World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,86

The kodos followed, seeming to pick up speed, and the Grimtotem literally ran for their lives. Up ahead was Stonebull Lake, and potential safety. Tarakor did not slow as he plunged into the cold water, sinking beneath the weight of his armor. The kodos followed, but their stampede slowed as they hit the water. Tarakor swam as strongly as he could, struggling to the surface, his armor, donned to protect him, threatening to drag him down. The kodos were straggling back to the land now, still snorting, shaking water off their coats. The Grimtotem treaded water as Tarakor counted heads. Some had not emerged from the depths of the lake, and some had not even made it that far this night. They would be grieved later. For now the ones who had survived struck out to the far side of the lake.

It was slow going. They emerged, drenched and shivering and disheartened.

They had failed. Baine had escaped. Stormsong had betrayed them. Tarakor was not looking forward to telling Magatha the news.

Baine watched the stampede, nodding to himself. It had been a good plan, to agitate the herd, and it had bought them the opportunity to escape. While generally placid even in the wild, agitated, frightened kodos were a force that could not be stopped. The kodos were driving the enemy westward, trapping them against the mountains. They had nowhere to go. Some would be killed, but others would escape and come after them; it was a delay, but even a brief delay would help Baine and his followers.

“Camp Taurajo has not fallen to the Grimtotem, has it, Stormsong?”

The Grimtotem shook his head. “No. Our main targets were Thunder Bluff, Bloodhoof Village, Sun Rock Retreat, and Camp Mojache.”

“Then we head for Camp Taurajo and hope it has not become a secondary target. We can arrange transportation from there.”

“Transportation where?” Stormsong asked.

Baine’s eyes were hard as he urged the kodo he rode to greater speed. His heart was full with the missing of his father and the anger he bore toward the Grimtotem for the bloodshed this night.

“I do not know,” he said honestly. “But I know this. My father will be avenged, and I will not rest until the Grimtotem have been revealed for the traitors they are. My father permitted them to live with us, though they refused to join the Horde. Now I will expel them from every aspect of tauren society. This, I vow.”

Baine had not traveled much outside of Mulgore in the last few years, and he had forgotten just how open and exposed the aptly named Barrens were. Jorn Skyseer greeted them and brought them into the camp, making sure the orc guards were not alerted. Baine did not know yet whom he could trust. They gathered together in the back of one of the great lodges: Baine; the four braves who had come with him from Bloodhoof Village; the recovering Hamuul Runetotem, who had a bitter tale to tell of an attack on a peaceful druidic gathering; and the defector, Stormsong. Jorn joined them, carrying a tray of food—apples, watermelon, Mulgore spice bread, and chunks of cooked meat.

Baine nodded his thanks to the hunter. He took a bite of fruit and regarded Hamuul. “I trust your word, Hamuul, and that of Stormsong, Grimtotem though he is. It is cruel that our leader betrays us so, whereas my trust must fall to an old enemy.”

Stormsong lowered his muzzle. It was awkward for him to be here, but he was gradually winning the respect and trust of Baine and those around him.

“I do not know what Garrosh knew of the attack, but I do know that it was an oversight that I survived,” Hamuul said. “They left me for dead, and I nearly was. As for the challenge,” and he eyed Stormsong, “Garrosh may have consented to the use of the poison, he may not. It does not matter. Magatha has what she wanted—control of Thunder Bluff, Bloodhoof Village, probably Camp Mojache, and unless we stop her soon, all the tauren.”

“But not Sun Rock,” Jorn said quietly. “They have sent a runner. They were able to repel the attack.”

Baine nodded. It was good news, but far from sufficient. Baine growled softly and forced himself to eat. He needed to keep his strength up, although his stomach did not wish the food.

“Archdruid, my father ever trusted your advice. I have never been in more need of it than now. What do we do now? How do we fight