World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,79

devoid of delight for him that he was ready to relinquish his grasp upon it. Far from it. He had made the challenge—and accepted Garrosh’s decision to return to the “old way”—because he needed to end Garrosh’s arrogant, shortsighted, dangerous rule over the Horde Cairne loved so much. He planned to take Garrosh’s place until Thrall returned to mete out whatever justice he saw fit. Cairne was ready to accept it.

He was under no illusion, however, that this would be an easily won battle. Garrosh was one of the best warriors the Horde had. But one-on-one combat was a different thing from battle, and Garrosh was impetuous. Cairne would fight in his own manner, and that manner would give him victory.

Over in his area of the huge arena, Garrosh was preparing. Per the ritual rules of the mak’gora, he was naked save for a loincloth, and his brown body had been oiled till it shone. He cut a striking figure of orcish power, muscular and proud, warming up for the fight with the mighty axe that had slain Mannoroth. It, too, had been oiled, and glinted darkly.

Cairne would be fighting with the weapon of his lineage—the runespear. He, too, had stripped to a loincloth. If his fur was slightly gray with age, it was still sleek and thick, shiny with the anointing oil. Beneath his pelt was solid muscle. His joints might ache in the rain or snow from time to time, and his eyes might strain to see, but he had lost none of his strength and little of his speed. He now hefted the runespear, offering it to each of the four directions and elements, thumping his chest with the hand that clasped the spear to salute the Spirit of Life within himself and all other beings, and then turned to Beram Skychaser for his blessing.

Just as the bodies of the warriors were anointed with oil for their battle, so, too, were the weapons. Beram murmured something softly, dipped a finger in the vial of holy oil, and then gently smeared the glistening liquid onto the spear tip.

“I am saddened it has come to this,” he said quietly, for Cairne’s ears alone. “But as it has, I know that your cause is the just one, Cairne Bloodhoof. May your spear strike straight and true.”

Cairne bowed deeply, humbly, his thick, powerful fingers curled tightly around the shaft of the spear. Twenty generations of Bloodhoof chieftains had wielded this runespear in battle, as he was about to do. It had tasted the blood of many noble enemies, and indeed had always struck straight and true. For a moment he allowed his gaze to linger on the runes. He had carved most of his own story into it some time ago, as was the tradition. But there was still much left to tell. He promised himself that when this battle was over and things had settled down a bit, he would take the time to finish his story.

“Old bull!” came Garrosh’s taunting voice. “Are you going to stand there all night lost in thought? I thought you had come to kill me, not stare at an old spear.”

Cairne sighed. “Your words are borne upon the winds of fate, Garrosh Hellscream. They will be among your last. I would choose them with more care.”

“Pagh!” Garrosh spat. He picked up Gorehowl, bowing to the shaman who had blessed—

Cairne’s eyes narrowed as he strained to see at this distance. It was a tauren shaman who had blessed Garrosh’s weapon with words of ritual and sacred oil. That surprised and pained Cairne, who had assumed another orc would perform that rite. It was a female, black-coated. …

“Magatha,” he breathed. She was a powerful shaman, but so was Beram. While her blessing would help Garrosh, Beram Skychaser’s blessing would help Cairne. She had to know that; it was a gesture, nothing more. All she had done was, finally, openly state where her loyalties lay.

Cairne nodded to himself, confident now more than ever of the rightness of his path. This challenge really did need to happen, before more fell under Garrosh’s spell. At least Magatha now had shown her true colors. He would have to address the disloyalty; he had no choice now. The Grimtotem would need to be banished from Thunder Bluff, unless they finally chose to swear allegiance to the Horde. It had become a necessity, not a desire.

Magatha looked up. Cairne could not see her expression, but he imagined she was smirking. He allowed