He stepped back and several shaman, dressed in some of the most beautifully tooled leather armor Durotan had ever seen, stepped forward.

"They are all Blackrock ores," Draka murmured, her brows drawing together in a frown. Durotan had noticed that too.

"What they have learned," Gul'dan continued, "will be taught to every single shaman who wishes to be instructed. This, I swear to you. Follow me now to the open lands where our Kosh'harg rituals have been held as far back as anyone can remember. I will have them demonstrate their formidable skills."

For some reason he could not fathom, Durotan felt suddenly ill, Draka squeezed his arm reassuringly, noticing his abrupt paleness.

"My mate, what is it?" she asked quietly as, along with everyone else assembled, the two moved toward the Kosh'harg festival grounds.

He shook his head. "I don't know," he said in an equally soft voice. "I just... I feel as though something terrible is about to happen."

Draka grunted. "I have been feeling that way for a long time now."

Durotan kept his face neutral with an effort. He was responsible for the welfare of his people, and his position with Ner’zhul and likely now Gul'dan was already precarious. Durotan was well aware that if cither shaman sought to discredit him or his clan, it would be easier than it had been in the past. With the clear focus on union, for the Frostwolf clan to be exiled or in any way cut off could spell extinction for them. Durotan did not like the direction in which things were going, but he could protest only so much. For himself, he did not care. But he could not permit his clan to suffer.

And yet—his blood raced, his heart shook, his body trembled with foreboding. He said a quick prayer to the ancestors that they would continue to guide his people wisely.

They reached the flat river valley that for generations had played host to the Kosh'harg festival. As his feet touched the sacred ground. Durotan felt himself relaxing slightly. Memories came back to him. and he smiled as they brushed his mind. He recalled that fateful night when he and Orgrim had both decided to fly in the face of tradition and dared to spy on the adults as they spoke—and how disappointed both had been at the mundane conversations. Wiser now. he was sure that he and Orgrim, bold though they had thought themselves at the time, had likely not been the first to be so daring, nor were they likely to be the last.

He recalled, too, his first real glimpse of the female who would become his life-mate, hunting in these lush fields, dancing around the fire to the sound of the drums throbbing in his veins, and chanting to the moon. As

long as his people still had this, he thought, all would still be well with them. Heartened somewhat, he looked over at where the dancing was usually held. A small tent was erected, and he wondered what it was for.

He and Draka halted a few yards away from the tent, assuming it was part of the demonstration. The others followed suit. The sun shone brightly as more and more ores gathered. Durotan saw that most of those who had come today were clan chieftains and their shaman, so the site did not have to accommodate quite as many as it did during the festival time.

Gul'dan waited until everyone else was assembled before striding purposefully toward the tent. The shaman trained in this mysterious new magic followed him. They all strode with confidence and pride. Coming to a halt in front of the tent, Gul'dan beckoned to a few of the Blackrock warriors, who stepped forward and stood at attention.

At that moment, the wind shifted. Durotan's eyes widened as a familiar scent was carried to his nostrils.

Draenei...

Low murmurs around him told him that he was not the only one who had caught the scent. At that moment, Gul'dan nodded to the warriors. They disappeared inside the tent for a brief moment.

Eight draenei. their hands tighdy bound, emerged from the tent.

Their faces were puffy and swollen from beatings. Rags had been shoved in their mouths. Blood was caked on their blue skin and what Htdc remained of their clothing. Durotan stared.

"When the Blackrock clan fought using the magic I am about to share with you. their victory was so absolute that they were able to take several prisoners," Gul'dan said proudly. "These prisoners will help me show you what these new magical abilities can do."

Outrage flooded Durotan. Slaying a foe in armed combat was one thing. Slaughtering helpless prisoners was another. He opened his mouth, but a hand on his arm stayed his words. He glanced up angrily into Or-grim Doomhammer's cool gray eyes.

"You knew about this." Durotan hissed, his words for his old friend's cars alone.

"Keep your voice down," Orgrim hissed back, glancing about to see if anyone was paying attention to them. No one was; everyone's attention was riveted on Gul'dan and the draenei prisoners. "Yes, t knew. I was there when we captured them. It is the way of such things. Durotan."

"It did not use to be the way of the ores." Durotan replied.

"It is now." Orgrim said. "It is a sad necessity. For what it is worth, I do not believe that this will become a common practice. The goal is to slay the draenei, not torment them."

Durotan stared at his old friend. Orgrim kept the gaze for a moment, then flushed and looked away. Durotan felt his outrage abate somewhat. At least Or-

grim understood what a violation this was. even if he supported it. But what else could Orgrim have done? He was second in command to Blackhand. He was oath-bound to support his chieftain. Like Durotan, he had responsibilities to others he simply could not shirk. For the first time in his life, Durotan wished he were a mere clan member.

He looked down into his mate's eyes. She stared, aghast, first at him and then at Orgrim. And then, he saw the sorrow and resignation flit across her features and she lowered her head.

"These beings have worth to us in this moment," Gul'dan was saying. Durotan. his body feeling heavy as lead, dragged his gaze to the shaman. "We will use them to demonstrate these new powers."

He nodded to the first Blackrock shaman in line, who bowed. Looking slightly nervous, the female closed her eyes and concentrated. A sound like rushing wind filled Durotan's cars. A strange pattern written in purple light appeared at her feet, encircling her. Above her head, a purple cube turned idly. Then, suddenly, a small, squawking creature appeared at her feet. It capered, its eyes blazing red, its small but sharp teeth bared in what looked like a smile. Durotan heard mur-murings and some hisses of fear.

Other shaman followed suit, summoning the same eerie purple circles and cubes, manifesting creatures seemingly out of thin air. Some were large, shapeless things in hues of blue and purple, hovering ominously. Other beings were fair to look upon, save for their hooved feet and batlikc wings. Some were large, some small, and all sat or stood quietly beside those who had called them into being.

"Pretty little pets, to be sure," came the distinctive voice of Grom Hcllscrcam, dripping with sarcasm. "But what do they do?"

Gul'dan smiled indulgently. "Patience, Hcllscrcam," he said, almost condescendingly. "It is a strength, not a weakness."

Hcllscrcam's brows drew together, but he stayed silent. He was as curious as anyone, Durotan assumed. Blackhand stood, smiling a little, looking like a proud father. Only he seemed unsurprised by what was unfolding here, and Durotan realized that he must have already witnessed the powers of the newly trained shaman. Witnessed, and approved.

One of the draenei was cut loose from the rest and shoved forward. His hands still bound, he stumbled a few steps on his cloven feet, then stood erect. His face was impassive. Only his slowly moving tail gave any indication of stress.