The pool began to glow. Ner’zhul leaned forward eagerly, his eyes roaming the surface, and in the water, he saw a face looking back at him.

"Rulkan," he breathed. For a moment quick tears mercifully blurred her image. He blinked and his heart lurched with pain as he saw the look in her ghostly eyes.

It was hatred.

Ner’zhul recoiled as if struck. Other faces began to appear in the water, dozens of them. All of them had the same expression. Nausea welled in him and he cried out, "Please! Help me! Grant me your wisdom that I may win favor again in your eyes!"

Rulkan's severe features softened somewhat, and it was with a trace of compassion in her voice that she spoke. "There is nothing you can do, not now. not in a hundred years, to win favor in our eyes. You are not a savior of your people, but their betrayer."

"No!" he shrieked. "No, tell me what to do and I will do it. It is not too late, surely it is not too late—"

"You are not strong enough," said another rumbling voice, this one male. "If you were, you would never have walked so far down this path. You would not have been so easily gulled into doing the will of one who bears no love for our people."

"But— I do not understand," Ner’zhul murmured. "Rulkan, you came to me! I heard you! You, Grekshar—you advised me! Kil’jaeden was the one you wanted me to embrace! The Great Friend to all the ores!

She said nothing in response to this; she did not have to. Even as the words tumbled from his lips he understood how profoundly he had been misled.

The ancestors had never appeared to him at all. It had all been a trick concocted by Kil’jaeden, whoever— whatever—he was. They were right not to trust Ner’zhul now. Any shaman who would be so easily deceived could never be trusted to put things right again. All was an elaborate web of lies and deceit and manipulation. And he, Ner’zhul, had been the first foolish insect to become inextricably trapped in it.

Nearly a hundred draenei were dead. There was no turning back, no requesting aid from the ancestors. He could not trust any of his visions ever again, except to understand that they were likely to be lies. Worst of all, he had delivered his people into the hands of one who, despite his fair appearance and his honeyed words, did not have their best interests in whatever passed for his heart.

Even as he stared into the ghostly eyes of his beloved, she turned away from him. One by one, the myriad faces reflected in the water followed suit.

Ner’zhul trembled with the horror of what he had done. There was nothing he could do to make it right. Nothing he could do except continue on this path that Kil’jaeden had so carefully contrived for him to walk, and pray to ancestors who no longer listened to him that somehow, some way, things would turn out all right. He buried his face in his hands and wept.

Crouching in the darkness in a bend in the tunnel, Gul’dan listened to the sound of his master sobbing, and smiled to himself.

Kil’jaeden would be grateful for the information.

We are all weak, in one way or another. It does not matter the species. Sometimes that weakness is a strength in disguise. Sometimes it is our utter undoing. Sometimes it is both. The wise man understands his weakness and seeks to find a lesson from it. The fool lets it control and destroy him.

And sometimes, the wise man is a fool.

As he rode back atop Skychaser, hands so cold that he wondered if he would ever be able to unclench them entwined in the thick black fur, Ner’zhul wished for the dark night to swallow him. How could he return to his people, knowing what he had done to them? On the other hand, how could he flee — and where could he possibly go that Kil’jaeden would not find him? He longed bitterly for the courage to take the ritual knife he carried at all times and drive it into his heart, but knew that he could not. Suicide was not regarded with honor among his people; it was a coward's answer to the problems that came at him. He would not be permitted to live on as a spirit if he took that seductive way to escape the horrors that confronted him.

He could continue to pretend that he suspected nothing, and even perhaps subtly undercut Kil’jaeden. Despite his massive powers, there had been no evidence that the so-called "Beautiful One" had the ability to read thoughts. The thought brightened Ner’zhul somewhat. Yes... he could mitigate the damage this interloper was trying to do to his people. That was how he could continue to serve.

Exhausted both physically and emotionally, Ner’zhul stumbled into his tent in that faint hour before dawn, looking forward to simply collapsing on the skins and sleeping in an effort to forget, for at least a brief while, the agony of what he had brought about.

Instead a bright light nearly blinded him and he fell to his knees.

"You would betray me, then?" said the Beautiful One.

Ner’zhul threw up his hands, trying vainly to protect his eves from the awesome radiance. His stomach roiled and he feared he was about to be sick in his terror. The light dimmed somewhat and he lowered his hands. Standing beside Kil’jaeden was Ner’zhul's apprentice, grinning darkly.

"Gul'dan," whispered Ner’zhul sickly. "What have you done?"

"I have informed Kil’jaeden of a rodent," Gul'dan said calmly. That dreadful smile never left his face. 'And he will decide what to do with the vermin who would so turn against him."

There was still snow on Gul'dan's shoulders. Dully, Ner’zhul realized what had happened. His apprentice, hungry for power—how was it Ner’zhul had closed his eyes to the obvious for so long?—had followed him. Had heard the ancestors' words. And still he clung to Kil’jaeden, after hearing the same things Ner’zhul had heard? For a moment, his own fear and selfishness went away, and Ner’zhul felt only a wave of pity for an orc who had fallen so far.

"It wounds me," Kil’jaeden said. Ner’zhul looked at him, startled. "I chose you, Ner’zhul. I gave you my powers. I showed you what you need to do to advance your people and ensure that they are never second in this world."

Ner’zhul spoke without thinking. "You have deceived me. You have sent me false visions. You have maligned the ancestors and all they stood for. I don't know why you are doing this, but I know that it is not out of love for my people."

"And yet they flourish. They are united, for the first time in many centuries."

"United under a lie," Ner’zhul said. He was giddy in his rebellion. It felt good. Perhaps if he continued, Kil’jaeden would lose patience with him and slay him, and Ner’zhul's problem would be solved. But Kil’jaeden did not respond with deadly fury as Ner’zhul hoped he would. Instead the being sighed deeply and shook his head, like a parent disappointed in a wayward child.

"You may yet regain my favor, Ner’zhul," Kil’jaeden said, "I have a task for you. If you complete it, your lapse of faith will be overlooked."

Ner’zhul's lips moved. He wanted to shout out his rebellion again, but this time the words would not come. He realized that the moment had passed. He did not want to die, any more than any sane, living being wanted to die, and so he remained silent.

"What happened with the Frostwolf chieftain troubles mc," Kil’jaeden continued. "Not least because he is not the only one who has murmured against what is happening. There are others—the one who wields the Doomhammer, some among the Bladcwind and Rcdwalker clans as well. It would be one thing if these opposing voices belonged to those of no consequence, but many of them do not. There must be no risk to the success of my plan. Therefore, I will guarantee their obedience.

"It is not enough for them to swear loyalty," Kil’jaeden continued. He tapped his check with one long red finger thoughtfully. "Too many seem enamored of changing what 'honor' and 'oath' mean. We must . . . ensure their cooperation, for now, and for all time."