Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

“Your pride blinded you,” Gul’dan barreled on. “Only my magic can defeat our enemies!”

The words burst forth from Durotan before he could halt them. “Your magic is what got them killed!”

Gul’dan turned, slowly, toward Durotan, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Do you wish to challenge me, little chieftain?”

Durotan glanced around. Everyone present was silent, their attention focused on him. He thought of the thousands of innocent draenei—children included—whose lives the fel had claimed simply to open the portal to this world. He looked at the green flame in the brazier, and in Gul’dan’s eyes, and spoke carefully.

“I do not question Gul’dan,” he said. “But the fel is born of death. It must have a price.”

Gul’dan relaxed, ever so slightly, his brow unfurrowing. He even smiled.

“Yes,” he agreed. “A price paid in lives taken.”

Later, much later, he entered his tent. Draka was there in the firelight, the good, true firelight, bathed in its orange glow. She was cradling their child, and looked up as he entered. Her welcoming smile faded at the look on his face.

He told her what had happened in Gul’dan’s tent. She listened without comment, as she had done the first night she had returned home from Exile, under the stars of Draenor.

When he had told it all, he sat at the brazier, gazing into the flames. Draka understood his need for silence, murmuring gently to their baby as she moved the little head to the side and extended a clawed forefinger. She pricked her breast, and a trickle of blood, black in the firelight, appeared. She guided the baby back to her nipple, now feeding him his mother’s blood as well as mother’s milk. It was fitting nourishment for a proud orc, a Frostwolf child, a future warrior. Draka glanced up at Durotan, and their eyes met over the head of their contentedly nursing infant. For the first time in what felt like forever, Durotan’s heart knew a small brush of peace, here, alone with his mate and child.

He wondered if they should talk about what to do, how to react, what this meant. But what could he say? What could he do?

Draka rose and went to him. “Will you hold your son?” was all she said.

She extended the small, precious bundle, wrapped in a woven blanket with the Frostwolf symbol embroidered on it. Slowly, Durotan held out his hands.

He was small, so small, so vulnerable. He barely covered one of Durotan’s great palms. He was whole, and perfect… and his skin was the color of the fire that had raged across Blackhand’s body.

“He will be a great chieftain, like his father,” Draka continued, sitting nearby and watching. Her voice was warm, soft, confident. “A born leader.”

The words stung. “I was no leader today,” Durotan said.

The baby’s eyes, blue and bright, went right for his father’s face when he spoke. No orc had ever had blue eyes…

The baby gurgled happily, his tiny legs kicking energetically. One small hand reached up and unsteadily closed on Durotan’s tusks. Durotan leaned forward, wrinkling his nose playfully. The baby grunted, a tiny sound. His face scowled, before he giggled.

“Ha!” said Draka, smiling. “He challenges you already!”

From somewhere deep inside Durotan’s aching soul, a chuckle emerged. The baby laughed in response, his entire torso moving with his breath as he patted the tusk gently, mesmerized, utterly focused on his father’s face.

Durotan’s smile grew for a moment, then, unbidden, the thought of what he had witnessed snuffed out the joy. His eyes burned with unshed tears.

“If Gul’dan can infect one as innocent as him, what chance do the rest of us have?” Draka looked at him mutely, having no answer for him. “Whatever happens…” he began, but couldn’t finish.

“Whatever happens,” she replied.

9

Lothar’s mind was a whirlwind as he marched into the throne room. His men, who had known he was interrogating the prisoner about the enemy’s position, snapped to attention as he entered. Without preamble, he began firing questions at them.

“The Black Morass. What do you think?”

Karos raised his eyebrows. “You could hide an army in there.”

“Or lose one,” Varis countered. “You believe her, sir?”

“No.” It was blunt, and it was true. Lothar had noticed Khadgar’s reaction to the female, and he had to admit that she was attractive, for all her strangeness. And she wasn’t quite like the monsters that had descended with such terrifying violence in Elwynn Forest. But he would be a fool to blindly trust this Garona, and King Llane Wrynn did not tolerate fools.

“But… it’s what we have to go on,” he continued. “Best horses, small escort. Let’s see if this orc can be trusted. We leave at dawn.” They nodded and hurried off. He watched them go for a moment, then turned back to the throne room.

Medivh was there, waiting for him. “I won’t be going with you,” the Guardian said.