World of Warcraft: Rise of the Horde (No. 4) by Christie Golden

Author:Christie Golden [Golden, Christie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780743471381
Amazon: 0743471385
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 2006-12-26T05:00:00+00:00

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names were appropriate. Their father shot them an angry look and they sobered at once.

Orgrim wondered if Blackhand would make a speech. He hoped not. Blackhand was at his best in action, not words, and his clan was more than ready to follow him. To his relief, Blackhand looked over the sea of warriors, nodded once, and then gave the order to attack.

The first wave charged, screaming wildly and pouring down the side of the foothills where Theyhad hidden. At first the ogres were so confused at the sight of three of their own allying with the ores that they simply stood and let themselves be slaughtered.

Then, as their slow brains began to comprehend that they were under attack, they rallied. They still did not attack their fellow ogres, who lumbered through their ranks to talk to the head of the guards stationed somewhere inside die cavern.

Orgrim was determined to enjoy the last authorized ogre-killing he was likely to taste, and swung the Doomhammer with

something akin to glee. His wolf was swift, and darted easily between the tree-trunk-thick legs of the ogre who raged impotently and swung his club as fiercely as he could. He recalled how big they had seemed to him as a child. They were still big, but so was he, now, and he wielded a legendary weapon with control and skill. He fractured the shin-bone of the ogre and it roared in agony.

Orgrim's wolf danced out of the way as the huge thing fell, making the earth tremble as it landed. It tried to get up, pushing its bulk off the ground with its large, fat hands, but by then other Blackrocks had swarmed upon it. Faster even than Orgrim could reckon, the ogre was dead and bleeding from over two dozen wounds.

Orgrim wheeled just in time to see one of the orcish warriors hurtling through the air. dead from a single blow from an ogre's massive club. Growling. Orgrim gathered himself to charge the murdering creature when a cry of "Hold, hold!" brought him up short.

It was testament to the power of Blackhand's personality that even now, even when most of the Blackrocks were caught in the grip of bloodlust and killing an ancient enemy, they stayed their hands. The ogres didn't, at least not at once, and Orgrim found himself riding away from the battle until the slow ogre brains understood what was going on. The thought galled him. It is for the good of all of us, Orgrim, he told himself.

He glanced over to see the ogres the Blackrocks had befriended talking to their kind. Or, rather, bellowing at them and

occasionally smacking them. But at least the ogres had been distracted from following the retreating ores and appeared to be listening. One of them, bigger and wearing something that looked like an official sash of some sort, actually seemed to have a brain. Orgrim could not understand the vile things and used the pause to catch his breath and gulp some water.

"Can't wait till we can kill them again," Rend said.

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