Beyond the Dark Portal

by Aaron Rosenberg

  “I—we found something, sir,” the warrior replied. The smile was broadening into a grin now, and that lifted Ner’zhul’s spirits. Whatever it was they had found, clearly this scout did not consider it a threat. Ner’zhul gestured for the orc to lead on, and followed him out of the room they had claimed for their project and down the long tunnel behind it. Other warriors were clustered there, and as Ner’zhul approached they fell back.

  “By the ancestors!” Ner’zhul whispered, the words falling from slack lips as he gaped openly. Before him stood several figures. One was an ogre and the rest…were orcs! Ner’zhul did not recognize them, though, and their attire and adornment were wholly strange to him.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, stopping only a few feet from these strangers. “And what are you doing here in Auchindoun?”

  One of the orcs stepped forward. He was short and stout, much as Gul’dan had been, and indeed Ner’zhul saw much of his former student in the stranger’s features and posture. The new orc’s domed head glistened in the torches the warriors had placed along the hall, and his long fringed beard was black streaked with silver. Yet there was an aura of power around him as he stood there in strange rune-scribed black robes, an ornate staff in one hand.

  “Ner’zhul?” he said softly, his voice rough. “Is that you? Where is Gul’dan?”

  “Gul’dan is dead, the traitor,” Kilrogg replied, snarling at the stranger and glowering down at him with his one eye. “He nearly saw the death of us all for his own twisted ambitions! Ner’zhul rules the Horde once more!”

  The stranger nodded, apparently not shocked by this news. “Then I submit to your leadership, Ner’zhul,” he replied, the words halting as if he had not spoken in some time. “I am Vorpil, once of the Shadow Council, though perhaps you do not recognize me.”

  “Vorpil!” Ner’zhul stared at the stranger, squinting in the dim light. Yes, it was Vorpil, whom he remembered as a promising young Thunderlord shaman. But that Vorpil had possessed a thick dark braid of hair that reached down his back, and his beard was short and black as well. What had happened to him, to age him so and give him such clear mystical strength?

  Gorefiend stepped forward now, for he had also been part of Gul’dan’s Shadow Council. “Vorpil?” he whispered. “How came you here, old friend?”

  Vorpil hissed and jumped back, as did the others. Fear flitted across his blunt features as he got a good look at the death knight.

  “Be easy,” soothed Gorefiend, lifting his hands in a calming gesture. “It’s me, Teron Gorefiend.”

  For a long moment Vorpil stared at Gorefiend, his eyes narrowing as he studied the death knight with more than mere sight. After a second those eyes widened. “Teron Gorefiend?” he asked. “It…yes, it feels like you, trapped within that rotting meat.” The orcs lowered their weapons and looked uneasily at each other, but trusted their leader. Vorpil stepped forward hesitantly. “What has happened to you? What dead thing do you drape about your spirit like a cloak?”

  “I inhabit the body of a creature called a human,” Gorefiend answered. At the blank looks he received, he added, “It is one of the races we encountered when we went to that other world—Azeroth. The one Gul’dan created a portal to.”

  “Other world?”

  Ner’zhul was growing impatient. “When our world was dying, Gul’dan was able to open a portal into another world known as Azeroth. It is there that we met these humans, and Gorefiend’s spirit inhabits one of their corpses. More we will tell you later, but right now we would hear your tale, for that may aid us in our current plight.”

  “What plight?” asked the larger figure Ner’zhul had noticed earlier, stepping forward to join the conversation. “Are you in danger?” This creature was an ogre, as Ner’zhul had already realized, but not just any ogre, he saw as the torchlight revealed a second head atop those massive shoulders. Two-headed ogres were rare, and two-headed ogre warlocks—as the dark energies emanating from this one told Ner’zhul it was—were rarer still. Only two such had been part of Gul’dan’s inner circle, he remembered: Gul’dan’s own right hand, Cho’gall, and—

  “Blackheart,” Gorefiend whispered, having obviously reached the same conclusion. “Is it really you?”

  The creature’s two heads nodded. “It is,” one answered. “Though not perhaps as you remember us,” the second added.

  That was certainly true. Ner’zhul had never had dealings with Blackheart directly—Gul’dan had recruited the ogre warlock personally, after taking control of the Horde—but he had seen the creature around more than once, a towering figure with long warrior braids and piercing black eyes.

  Those eyes were gone now. One head had a strange metal patch over its right eye, evidently welded in place, and the other eye bore a sorcerous tattoo around it. The other head, which was covered in a close cowl, had only a single eye above its nose, twice the size of any natural orb. Strange runes covered Blackheart’s flesh, a single massive sigil across his chest and two below a band on each arm. The ogre wore a loose robe draped across both shoulders and then down across its belly, a belt holding the fabric over its loins. Thick bracers covered both wrists, and it held a massive spiked hammer in one oversized hand. Blackheart’s sheer size and strength had always been imposing, but now he presented a truly savage figure.

  “I ask again,” the ogre rumbled, “what plight?”

  “The Alliance is right behind us,” Kilrogg said. “The humans we spoke of earlier, and other races they work with. We are outnumbered and cannot stand against them, not without aid.”

  “We cannot fall,” Gorefiend added. “The fate of our people rests upon Ner’zhul reaching the Black Temple. He will perform a rite that will save us all.” He did not explain further, but both Blackheart and Vorpil nodded.

  “We have been here since Gul’dan sent us to Auchindoun to plunder it,” Vorpil told them, “surviving within these tunnels and hoping to one day return to the Horde. Now the Horde has come to us. We know these ruins well, for they have been our home for years.” The others behind him nodded. “We will fight these humans alongside you, and help you defeat them.”

  “I will crush any who stand against us,” Blackheart agreed, raising his enormous hammer so the top spikes brushed the hallway’s high ceiling. “We will rend them limb from limb!” his other head assured them.

  “Our ancestors have smiled upon us, to restore you to us in this hour of need,” said Ner’zhul. “Know that you are welcome in the Horde once more, and will share in our people’s triumph.”

  The warriors around them cheered, chanting “Ner’zhul!” and “Vorpil!” and “Blackheart!” and “Horde!” loud enough for the walls to tremble, and Ner’zhul smiled.

  He had been right to brave Auchindoun. With these newfound allies, he would surely make it to the Black Temple in time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Danath slammed his fist into his other palm. “We have them!” he shouted. “Now all we have to do is go in and get them!”

  “Yes, but not now,” Talthressar replied. One of Alleria’s rangers, he had somehow assumed the role of Danath’s adviser during their pursuit of the Horde, and despite his aloof manner Danath liked him. Too, more often than not the elf was right. “We need to wait until morning.”

  “By morning they’ll have dug in,” Danath protested, glaring down at the slender russet-haired ranger and then across the bone-littered stretch of land to where the colossal ruins sprouted. “If we attack now we can take them before they’ve had a chance to settle and build up defenses!”

  “Look around you,” Talthressar urged. “You may be ready to fight, but your men are not. It is growing dark, and they are weary. Would you have them stumbling about underground, blind to danger and too tired to defend themselves from inevitable ambush?”

  Danath turned an angry, anguished face to the elf. “They killed Kurdran!”

  The news had shaken a group of men who were already exhausted from the brutal pace Danath had set them. Whe
n the Wildhammers had returned, making no effort to hide the tears in their eyes at the thought of their fallen—including their beloved leader—Danath had been forced to turn away himself. He’d lost so many, and now the bluff, jovial dwarf too—how many would have to die before these damned green things were stopped?

  “I know,” Talthressar said quietly. “And you will not honor his spirit if you take men too exhausted to fight to avenge him. They will simply join him in death.”

  Danath scowled, but he knew the elf was right. He’d pushed his men hard all the way from the orcish citadel trying to catch Ner’zhul’s forces in time. It was ironic that now that they had, they were too tired to do anything about it.

  “One night,” he said finally. “We’ll camp one night, rest, and attack at first light.”

  “A wise choice,” Talthressar agreed, and as usual Danath could not tell if the ranger was being sarcastic or sincere. And, as he always did, he decided to ignore the elf’s tone and take his words at face value.

  “Have the men fall out and set up camp,” Danath instructed his lieutenant. “We attack at dawn.” Then, trusting his subordinates to take charge, he dismounted and led his exhausted and thirsty horse down to the river to drink. He splashed water on his dusty, sweaty face and drank deeply himself, then headed back to virtually collapse in his tent.

  A few hours later when Danath awoke, he was surprised to see not only other tents but also several tall posts outlining a large, rough square.

  “What is all this?” he asked Herrick, one of his sergeants. “We’re only here one night.”

  Herrick shrugged. “Some of the men mentioned this’d be a good place for a fort,” he explained. “They wanted to set posts to mark it out. I didn’t see the harm to it, so I said yes. It went fast—the elves helped.”

  “In light of the sacrifice of our dwarven friends, I thought it would be a good gesture,” said Talthressar, stepping from the shade of a nearby tree and gliding over to them. “We are, after all, an alliance. How better to symbolize that than to start a stronghold together?”

  Danath stared at the elf. “You’re the one who was pointing out how tired my men were! And now instead of resting they’re cutting and placing posts?”

  Talthressar smiled. “It is but a few posts, and many hands make light work. See for yourself the results.” Danath looked where he indicated. Dwarf, human, and elf stood together talking quietly. They still looked tired, but there were smiles on their faces, and one of Danath’s men clapped the elf and dwarf on the shoulders as they spoke.

  “Your men were right. Not only does it have strategic value, but this is the only place we have seen thus far on this planet that was not red and lifeless. This forest, at least, is still very much alive. If we some day return to these woods and complete what was begun here today, we shall name it the Allerian Stronghold. It is fitting—the orcs destroyed much of Quel’Thalas, and so in return we will claim this, the one green region left upon this forsaken world. And if not, these posts will stand as a reminder that the Alliance entered this forest and claimed it as their own.”

  Talthressar’s voice had more passion in this short speech than Danath had ever heard from him before. Danath took another look at his men and nodded. “Let’s get those orcs first, eh?”

  He accepted the food Herrick pressed upon him, found a quiet place by one of the campfires to eat, and then stretched out his legs, crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against the tree trunk behind him, and again fell asleep.

  Danath started awake to the sound of yelling in Thalassian and a strange, eerie squawking sound. He leaped to his feet. “What’s going on?”

  He didn’t get a verbal answer in the chaos. Running toward the source of the noise, Danath saw what seemed to him like a dozen elves piled atop something that was making the awful screeching sound.

  “Step back!” he ordered. The elves reluctantly rose, dusting themselves off, while two of their fellows kept a firm grip on one of the strangest things Danath had ever seen. The intruder wore deep purple robes, now torn and stained with blood and grass. It was about the size of a man and had arms and legs, but the resemblance stopped there.

  Jutting from the cowl was not a human face, but the head of a bird.

  It had a long, sharp face, most of it a glossy violet beak, and slanting oval eyes that glowed yellow in the night. A cluster of feathers rose above each eye like a human brow, and these merged with the shock of red, purple, gold, and brown feathers all around the head to form the equivalent of hair. One bright eye was partially closed; the elves had not been gentle in their capture.

  “What manner of creature are you, and what were you doing skulking about our camp?” Talthressar demanded.

  “You’re wasting your breath,” Danath said. “It can’t understand our language.”

  “But Grizzik, yes! He does! And no harm he means!” The creature’s voice was a strange trill, but clearly understandable. Danath blinked at him.

  “He’s like a trained parrot—all sound, no meaning,” one of the men muttered, and raised a fist to silence the bird-man.

  “No, wait,” Danath ordered. “Say that again.”

  “Grizzik! No harm he means, no no! Only want to know—who you be? Why you come?”

  Danath glanced at Talthressar, who shrugged, stepped back, and let Danath direct the inquisition.

  “Your name’s Grizzik?” At the rapid nodding, Danath continued, “Answer our questions and maybe we’ll answer yours. What are you?”

  “Grizzik is arakkoa,” the bird-man answered, his words oddly clipped and each followed with whistles and sighs. “Old race. Oldest maybe in world. Grizzik curious. No harm!”

  “So you keep saying. But why were you spying on us? How do you know our language?”

  “Arakkoa clever,” Grizzik said proudly. “Smart. Grizzik follow you, listen close, learn fast! Think you strange. Curious.”

  “Are the arakkoa friends of the Horde or their enemies?”

  That produced the greatest reaction yet. Grizzik’s facial feathers puffed up like a frightened bird’s and he huddled in on himself. “Fear and hate them Grizzik…I…do. Not bad once. I have seen. But now….” He shivered.

  Danath had seen enough of Grizzik by now to realize he was no physical threat and nodded to the elves who still held the intruder. “Give him water, and tend to his wounds,” he told them. To Grizzik, he said, “Explain.”

  “Arakkoa ancient people. We stay to selves. But! We watch peaceful draenei, primitive orcs. But who could know? Madness come to orcs. What—we know not.” Despite his heavy robe, he shivered, feathers shifting uneasily before he made a visible effort to continue. “Orcs and the draenei not friends—but they not hate. Respect.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” said Danath, holding up a hand. “Slow down. Orcs and draenei? Draenei as in Draenor?”

  “Draenor is name they call world, yes. They proud of selves, they name whole world for selves. They strong…before.”

  “You said there was a madness…the orcs turned on these draenei?”

  Grizzik nodded. “Yes, yes. Once many, many draenei. They use bright light. Live here long time. They think selves strong and good, no one stop draenei, no no. But orcs—” Grizzik made a whooshing sound and swept his arm before him. “Gone. Only few left now. Now once-proud draenei hide away.”

  Danath felt a chill. “The orcs…wiped out a whole civilization?” He glanced up at Talthressar. “Sounds like the Horde did a practice run before they came to Azeroth.”

  “Indeed it does. Except Azeroth did not fall to them as Draenor has. We were stronger.”

  “Luckier, maybe.” He shook his head, his face hard. “A whole civilization of peaceful people. What a damned shame.” He returned his attention to the arakkoa. “Keep talking. You said the draenei were peaceful, but also powerful, and that the orcs were primitive at first. How is it they were able to wipe out these draenei?”

  “The orcs…” Grizzik groped for words. “Come tog
ether. No longer separate.”

  “The orcs do have different clans,” Talthressar said. “It sounds as if they were not always a unified, directed Horde.”

  “Long Ears is right!” chirped Grizzik excitedly. At any other time Danath would have laughed at the offended look that crossed Talthressar’s face at the insult. “Orc un-united. They grew strong, cruel. Skin turn from—hm. From this,” and he pointed to a brown feather, “to this,” and he indicated a green one.

  “Their skin turned color? From brown to green?” Danath said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes! Then green orc attack and slay draenei. Arakkoa say, we are next!” He pointed to the massive ruins just visible through the trees. “Auchindoun. Draenei dead sleep there. It is holy. Most—” It patted the soil.

  “Most is below ground?” Danath asked.

  Grizzik nodded. “Winding, below ground, yes. All dead now.”

  A thought occurred to Danath. “Have you been there? To Auchindoun? To these winding tunnels?”

  Grizzik nodded enthusiastically.

  “Do you know your way through?” Danath asked.

  Grizzik nodded. “I have been down, down, many times. But…why you wish to go there?”

  “I am Danath Trollbane, of the Alliance,” Danath responded. “We have pursued the orcish Horde here from our own world, and I intend to attack them on the morrow and see them dead and their threat destroyed. They’re hiding in those tunnels. I’m going to find them. We…could use your help.”

  Talthressar looked disapprovingly at Danath, but the human ignored the glare. Grizzik seemed harmless enough, and he obviously hated the Horde. If he could save them from getting lost in a maze in a city of the dead, Danath was all for it.

  “Griz—I. I know a way in. Way that even orcs who live there now do not know.” He leaned forward. “I know where they live, and which passage new orcs will pick.”

  Danath and Talthressar again exchanged a glance. “That’s incredibly useful information,” Danath said after a moment. “We—”