"Lord VanCleef... if I may ask, when will we begin discussing the alliance?"
Hamuul Runetotem had not forgotten his original purpose. Though the Tauren tribes were in a difficult position, rashly allying with an unknown power was hardly wise.
VanCleef replied politely, "Elder Hamuul, I am only the temporary official in charge of receiving you. The Alliance's actual negotiators will need a little more time to reach Kalimdor."
More time to reach Kalimdor? Had the Alliance already established a route across the Great Sea?
Hamuul's feelings were complicated. For thousands of years, Kalimdor had seen no foreign power intervene on such a scale. At most, a few Goblins had built trading ports along the coast.
But the Goblins were only interested in making money. That was different from the Alliance's clear intention to intervene directly in Kalimdor, and Hamuul could not help worrying that this might herald a coming storm.
The old Tauren considered for a moment before asking, "Lord VanCleef, what will the Alliance's arrival bring to our continent?"
"You need not worry, Elder Hamuul. We simply wish to establish friendly relations with you. Beyond that, we will not interfere unduly in your lives."
VanCleef gathered his thoughts on what Arthas had instructed him to say and continued, "The man spearheading this alliance is Prince Arthas of Lordaeron. His Highness wishes to unite every force that can be united."
Unite forces? Why would the humans in the distant Eastern Kingdoms suddenly consider such a thing? Had they run out of potential allies there? Why did they have to come to Kalimdor?
"Elder Hamuul, I am merely His Highness's messenger. I can only tell you the little I know. For the real reason, I am afraid you will have to wait for the Alliance's envoys to arrive." A helpless smile appeared on VanCleef's face. That much, at least, was true.
"I understand. Thank you very much for your answer, my lord," Hamuul said in his deep, rumbling voice. Though he still had many doubts, he had no choice but to wait for the Alliance's envoy delegation.
I hope this isn't something bad, Hamuul thought. The Tauren tribes could not weather another major upheaval.
The centaurs had grown increasingly rampant in recent years. Setting out from Desolace at the continent's westernmost edge, they had used their superior speed and endurance over long distances to spread scouts and camps throughout central Kalimdor.
Like the Tauren, they were nomads. But the centaurs were cruel and brutal, with many savage traditions. They even ate raw, uncooked meat.
To the centaurs, Tauren were both targets for plunder and food. It sounded horrific, but among backward, savage races such as the centaurs and Quilboar, even eating their own kind was not uncommon.
Hamuul's tribe had suffered centaur raids for years. Many young tribespeople had died fighting back, and their villages had been burned down. Those beasts spared neither women nor children.
The Tauren could endure no more and were on the verge of erupting. Yet their people were scattered across the vast expanse of the Barrens, making it difficult to gather enough fighters to repel the centaurs' attacks.
That was why Cairne Bloodhoof had sent Hamuul to investigate. Neither of them believed anything came for free, but if paying a fair price could eliminate the centaur threat, the Tauren were willing to consider it.
Unfortunately, the human envoys had yet to arrive, so Hamuul could only remain in this beautiful stone city a little longer.
"What? You want us to cross that sea?! You're joking, boy! That sea is far bigger than anything on Draenor!"
The tall Orc, his long black hair tied back, snorted. "Why should we leave? Those weak humans are no match for the Warsong Clan."
"Grommash, we already lost many good fighters in the last battle to rescue our people! Even Orgrim fell! Do you still think those humans are as weak as they were ten years ago?"
At the mention of Orgrim, the young Orc grew agitated. "We've already wasted too much time in these forested mountains. We can't survive here! We need more land for our people to live on!"
"Then seize it! Take it! Human lands lie right below these mountains. Are you afraid?! Or has that name the humans gave you turned you into a human too, Thrall?!" Grommash flexed his powerful arms, gripping [Gorehowl], the battle-axe stained with the blood of countless mighty foes and savage beasts.
"Blackmoore raised me, but everything between us ended the moment he died. Don't try to provoke me with that, Grommash!" Thrall's brow furrowed. "You're the chieftain of the Warsong Clan, the strongest warrior in the Old Horde. Don't you understand that the humans are no longer what they were over ten years ago?"
"If taking human lands were as easy as you say, would we still have to hide in these remote forests and mountains? Grommash, times have changed. Under that prince named Arthas, Lordaeron is no longer what it once was."
"Hmph!"
The Warsong Clan's chieftain snorted softly. He could not refute Thrall's words, because they were true. Even the fierce, battle-hungry Warsong Clan had been forced to hide deep in Tirisfal's forests to escape the human army's hunts.
"I received a revelation. The Orcs' future lies on the continent across the Great Sea. Staying here will only intensify our conflict with the humans." Thrall reached out and patted Grommash's shoulder. "Orgrim wouldn't want to see us waste precious time on pointless arguments."
"You've learned all the humans' ways with words, Thrall." Grommash stared at him for a long moment. "But you've learned a great deal from Orgrim too. I never liked him much, but I have to admit he did a fine job as Warchief."
Thrall smiled with relief. Grommash might have been hot-tempered and blunt, but he could still see clearly when it came to what truly mattered.
Yet Thrall also understood that leaving the Eastern Kingdoms would not be easy. "The humans have every port heavily guarded. Sailing from within Lordaeron is simply impossible, and we don't have enough ships to transport our people and warriors."
Leaning on [Doomhammer], which Orgrim had passed down to him, he sank into thought. "How are we going to leave?"
"If we have no harbor or ships, we can build them ourselves. The mountain paths east of Tirisfal lead to Silverpine Forest. There's a route to the coast there, with no humans around-just plenty of spiders and wild beasts."
Having lived in Tirisfal Glades for years, Grommash had ideas of his own and voiced them plainly. Whether to adopt them was Thrall's decision.
Orc shipbuilding was not particularly advanced. Though they could not build warships, constructing transports capable of crossing the sea posed little problem. Besides, Orcs were generally far stronger than humans. Even without sails, they could row their way across by sheer strength.
At least, that was how they had done it back on Draenor, and later when they sailed out to sweep through the Eastern Kingdoms.
"It will be difficult, but right now, it's our only option."
With a rough plan in place, Thrall and Grommash gathered the Orcs rescued from the internment camps and began secretly following the mountain ranges from southern Lordaeron toward Silverpine Forest.
Uther, stationed in the Hillsbrad Foothills, also noticed that the Orcs seemed to be dwindling in number. They had begun to stop raiding human villages and towns.
"Have they finally learned their lesson?" Alexandros Mograine commanded the forces assisting Uther's defense. He was also a paladin of the Order of the Silver Hand.
"It seems they've already left Hillsbrad." Uther pulled the Orc flag from the sand table, but hesitated to set it down elsewhere. "But where could they have gone?"
"Ha! What are you worried about? Under Prince Arthas's plans, the fortifications in Tirisfal and Weld were built long ago. These Orcs have no chance of threatening the kingdom's heartland." Alexandros smiled, far less concerned than his colleague.
"You're right, but we still cannot let our guard down. The tragedy at South Camp is a constant reminder that our world still faces many unknown dangers."
At the mention of that incident, Alexandros's enthusiasm vanished. Gritting his teeth, he said, "Three hundred men. Three hundred fine soldiers, dead just like that, without even knowing why? And only one recruit and a little girl survived?!"
"We were all too late. Demons had infiltrated the place long before. By the time Arthas followed the clues there, their souls had already been devoured."
"Ah... I wonder how Arthas must have felt then," Alexandros sighed. During the Orc War, he too had personally put down "comrades" raised by Orc warlocks. He knew how it felt.
"Rather than worry about Arthas, let's first find out where these Orcs have gone. I trust his resolve. He won't let this throw him into disarray."
"You're right. Now let's go give those fleeing green-skinned bastards a proper beating!"
Before you continue