World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,16

the plate armor was gargantuan, unwearable by even the most powerful orc, troll, or tauren. Cairne regarded it for a long moment, thinking about Grom, thanking his spirit for the sacrifice that had set the orcs free.

With a long sigh, he turned and trundled inside. He had, as was his right, brought a retinue with him. He had selected who among his people would have the honor of attending the feast tonight. Ordinarily his son Baine would be among them, but Baine had opted to remain behind in Mulgore.

It is a high honor that you ask me to attend such a ceremony, Baine had written, but the higher honor is making sure our people are safe until you, their leader, have returned home for good.

The response pleased but did not surprise Cairne. Baine did exactly as his father would have done in the same situation. While it would have made him happy to have his son by his side, Cairne felt better knowing that the tauren people were watched over and cared for in his absence.

In Baine’s stead was the venerable archdruid Hamuul Runetotem, who was a good friend and trusted advisor. Also present were members of several of the individual tauren tribes such as the Dawnstrider, Ragetotem—a tribe with a warrior focus who had sent several of its sons and daughters to fight proudly in Northrend alongside Garrosh—Skychaser, Winterhoof, and Thunderhorn, among others. Included for politics’ sake rather than personal preference was the matriarch of the Grimtotem, Magatha.

Alone among the tauren tribes, the Grimtotem had never formally joined the Horde, though Magatha lived on Thunder Bluff and her tribe enjoyed all the rights of being a tauren. A powerful shaman who had come to lead the Grimtotem thanks to the tragic, accidental death of her mate—a death that, it was whispered, was not quite so accidental as it had appeared—she and Cairne had clashed before. Cairne was more than happy to make her welcome on Thunder Bluff and to invite her to important ceremonies such as this one, as he firmly believed in the old adage, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” She had not opposed him openly, and he doubted she ever would. Magatha might plot and scheme safely in the shadows, but in the end Cairne believed she was a coward. Let Magatha think herself powerful for merely running her own tribe. He, Cairne Bloodhoof, was the one who truly led the tauren people.

Thrall took his seat in the massive throne that afforded him a view of the entire enormous room and watched as the throng filed in. The braziers that normally burned on either side of the throne had been extinguished. In front of the cold braziers were now two lesser, but still ornate, seats that had been moved there for the occasion. Per Thrall’s request, Cairne and Garrosh each took one—Garrosh on Thrall’s right, as the hero of the hour. In various places about the room, the Kor’kron, Thrall’s bodyguards, stood quietly and unobtrusively.

Thrall eyed Cairne and Garrosh, watching their reactions. Cairne shifted slightly in the somewhat too-small chair. Thrall grimaced; the orcish carpenters had tried hard to take a tauren physique into consideration when they had designed the chair but had obviously failed. The old bull was clearly filled with pride as his people settled in. He, like Thrall, knew they had all given, and in some cases forever lost, so much to this war.

The years were starting to take their toll on the tauren high chieftain. Thrall had heard how well Cairne had fought when his group had come under siege, how he had returned again and again to bear more wounded to safety. That did not surprise him. He well knew Cairne’s courage, great heart, and compassion. What did surprise him was how many wounds the tauren had suffered in the conflict and how slowly he appeared to be healing from them.

Thrall’s heart suddenly hurt. He had lost so many dear to him—Taretha Foxton, the human girl who had shown him that loving friendship could exist between the races; Grom Hellscream, who had taught him so much about what it meant to be an orc; and perhaps soon now Drek’Thar, who, according to the orc who attended him, was growing frail and whose mind was drifting away. The thought of having to say the final farewell to Cairne, who had been so close for so many years, was painful.

He turned his attention to Garrosh. The young Hellscream, Gorehowl across his