Durotan shook his head. He ought to rebuke the youngster, and on the morrow, if such words were uttered again, he would. But now. his heart was full of sorrow. It was not a cry of anger that came from the sacred mountain. It was the wrenching sound of ultimate grief, and he shuddered inside as he wondered why the ancestors mourned so very, very deeply.

Ner'zhul... Gul'dan. Two of the darkest names ever to sully the history of my people. And yet, Dreh'Thar tells me that once Ner'zhul was admired, even beloved, and truly cared for the people whose spiritual leader he was. It is hard to reconcile those words with what Ner'zhul has become, but I try. I try because I want to understand. And yet, try as I might... I do not.

"What?"

Ner’zhul's shriek of outrage made his apprentice Gul'dan wince, Durotan did not bat an eye.

"I released the Prophet Velen," the chieftain of the Frostwolf clan said calmly.

"Your orders were to take him and the others prisoner!" Ner’zhul's voice climbed with each word. It had been so plain, so easy. What had Durotan been thinking? To toss away this opportunity like bones when the meat had been devoured! How much information could they have extracted from Velen? What kind of bargaining power over the draenei would he have bought them?

But that thought was dwarfed by the overwhelming horror of how Kil’jaeden would react. What would he do when he learned that Velen had not been captured? The beautiful being had been seemingly well pleased at the prospect, when Ner’zhul told him of the plan. Flushed with pride at his cleverness, thinking victory already assured. Ner’zhul had even dared to offer Velen to Kil’jaeden as a sort of present. Now what would happen? The realization that he felt fear rather than chagrin at bringing disappointing news was not lost on the shaman.

"You put me in charge of the capture, and capture them I did," Durotan replied. "But there is no honor in a prisoner taken willingly. You want us to be strong as a people, rather than as individual clans, and we cannot do that without a code of honor that is inviolable, that is—"

Durotan continued speaking in his gruff, deep voice, but Ner’zhul was no longer listening. At that instant, that frozen space in time. Ner’zhul had a sudden realization that Kil’jaeden might not be the benevolent spirit he presented himself as. Durotan, lost in his own voice speaking words to explain his decision, did not notice the shaman's shift in attention. But Ner’zhul felt Gul'dan's gaze upon him. and another fear welled up inside him that Gul'dan was bearing witness to his master's first hints of doubt.

What is the right thing to do? How can I best serve?

Why is Rulkan no longer coming to me?

He blinked and came back to himself when he realized tfrat Durotan had ceased speaking. The large chieftain was regarding Ner’zhul intently, waiting for the shaman to speak.

How best to handle this? Durotan was well regarded among the clans. If Ner’zhul punished Durotan for his decision, there would be many who would respond with sympathy to the Frostwolf clan. It could cause a rift in the fabric Ner’zhul was trying to weave, the tightly knit fabric of a united orc nation ... a Horde, if you will. On the other hand, if he condoned Durotan's actions, it would be a severe and insulting blow to those who had fervently supported his previous position that the draenei must die.

He could not decide. He stared at Durotan, who began to frown slightly.

"My master is so overcome with rage that he cannot speak," came Gul'dan's smooth voice. Both Durotan and Ner’zhul turned to look at the younger shaman. "You have disobeyed a direct order from your spiritual leader. Return to your camp, Durotan, son of Garad. My master will send you a letter shortly conveying his decision."

Durotan glanced back at Ner’zhul, his dislike of Gul'dan plain on his broad face. Ner’zhul gathered himself and stood tall, and this time, when he reached for words, he found them. "Begone, Durotan. You have displeased me. and worse, you have displeased the being who has shown us such favor. You will hear from me soon enough."

Durotan bowed, but did not leave immediately. "There is one thing I do bring you," he said. He extended a small bundle to Ner’zhul. The shaman accepted it with hands that shook, and hoped desperately that both Durotan and Gul'dan would interpret the trembling as fury and not fear.

"We took these off the prisoners," Durotan continued. "Our shaman believe that they may hold power that we can use against the draenei."

He hesitated a moment longer, as if waiting for further word from Ner’zhul. When the silence stretched long and uncomfortably between them, he bowed again and left. For a long moment, neither master nor apprentice spoke.

"My master, please forgive me for interrupting. I saw you were so overcome that you could not speak, and I feared that the Frostwolf boy would misinterpret your anger as hesitancy."

Ner’zhul shot him a searching look. The words sounded sincere. Gul'dan's face looked sincere. And yet-There was once a time when Ner’zhul would have confessed his doubt to his apprentice. He had trusted and trained him for years. But now, at this moment, although battered by uncertainties as if by opposing winds, Ner’zhul knew one thing very clearly. He did not want Gul'dan to see any weakness in him.

"I was indeed overcome with rage," Ner’zhul lied. "Honor serves nothing if it hurts your people."

He realized he was clutching the bundle Durotan had given him. Gul'dan was staring at it almost hungrily.

"What did Durotan give you, to offset your anger with him?" Gul'dan inquired.

Ner’zhul looked at him with a superior air. "I will examine it first, and share it with Kil’jaeden, apprentice," he said coolly. He was looking for a reaction, and dreaded seeing it.

For the briefest of moments, anger flitted across Gul'dan's face. Then the younger orc bowed deeply and said contritely, "Of course, my master. It was arrogant of me to expect— I am merely curious, that is all, to see if the Frostwolf chieftain has contributed anything of worth."

Ner’zhul softened somewhat. Gul'dan had served him well and loyally for many years now, and indeed, would succeed Ner’zhul when the time came. He was jumping at shadows.

"Of course," Ner’zhul said, more gently. "I will let you know if I learn anything. After all, you are my apprentice, are you not?"

Gul'dan brightened. "I serve you in all things, my master." Looking happier, he bowed again and left Ner’zhul alone.

Ner’zhul sat heavily on the skins that served him for a bed. He cradled the bundle in his lap and said a prayer to the ancestors that if Durotan had failed to deliver the leader of the draenei, perhaps at least the Frostwolf chieftain had managed to obtain something of value.

He took a deep breath, unwrapped the bundle, and gasped. Nestled against soft fur were two glowing gems. Gingerly, Ner’zhul touched the red one and gasped again.

Energy, excitement, and a sense of power flowed through him. His hands wanted to grip a weapon, although he had had no need of one for years, and he yearned to swing it. Somehow he knew that if this crystal were on his person, his aim would be true. What a gift this was to the ores! He would have to see how he could turn this hot, red passion for fighting that lurked in the center of this stone to his purposes.

It took a great effort of will for him to release the red crystal. He breathed deeply, calming himself as his mind cleared.

The yellow one next.

Ner’zhul grasped it. This time, he had some idea of what to expect. Again, he felt it emanating warmth and a sensation of power. But this time, there was no excitement, no urgency. As he held the yellow crystal, his mind cleared and he realized that he had hitherto been seeing things as if in a fog-dense valley. He could not find the words to describe it, but there was a purity, a clarity, a precision to everything. It was, in fact, so keen, so clear that Ner’zhul began to perceive this opening of his mind as pain.