Drek’Thar's eyes flashed in fury, but only for an instant. He lifted his hands and closed his eyes, and suddenly a huge circle of flame sprang up around the five draenei. A wind sprang up, whipping the fire even higher and physically buffeting the ores. The warriors stepped back, and to Durotan's horror some of the archers began nocking arrows on their bowstrings.

"Hold!" bellowed Durotan, the wind taking his order and bearing it to his warriors' cars. "I will slay anyone who fires!"

Between his command and Drek’Thar's powerful, if reluctant, abilities, the draenei were unharmed. Durotan raced down the mountainside to his prisoners, for such they now were. Drek’Thar was at his heels.

"Dismiss fire," Durotan told Drek’Thar. At once, the sheets of flame that almost singed Durotan's eyebrows dissipated. He stood face-to-face now with Velen, and a wave of an emotion he could not properly name rose inside him as he realized that the draenei elder was still as calm and serene as he had been when they had simply been talking.

"Velen, you and your people are now prisoners of the Frostwolf clan," Durotan said in a soft, dangerous voice.

Velen smiled, sweetly, sadly. "I expected nothing less." he said.

He and the other four somehow maintained their composure while Durotan ordered them stripped and searched. Their glorious robes were taken and given to Durotan's top warriors, and the draenei were clad now in sweat-stiff tunics. His stomach turned at the jeers, insults, and spits that came their way at the humiliation, but he did not stop it. As long as no physical harm came to the prisoners—and Durotan watched closely to ensure that none would—he would let his warriors have their sport. Beside him, Draka looked angry at the behavior of her fellow Frostwolves and whispered, "My mate, can you not silence them?"

He shook his head. "I want to see how the draenei react. And . . . the warriors have stayed their hands when they might have been expected to kill. I will not silence their tongues as well."

Draka looked at him searchingly, then nodded and withdrew. He knew she did not approve, and he did not like what he was seeing cither. But he was walking a delicate line, and he knew it.

"My chieftain!" cried Rokkar, Durotan's second in command. "Come see what they have brought us!"

Durotan went to Rokkar's side and peered into the sack he had opened. His eyes widened. Nestled inside, swathed in soft fabric, were two exquisitely beautiful stones. One was red, the other was yellow. Durotan ached to touch them, but did not. He looked up and met Velen's gaze. "Long ago, Restalaan showed us a crystal similar to this one," he said. "That one protected a city. What do these do?"

"Each has its own strength. They are part of our legacy. They were bequeathed to us by the being that dwells in the sacred mountain."

Durotan growled softly. "You would do well not to mention that again," he said. To Rokkar, he said, "Feed them, bind their hands, and put them on wolves, with shaman to guard them. Give the stones to Drek’Thar. We will take the draenei back with us and deliver them to Ner’zhul. He should have been here in my stead today."

He turned and stalked off, not wanting to look at Velen's odd, glowing blue eyes, not wanting to see the disapproval in Draka's.

During the long ride back, Durotan wrestled with his emotions. On the one hand, he shared Drek’Thar's offense. Oshu'gun was sacred to the ores. The idea that something other than the ancestors dwelt inside it, indeed, as Velen claimed, was so powerful that it lured the ancestors to it, struck him to the core. He could only imagine how the shaman felt about such a declaration. Everything seemed to point to Ner’zhul's being correct, that the draenei were a blight upon the world and should be eliminated.

What nagged at him was why. He would get an answer to that question tonight.

With everyone, including the five captives, mounted, they made good time. The sun was only starting to set when they returned. Durotan had sent outriders ahead with the good news, and the clan was waiting eagerly for their arrival. On his right were Drek’Thar and Rokkar, who shared the sentiments of the Frostwolves. On his left was Draka, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the entire event. Durotan knew that he did not want to hear what she had to say; he was already being pulled in too many directions as it was.

The prisoners were ungraciously shoved into two tents and an immediate guard was set up around them. Four seasoned warriors and Drek’Thar's most trusted shaman stood proudly, pleased with the duty entrusted to them. Durotan had ordered Velen isolated; he wanted to speak with the draenei prophet alone.

After the excitement had settled down somewhat, Durotan took a deep breath. He was not looking forward to this conversation, but it had to be done. He nodded to the guards and entered the small tent that hosted Prophet Velen.

Since he had ordered Velen bound, he expected to see the elder with his hands tied. Instead, he saw that whoever had carried out his order had done so with excessive zeal.

The tent had been erected around a sturdy tree, and Velen was now bound to the trunk. His arms had been yanked back at an awkward angle, the ropes around the white flesh of his wrists tied so tightly that even in the dim light of twilight Durotan could see that they were turning a darker shade. A rope tied, thankfully loosely, around his neck forced him to keep his head up or risk choking. A diity cloth had been shoved in his mouth. He was on his knees, and his hooves, too, were bound behind him.

Durotan uttered a deep oath and drew a dagger. Velen gazed at him with no sign of fear in those deep blue eyes, but Durotan did notice that the draenei looked surprised when the orc used the weapon to cut the bonds rather than his throat. Velen made no sound, but a flicker of pain passed over his ghostly white face as blood returned to his limbs.

"I told them to bind you, not truss you up like a talbuk," Durotan muttered.

"Your people are very eager, it would seem."

Durotan passed the elder a watcrskin and watched him closely while he drank. Sitting before him in filthy clothing, gulping at tepid water, his white flesh raw from the bonds, Velen did not look like much of a threat. How would he feel, he wondered, if he had gotten word of the draenei treating Mother Kashur so? Everything about this felt wrong. Yet Mother Kashur herself had assured Drek’Thar that the draenei were a threat so dire as to be almost unimaginable.

There was a bowl of cold blood porridge on the ground. With his right foot, Durotan shoved it toward the prisoner. Velen eyed it, but did not cat.

"Not quite the feast you served Orgrim and me when we dined in Telmor," Durotan said. "But it is nourishing."

Velen's lips curved in a smile. "That was a memorable evening."

"Did you get what you wanted from us that night?" Durotan demanded. He was angry, but not with Velen. He was angry that it had come to this, that one who had shown him nothing but courtesy was now his captive. And so he took it out on the Prophet.

"I do not understand. We merely wished to be good hosts to two adventuresome boys."

Durotan got to his feet and kicked over the bowl. Congealed porridge oozed onto the earth. "Do you expect me to believe this?"

Velen did not rise to the bait. He replied calmly, "It is the truth. It is your choice as to whether you believe it."

Durotan dropped to his knees and shoved his face into Velen's. "Why are you trying to destroy us? What have we ever done to you?"

"I might ask you the same question," said Velen. A flush had come to his white face. "We have never lifted a finger to harm you, and now over two dozen draenei are dead from your attacks!"

The truth of the comment made Durotan even angrier. "The ancestors do not lie to us," he snarled. "We have been warned that you are not what you would seem—that you are our enemies. Why did you bring those crystals if not to attack us?" "We thought it might help us better communicate with the being in the mountain." Velen spoke quickly, as if trying to get the words out before Durotan could silence him. "It is not an enemy to the orcs,nor are We. Durotan, you are intelligent and wise. I saw this in you that night so long ago. You are not one to blindly follow like an animal to slaughter. I know not why your leaders lie to you, but they do. We have ever sought to interact peaceably with you. You are better than this, son of Gar .id. You are not like the others!"