I have never been so proud of my father as when Drek'Thar told me of this incident. I have good cause to know how hard it is to make the right decision at times. He had much to lose and nothing to gain by making the choices he did.

No, that is not right.

He retained his honor. And there can be no price high enough to sacrifice that.

The letter brooked no disagreement. Durotan stared at it, and then with a deep sigh passed it to his mate. Draka read it quickly, her eyes darting over the words, and growled soft and low in her throat.

"Ner’zhul is cowardly, to lay this at your feet," she said softly, so as not to be overheard by the courier who waited outside. "The request comes to him, not you."

"I have promised to obey." Durotan said, his voice equally soft, "Ner’zhul speaks for the ancestors."

Draka cocked her head thoughtfully. A stray beam of sunlight penetrating the tent from a gap in the scams caught her face, throwing her strong jaw and high cheekbones into sharp relief. Durotan's breath caught in his throat as he looked at his beloved. For ail the chaos—madness, even—that seemed to have suddenly descended upon himself and his people, he was grateful for her. He touched her brown face lightly with a sharp-clawed finger, and she smiled briefly

"My mate ... I do not know that I trust Ner’zhul," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded. "But we both trust Drek'Thar, and he has confirmed what Ner’zhul has said. The draenei have been plotting against us. Ner’zhul says that Velen has even insisted on entering Oshu'gun."

Again, the chieftain of the Frostwolf clan regarded the letter. "I am pleased that Ner’zhul has not asked me to slay Velen. Perhaps, once we have him in our power, we can convince him to change his ways, have him explain why they are so bent on harming us. Perhaps we can negotiate a peace."

The thought seized his heart and squeezed it hard. As glorious as his life with Draka was. as proud as he was of his clan, how much happier would he be simply doing as his father had done—hunting the beasts of the woods and fields, dancing in the moonlight at Kosh'harg festivals, listening to the old tales and basking in the loving warmth of the ancestors. He had not said anything to Draka, but he was secretly glad that they had not yet conceived a child. This was not a time that was easy on the young ores. Their childhood had been stolen from them; adult duties had been placed on shoulders still not quite broad enough to bear them. If Draka were to bear a child. Durotan would not hesitate to have his son or daughter trained as other children were. He would ask nothing of other parents that he would not do himself, but he was glad that he was not faced with that decision quite yet.

Draka watched him with intense, narrowed eyes. It was as if she could read his thoughts.

"You have met Velen before," she said. "I watched you try to reconcile your memories of that encounter with the news that they were trying to destroy us all. It was not easy for you."

"Nor is it now," he replied. "Perhaps it is just as well that I am assigned this task. Velen will remember that night, of that I am certain. He may be willing to treat with me, whereas he might not be so willing to treat with Ner’zhul. I wish I had seen the letter he had sent."

Draka sighed and got to her feet. "I think that would have been most enlightening," she said.

Durotan emulated her. "I will tell the courier that his master may rest content. I will not shirk my duty."

He felt her worried gaze boring into his back as he left.

Velen held the violet crystal close to his heart. The red and yellow ones rested at his side as he sat in meditation, casting a soft glow upon his alabaster skin. The four others were placed elsewhere in draenei territory, their great powers serving his people as needed. But the violet one never left him.

Its power opened the mind and spirit, and in a way, it was almost like being in direct communication with the Naaru. Velen always felt stronger, cleaner, his soul honed to a keen edge, when he meditated with the violet crystal. Although each of the seven crystals was precious and powerful, this was the one he treasured the most.

He strained to hear the soft whispers of K’ure. but he could not. Velen's heart ached. He bowed his head.

He heard voices and opened his eyes. Restalaan was speaking to one of the acolytes, and Velen waved him forward.

"What news, old friend?" Velen inquired. He indicated a pot of hot herbal tea.

Restalaan waved his hand, declining the offer. "Good and bad. my Prophet," he said. "I deeply regret to inform you that the courier you sent to the shaman leader Ner’zhul was killed by a group of ores."

Velen closed his eyes. The violet crystal grew warmer for a moment, as if trying to offer comfort.

"I sensed his death," Velen said heavily. "But I had hoped it was an accident. You are certain he was murdered?"

"Ner’zhul says so. and offers no apology." Restalaan's voice conveyed his anger and affront at the incident. He was kneeling beside Velen, next to the red crystal. Velen's dark blue eyes darted to the crystal as it pulsed once, briefly, responding to Restalaan's emotions.

"So much for your theory that they would not attack an unarmed man," Restalaan continued bitterly.

"I had so hoped for better," Velen said quietly. "But you said there was some good news to mitigate these sad tidings?"

Restalaan grimaced. "If you can call it that. Ner’zhul says that an orc contingency will meet with us at the base of the mountain."

"He ... is not coming?"

Restalaan dropped his gaze and shook his head. "No, my Prophet," he said quietly.

"Who docs he send in his stead?"

"The letter docs not say."

"Give it to me." Velen stretched out a white hand and Restalaan placed the parchment in his palm. Velen uncurled the parchment and read the letter quickly.

Your courier is dead. It is fortunate that those who slew him thought to search the body for his missive. I have read it, and I will agree to send a contingency of ores to speak with you. I guarantee nothing—not your safety, not a truce, nothing. But we will hear you out.

Velen sighed deeply. This was not the response his soul had longed for. What had happened to the ores?

Why in this world or any other were they suddenly so bent on harming the draenei, who had never opposed them in any fashion?

I guarantee nothing, Ner’zhul had said, writing in a strong, bold hand.

"Very well," said Velen quietly. "Then nothing is guaranteed," He smiled at Restalaan. "Rather like life."

The day was inappropriately bright and cheerful, Durotan thought, squinting against the bright early summer light that danced down. Surely, on a day when his soul felt so bleak and unhappy, the weather ought to reflect it. Clouds, at the very least. More appropriately, a cold, drizzling rain. But the sun did not care about an ore's heavy hcait, or even the fate of an entire race of people. It shone down as merrily as if all was right every place its rays touched. Oshu'gun almost seemed to be on fire, so bright was the light that reflected off its multifaceted, crystalline surface.

Durotan had chosen a position of strength. From where he had positioned his warriors, he would be able to see Velen's traveling party long before they spotted the ores. He had decided to wait and let the Prophet of the draenei come directly to him, although he had strategically positioned his warriors so that if the draenei attempted to flee, no avenue of flight would be open to them. And all the ores who waited patiently on this offensively glorious day were armed to the teeth, with shaman at the ready. With her sharp eyes and superb fighting skills, Draka was highly useful to him as a scout. He had positioned her as one of the lookouts in the first group of warriors. The instant that Velen was visible, she would send word to her mate via a spell cast by Drek’Thar.