hours, and only three fingers’ breadth of ink had been applied. The tattooist bent over him again. Garrosh willed himself still once more, and the torment—the sweet, honor-bought torment—resumed.
“Garrosh!”
Cairne’s bellow was loud and deep and echoed as he strode into Grommash Hold. The guards moved to him, allegedly to assist, not quite to intercept. He glared down at them balefully and snorted in derision, and they stepped aside.
“Garrosh!”
There was always somebody awake in Grommash Hold, tending the fires that never went out, making preparations for the following day, so it was not quite deserted, if still. Cairne’s shouting roused those who had been sleeping, and the rooms slowly filled with curious, still slightly drowsy onlookers rubbing their eyes and dressed in clothes that were obviously hastily donned.
“Garrosh, I demand to see you!”
“Nobody demands to see the leader of the Horde!” one of the Kor’kron spoke up, snarling.
Cairne whirled on him with a speed that belied his age. “I am High Chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof. I helped create this Horde that Garrosh is currently undermining. I will speak with him, and I will speak with him now!”
“Old bull, you will wake the dead with your angry snorting and pawing!”
Garrosh’s voice was as sharp as Cairne’s and dripping sarcasm. Cairne turned, the Kor’kron forgotten, and fixed his gaze upon Garrosh Hellscream. The tauren’s eyes widened slightly.
“So,” he said quietly, regarding Garrosh’s tattoos, “you have adopted more than your father’s weapon.”
“His weapon,” said Garrosh, “and the markings on his face and body that struck fear into his enemies.” He moved his mouth slowly, as if it still caused pain. The tattoos looked recent.
“Your father did much ill, but he died doing a great good,” Cairne said. “And he would be ashamed of you right now.”
“What?” growled Garrosh. “What are you talking about, tauren?”
“I warned Thrall about you,” Cairne said, his voice as quiet as it had been loud before, ignoring the question for the moment. “I told him he was being foolish to give you so much power. I thought that one day you might be ready for it, but you needed experience and tempering. I was wrong. You, Garrosh Hellscream, are not fit to lead a pack of hyenas, let alone this glorious Horde! You will ride us to ruin, screaming and beating your chest like one of the gorillas of Stranglethorn the entire way.”
Garrosh paled, then flushed with anger. “You will regret those words, old bull,” he hissed. “I will make you eat them, along with handfuls of dirt.”
“It was you who attacked the Sentinels in Ashenvale, wasn’t it?” Cairne cried, moving forward to where the orc stood clenching his brown fists. “And it was you who authorized the mass slaughter of nearly a dozen druids of the Cenarion Circle, gathering together to achieve a peaceful solution to the needs of the Horde.”
Disbelief and then fury crossed Garrosh’s face. “What in the names of the ancestors are you talking about? How dare you accuse me of such despicable acts?”
Cairne snorted. “Garrosh, you have been open in your contempt of a treaty agreed to with honor and in good faith, and of Thrall’s so-called appeasement of the Alliance.”
“Yes! I do despise this appeasement. But I would not sneak around the treaty! I would be proud of any attack on the Alliance I authorized! I would shout it from the rooftops to prove to the Horde that all is not lost! The honor of the Horde—”
“How can you even utter that word?” growled Cairne. “Honor? Even now, you lie, Garrosh. You have not the honor of a centaur. At least admit what you have done. Own your foolish, selfish choices!”
Garrosh suddenly grew cold. “You are an idiot to think me a schemer. Age has addled your wits. Because of the esteem in which Thrall inexplicably holds you, I shall ignore your prattlings as that of a madman. Thrall put me in charge of the Horde, and I will always do what I believe is best for it. Go now, and spare yourself the indignity of being bodily tossed out on your tail.”
For answer, Cairne backhanded Garrosh right across the face, striking the fresh tattoo. So powerful was the blow that Garrosh staggered and nearly fell, crying out sharply in pain and flailing his arms in an attempt to keep his balance.
“It is I who shall toss you out on your tail, impudent pup,” Cairne said. “That blow has been long in coming.”
Blood was flowing freely down Garrosh’s split and swelling lower lip. He reached