The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Read Online Free PDF Page B

gently on Garrosh’s armor-clad shoulder. “And self-centered fools get in the way of thosetrying to
save
lives,” he growled. “Do not be a fool, Garrosh Hellscream. Captain Tula needs to tend the ship so that it won’t snap in two, not waste precious energy and time trying to stop us from being washed overboard!”
    Garrosh stared at him, then threw back his head and howled his frustration. But to his credit, he did not attempt to rush back up the stairs.
    Cairne braced himself for a long, bruising wait at best, a cold, wet death at worst. Instead, the storm abated as suddenly as it had come. They had not even caught their breath when the ship’s violent, rocking movements stilled. They stared at one another for a moment, then both turned and hastened up the stairs.
    Unbelievably the sun was already coming out from behind rapidly dissipating clouds. It was an incongruously cheerful sight compared to what greeted Cairne’s eyes as he emerged.
    Sunlight glinted on the calm, silver surface of an ocean littered with debris. Cairne glanced wildly around, counting ships as he saw them. He counted only three, and prayed to the ancestors that the remaining two ships were merely scattered, although the debris bobbing in the water was mute testimony to the fact that some of them, at least, had not made it.
    Survivors, clutching the floating crates, were crying out for aid, and both Cairne and Garrosh rushed to assist. This, at least, they could help with, and so spent the next hour bringing gasping, soaked orcs, trolls, and tauren—with the occasional sodden Forsaken or blood elf—aboard the ships that remained.
    Captain Tula was grim-faced and taciturn as she barked out orders.
Mannoroth’s Bones
had survived the—hurricane? Typhoon? Tsunami? Cairne wasn’t sure. Their ship was largely intact, and was now crowded to the gills with shivering survivors huddled in blankets. Cairne patted a young troll on the shoulder as he handed her a mug of hot soup, then moved to the captain.
    “What happened?” he asked quietly.
    “Cursed if I know,” was the reply. “I be on de ocean since I be a youngster. I be makin’ dis voyage dozens of times, resupplyingWarsong Hold until dem Kvaldir stopped me. And I never be seein’ anyting like dat.”
    Cairne nodded solemnly. “I hope I do not offend if I say, I guessed as much. Do you think perhaps—”
    A howl of outrage that could only issue from the throat of a Hellscream interrupted him. Cairne whirled to see Garrosh pointing at the horizon. He was visibly shaking, but it was clear that it was with anger, not fear or cold.
    “Look there!” he cried. Cairne gazed where he pointed, but again, his aged eyes failed him. Not so Captain Tula’s. They widened.
    “They be flyin’ de flag of Stormwind,” she said.
    “Alliance? In our waters?” said Garrosh. “They are in clear violation of the treaty.”
    Garrosh referred to a treaty between the Horde and the Alliance, signed shortly after the fall of the Lich King. Both factions had been sorely damaged by the long battle, and both sides had agreed to a cessation of hostilities, including the struggles at Alterac Valley, Arathi Basin, and Warsong Gulch, for a brief time.
    “
Are
we still in Horde waters?” asked Cairne quietly. Tula nodded.
    Garrosh grinned. “Then by all laws, theirs and ours, they are ours for the taking! We are allowed by the treaty to defend our territory—including our waters!”
    Cairne couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Garrosh, we are not in any condition to be mounting an attack. Nor do they seem to be interested in us. Have you considered the possibility that the same storm that so damaged us blew them off course? That they are not here to attack, but are here only by accident?”
    “The winds of fate, then,” Garrosh said. “They should face their destiny with honor.”
    Cairne understood at once what was going on. Garrosh had a perfectly valid excuse for action, and he obviously intended