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but it had to be done. He nodded to the guards and entered the small tent that hosted Prophet Velen.
Since he had ordered Velen bound, he expected to see the elder with his hands tied. Instead, he saw that whoever had carried out
his order had done so with excessive zeal.
The tent had been erected around a sturdy tree, and Velen was now bound to the trunk. His arms had been yanked back at an
awkward angle, the ropes around the white flesh of his wrists tied so tightly that even in the dim light of twilight Durotan could
see that they were turning a darker shade. A rope tied, thankfully loosely, around his neck forced him to keep his head up or risk
choking. A diity cloth had been shoved in his mouth. He was on his knees, and his hooves, too, were bound behind him.
Durotan uttered a deep oath and drew a dagger. Velen gazed at him with no sign of fear in those deep blue eyes, but Durotan did
notice that the draenei looked surprised when the orc used the weapon to cut the bonds rather than his throat. Velen made no
sound, but a flicker of pain passed over his ghostly white face as blood returned to his limbs.
"I told them to bind you, not truss you up like a talbuk," Durotan muttered.
"Your people are very eager, it would seem."
Durotan passed the elder a watcrskin and watched him closely while he drank. Sitting before him in filthy clothing, gulping at
tepid water, his white flesh raw from the bonds, Velen did not look like much of a threat. How would he feel, he wondered, if he
had gotten word of the draenei treating Mother Kashur so? Everything about this felt wrong. Yet Mother Kashur herself had
assured Drek Thar that the draenei were a threat so dire as to be almost unimaginable.
There was a bowl of cold blood porridge on the ground. With his right foot, Durotan shoved it toward the prisoner. Velen eyed it,
but did not cat.
"Not quite the feast you served Orgrim and me when we dined in Telmor," Durotan said. "But it is nourishing."
Velen's lips curved in a smile. "That was a memorable evening."
"Did you get what you wanted from us that night?" Durotan demanded. He was angry, but not with Velen. He was angry that it
had come to this, that one who had shown him nothing but courtesy was now his captive. And so he took it out on the Prophet.
"I do not understand. We merely wished to be good hosts to two adventuresome boys."
Durotan got to his feet and kicked over the bowl. Congealed porridge oozed onto the earth. "Do you expect me to believe this?"
Velen did not rise to the bait. He replied calmly, "It is the truth. It is your choice as to whether you believe it."
Durotan dropped to his knees and shoved his face into Velen's. "Why are you trying to destroy us? What have we ever done to
you?"
"I might ask you the same question," said Velen. A flush had come to his white face. "We have never lifted a finger to harm you,
and now over two dozen draenei are dead from your attacks!"
The truth of the comment made Durotan even angrier. "The ancestors do not lie to us," he snarled. "We have been warned that you
are not what you would seem that you are our enemies. Why did you bring those crystals if not to attack us?" "We thought it might
help us better communicate with the being in the mountain." Velen spoke quickly, as if trying to get the words out before Durotan
could silence him. "It is not an enemy to the orcs,nor are We. Durotan, you are intelligent and wise. I saw this in you that night so
long ago. You are not one to blindly follow like an animal to slaughter. I know not why your leaders lie to you, but they do. We
have ever sought to interact peaceably with you. You are better than this, son of Gar .id. You are not like the others!"
Durotan's dark brown eyes narrowed. "You are wrong, draenei," he spat. "I am proud to be an ore. I embrace my heritage."
Velen looked exasperated. "You misunderstand. I do not malign your people. I merely  %
"Merely what? Merely tell us that the only reason We are seeing the beloved dead is because of your . . . your god trapped in the
mountain?"
"It is not a god, it is an ally, and would be one to your people as well if you would permit it to be."
Durotan swore and rose, stalking about the tent, his hands clenching and unclenching. Then he uttered a long, deep sigh, the anger
in him burning down to ashes.
"Velen, your words are but wood on the fire of our wrath," he said quietly. "Your claim is arrogant and offensive. It will support
those who are already prepared to slay your people on the word oi our ancestors. I do not understand myself but you are asking
to choose
between people I trust, traditions I have been raised on, and your word."
He turned and faced the draenei. "I will choose my people. You need to know this. If you and I come face-to-face on the field of
battle, I will not stay my hand."
Velen looked only curious. "You .. . will not take me to Ner zhul, then?"
Durotan shook his head. "No. If he wanted you, he should have come for you himself. He appointed me to treat with you, and I
have carried out my duties as I saw fit."
"You were supposed to deliver a prisoner to him," Velen said.
"I was to meet with you and listen to your words," Durotan said. "Had I captured you in battle, stricken a weapon from your
hands, and wrested you to the earth, then yes, you would be a prisoner. But there is no honor in binding a foe who extends his
hands willingly for the rope. We are at an impasse, you and I. You insist that you have no ill will toward the ores. My leaders and
the ghosts of my ancestors tell me otherwise."
Again, Durotan knelt before the draenei. "They call you Prophet do you know the future then? If so, then tell me what you and I
can do to avert what I fear will unfold. I would not shed innocent life, Velen. Give me something, anything, I can take to Ner zhul
that will prove that what you say is true!"
He realized he was pleading, but the fact did not distress him. He loved his wife, his clan, his people. He hated what he was
seeing: an entire generation rushing headlong to adulthood with only blind hate in their hearts. If begging before this strange being
could change this, then beg he would.
The strange blue eyes held an unspeakable empathy. Velen extended a pale hand and placed it on Durotan's shoulder.
"The future is not like a book one can read," he said quietly. "It is ever changing, like the rush of water, or the swirl of sand. I am
granted certain insights, but nothing more, I felt very strongly that I needed to come unarmed, and behold, I am greeted not by the
ores' greatest shaman, but by one who has slept safely under my roof. I do not think this an accident. Durotan. And if anything can [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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