World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,75

he grieved to see that one of them lay on the grass, an arrow in her eye, flies already buzzing around her limp form.

He whirled on the orc who seemed to be the leader. “In the name of Cenarius, what have you done?”

The orc was pale green and seemed completely unperturbed by Hamuul’s outburst. He merely shrugged. “We saw five of those filthy night elves running in those cat shapes and thought they might be attacking.”

“Attacking? Five?”

The orc continued to regard him steadily and remained silent. How had they even known for certain they were druids and not just nightsabers? Hamuul wondered.

Slightly unnerved by the orc’s sullen, silent stupidity, Hamuul’s voice rose even more with outrage. “Who sent you? Was it Garrosh?”

The orc shrugged again. “Who is Garrosh?”

Impossible. Hamuul could not believe anyone could be so ignorant. Love him or loathe him, everyone knew Garrosh. The orc had to be toying with him for some reason.

“You have interrupted a secret and vital meeting that could have ensured the Horde the rights to harvest wood in Ashenvale without risking lives! I will personally report you to Cairne Bloodhoof and see that this incident is made public. I will not be responsible for another black mark on the Horde’s honor. These elves, these druids,” and he pointed a shaking finger at the cooling corpses, “came here at my request. They trusted I would keep them safe. And now our best hope for peace lies as dead as they do because you thought they were attacking. What is your name?”

“Gorkrak.”

“Gorkrak,” Hamuul said, relishing the name and emblazing it upon his memory. “Any chance you stood of advancing in the Horde, Gorkrak, ends right here.”

Gorkrak’s expression shifted slightly. His piggy eyes moved coldly, deliberately, from the night elf druids, to Hamuul, to something behind the tauren. A crafty smile spread across his face, and too late Hamuul realized what was about to happen.

“Not if I end you first,” Gorkrak crowed.

And Hamuul heard the twang of an arrow taking flight.

Gorkrak of the Twilight’s Hammer looked about with satisfaction.

“I thought druids were supposed to be smart,” one of his brethren said, tugging his sword out of the body of a white tauren female.

“All are foolish who do not embrace the coming destruction,” Gorkrak said. He dropped the stupid expression he had worn to trick Hamuul. “It is inevitable and beautiful. We will bury the corpses, but not so well that the carrion eaters will not find them. We want the bodies discovered.” He smiled darkly. “Eventually.”

He was glad that Hamuul had mentioned Garrosh. It meant that already suspicion had begun to spread about the acting warchief. Some were already whispering that it had been Garrosh who butchered the Sentinels. Now they would believe him behind this slaughter as well.

“For the nothingness that awaits,” Gorkrak said. “Dig.”

Hamuul Runetotem regained consciousness slowly. He blinked awake, then wondered if he really was awake. Where was he? What had happened? He could see nothing, and something pressed in on him from every angle. Breathing was difficult; what little air there was smelled of old blood and earth. He tried to move and realized that he was pinned. His body was in agony, and thirst clawed at his throat. He was in his bear form; he imagined he had had a split second to change shapes before he had been shot—

—in the back—

—by fellow Horde members.

Memory crashed down on him like an avalanche, and he suddenly realized where he must be, and what was pressing on him.

He was in a mass grave.

Adrenaline shot through him, giving his tormented body fresh strength. Which way was up? Corpses draped lifeless arms across his shoulders, pressed cold torsos against his back, as if trying to force him to join them in death. Hamuul opened his sharp-toothed mouth, gasping in fetid air and dirt, and pressed his paws against the bodies of his friends. He clawed his way upward, causing the corpses to bleed sluggishly, to where the freshest air was coming, using all his strength to shoulder aside bodies and dirt, until his head broke the lightly packed surface and he gulped in fresh air. Grunting, now feeling anew the pain of his wounds, he climbed free and collapsed, white and light brown fur clotted with blood and other gory fluids, gasping and shivering in horror at the atrocity.

He tried to shift back to tauren, but the first attempt made him pass out a second time. When he came to what seemed like a