Ner’zhul was in ecstasy. Each letter that arrived by bloodhawk from the various clans was read with eagerness and delight. We came across two scouts far from aid, the Shattered Hand clan chieftain wrote. It was ease itself to dispatch them, outnumbered as they were.

The Bleeding Hollow clan is proud to report to the great Ner’zhul that we have obeyed him in all things, said another letter. We have joined with the Laughing Skull clan, more than doubling the number of armed warriors to send against this devious foe. It is our understanding that the Thunderlord clan seeks allies. We will send a courier to them tomorrow.

"Yes." smiled Kil’jaeden. "Do you see how they are coming together in a just cause? Before, these clans would be challenging one another if they crossed paths. Now. they are sharing knowledge, sharing resources, working as one to overcome a foe who would see you all destroyed."

Ner’zhul nodded, but he felt a sudden pang. It had been glorious to finally behold this beautiful, powerful entity, despite the fact that he looked so much like the hated draenei, but ... he had stopped seeing Rulkan. He found he missed her. He wondered why she was no longer seeking him out.

Hesitantly, he spoke. "Rulkan—"

"Rulkan has done her part in bringing you to me, Ner’zhul." soothed Kil’jaeden. "You know she is well and happy—you have seen her. We do not need her as an intermediary anymore. Not now that I have been convinced of your worthiness to be my voice among your people."

And as before, Ner’zhul's heart flooded with joy. But this time, despite the comforting and exciting words of Kil’jaeden, he felt a sad little jerk in his heart as it beat, and still wished he could speak with his mate.

Ner’zhul was deep in thought when Gul'dan brought the missive to him. The apprentice bowed and handed his master a piece of parchment, stiff with blue liquid.

"What is this?" Ner’zhul asked, taking the parchment.

"It was taken off a draenei approaching from the south," Gul'dan replied.

"A party?"

"A single courier. No arms, not even a mount. The fool was walking." Gul'dan's lips twisted into a smile and he chuckled.

Ner’zhul looked down at the parchment, realizing now that the blue stains were the courier's blood. What had possessed the idiot, walking alone, unarmed, into the heart of Shadowmoon territory?

He unfolded it carefully, trying not to tear it. and quickly began to read. Even as his brown eyes darted over the words, the room was suddenly filled with radiance and both shaman prostrated themselves.

"Read it aloud, great Ner’zhul," came Kil’jaeden's smooth voice. "Share it with me and your loyal apprentice."

"Yes. please, my master," said Gul'dan eagerly.

As he read it, for the first time since he had spoken with his beloved Rulkan, Ner’zhul tasted doubt- Unto Ner'zhul, Shaman, of the Shadowmoon clan, the Prophet Velen of the draenei sends greetings.

Recently, many of our people have come under attack from the ores. I do not understand wiry this is. For generations, your people and mine have lived in peace and tolerance, a state that has benefitted us both. We have never lifted a weapon toward an ore, and indeed, once we were instrumental in saving the lives of two young ones who unwittingly placed themselves in danger.

"Ah," Gul'dan interrupted. "I remember . . . Durotan. who is currently the Frostwolf chieftain, and Orgrim Doomhammer."

Ner'zhul nodded absently, his thoughts distracted for a moment, then resumed reading.

We can only assume there is a terrible misunderstanding, and wish to speak with you so that no more lives—ore or draenei—are lost in such a tragic fashion.

It is my understanding that the mountain you call Oshu'gun is sacred to your people, that this is where the wise spirits of your ancestors dwell. While this place has long had deep meaning for the draenei as well, we have always respected your decision to claim it as your holy site. However, the time has come for us to recognize that there is more that we share than that divides us. I am called the Prophet among my people,

because at times I am granted wisdom and insight. I seek to lead well and peacefully, as I am sure you and the leaders of the various clans do your own people.

Let us meet peaceably, at the place that holds so much meaning for both our races. On the third day of the fifth month, I and a small party will be moving in pilgrimage to enter the heart of the mountain. No one in the group will bear arms. I invite you and any others who feel so moved to join me, as we enter the deep place of magic and power, and ask the wisdom of beings much wiser than we how we can heal this rift between us.

In Light and blessings, I bid you peace.

Gul'dan was the first to speak. Or. more accurately, to laugh.

"Such arrogance! My lord, great Kil’jaeden, this is an opportunity not to be missed. Their leader comes like a clefthoof calf to the slaughter, unarmed and stupidly thinking that we know nothing of his evil intentions. And he thinks to violate Oshu'gun! He will die before he sets a vile blue hoof upon even the root of our holy mountain!"

"What you say pleases me, Gul'dan," Kil’jaeden rumbled in that smooth-as-water voice. "Ner'zhul, your apprentice speaks wisdom."

But Ner'zhul found words stuck in his throat. He opened his mouth twice to speak, and finally words rasped forth on the third attempt. "I do not disagree that the draenei are dangerous," he said haltingly, "But. . . we are not gronn, to kill unarmed foes."

"The courier was slain," Gul’dan pointed out. "He was unarmed and even unmounted."

"And I regret that!" Ner’zhul snapped. "He should have been taken into custody and brought to me at once, not killed!"

Kil’jaeden said nothing. The scarlet radiance bathed Ner’zhul as he continued, groping his way to a solution.

"He will not be permitted to defile our sacred place," the shaman continued. "Have no worries about that, Gul’dan. But I will not have him killed without having the chance to speak to him. Who knows but that we might learn something."

"Yes," said Kil’jaeden, his voice rich and warm. "When one is in pain, one will reveal all he knows."

The words starded Ner’zhul, but he did not reveal his surprise. This magnificent being wanted him to torture Velen? Something inside him was excited at the prospect. But something else inside him recoiled. Not yet. He would not do such a thing yet.

"We will be waiting for him," he assured both his great lord and his apprentice. "He will not escape."

"Lord," said Gul’dan slowly, "a suggestion, if I may?"

"What is it?"

"The closest clan to the mountain is the Frostwolf clan," Gul’dan pointed out. "Let us have them take

Velen and his party and bring diem to us. Their leader once tasted draenei hospitality. And although he has not hindered our efforts, I do not recall hearing that he has led any attacks against the draenei. We shall kill two birds with one stone: take the draenei leader captive, and make Durotan of the Frostwolves prove his loyalty to our cause."

Ner’zhul felt two pairs of eyes boring into his—die small, dark ones of his apprentice, and the glowing orbs of his master Kil’jaeden. What Gul’dan had suggested sounded like wisdom. Then why was Ner’zhul so reluctant to agree?

The heartbeats ticked away and perspiration sprouted on Ner’zhul's low brow. Finally, he spoke, and was relieved to hear his voice sounded sure and strong.

"Agreed. It is a good plan. Find me pen and parchment, and I shall notify Durotan as to his duty."