Auchindoun

The very next second, Durotan nearly stepped forward, seized Ligora by the collar, and dragged him before him. The Frostwolf chieftain restrained the impulse, merely glaring at Ligora with disbelief. He believed Draka felt the same.

The Iron Horde had taken his brother, along with the shaman he trusted most.

"Without a doubt, Chieftain."

Durotan leaped from the back of his mount, Nightrunner, and strode toward his tent, doing his utmost to suppress his anger.

"Durotan?"

"I'm going to save them."

"You know we can't do that right now." Draka's voice was so gentle, yet so cruel.

Forget attacking the Iron Horde—the clan was already struggling to survive even within its own territory. The Bladespire Ogres had blocked the only road out of Frostfire Ridge, while the Thunderlord Clan eyed Warsong Hold greedily. They could do nothing but accept reality.

Draka placed a hand on Durotan's face and wiped away the tears at the corners of his eyes. "May the elemental spirits bless them, Durotan. We have to find a way through this dark age."

Durotan's instincts told him he could not do this alone. The Iron Horde's capture of Drek'Thar and Jan'ai was like cutting off both his arms. Could the Frostwolf Clan still hold back the Iron Horde?

"Draka, if I had..."

The moment she heard Durotan's tone, Draka's expression changed. Her gentleness vanished, replaced by coldness, as she forcefully cut off her husband. "Don't say such things, especially not where others can hear."

Hesitation appeared in Durotan's eyes, standing in stark contrast to his wife's resolve.

"Don't regret your decision, my dear. You made the right choice. The Frostwolf Clan will never be slaves."

If Durotan could draw anything besides comfort from his beloved at that moment, it was confidence. He reached out and held Draka's small