World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,112

no. I will not be sending any truehearted orcs to fight alongside your treacherous, belly-crawling tribe. Your victory or your defeat is in the hands of your Earth Mother now. Either way, I look forward to hearing of your demise.

You are on your own, Magatha, as friendless and disliked as you have ever been. Perhaps more. Enjoy your loneliness.

Her hand had begun to shake halfway through the reading, crushing part of the letter. When she had finished, she threw her head back in an angry bellow and thrust her hand in front of her. A single bolt of lightning speared down from the sky, blasting through the thatched roof to strike the courier dead.

The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the room. Everyone stared for a moment at the green body with the charred, black chest, then two Bluffwatchers moved, without needing to be told, to pick up the corpse and bear it out.

Magatha was breathing heavily, snorting in fury, her fists clenched.

“Elder Crone?” Rahauro’s voice was tentative, cautious. Seldom had he seen his mistress so angry.

With an effort, Magatha composed herself. “It seems that Garrosh Hellscream refuses the Grimtotem any aid whatsoever.” She would not shame her tribemates with the blistering insults with which Garrosh had freely peppered his missive.

“We are on our own, then?” Rahauro looked slightly worried.

“We are, as we always have been. And always we have endured. Do not worry, Rahauro. I planned for this eventuality as well.”

In actuality, she had not. She had been convinced that the young Hellscream would continue to be easy to play. This stupid “honor” thing that the orcs—and, truth be told, her own race—were so obsessed with had been a serpent lurking in the grass, ready to bite her when she least suspected it. It was unfortunate that the Kor’kron had been swift to recover Gorehowl before she had had a chance to clean the poison off herself.

Still, all that was needed was to destroy Baine Bloodhoof and reestablish order in Mulgore. The tauren would quiet down and accept her as their new leader. And then, from a place of strength, she would see if Garrosh Hellscream might be willing to change his mind.

In the meantime, she would need to prepare for the pretender’s inevitable attack.

There was a cool marine breeze circulating through the room at the top of Jazzik’s General Goods. The tauren who paced there nervously, his black coat and white markings clearly identifying him as a Grimtotem, was glad of it, although the openness bothered him. Still, this was where he had been told to come.

“Heya, you made it, good,” came a voice behind him. The tauren turned and nodded as Gazlowe, the goblin leader of Ratchet, climbed the stairs and gave him a wave. “Don’t worry. This is my town. Long as you’re here, you’re safe. I understand your boss has a proposition for me.”

The Grimtotem nodded. “Indeed.”

Gazlowe indicated a table and two chairs. The tauren sat down, carefully at first, then a little bit more confidently as he realized the chair would support his much greater weight.

“We need several items.”

Gazlowe fished out a pipe from his jacket pocket and a small pouch of herbs. He filled it as they spoke. “I can get you most anything, but not for free. Nothing personal, just business, you know?”

The tauren nodded. “I am prepared to pay for your services. Here is our list.” He shoved a small, rolled-up parchment across the table at the goblin. Gazlowe wasn’t about to be rushed, though, and finished tamping down the herbs and lighting the pipe before he reached out a green hand and accepted the list. His eyes widened.

“How many bombs?”

“You can read, friend goblin.”

“I thought there was an extra zero. Or maybe two.” His mouth curled around the stem of the pipe. “My, my. Looks like I might be able to buy myself an additional vessel. Maybe an additional town.” His eyes flitted to the Grimtotem’s. “You’re sure you can pay?”

For answer, the tauren untied a sack from his belt. It was larger than his mammoth fist and made a pleasant clinking sound as it landed on the table. “Count it all, if you like. I was told you charged a fair rate.”

“Even a fair rate would be a small fortune,” Gazlowe said. He opened the pouch. The afternoon sunlight caught the glint of gold. “Holy smoke.”

“Can you get me all the items on the list?”

Gazlowe scratched his head, clearly torn between an honest response and the one he wanted