Gul'dan's grin widened. "Because, my friend ... I have experienced this. And I will teach your shaman over there everything I know."

"Impressive," rumbled Blackhand.

"But that is not all that I can offer. The warriors—I know a way to make you and everyone who fights at your side more powerful, fiercer, deadlier. All this can be ours if We but claim it."

"Ours?"

"I cannot continue to waste my time speaking with every single leader of every single clan every time they have a complaint." Gul’dan said, waving his hand imperiously. "There are those who are in agreement with what you and I think is the best way to proceed . . . and those who are not."

"Go on," said Blackhand.

But Gul’dan did not, at least not right away. He was silent, gathering his thoughts. Blackhand grasped a stick and poked at the fire. He knew well that most of the orcs,even those of his own clan, thought him hotheaded and impetuous, but he knew the value of patience.

"I envision two groups of leaders of the ores. One, a simple governing council to make decisions for the whole, its leader elected, its business conducted openly for all to see. The second ... a shadow of this group. Hidden. Secret. Powerful," Gul'dan said quietly. "This . . . this Shadow Council will be comprised of ores who share our vision, and who are willing to make the necessary sacrifices to obtain it."

Blackhand nodded. "Yes . . . yes, I sec. A public leadership . .. and a private one."

Gul'dan's mouth stretched in a slow grin. Blackhand regarded him for a moment, then asked the question.

"And to which one shall I belong?"

"Both, my friend," Gul'dan answered smoothly. "You are a born leader. You have charisma, strength, and even your enemies know you are a master strategist. It will be case itself to have you elected as leader of the ores."

Blackhand's eyes flashed. "I am no puppet," he growled softly.

"Of course not," said Gul'dan. "Which is why I said you would belong to both. You would be the leader of this new breed of ore, this ... this Horde, if you will. And you will be on the Shadow Council as well. We cannot work together unless we can trust one another, can we?"

Blackhand gazed into Gul'dan's glinting, clever eyes

and smiled. He did not trust the shaman in the least bit, and he suspected that Gul'dan felt the same about him. It didn't matter. They both wanted power. Blackhand knew he did not possess the talents and skills that would enable him to wield the sort of power for which Gul'dan lusted. And Gul'dan did not want the sort of power Blackhand craved. They were not in competition, but in league; what benefited one would benefit the other, not rob him of a thing.

Blackhand thought of his family—his mate, Urukal, his two sons. Rend and Maim, his daughter Grisclda. He did not dote on them the wav that the weak Durotan doted on his mate Draka, of course, but he cared for them. He wanted to see his mate bedecked in jewels, his sons and daughter revered, as befitted the children of Blackhand.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. Turning, he beheld Ner’zhul, once the powerful and now the discarded, slipping out of the door of the tent.

"What about him?" Blackhand asked.

Gul'dan shrugged. "What about him? He means nothing now. The Beautiful One wishes him kept alive for the moment. He seems to have something . . . special in mind for Ner’zhul. He will still be a figurehead; love of Ner’zhul is too ingrained in the ores to cast him aside just yet. But do not worry, he is no threat to us."

"The Blackrock shaman . . . you say you will train them in these new magics? The magics that you yourself have studied? That they will be invincible?" "I will train them myself, and if they adapt well to the new arts. I will place them first among my new warlocks,"

Warlock. So that was the name of this new type of magic. It had an interesting sound to it. Warlock. And the Blackrock warlocks would be the first ones chosen.

"Blackhand, chieftain of the Blackrock clan, what say you to my proposal?"

Blackhand slowly turned toward Gul'dan. "I say, hail to the Horde—and hail to the Shadow Council."

It was an angry crowd that showed up at the foot of the sacred mountain. Durotan had sent out messages to others he trusted, and had received confirmation that the elements indeed had shunned the shaman. One particularly painful report came from the Bonechewer clan. Their entire party had fallen to the draenei, their annihilation remaining a mystery until a few days later when a shaman who had stayed behind tried to heal a sick child.

Now they were coming, the clan leaders and their shaman, to meet with Ner’zhul and demand an explanation.

Ner’zhul came out to greet them, waving his hands and asking for silence.

"I know why you have come today," he said. Durotan frowned. Ner’zhul was so far away that he seemed a mere speck, and yet Durotan could hear him perfectly. He knew that usually, Ner’zhul

achieved this feat by asking the wind to bear his words so that all could hear him. Yet, if the elements had indeed refused the shaman, how was that possible? He exchanged glances with Draka, but both remained silent.

"It is indeed true that the elements no longer answer the shaman's call for aid." Ner’zhul kept speaking, but his words were drowned out by angry shouts. He looked down for a moment, and Durotan regarded him closely. The spiritual leader of the ores looked more frail, more downtrodden, than Durotan had ever seen. Of course, Durotan thought.

After a few moments, the shouting died down. The ores assembled were angry, but they wanted answers more than they wanted to vent their rage.

"Some of you have, upon discovering this, leaped to a conclusion that what we are doing is wrong. But that is incorrect. What We are doing is achieving power the likes of which We have never seen. My apprentice, the noble Gul'dan, has studied these powers. I will let him answer any questions you have."

Ner’zhul turned and, leaning heavily on his staff, stepped aside. Gul'dan bowed deeply to his master. Ner’zhul did not seem to notice. He stood, his eyes closed, looking old and frail.

In contrast, Durotan had never seen Gul'dan looking better. There was a new energy about the ore, a strong sense of confidence in his bearing and in his voice when he spoke. "What I am about to tell you may be hard for you to accept, but I have faith that my people are not closc-minded when it comes to ways to better themselves," he said. His voice was clear and strong. "Just as we were surprised and awed to lcam that there were powerful beings other than the ancestors and the elements, we have discovered that there are ways to harness magic other than cooperating with the elements. Power that is not predicated on asking or begging or pleading , , , power that comes because we are strong enough to demand it to come. To control it when it docs. To force it to obey us, bend to our will, rather than the other way around."

Gul'dan paused to let this sink in, looking around at the gathered ores. Durotan glanced at Drek’Thar.

"Is this possible?" he asked his friend.

Drek’Thar shrugged helplessly. He looked completely startled at Gul'dan's words. "I have no idea," he said, "But I tell you, after that last battle . . . Durotan, the shaman were doing the work of the ancestors! How could the elements refuse us under those circumstances? And how could the ancestors allow such a thing?"

His voice turned bitter as he spoke. The shock and shame was still upon him. Durotan understood that the shaman felt like a warrior who had reached confidently for his axe and found it turning to smoke in his hands—an axe a trusted friend had given him, an axe he had been asked to use in a good cause.

"Yes! Yes, I see you understand the value of what I— what the Beautiful One who has taken us under his wing is offering," Gul'dan said, nodding. "I have studied with this great entity, as have these few noble shaman,"