“Eight,” the warchief repeated. “Show them to me.”
Briln was now certain of his fate. Garrosh would not take his head; he would let one of the beasts rip the captain to shreds. Briln could not blame the warchief. It was a reasonable punishment for one who had so badly failed.
He led Garrosh and the others to the first of the cages. Inside, the beast, smelling the nearness of so many orcs, stirred. The sides of the cage shook.
“Pull back the tarp!” the captain ordered.
Four of the crew used the attached ropes to pull back the tarp over the cage door. As they did, the shaking increased and a growl rose. From the other cages there came answering sounds. Briln felt a moment of déjà vu and half expected one or more of the creatures to break free. Guards with spears quickly moved in just in case they had to defend the warchief.
The captain took no comfort in the awed expressions of several of those with Garrosh. They had every reason to be amazed and not a little wary of the prizes that their leader had ordered shipped from Northrend. However, none of them had been assigned the task. They were safe. Briln was not.
Garrosh stepped closer . . . too close for the captain’s taste. The beast, apparently of the same opinion, leapt forward and tried to fit an arm through the bars. Unlike the one monster, this creature failed. He sought then to bend the bars in order to make a better attempt, but although they creaked ominously, they did not give . . . for now.
The warchief appeared unimpressed by the ferocity of the caged horror. Looking to the Kor’kron, he said, “They’ll have to be reminded of their purpose . . . and what will happen if they don’t follow through.”
It was the first time in ages that Briln was reminded that, despite everything, the beasts were nearly as intelligent as their captors. Much more primitive, certainly, but nearly as intelligent.
One of Garrosh’s guards gestured to another Kor’kron standing by the entrance to a metal longhouse just north of the area. Something had been planned for just this occasion, and the captain had an idea what it was.
The grim guard disappeared into the longhouse. All the while, the beast before Garrosh raged, now joined with savage gusto by the other seven. Everywhere, orcs and goblins tensed, awaiting disaster. Only the warchief and the Kor’kron remained absolutely calm, even expectant.
Several startled grunts suddenly arose from the longhouse. They were like nothing Briln had ever heard.
No . . . they did resemble something. Although higher in pitch and sounding more curious than frightened, they were very much akin to the deeper voices of the cargo.
And the creatures in the cargo knew it also. Almost as one, the eight cages grew silent.
Garrosh nodded to the one before him. The warchief did not look happy with what had just taken place, but seemed resigned to it. “You understand. They are well, as I have promised. You will all thus keep your promise.”
There was a grunt from the cage. Garrosh signaled for the tarp to be let down again. Only when it had completely covered up the cargo did Briln breathe easier.
The guard who had entered the longhouse exited again, this time to report to the warchief. He looked a bit anxious as he neared. Garrosh indicated that the party—including the captain—should step farther away from the cages.
“I did as you commanded,” the Kor’kron muttered, speaking so that only those with Garrosh could hear. “I gave some of the younglings a share of that sweetened meat their kind likes so much. They raised a real ruckus. Was it enough?”
Garrosh nodded approval. “The adult beasts heard them. They should stay docile now. They just had to be reminded about our deal.”
At that moment Briln found he did not envy Garrosh; the complexities of command in such times surely tore at Garrosh’s sense of honor constantly as he sought to do what was best for his followers in the long run.
He must have stared too long at the warchief, for Garrosh abruptly looked back at him. The legendary warrior’s brow furrowed. “How many died to bring even these eight here?”
Briln made an estimate that included not only those lost when their ships went down but also those lost in getting the beasts to the port in Northrend. Having tried continuously to avoid thinking of those who had given their lives while he had survived, the captain was dismayed by the number he told the warchief.
Garrosh was equally dismayed and did not entirely hide that fact. “As many as that? A great price . . . but it’ll be worth their sacrifices and more when Ashenvale falls to us!” The Horde leader straightened, now looking every bit the dedicated, confident commander. “They who’ve died to bring these beasts here will stand beside us in spirit as we crush our foes! When the last outpost falls, this victory will belong as much to them as to those of us who are there to see it happen!”
His vow brought cheers from those surrounding him, even Briln. If he was to be executed, he hoped that at least he would be remembered along with all the other dead involved in this mission. It was more than he could ask.
“Captain Briln.”
The mariner swallowed. He immediately slapped his fist against his chest again, then bent his head so as to offer his neck. “My warchief, I can’t give any excuse for my failure! You command that we bring you ten, and I deliver only eight! Many of those who perished did so as part of the fleet that I oversaw!” Briln waited for Gorehowl to fall, but when the fabled axe did not cut off his head, he went on. “My warchief, I confess all these failures, all these stains to my honor, and await my fate!”
There was silence, then he heard Garrosh say, “Your honor is your life.”
“Yes, my warchief.”
“And your life you offer to me.”
Again Briln agreed. At the same time he thought to himself, My disgrace is great! Garrosh rightly makes me suffer for my failures before granting me a proper death to atone for them!
“So, if your life is mine, then your honor is mine . . . and as it is my honor at stake, I would have it redeemed in battle!”
The captain could not help gaping as he looked up. “I don’t understand, Warchief. . . .”
“You will join us as we march through Ashenvale and see your work crush the Alliance! You will stand at the forefront, and if you die, your name will be spoken with pride by our people for generations!”
Garrosh himself offered Briln a hand up. The captain stared wide-eyed.
“Your first mate will now be captain. You’ll now command soldiers in combat, and you will serve directly under me.”
Briln’s chest swelled with pride. “I will slay a hundred night elves before they bring me down! I will destroy Silverwing Outpost myself!”
The warchief chuckled. “Fight well. That’s what I ask.”
“I will!”
There was a rumble from the closest cage, but a tentative one that did not threaten. The creatures were subdued.
“We leave at sunrise tomorrow,” Garrosh announced with confidence, ignoring the fact that he had clearly just arrived himself after what must have been a strenuous ride. “The first stage of my plan’s at work on the night elves in Ashenvale already! Their communications with Darnassus are cut off and they will be making many assumptions as to what comes next based on past wars!” He gestured at the cages. “They’ll die discovering just what great fools they’ve been made. . . .”
The nearest beast rumbled again, this time seeming to echo the warchief’s triumphant tone. Briln’s grin widened. He would live to see his work unleashed upon the night elves. He would live to know that he had served the Horde well.
And he would live to see the beginning of a new world—one forged by the hand of the Horde, not the Alliance. . . .