Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

He clenched his hands tightly, not to make a fist, but to stop them from trembling in their desire to fasten about the slender human throats. The humans walked several steps toward him, then halted, waiting for him to close the distance.

Durotan did, striding to within a few feet of them. How small they are, he thought. How fragile. More like Garona than us. But how brave.

“You asked to speak with the human king,” Garona said to him. She gestured to the dark-haired, dark-eyed human. “Here he stands.”

Durotan couldn’t bring himself to utter a word. He was too busy trying to control his instincts. The humans exchanged glances, and the king broke the tense silence with his strange, clipped language.

“This is King Llane,” Garona said. “He says, he was told you wish to talk.”

Durotan inhaled a deep breath, willing himself to be calm, and nodded. The other man next to Llane said something quickly, looking at Durotan with more than a hint of wariness.

“Anduin Lothar wishes to know if you plan to return to your home through the portal you are building,” Garona translated.

“Our world is dying,” Durotan said. “There is nothing to go back to.”

“We are not responsible for destroying your world,” Llane said, through Garona. “War with us will solve nothing.”

Durotan sighed deeply, and thought of Orgrim’s words earlier. “For orcs,” he said, “war solves everything.”

“Then why are you meeting with us now?” The question was from Llane, who regarded Durotan fixedly. For the first time since the parley had begun, Durotan met those eyes. He saw no fear in them, only watchfulness, steadiness and… curiosity. This Llane did not know how honorable orcs were, or how much Durotan had wrestled with this decision. He knew nothing other than what Garona had told him. And yet, he had come.

He had come for the same reason Durotan had.

“To save our people,” Durotan told him.

When Garona translated, the king looked surprised. He exchanged glances with the one called Lothar, and Garona looked at Durotan expectantly.

“The fel takes life from more than its victims,” Durotan explained. “It kills the earth and corrupts those who use it. We saw this happen before, in my world of Draenor. The land died, the creatures were twisted… even the Spirits were harmed. Gul’dan would poison everything with his death magic here, as he did there. If my people are to survive, Gul’dan must be destroyed. In two suns, the humans we have captured will be used to fuel the portal. If you attack our camp and draw his warriors away, the Frostwolf clan will kill him.”

Llane listened intently as Garona translated, nodding now and then. He and Lothar conversed. Then, he turned again to Durotan. “Two days… if we do this, you will protect my people until then.”

Durotan thought of the cages, of the torment those inside them endured. Most of the orcs ignored the humans, but some did not. But this king wanted them safe—just as Durotan would want the same if their roles were reversed.

“I will try—” he began, unwilling to give his word on something he could not necessarily offer.

His words were drowned out by a roar behind him. All around them, green-skinned orcs leaped up from where they had been concealed by rocks, scrub trees, and cracks in the stone cliffs, charging at the Frostwolves with axes, hammers, and maces. Durotan saw the comprehension in Llane’s brown eyes just as he himself realized what had happened.

They had been betrayed.

And Durotan’s heart cracked as he understood by whom.

“Get back!”

Lothar, the lifelong soldier, had recovered from the shock first, drawing his sword and leaping atop Reliant. Llane was right behind him, already mounted on his own steed. Garona, her head swimming with shock at what she had just witnessed, was jolted out of her horror by a thunderous crashing sound. She whirled, seizing the reins of her horse, to behold a massive boulder hurtling down the cliffside toward them. Her mount neighed with terror, bolting and tearing the reins from her hands. The other riderless horses joined him. Lothar had told Garona the beasts had been trained for combat, but clearly not for this.

Garona howled with rage at being weaponless, save for the queen’s gift of the small, bejeweled dagger. It would be less than useless against maces, axes, and morning stars. Frustrated, she looked about wildly. She saw small, green-skinned figures atop the canyon’s walls; those orcs had doubtless been the ones to roll down the boulders. More orcs were flowing down behind the king’s soldiers, blocking the sole escape route. Others exploded out of seemingly harmless piles of stones along the path.

The battle was on in earnest. Llane and Lothar rode their steeds through the chaos, attempting to defend those who had been a moment too late and were now fighting unmounted. A massive bellow of gleeful bloodlust came from her right, and Garona turned.