Thrall Twilight of the Aspects by Christie Golden Page A

of it. They looked curiously at Thrall, but as he was clearly with Grukar, they soon lost interest in him.
    “Wait here for me,” Grukar said quietly. “I will not be long.” Thrall nodded and went to the bonfire a few feet away. Several other guards huddled there, holding out their hands to the flame. Thrall imitated them, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible. And then he heard voices.
    Or rather, a single voice. Thrall could not catch all the words, but someone was speaking of Gul’dan. Thrall’s eyes narrowed as he listened. Gul’dan had betrayed the orcs. He had allied with demons in order to increase his own personal power and formed the Shadow Council to undermine the clans. Worst of all, he had persuaded the highest-ranking orcs of Draenor to drink demonic blood. It was this stain that had hounded them for so long. Even those who had not partaken found themselves developing an unquenchable thirst for slaughter, their skin turning green with the taint, until Thrall’s friend Grom Hellscream had finally, fully freed the orcs by slaying the demon Mannoroth, whose blood had been the cause of so much torment.
    But that heroic act was many years in the future, Thrall knew. In this timeway, Gul’dan’s treachery was still new. And someone had come to persuade Orgrim Doomhammer to overthrow Gul’dan.
    At last, the grim tale wound down. For a moment there was silence.
    And then Thrall heard a voice he had never thought to hear again. It was younger, slightly higher than what Thrall remembered, but he knew it at once, and a lump crept into his throat.
    “I believe you, old friend.”
    Orgrim Doomhammer.
    “And let me reassure you, I will not stand for Gul’dan’s plans for our people. We will stand against the darkness with you.”
    Thrall suddenly wondered: Had he even been born when this conversation took place? Who had had the courage to come to Doomhammer with such—
    And then he knew, and the knowing suddenly took his breath away.
    “One of my personal guards will escort you to a safe place. There is a stream nearby and much game in the woods this time of year, so you shall not go hungry. I will do what I can on your behalf, and when the time is right, you and I shall stand side by side as we slay the great betrayer Gul’dan together.”
    But that wasn’t what had happened. What had happened was—
    The tent flap was drawn back. Three orcs emerged. One was Doomhammer—younger, fit, strong, and proud. In his face Thrall could see the older orc he would one day become. But although he had thought just a moment ago he would hunger to look upon Orgrim’s face once again, he found his eyes riveted on the other two orcs.
    They were a mated pair, donning fur clothing that was much too heavy for this climate as they emerged from the tent. With them was a large white wolf—a frost wolf, Thrall knew. They stood tall and proud, the male powerful and battle-toned, the female every inch the warrior that her mate was.
    And in her arms, she bore an infant.
    Thrall knew the child.
    It was he … and the orcs who stood before him now were his parents.
    He simply stared at them, joy and shock and horror racing through him.
    “Come, Durotan, Draka,” said Grukar. “Thra’kash and I will escort you to your safe camp.”
    The baby fussed. The female—…
    Mother …
    —looked down at the child, her strong, proud orcish features softening with love. She then looked back at Thrall. Their eyes met.
    “Your eyes are strange, Thra’kash,” she said. “I have only seen blue eyes in this little one before.”
    Thrall reached for words, but Grukar suddenly looked at him oddly. “Let us make haste,” he said. “Surely a discussion of eye color can wait until you are safely at your new location.”
    Thrall had never felt so lost before in his life. He followed mutely as Grukar led his parents down to the same spot where he had entered this timeway. His mind reeled with the implications.
    He could