"Because you brought Medivh back?"

Again Proudmoore had managed to stun Aegwynn with her perspicacity. She found herself unable to speak.

"We always wondered how Medivh came back from the dead after Khadgar and Lothar defeated him. It would have taken powerful magic to do so. I might have been able to do it, and so could one or two others, but if they had, they would have admitted it. You said you were drained by your fight with Medivh, but there is one thing that could substitute for that necessary power, and that's the bond between mother and son."

Aegwynn nodded, staring off into space at an indeterminate point on one of the Bladescar peaks. "With what was left of the de—aging magic, I was able to scry in the well water and learn what was happening. I saw my son killed by his apprentice and his best friend—and I saw Sargeras banished from him. So I spent years building up the power to bring him back. When I did, it almost killed me. That was why the wards were Medivh's—I no longer had the strength to cast them. Or anything else. I still don't." She turned to face Proudmoore. "That was my swan song, Lady Proudmoore. It cannot even begin to make up for all I have done wrong."

"I disagree. What you've done is sire a son who saved the world. It may have taken a while, but what he did was exactly what you would have done—what you conceived him to do. He went against the conventional wisdom and was proactive in fighting the Burning Legion by convincing Thrall and me to unite our forces. He didn't learn that from Sargeras, and he didn't learn that from whatever afterlife you retrieved him from—he learned that from you."

Lorena had been standing semipatiently during this entire conversation, her obvious respect for Lady Proudmoore overcoming her soldier's desire for action. "Milady—"

"Yes, of course," Aegwynn said, "your colonel is right. Zmodlor needs to be defeated—permanently this time." She sighed. "Prepare yourself, Colonel Lorena—this may hurt a bit. Lady Proudmoore, repeat after me."

And then Aegwynn taught Jaina Proudmoore Meitre's penetration spell.

Thrall had spent the day hearing petitions. Most were for mundane matters that he would have thought his fellow orcs could handle on their own. Some were for disputes in which the two sides simply were not capable of agreeing, and so a neutral third party was required to settle them. In truth, it could have been anyone who settled them, but as Warchief, it was his duty.

When the last of the petitioners had left the throne room, Thrall rose from the animal—skin seat and paced the room, grateful for the opportunity to stretch his legs. He still had not heard from Jaina regarding the thunder lizards, but he had not received any more reports of rampaging thunder lizards, either, so he presumed that the situation was in hand. He just hoped she solved it soon so he could consult her about this Flaming Sword.

Kalthar and Burx both entered then. The latter spoke in an urgent tone. "Warchief, there's someone here who has to talk to you. Now."

Thrall did not like the idea of Burx giving him orders, but before he could say anything, Kalthar gave Thrall a significant look.

"Do you think I should see this person, shaman?" Thrall asked.

"I do," Kalthar said quietly.

"Very well." Thrall stood his ground, having grown tired of the throne.

Burx went out and led one of the scouts in. A jungle troll, he was dressed in decorative armor and the mask that was traditional among those of the Darkspear tribe: feathers, wood, and paint combining with a triangular helmet to present a fearsome affect. By contrast, when he removed his helm, it was to reveal a friendly, open face, far gentler than one would expect from the fearsome Darkspears. Jungle trolls wielded powerful magicks, ones that no other race had ever been able to master—though Thrall knew of some humans who had tried and failed, at the cost of their souls—and the Darkspears had sworn allegiance to Thrall.

"This," Burx said, "is Rokhan."

The introduction was unnecessary—the troll's reputation preceded him as one of the finest scouts in Kalimdor.

Holding his helm under his arm, Rokhan stepped forward. "I'm afraid I be bringin' some bad news, mon. The humans, they be sendin' more troops to the Northwatch."

Thrall couldn't believe what he was hearing. "They're reinforcing?"

"That's what it look like, mon. I be seein' lotsa boats full'a soldiers, all headin' straight for the Northwatch. And they be sendin' one'a they airships up north, too, but it be goin' toward Bladescar."

Thrall frowned. "How many troops?"

Rokhan shrugged. "Hard to say, but they was at least twenty boats, and them things be carryin' at least twenty humans each."

"Four hundred troops," Burx said. "And this happened right after your friend Jaina went off to solve the thunder lizard problem that the humans caused. We can't wait for her to finish that, Warchief. I'm sure Jaina's intentions are good, but her people's aren't. And we can't ignore this!"

"Burx is correct." Kalthar spoke in a voice that sounded weary, and Thrall was reminded just how old the shaman was. "The maintenance of Northwatch Keep was a deliberate show of strength on the humans' part. However, this reinforcement in light of other recent events can only be an act of aggression, and one to which we must respond in kind."

"That was Admiral Proudmoore's stronghold." Burx hardly needed to remind Thrall of that, though that didn't stop him. "And now the subjects of Admiral Proudmoore's daughter are trying to finish his work behind her back."

Burx's words did not impress Thrall overmuch—but Kalthar's did. And Rokhan was the finest of his scouts. His observations were to be trusted.

"Very well. Burx, have Nazgrel assemble a garrison and send them into the Barrens. Have them take up position outside of Northwatch. Then I want you to take a fleet of our boats and send them downriver as well. Summon the trolls and have them do the same." He sighed. He had hoped that the days of fighting humans were past, but it seemed that old hatreds died very hard. "If the humans wish a fight, they will find us more than ready."

When Burx had finished giving instructions to Nazgrel and to the harbormaster, he returned to his home. He had preparations to make before he journeyed down the Great Sea in order to put an end to the human scourge once and for all.

It was while he was sharpening his ax that the smell of sulfur permeated his hut. He felt a warm sensation in the folds of his breeches, in the small inner pocket where he hid the talisman that Zmodlor had given him as a symbol of his allegiance.

Galtak Ered'nash. Does all go according to plan?

Burx hated the idea of swearing his allegiance to anyone save his own Warchief, but he played along and replied, "Galtak Ered'nash. It does. Thrall is sending troops by land and by sea. Within two days, our people will be at war with the humans. Within a week of that, the humans will be destroyed."

Excellent. You have done well, Burx.

"I just want to do what's right for the orcs. That's all I care about."

Of course. Both our causes are served by this war. Galtak Ered'nash.

As far as Burx was concerned, it was the lesser of two evils, was all. The demons were bastards, yeah, but they always had the orcs' best interests in mind. They brought the orcs to this world so they could rule it. It wasn't the demons' fault that the humans were able to do so well, to imprison them and make them forget who they were. Sure, the demons were using the orcs, but at least they never humiliated them.

Burx had grown up a slave. Humans regularly beat him, taunted him, defecated on him, and then forced him to clean up their messes while they laughed at him. They called him all manner of names, the kindest of which was "you greenskinned oaf," and they made sure to give him the most degrading tasks. Burx was never sure why he was singled out among the orcs on the estate for the horrible duties—no one ever bothered to tell him. Perhaps he was simply picked at random.