Chapter 8 - Honor
"You know he let you win." Kheylez said.
Mallet said nothing. He stared south across the barrens. A tiny gold spec could be seen moving along the horizon. The paladin watched it with unblinking eyes. Kurn, Eitrigg, and Kheylez stood nearby.
"I think not." Eitrigg said after a moment. "I did not know this Dorkan Tork, but it seemed to me that he would have been too proud to do that. Dorkan may have had a death wish, but he would never battle with less than all of his ability."
The gold speck drew closer, and took the shape of Mallet's steed. It galloped close, and stopped a dozen paces away, eyeing the orcs warily. Mallet strode to his old friend and patted Star's flank. Mounting her quickly, he turned to the orcs.
"I thank you for your hospitality, and for seeing past your prejudices. Eitrigg, I see now what Tiron saw in you. I wish I had his strength, but the wounds of the first war run too deep. In truth, I came here expecting that your people would never let me leave. I was not expecting to ever see home again. Now I face an uncertain future. Perhaps in time, maybe the alliance and horde will grow to hate each other less."
Kheylez merely grunted. "Your story may have fooled the rest of them, paladin, but I know the truth. Your alliance is weak. The orcs are the destined rulers of this world. It is only a matter of time. Out of respect for my Warchief, I will not challenge you today. But one day we will meet again. And on that day, I will reclaim my honor."
Mallet frowned. "Your words echo of Blackhand and of Doomhammer. We may meet again on day, and you might even defeat me on the field. But you cannot reclaim what you never had." And with that the paladin turned and galloped off into the sunset.