"They picked up the trail a few miles from Karazhan," Lothar had been informed the next morning. "And even better news, they took a prisoner along the way. One that knows some Common."
Lothar agreed that this was definitely good news. "Has he said anything?" he asked. He wanted to interrogate this orc himself.
"She," replied the sergeant.
His eyes narrowed dangerously. A female Horde prisoner who spoke Common? "Garona?" he asked, doing his best to sound neutral. Despite Khadgar's insistence there could be some other explanation for the half-orc woman's knife in Llane's neck, Lothar wasn't going to believe it without good evidence. They'd trusted her before, and now Llane was dead.
"No, not Garona," the soldier explained hastily. "This one's all orc – mean, green, and ugly. And no, she hasn't said much. According to the captain, she just keeps grinning and laughing like an idiot." He shrugged. "Not that I think any orc is in their right mind, but I think maybe this one's a bit touched in the head. That could explain how she got separated from the others."
"She could be Laughing Skull," Lothar mused. In the past few months, more information had been gleaned about the various orc tribes that made up the Horde. Not every tribe had given Gul'dan their full support, but Alliance spies had determined that the percentage of green, Fel-infused orcs had vastly increased in number. Gul'dan had obviously been sharing his "gift" with others of his kind, ramping up their lust for conquest and bloodshed.
This would only make things harder, Lothar knew, but not impossible...and not just for the rescue, but for the war itself. He was grateful once again that multiple kingdoms had come together to form this new Alliance; without the support each nation could offer one another, there would be no way for them to fight off the Fel-empowered orcish Horde separately. He was also thankful for his sister's skills in negotiation, as she had been the decisive force in forging most of these new pacts and treaties, even more so than himself. He was a soldier; she was a diplomat.
And then there was Khadgar. He'd done more than his share to bring the other nations on board, with his knowledge of the Fel and just how deadly it could be. He'd been the one who'd suggested showing the other kingdoms' ambassadors exactly what the Fel could do to a previously healthy landscape. They'd been cautioned not to touch any of the caustic green liquid that lingered and pooled in the places the orcs had been, of course, but even from a distance the devastation was clear.
Gul'dan killed the orcs' homeworld, Khadgar had told them solemnly. We can't let him kill ours as well.
It seemed to get through to them.
"We're ready to go," Lothar's second in command announced, once all the preparations were complete.
"Good," Lothar declared. "Let's get out there, and take this fight to the orcs."
His words seemed to rally the soldiers, who spoke enthusiastically about the mission and the rescue they were sure they would complete. But as the party prepared to set out, Lothar felt a twinge in his heart, and he couldn't help but offer a silent prayer that they wouldn't be too late.
/Not after...not after what Taria told me./