back gently. Always, she knew what he was thinking.

"It would be better if we had been born in a time of peace," she agreed. "Even the most bloodthirsty knows the truth of that. But We are where we are, my mate, and I know vou will not shirk this task."

He smiled sadly at her. "Nay, I will not. We are warriors. We thrive on the hunt, on the challenge, on the spilling of blood and the cries of victory. They are small, but they are not weak. They will learn. They are Frostwolves." He paused, then added fiercely, "They are ores."

"Time is passing," said Rulkan.

"I know . . . but you would not have our people go into battle unprepared," Ner’zhul replied. "The draenei are vastly superior as it stands now."

Rulkan grunted unhappily, then smiled. Ner’zhul looked at her. Was it his imagination, or did the smile seem forced?

"We are training as fast as We can," Ner’zhul added quickly, not wishing to offend the spirit who had been his lifematc.

Rulkan was silent. Clearly, it was not fast enough.

"Perhaps you can help us," he said. He was aware that he was babbling. "Perhaps there is knowledge you have that.. . that..."

Rulkan frowned, then cocked her head. "I have told you all I know," she said, "but there are other powers . . . other beings . . . that the living do not know of."

Ner’zhul almost stumbled at her words. "There are the elements, and there are the ancestral spirits," he managed. "What other beings are there?"

She smiled at him. "You yet breathe, my mate. You are not ready to treat with them. They are the ones who have been aiding us, so that We may aid you, the beloved ones We left behind."

"No!" Ner’zhul realized he was pleading, but he could not help it. "Please . . . We need aid if We are to protect the future generations from the draenei's insidious plots."

He did not say that he was enjoying being the center of attention from every single orc in every single clan. He did not say that her earlier promise of power had made him think on such things, and begin to desire them. But even more than that, she had instilled such terror of the monstrous draenei that this sudden holding back on her part unnerved him totally.

Rulkan looked at him appraisingly. "Perhaps you are right," she said. "I will see if they will speak to you. There is one whom t trust the most, whose concern for our people is deep and abiding. I will ask him."

He nodded, almost ridiculously pleased at her words, then blinked awake. A smile stretched his lips.

Soon. He would see this mysterious spirit, this benefactor, very soon.

Gul'dan smiled at him as he brought in fruit and fish to break his master's fast. 'Another vision, my master?" He bowed low as he presented the food and cup of steaming herbal tea. Upon Rulkan's advice, Ner’zhul had begun drinking a tincture of certain herbs brewed to a precise strength. Rulkan assured him that it would continue to ensure that his mind and spirit remained open to visions. Ner’zhul had found the concoction unpleasant at first, but had showed no sign of his dislike. Now, he found he enjoyed the beverage first thing in the morning and three more times throughout the day. He accepted the cup and sipped it as he nodded in response to Gul'dan's question.

"Indeed . . . and I have learned something important. Gul'dan, for as long as there have been orcs,there have been shaman. And the shaman work with the elements and with the ancestors,"

Gul'dan's face wore an expression of puzzlement. "Yes ... of course ..."

Ner’zhul couldn't stifle a grin that stretched his lips wide over his tusks. "And that is still true. But there is more than we know of. More that the ancestors can sec, but we as living beings cannot. Rulkan has told me she has been in contact with such beings. They have wisdom and knowledge even beyond that of the ancestors, and they will come to us to aid us. Rulkan says there is one in particular who has chosen to take the ores under his wing. And soon . . . soon he will show himself to me!"