Chapter 10

In the Land of the Old God

"I think the Orcs are a proud race, Koramosh. Putting aside the differences of our warring nations, I believe there could be many good things happening between the Elves and the Orcs," said Iyana, replying to Koramosh's question.

Sitting close by, Gordreck eyed Iyana openly, and Stefan was unsure of what kept the Dwarf from just grabbing her. Of course if Gordreck had no restraint, it would be Stefan that would keep him away. As comely and attractive as Iyana Moonbreeze was, she was a valuable ally and one that he owed much to. Had she been a hidden enemy as Rok'Roham had been, he probably would not have lived through the subterfuge at Stormwind Keep.

"And wot' do yeh' think o' the Dwarves, lass?" asked Gordreck, smiling a bit too broadly.

"Well," she began, presenting the Dwarf a smile of her own, "The Dwarves are already our allies, and from the friendly terms we are on, I can say that there is nothing wrong with the Dwarves at all. Besides their love for liquor, perhaps."

Gordreck roared with laughter, louder than the engine of their vehicle. "A good one lass, but there is little that can come between a Dwarf and his pint!"

He placed a hand on her knee, winking slyly at Iyana. Her smile never left her face.

"Well, unless you want to drink your liquor out of a dog bowl, I suggest you take your hand off of my leg, Gordreck."

It was Stefan's turn to laugh. Gordreck obliged, and didn't make eye contact with Iyana for several minutes. Having taken care of the Dwarf, she directed her attention to the Human.

"So, Stefan. I didn't get a chance to tell you how good it is to see you again. Nor did I apologize for earlier," she said, pausing to pull a strand of hair aside. "I could not be too careful."

Stefan nodded knowingly. "I understand, Iyana. It's perfectly reasonable."

"I knew you would," replied the Elf, smiling genuinely at Stefan. Gordreck scowled.

Stefan took a brief moment of silence to look out over the plains of Tanaris. Ahead, the steep descent into the Un'goro Crater opened before them, beckoning. He knew that traversing the strange lands of Un'Goro would be dangerous. He had been there only once, and was reluctant to revisit.

"Tell me," he started, directing his attention back to Iyana, "If Rok'Roham intends to go to Outland, why is he first going to Silithus? It is a long way from the Dark Portal."

"I learned that he seeks something within the temples of the Old God. Perhaps an artifact?" she said. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Well unless his followers are as devout as you say they are, they are going to have a problem. The temples are still heavily guarded by the Old God's minions, not to mention an army of Alliance and Horde alike working in unison to destroy them. Rok'Roham's got no allies there," said Stefan.

"Aye, mon! He betta' off takin' on the Maelstrom. Roham dunno' what he's up against," further agreed Guro'jintal.

Stefan nodded. "That's what's worrying me."

They remained silent as the dreary deserts of Tanaris disappeared behind them, leaving the endless greenery of Un'Goro Crater ahead.

---

Horiz drew a hand across his face to wipe the beading sweat away for the umpteenth time since the sun had peeked over the mountains of Silithus. The crew had been at work for several hours now, and they hadn't slowed one bit. They had removed stone after stone from the temple outcropping, placing the large blocks onto carts to be shipped back to Cenarion Hold, where they would be distributed elsewhere for study and practical uses. The chance to help his people and faction relations outweighed the pain of the back-breaking effort the Orc had to endure from dawn till dusk. But Horiz was that kind of greenskin.

He dropped another heavy stone onto the cart, then stepped back for a brief moment of respite. They had not loaded even half of the entire payload. The pile of giant stone blocks was intimidating. But like he always had, Horiz shook it off. An Orc's life had never been a cake walk.

A pair of voices reached his ear. He turned around, and nearly lost his breath at the site before him. Marching toward his crew in neat columns, was a small army of brown-robed figures. They were well over one hundred in number, and at their head was a Blood Elf female dressed in ludicrously revealing armor. She was indubitably their leader, considering her attire and the intricate sword she held in one hand. Horiz looked at the symbol emblazoned on the banner she held in the other, but did not recognize its markings. Almost comically, a lone Orc guard was keeping pace with the Blood Elf, speaking in a raised, angered voice. She made no point to direct any attention to him, and kept her brilliant green eyes staring forward.

They were coming right toward Horiz and his labor crew. He chuckled in amusement.

This should be good, he thought.

"--Ma'am, you simply cannot! You must have the proper authorization!" pleaded the guard. Again, the Blood Elf did not give him a hint of recognition. She simply stopped when she came within a polite distance of Horiz, and remained silent. The regiment behind her stopped as well, and waited. The Orc guard gulped visibly, then scuttled over next to Horiz.

"Good afternoon, Blood Elf. Welcome to Silithus," started Horiz, leaning to one side and taking a long look at the horde of robed figures. "Have you brought me fresh laborers?"

"To your dismay, no," she replied simply. "I come here in the name of the blessed Prophet. He has asked for the requisition of a certain artifact you have obtained, which rightfully belongs to Him."

Horiz was taken aback, but somewhat amused by her curt reply. "Forgive me, madame, but I am only a humble laborer. And if something we possess here is what you are seeking, you must take it up with the overseers of Cenarion Hold. I am sure they would know what you--"

"You are wasting our time, Orc. Relinquish the Flayer's Idol to us, or we shall remove it by force," interrupted the Blood Elf.

Horiz was appalled. He would have liked to slap the insolent Elf across her pale cheek, but he knew himself to be a more honorable being.

"I wish I could help you. I have no idea what this Flayer's Idol is. If you truly seek it, I shall not get in your way. Just--"

He could say no more. The last thing Horiz saw was the Blood Elf's blazing eyes, unwavering as she brought the sword around in a sweeping arc, and decapitated the Orc in a single, fluid motion. Horiz's head slumped off his shoulders and fell to the burning sands. As his body toppled over, Gerita was already swinging at the Night Elf guard, slicing a deep wound across his chest.

"To arms, my brethren! Ignorance has befallen these sad bunch! We must cleanse their wrongs and proceed with His wishes! Leave no infidel's mettle untested! In the name of the Prophet, purify!"

"PURIFY, IN THE PROPHET'S NAME!" sounded the zealots' single voice.

Horiz was only the first of many innocents to fall as Rok'Roham's followers descended upon the band of laborers. Drawn from different corners of Azeroth to his promise of wealth and power, they came from a variety of occupations, and brought the tools of their trade as makeshift weapons. Unarmed, the crew could do little to defend themselves. Where they were able to bring down one of their assailants, five came to fill his spot. In minutes, the site was a massacre.

As the horde of robed acolytes rummaged through the pile of stones, Gerita looked out onto the desert, watching as a single Tauren ran off toward Cenarion Hold, kicking up vast quantities of sand in its wake. She smiled wickedly.

To slay in His name brings only good fortune to thee. And if His wishes cannot be fulfilled directly, the letting of blood is a sufficient replacement, she thought, remembering one of his many lessons.

"Then let there be blood," she muttered to herself. The Blood Elf turned back to watch the acolytes at their work.