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Warcraft: Lord of the Clans: Archives Series Book 2 (Anglais) Poche – 21 juillet 2003

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Chapter One

Even the beasts were cold on a night such as this, mused Durotan. Absently he reached out to his wolf companion and scratched Sharptooth behind one of his white ears. The animal crooned appreciatively and snuggled closer. Wolf and orc chief stared together at the silent fall of white snow, framed by the rough oval that was the entrance to Durotan's cave.

Once, Durotan, chieftain of the Frostwolf clan, had known the kiss of balmier climes. Had swung his ax in the sunlight, narrowing small eyes against the gleam of sunshine on metal and against the spattering of red human blood. Once, he had felt a kinship with all of his people, not just those of his clan. Side by side they had stood, a green tide of death flooding over the hillsides to engulf the humans. They had feasted at the fires together, laughed their deep, booming laughs, told the stories of blood and conquest while their children drowsed by the dying embers, their little minds filled with images of slaughter.

But now the handful of orcs that comprised the Frostwolf clan shivered alone in their exile in the frigid Alterac Mountains of this alien world. Their only friends here were the huge white wolves. They were so different from the mammoth black wolves that Durotan's people had once ridden, but a wolf was a wolf, no matter the color of its fur, and determined patience combined with Drek'Thar's powers had won the beasts over to them. Now orc and wolf hunted together and kept one another warm during the interminable, snowy nights.

A soft, snuffling sound from the heart of the cave caused Durotan to turn. His harsh face, lined and held in perpetual tautness from years of worry and anger, softened at the noise. His little son, as yet unnamed until the ordained Naming Day of this cycle, had cried out as he was being fed.

Leaving Sharptooth to continue watching the snowfall, Durotan rose and lumbered back to the cave's inner chamber. Draka had bared a breast for the child to suckle upon, and had just removed the infant from his task. So that was why the child had whimpered. As Durotan watched, Draka extended a forefinger. With a black nail honed to razor sharpness, she pricked deep into the nipple before returning the infant's small head to her breast. Not a flicker of pain crossed her beautiful, strong-jawed face. Now, as the child fed, he would drink not only nourishing mother's milk, but his mother's blood as well. Such was appropriate food for a budding young warrior, the son of Durotan, the future chieftain of the Frostwolves.

His heart swelled with love for his mate, a warrior his equal in courage and cunning, and the lovely, perfect son they had borne.

It was then that the knowledge of what he had to do sank over him, like a blanket settling over his shoulders. He sat down and sighed deeply.

Draka glanced up at him, her brown eyes narrowing. She knew him all too well. He did not want to tell her of his sudden decision, although he knew in his heart it was the right one. But he must.

"We have a child now," Durotan said, his deep voice booming from his broad chest.

"Yes," replied Draka, pride in her voice. "A fine, strong son, who will lead the Frostwolf clan after his father dies nobly in battle. Many years from now," she added.

"I have a responsibility for his future," Durotan continued.

Draka's attention was now on him fully. He thought her exquisitely beautiful at this moment, and tried to brand the image of her in his mind. The firelight played against her green skin, casting her powerful muscles into sharp relief and making her tusks gleam. She did not interrupt, merely waited for him to continue.

"Had I not spoken against Gul'dan, our son would have more playmates with which to grow up," Durotan continued. "Had I not spoken against Gul'dan, we would have continued to be valued members of the Horde."

Draka hissed, opening her massive jaws and baring her fangs in displeasure at her mate. "You would not have been the mate I joined with," she boomed. The infant, startled, jerked his head away from the nourishing breast to look up at his mother's face. White milk and red blood dripped down his already jutting chin. "Durotan of the Frostwolf clan would not sit by and meekly let our people be led to their deaths like the sheep the humans tend. With what you had learned, you had to speak out, my mate. You could have done no less and still be the chieftain you are."

Durotan nodded at the truth of her words. "To know that Gul'dan had no love for our people, that it was nothing more than a way for him to increase his power...."

He fell silent, recalling the shock and horror -- and rage -- that had engulfed him when he had learned of the Shadow Council and Gul'dan's duplicity. He had tried to convince the others of the danger facing them all. They had been used, like pawns, to destroy the Draenei, a race that Durotan was beginning to think had not required extinction after all. And again, shuttled through the Dark Portal onto an unsuspecting world -- not the orcs' decision, no, but that of the Shadow Council. All for Gul'dan, all for Gul'dan's personal power. How many orcs had fallen, fighting for something so empty?

He searched for the words to express his decision to his mate. "I spoke, and we were exiled. All who followed me were. It is a great dishonor."

"Only Gul'dan's dishonor," said Draka fiercely. The infant had gotten over his temporary fright and was again nursing. "Your people are alive, and free, Durotan. It is a harsh place, but we have found the frost wolves to be our companions. We have plenty of fresh meat, even in the depths of winter. We have kept the old ways alive, as much as we can, and the stories around the fire are part of our children's heritage."

"They deserve more," said Durotan. He gestured with a sharp-nailed finger at his suckling son. "He deserves more. Our still-deluded brothers deserve more. And I will give it to them."

He rose and straightened to his full imposing height. His huge shadow fell over the forms of his wife and child. Her crestfallen expression told him that Draka knew what he was going to say before he spoke, but the words needed utterance. It was what made them solid, real...made them an oath not to be broken.

"There were some who heeded me, though they still doubted. I will return and find those few chieftains. I will convince them of the truth of my story, and they will rally their people. We shall no longer be slaves of Gul'dan, easily lost and not thought of when we die in battles that serve only him. This I swear, I, Durotan, chieftain of the Frostwolf clan!"

He threw back his head, opened his toothy mouth almost impossibly wide, rolled his eyes back, and uttered a loud, deep, furious cry. The baby began to squall and even Draka flinched. It was the Oath Cry, and he knew that despite the deep snow that often deadened sound, everyone in his clan would hear it this night. In moments, they would cluster around his cave, demanding to know the content of the Oath Cry, and making cries of their own.

"You shall not go alone, my mate," said Draka, her soft voice a sharp contrast to the ear-splitting sound of Durotan's Oath Cry. "We shall come with you."

"I forbid it."

And with a suddenness that startled even Durotan, who ought to have known better, Draka sprang to her feet. The crying baby tumbled from her lap as she clenched her fists and raised them, shaking them violently. A heartbeat later Durotan blinked as pain shot through him and blood dripped down his face. She had bounded the length of the cave and slashed his cheek with her nails.

"I am Draka, daughter of Kelkar, son of Rhakish. No one forbids me to follow my mate, not even Durotan himself! I come with you, I stand by you, I shall die if need be. Pagh!" She spat at him.

As he wiped the mixture of spittle and blood from his face, his heart swelled with love for this female. He had been right to choose her as his mate, to be the mother of his sons. Was there ever a more fortunate male in all of orc history? He did not think so.

Despite the fact that, if word reached Gul'dan, Orgrim Doomhammer and his clan would be exiled, the great Warchief made Durotan and his family welcome in his field camp. The wolf, however, he eyed with suspicion. The wolf eyed him back in the same manner. The rough tent that served Doomhammer for shelter was emptied of lesser orcs, and Durotan, Draka, and their yet-unnamed child were ushered in.

The night was a bit cool to Doomhammer, and he watched with wry amusement as his honored guests divested themselves of most of their clothing and muttered about the heat. Frostwolves, he mused, must be unused to such "warm weather."

Outside, his personal guards kept watch. With the flap that served as a door still open, Doomhammer watched them huddle around the fire, extending enormous green hands to the dancing flames. The night was dark, save for the small lights of the stars. Durotan had picked a good night for his clandestine visit. It was unlikely that the small party of male, female, and child had been spotted and identified for who they really were.

"I regret that I place you and your clan in jeopardy," were the first words Durotan spoke.

Doomhammer waved the comment aside. "If Death is to come for us, it will find us behaving with honor." He invited them to sit and with his own hands handed his old friend the dripping haunch of a fresh kill. It was still warm. Durotan nodded his acceptance, bit into the juicy flesh, and tore off a huge chunk. Draka did likewise, and then extended her bloody fingers to her baby. The child eagerly sucked the sweet liquid.

"A fine, strong boy," said Doomhammer.

Durotan nodded. "He will be a fitting leader of my clan. But we did not come all this way for you to admire my son."

"You spoke with veiled words many years ago," said Doomhammer.

"I wished to protect my clan, and I was not certain my suspicions were correct until Gul'dan imposed the exile," Durotan replied. "His swift punishment made it clear that what I knew was true. Listen, my old friend, and then you must judge for yourself."

In soft tones, so that the guards sitting at the fire a few yards away would not overhear them, Durotan began to speak. He told Doomhammer everything he knew -- the bargain with the demon lord, the obscene nature of Gul'dan's power, the betrayal of the clans through the Shadow Council, the eventual, and dishonorable, end of the orcs, who would be thrown as bait to demonic forces. Doomhammer listened, forcing his wide face to remain impassive. But within his broad chest his heart pounded like his own famous warhammer upon human flesh.

Could this be true? It sounded like a tale spewed by a battle-addled half-wit. Demons, dark pacts...and yet, this was Durotan who was speaking. Durotan, who was one of the wisest, fiercest, and noblest of the chieftains. From any other mouth, these he would have judged to be lies or nonsense. But Durotan had been exiled for his words, which lent them credence. And Doomhammer had trusted the other chieftain with his life many times before now.

There was only one conclusion. What Durotan was telling him was true. When his old friend finished speaking, Doomhammer reached for the meat and took another bite, chewing slowly while his racing mind tried to make sense of all that had been said. Finally, he swallowed, and spoke.

"I believe you, old friend. 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."

Obviously moved, Durotan extended his hand. Doomhammer gripped it tightly.

"You cannot stay overlong in this camp, though it would be an honor to have you do so," Doomhammer said as he rose. "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."

The guard said nothing as he led them out of the encampment several miles into the surrounding woods. Sure enough, the clearing to which he took them was secluded and verdant. Durotan could hear the trickling of the water. He turned to Draka.

"I knew my old friend could be trusted," he said. "It will not be long before -- "

And then Durotan froze. He had heard another noise over the splashing of the nearby stream. It was the snap of a twig under a heavy foot....

He screamed his battle cry and reached for his ax. Before he could even grasp the hilt the assassins were upon him. Dimly, Durotan heard Draka's shrill scream of rage, but could spare no instant to turn to her aid. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sharptooth spring on one intruder, knocking him to the earth.

They had come silently, with none of the pride in the hunt that was so integral to orcish honor. These were assassins, the lowest of the low, the worm beneath the foot. Except these worms were everywhere, and though their mouths remained closed in that unnatural silence, their weapons spoke with a purposeful tongue.

An ax bit deep into Durotan's left thigh and he fell. Warm blood flowed down his leg as he twisted and reached with his bare hands, trying desperately to throttle his would-be murderer. He stared up into a face frighteningly devoid of good, honest orc rage, indeed of any emotion at all. His adversary lifted the ax again. With every ounce of strength left to him, Durotan's hands closed on the orc's throat. Now the worm did show emotion as he dropped the ax, trying to pry Durotan's thick, powerful fingers from his neck.

A brief, sharp howl, then silence. Sharptooth had fallen. Durotan did not need to look to see. He still heard his mate grunting obscenities at the orc who, he knew, would slay her. And then a noise that sent fear shivering through him split the air: his infant son's cry of terror.

They shall not kill my son! The thought gave Durotan new strength and with a roar, despite the lifeblood ebbing from the severed artery in his leg, he surged upward and managed to get his foe beneath his huge bulk. Now the assassin squirmed in genuine terror. Durotan pressed hard with both hands and felt the satisfying snap of neck beneath his palms.

"No!" The voice belonged to the treasonous guard, the orc who had betrayed them. It was high, humanish with fear. "No, I'm one of you, they are the target -- "

Durotan looked up in time to see a huge assassin swing a blade almost bigger than he was in a smooth, precise arc. Doomhammer's personal guard didn't stand a chance. The sword sliced cleanly through the traitor's neck, and as the severed, bloody head flew past him, Durotan could still see the shock and surprise on the dead guard's face.

He turned to defend his mate, but he was too late. Durotan cried aloud in fury and raw grief as he saw Draka's still body, hacked almost to pieces, lying on the forest floor in a widening pool of blood. Her killer loomed over her, and now turned his attention to Durotan.

In a fair battle, Durotan would have been a match for any three of them. Grievously wounded as he was, with no weapon save his hands, he knew he was about to die. He did not try to defend himself. Instead, out of deep instinct he reached for the small bundle that was his child.

And stared foolishly at the spurting fountain of blood that sprang from his shoulder. His reflexes were slowing from lack of blood, and before he could even react, his left arm joined the right to lie, twitching, on the ground. The worms would not even let him hold his son one more time.

The injured leg could bear him no longer. Durotan toppled forward. His face was inches away from that of his son's. His mighty warrior's heart broke at the expression on the baby's face, an expression of total confusion and terror.

"Take...the child," he rasped, amazed that he could even speak.

The assassin bent close, so that Durotan could see him. He spat in Durotan's eye. For a moment, Durotan feared he would impale the baby right in front of his father's eyes.

"We will leave the child for the forest creatures," snarled the assassin. "Perhaps you can watch as they tear him to bits."

And then they were gone, as silently as they had left. Durotan blinked, feeling dazed and disoriented as the blood left his body in rivers. He tried again to move and could not. He could only stare with failing eyesight at the image of his son, his small chest heaving with his screams, his tiny fists balled and waving frantically.

Draka...my beloved...my little son...I am so sorry. I have brought us to this....

The edges of his vision began to turn gray. The image of his child began to fade. The only comfort that Durotan, chieftain of the Frostwolf clan, had as his life slowly ebbed from him was the knowledge that he would die before having to witness the horrible spectacle of his son being eaten alive by ravenous forest beasts.

"By the Light, what a noise!" Twenty-two-year-old Tammis Foxton wrinkled his nose at the noise that was echoing through the forest. "Might as well turn back, Lieutenant. Anything that loud is certain to have frightened any game worth pursuing."

Lieutenant Aedelas Blackmoore threw his personal servant a lazy grin.

"Haven't you learned anything I've tried to teach you, Tammis?" he drawled. "It's as much about getting away from that damned fortress as bringing back supper. Let whatever it is caterwaul all it likes." He reached for the saddlebag behind him. The bottle felt cool and smooth in his hand.

"Hunting cup, sir?" Tammis, despite Blackmoore's comments, had been ideally trained. He extended a small cup in the shape of a dragon's head that had been hooked onto his saddle. Hunting cups were specifically designed for such a purpose, having no base upon which to sit. Blackmoore debated, then waved the offer away.

"One too many steps." With his teeth he pulled out the cork, held it in one hand, and raised the bottle's mouth to his lips.

Ah, this stuff was sweet. It burned an easy trail down his throat and into his gut. Wiping his mouth, Blackmoore recorked the bottle and put it back in the saddlebag. He deliberately ignored Tammis's look, quickly averted, of concern. What should a servant care how much his master drank?

Aedelas Blackmoore had risen swiftly through the ranks because of his almost incredible ability to slice a swath through the ranks of orcs on the battlefield. His superiors thought this due to skill and courage. Blackmoore could have told them that his courage was of the liquid variety, but he didn't see much point in it.

His reputation also didn't hurt his chances with the ladies. Neither did his dashing good looks. Tall and handsome, with black hair that fell to his shoulders, steel-blue eyes, and a small, neatly trimmed goatee, he was the perfect heroic soldier. If some of the women left his bed a little sadder but wiser, and more than occasionally with a bruise or two, it mattered nothing to him. There were always plenty more where they came from.

The ear-splitting sound was starting to irritate him. "It's not going away," Blackmoore growled.

"It could be an injured creature, sir, incapable of crawling away," said Tammis.

"Then let's find it and put it out of our misery," replied Blackmoore. He kicked Nightsong, a sleek gelding as black as his name, with more force than was necessary and took off at a gallop in the direction of the hellish noise.

Nightsong came to such an abrupt halt that Blackmoore, usually the finest of riders, nearly sailed over the beast's head. He swore and punched the animal in the neck, then fell silent as he saw what had caused Nightsong to stop so quickly.

"Blessed Light," said Tammis, riding up beside him on his small gray pony. "What a mess."

Three orcs and a huge white wolf lay sprawled on the forest floor. Blackmoore assumed that they had died recently. There was as yet no stink of decomposition, though the blood had congealed. Two males, one female. Who cared what sex the wolf had been. Damned orcs. It would save humans like him a lot of trouble if the brutes turned on themselves more often.

Something moved, and Blackmoore saw what it was that had been shrieking so violently. It was the ugliest thing he had ever seen...an orc baby, wrapped in what no doubt passed for a swaddling cloth among the creatures. Staring, he dismounted and went to it.

"Careful, sir!" yelped Tammis. "It might bite!"

"I've never seen a whelp before," said Blackmoore. He nudged it with his boot toe. It rolled slightly out of its blue and white cloth, screwed its hideous little green face up even more, and continued wailing.

Though he had already downed the contents of one bottle of mead and was well into the second, Blackmoore's mind was still sharp. Now, an idea began to form in his head. Ignoring Tammis's unhappy warnings, Blackmoore bent over and picked up the small monster, tucking the blue and white cloth snugly about it. Almost immediately, it stopped crying. Blue-gray eyes locked with his.

"Interesting," said Blackmoore. "Their infants have blue eyes when they are young, just as humans do." Soon enough those eyes would turn piggy and black, or red, and gaze upon all humans with murderous hate.


For years, Blackmoore had worked twice as hard to be half as well regarded as other men of equal birth and rank. He had labored under the stigma of his father's treachery, and had done everything possible to gain power and position. He was still skeptically regarded by many; "blood of a traitor" was often muttered when those around him thought him unable to hear. But now, perhaps he might one day not have to listen to those cutting comments any longer.

"Tammis," he said thoughtfully, gazing intently into the incongruously soft blue of the baby orc's eyes, "did you know that you have the honor to serve a brilliant man?"

"Of course I did, sir," Tammis replied, as was expected. "May I inquire as to why this is particularly true at this moment?"

Blackmoore glanced up at the still-mounted servant, and grinned. "Because Lieutenant Aedelas Blackmoore holds in his hands something that is going to make him famous, wealthy, and best of all, powerful."

Copyright © 2001 by Blizzard Entertainment.

Présentation de l'éditeur

Slave. Gladiator. Shaman. Warchief. The enigmatic Orc known as Thrall has been all of these. Raised from infancy by cruel human masters who sought to mould him into their perfect pawn, Thrall was driven by both the savagery in his heart and the cunning of his upbringing to pursue a destiny he was only beginning to understand - to break his bondage and rediscover the ancient traditions of his people. Now the tumultuous tale of his life's journey - a saga of honour, hatred, and hope - can at last be told...

Détails sur le produit

  • Poche: 288 pages
  • Editeur : S & S International; Édition : Reprint (21 juillet 2003)
  • Collection : Warcraft
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 0743426908
  • ISBN-13: 978-0743426909
  • Dimensions du produit: 10,6 x 2,5 x 17,1 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.0 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (3 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: 50.486 en Livres anglais et étrangers (Voir les 100 premiers en Livres anglais et étrangers)
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile  Par Mr. Bacquet Frederic le 1 mars 2003
Format: Poche
L'intrigue est assez classique, mais le livre est très bien écrit. Tous les fans de Warcraft apprécieront de retrouver Thrall, l'un des personnages les plus charismatiques de la série. Pour la petite histoire, il s'agit du scénario du jeu avorté du même nom ;)
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Format: Poche
Ce très bon roman comble le vide scénaristique qui existe entre Warcraft 2 et Warcraft 3, notamment à cause de l'annulation de Wacraft Adventures. On prend surtout plaisir à découvrir les terres d'Azeroth du point de vue d'un orc, qui permet de faire le lien entre l'image qu'ils ont dans Warcraft 2, celle de bêtes sanguinaires et sans remords, et celle de Warcraft 3, celle d'êtres qui ont l'air finalement très humains, tiraillés entre leur instinct et leur raison.
Pour le néophyte de l'univers, il reste l'histoire épique d'un personnage attachant, à la manière du Maximus de Gladiator. Christie Golden parvient à nous entraîner dans une aventure sans pauses, pleine de rebondissements, et qui surtout ne vous fera plus jamais porter le même regard sur ces monstres verts à la mâchoire carrée.
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0 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile  Par cestreu6 le 8 mars 2006
Format: Poche
A book from the Orc's point of view, at first I was skeptical that they could pull it off well, but it turns out they did it very well. I was drawn into their society and the book as a whole left me wanting more. Great job.
**A book I would also recommend is The Unsuspecting Mage by Brian S. Pratt. This, the first installment of The Morcyth Saga is a great beginning for a new author. Battles, magic, gods, secret passages and intrigue, all the elements of a classic epic fantasy! Any fantasy reader will enjoy it
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Amazon.com: 79 commentaires
9 internautes sur 9 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Excellent introduction to Warcraft III 24 novembre 2003
Par Tony Irving - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Poche
When I purchased Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos well over a year ago, Future Shop included many free items with the game, including this book. At first I thought the book was going to be really cheesy and lame, but I decided to start reading it one night anyways.
I was very impressed with the book. Right from the get-go, there is a great story. Any fan of the Warcraft series will be able to relate to the book, and even those who aren't should be able to to pick it up and understand what's going on. Obviously, someone who hasn't played the game won't be familiar with all the names and characters mentioned, but you don't need to have a firm grasp on the Warcraft storyline to appreciate the actual book.
I agree with most of the other reviews saying that the book is rather predictable, but it's predictable in a good way, I found. You don't feel bored reading it. You have a sense of knowing what will happen, but you still enjoy reading it when it does.
The thing I enjoyed most about the book was the way it explains the transition from Warcraft II to Warcraft III. It perfectly explains the events leading up to Warcraft III.
After reading this book and thoroughly enjoying it, I decided to pick up the other two books from the series. I didn't enjoy either one as much as this one, but that's not to say they were bad. Unlike the other two, this book fits right into the game's storyline. I think that's why I enjoyed Lord of the Clans much more than the other two. Conversely, some people may in fact enjoy the other two more because of this, since they are more independent, not relying on the game's story to form their own plots.
I strongly recommend this book to anyone who is a fan of the Warcraft games, and even encourage reading it before playing Warcraft III, since it gives great depth into Thrall's character in the game.
11 internautes sur 12 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Great read, too short to buy 8 mars 2003
Par Keith Tokash - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Poche
I have played Warcraft since 1993 so I had to read this. If I had recognized the author's name I may not have bought it though since I hated her book "Vampire of the Mist" (1st book in the Ravenloft series). However I'm glad I read this since it provided depth and background that was sorely lacking in regards to the orcs. Instead of stupid savage brutes bent on destruction, Warcraft3 portrayed them as noble and civilized, but there wasn't too much story there (it was only a game though so I'm not complaining).
Thrall's character is completely revealed and I actually cared about him. The antagonist was well done also as I wanted Thrall to kill him, but the author didn't make him a cheesy villian type; rather he was just an abusive SOB alcoholic. It's too bad these types can't get the sword more often in real life because the author made his character so realistic that I believe she has had experience with these people.
Overall the plot was interesting, although it mainly just introduced a portion of the Warcraft world (just like the other two Warcraft books). The character development was excellent. The action was great too; it was exciting without the unbelievable heroics of a Jean Rabe character (yuck).
My only criticism is that the book weighs in at a palty 278 pages, which I blasted through in about 2.5 days (it's very easy reading). This to me was not worth the seven bones plus tax that I coughed up for it. Better to borrow it.
21 internautes sur 26 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Enjoyable but predictable 3 octobre 2001
Par Nathan - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Poche
"Lord of the Clans," the second WarCraft novel (third if you count the eBook), is yet another worthy addition to the series. Taking place over a number of years, it takes place after "Day of the Dragon" and before "Of Blood and Honor." Basically, this book is just an adaptation of the cancelled adventure game of the same title that was in the works at Blizzard a couple of years ago. While Christie Golden doesn't have as fluid or readable a writing style as Richard Knaak, this book still flows very nicely, as it has a much smaller focus. Unfortunately, the story itself is very familiar - the outcast, in this case an orc, raised among humans as a slave and fighter, finds freedom, tries to fit in with his own people, and ends up, of course, excelling beyond all expectations.
"Lord of the Clans" really has nothing to do with "Day of the Dragon," but the direction this series of novels seems to be taking overall is that of a lead-in to the game "WarCraft III: Reign of Chaos," in which it seems that the Orcs and Humans, if still not friendly, are at least fighting together against a common foe. "Day of the Dragon" started out somewhat boring, with lots of expository writing, and served to introduce us to the various races of the Alliance at the end of the time of WarCraft II - namely Humans, Dwarves, and Elves. By the time of the beginning of "Lord of the Clans," the wars are over - the Orcs are essentially wiped out or being kept in large internment camps. This novel is about an Orc named Thrall, raised by humans as a gladiator, who has also picked up some other human traits - mercy, tactical thinking, and has also managed to pick up on the nobility of the Orcish clans before they were united by the evil Gul'Dan into the Horde. Thrall, once he gains freedom, begins a quest to find out who he is and ends up becoming...well, the title says it all.
This book gives us a fair amount of background on the Orcs, and is in fact very readable. Aside from a glaring grammatical error right on the first page, I found very few typos, although this novel does suffer, though not as badly, from the same problem that plagued "Day of the Dragon" - how hard would it be for them to copy a map from an old WarCraft manual and stick it in the front of the novel?
Overall, this book isn't technically as good as "Day of the Dragon," but it's very readable, and the relationships don't seem quite as forced in this book as in the previous one. J.R.R. Tolkein it's not, but "Lord of the Clans" is an engaging and entertaining fantasy novel in its own right, setting down an important chapter in the history of the World of WarCraft.
11 internautes sur 13 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
An excellent book, and my favorite of the series 8 août 2003
Par Michael P. - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Poche Achat vérifié
Many who have been long-time fans of Warcraft know about the 'Greatest Adventure Game That Never Was'. Warcraft Adventures: Lord of the Clans was a complete departure from the traditional strategy formula of Warcraft. Becoming a point and click adventure, using cartoonish animated sequences, Blizzard Entertainment ultimately cancelled the ill-fated game due to quality assurance reasons. However, this story was far too important to the Warcraft Lore to ignore, hence it was transformed into a novel. And I must say, I am not only impressed with how the novel turned out, but I also personally feel that this is the best book in the series.
When a baby Orc, barely a year old, is found alone in the forests surrounding Durnholde, a cocky and scheming human named Blackmoore takes the baby in. Entrusting the baby to his servant, Blackmoore plans to use the Orc to his advantage. As 20 year pass, the Second War has long been over, and the once tiny and innocent baby grows up to become the mighty Thrall, raised in the care of cruel human masters, while his people whither away in deternment camps. This tale spans Thrall's life from his tragic beginnings to his final victory. Over the course of the book, familiar characters, such as the ferocious and mighty Grom Hellscream, play key roles in the development of Thrall and the story. While I do not wish to tell any more about the story than I already have, rest assured that many more familiar characters make surprising appearences in this book, as well as some of the new characters in this book making appearences in Warcraft III.
Although I must agree with what others have said about the book being somewhat predictable, I found it to be a very intriguing read. Much like Day of the Dragon before it, I found this book difficult to put down. Perhaps the strongest aspect of this book was the raw emotion that went into it. As I read this book, I found that I cared for Thrall so much that my emotions matched his. I can honestly say that this book did everything from make me laugh, to make me feel Thrall's rage, to utterly breaking my heart (and that's no easy thing to do). The fact that this occurred only further proves how well this book was written.
As with Day of the Dragon, all of the lore in this book was true to the Warcraft history. Despite being done by different authors, Day of the Dragon and Lord of the Clans had no differences from one another. Clearly Blizzard had controlling interests in the development of these books, and that is a very good thing. I found Lord of the Clans to be very similar to Gladiator, as well as a few other films and books. These similarities are not bad at all...they only lend to the overall quality of the book.
Those that took an interest in Thrall in Warcraft III and wanted to know of his humble beginnings will be able to do so with this book. It ties in completely to the game and true Warcraft fans will love this book. As a standalone book, once again I recommend that those not versed in Warcraft lore pass. If interested, it makes for a great read, but only those familiar with Warcraft history will understand everything that occurs in the book. This was definitely a great, moving book and I was very satisfied in the end.
5 internautes sur 5 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Expertly written book 28 juillet 2002
Par Jonathan Castro - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Poche
This is an excelent book and I encourage others to read it. The story of an orcish slave tells so much about the other side. Usually in every fictional book I've read, It always focuses on the humans and what they do and believe in. But this book turns that perspective around and gives you a whole different point of view. Lord of the Clans is a very intense book and really gives you a lot of details about the orcs. As I said before, This is an excellent book and I recommend this book to anyone.
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