Read Online The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm by Christie Golden - Free Book Online Page A

The Warsong offensive was not enough to impress the mighty Grimtotem?”
    She regarded him steadily, not in the least put out by his ranting. “No,” she said mildly. “It did not impress me. But the tales of what you did in Northrend … well, those are the deeds of a hero indeed. We Grimtotem watch. And wait. We know strength and cunning and honor when we see it. It could be that you, Garrosh Hellscream, like your father, are just what the Horde needs, when it needs it. And when the Horde figures this out as well, I think you may count on Grimtotem support.”
    Garrosh wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but one thing was clear. She’d liked what she’d heard inside the keep. Which could mean that she approved of how he wanted to see things happen. That could be good. Maybe somebody could finally start getting something
done
around here.
    “Thank you, Elder Crone. I appreciate your words now, and I hope that shortly I’ll be worthy of more than words of support.”
    His mind was already awhirl with ways to bypass the pacifistic Thrall and the crotchety old Cairne and get the Horde what it needed. The trick was to do so without overstepping his bounds.
    It was not a time to be cautious. It was a time to be bold. They would understand once he gave them results.
    *   *   *

    Cairne and his entourage were up and packed before dawn, despite the fact that the celebration had run well into the early hours and he, as a guest of honor, had been required to stay the entire time. He was anxious to return home. The troops he had sent to Northrend when Thrall had issued the call to arms were fierce fighters indeed, and had conducted themselves well. But they, too, were weary of bloodshed and endless nights and days of endurance. Once a nomadic people, the tauren now had a home, Mulgore, and it was dear to them. Today, finally, they began the last leg of the journey to its gentle, rolling hills, proud buttes, and the loved ones there they had left behind.
    They had chosen to walk so they could keep the fellowship together for a little longer, but that was no hardship. As dawn was just breaking and other Horde fighters were either sleeping off the revelry or perhaps clutching their heads in payment for said revelry, the tauren were already out of Durotar and heading into the Barrens. Cairne sent ahead Perith Stormhoof to notify Baine that they would be arriving. Perith was one of a select few scouts and messengers called the Longwalkers. They were Cairne’s only to command, and were trusted with the most important of messages and information. Not even Thrall knew everything Cairne shared with the Longwalkers. This was hardly a mission of great import. Lives did not depend on it. But Perith’s eyes gleamed happily at this particular task, and he departed with his usual steady swiftness.
    Late afternoon stretched its thick, golden light on the plains of Mulgore. Perith met them as they neared the turnoff for Camp Narache and Bloodhoof Village, falling into step beside Cairne as they moved slowly toward home.
    “I have informed Baine, as you requested,” Perith said. “He assures you that all will be ready.”
    “Good,” approved Cairne. “The shops in all the villages should be aware that several travelers will be descending upon them. I would see none of my people go hungry tonight.”
    “I think you will find what Baine has in mind … acceptable.”
    Curious, Cairne turned to regard Perith. At that moment therewas a blast of horns. Several kodos were lumbering toward them. Cairne’s aging eyes could not discern who was atop the great beasts, but even his ears could hear the cheering of the little ones. They tumbled pell-mell off the kodos, shouting and laughing, throwing flowers and bundles of herbs at the approaching heroes.
    “Welcome home, Father,” said Baine Bloodhoof. Cairne turned at the sound of the familiar voice, squinted, and smiled as he made out the shape of his son, riding easily atop one of the