Beyond the Dark Portal

by Aaron Rosenberg

  “Go!” Danath shouted to his men even as the last few orcs fell. “Go! Kill every orc you see!” He glanced at Boulestraan. “Send your warriors with them,” he said, and the draenei commander nodded, his spirit-warriors already splitting off to accompany Danath’s men. “Nemuraan—show me to their prisoner!”

  The Auchenai nodded and opened a door in the far wall, then led Danath and the two elven rangers through it and into a shorter, narrow corridor. Grizzik followed close behind them. They passed along that and into a larger room at the end, where more orcs sat or ate or slept. Fortunately, both rangers had their bows at the ready, and arrows flew from their graceful fingers, killing several orcs before the others even realized they were not alone. Then Danath was in among them, his sword biting deep, and the screams and groans of his victims mingled with the sounds of chaos he heard from the rooms behind them, where his men were engaged in the same grisly work.

  Nor was Grizzik idle. The bird-man launched himself forward in a strange gliding leap that carried him soundlessly behind several orcs, his long taloned hands darting forward and slashing one orc’s throat open with a single swipe. A second orc turned, axe raised high, but the arakkoa ducked beneath the awkward blow and twisted around to the front, then pecked the orc’s eyes out before shredding his throat as well. Whatever else the arakkoa was, Danath thought, catching glimpses of the quick, silent carnage, he was no pacifist.

  “This way!” Nemuraan urged once the room’s defenders were dead, and led them across the blood-spattered chamber to another door. The Auchenai had not attacked any of the orcs himself, though his very presence and the light from his staff had seemed to confound them and make them easier to dispatch. This new door opened onto a much smaller room, and occupying half the space was a strange wooden framework like a rough table with raised crossbeams.

  Lashed to those beams was a short, muscular figure. Blood had dried in a pool around him, had caked on his flesh. He sagged, unconscious, against the restraints, and Danath, seasoned warrior though he was, stared for a precious moment in simple horror at the atrocities perpetrated on his friend.

  A single heavy-set orc leaned against the wall nearby, a spiked club at its side, clearly set to guard the prisoner. It pushed off the wall as Danath came into the room, a look of surprise on its brutish face, and its eyes widened further when the elves put a pair of arrows in its chest. A third arrow struck right between the eyes, and the orc died before it could even speak.

  Danath was already hacking at the ropes binding his friend. “Kurdran!” he shouted, grasping his friend. “Kurdran!”

  Talthressar murmured something in his musical tongue, but he too was pale as he helped Danath lower the Wildhammer to the table. Danath was still in shock. Both of Kurdran’s arms bent in unnatural ways, and his muscular body seemed to have more welts and cuts than tattoos now. His hands and feet were utterly broken, as if crushed with a club; the only sign that he was even alive was a faint rise and fall of his chest. The dwarf looked like something they’d find in a butcher’s shop. What had the orcs done to him?

  “Light…I don’t even know where to start,” Danath said, his voice thick, staring at the bloody, broken body.

  “I do…if you will permit me.” Danath’s head whipped up. Nemuraan had come forward, his staff glowing. “I am a priest of my people. I would do what I can to heal him. But you should know—your friend’s spirit clings to life only tenuously. I can try to heal him, or I can ease his crossing. If you would rather let him pass—”

  “No!” Danath cried. “I’ve seen too many—please. If you can heal him, please do it.”

  Danath and Talthressar stepped back as the draenei extended a hand. He placed it on Kurdran’s head, matted with dried blood, and lifted his staff with the other hand. Closing his eyes, the Auchenai began to pray.

  Danath gasped softly as a pure, gentle radiance limned Nemuraan’s form. He didn’t know the words, but they calmed his heart. The glow brightened at the draenei’s hand where it rested on Kurdran’s brow. The radiance increased, until it was so bright Danath reluctantly closed his eyes against it.

  He’d seen this before. This being from another world, this draenei, so strange in appearance to him—he was wielding the Light. Just as Turalyon did.

  A grunt made Danath open his eyes. “Eh? What?” Kurdran muttered, his head tossing from side to side. “Do yer worst, ye green-skinned beasties!” He opened his eyes and stared straight up at the blue figure bending over him.

  “It’s all right,” Danath assured him before he could struggle, placing a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. Nemuraan stepped back, the light around him starting to fade, and smiled. “He’s…will he be…?”

  “I have done all I could. He is healed, for the most part. But not all scars can be erased, nor things that are broken made as they were before.”

  “Who’s broken?” Kurdran snorted. He sat up slowly, flexing his hands and feet, touching his body. “Heh. Dinna know I had that much blood in me.” He peered up at Danath. “Ah, Danath, lad!” he said when he realized who was beside him, his broad face splitting into a wide grin. “It’s ye, then, eh? And about bloody time! Not to worry—those beasties got not a word out o’ me. Did ye bring my hammer?”

  “He should rest,” the draenei warned.

  “Bah! Rest is fer the dead,” Kurdran growled.

  “And sometimes not even for them,” Talthressar said quietly, glancing at Nemuraan.

  “He’s a Wildhammer,” Danath said to the priest; it was the best explanation he could come up with. “I brought it, Kurdran. Here.” The hammer had been on Sky’ree when the gryphon had returned, and Danath had possessed enough foresight to bring it with him into the tunnel. He handed over the weapon, and couldn’t help grinning as the dwarf took the ponderous hammer and hefted it, though Kurdran moved more slowly and stiffly than before.

  “Good.” Kurdran inspected the hammer quickly, then nodded his approval. “Now then, what’s the plan, laddie? And who be yer friends?” A nod of his head indicated Grizzik and Nemuraan, and Danath didn’t miss the revulsion that washed across the Auchenai’s face at being considered in the same breath as the arakkoa.

  “Nemuraan is an Auchenai, a draenei priest of the dead,” Danath explained quickly. “He is one of the last of this place’s guardians. You owe your life to him—he healed you.”

  “Ah,” said Kurdran, putting the pieces together. “Thank ye, lad. The Wildhammers dinna ferget such debts.” Nemuraan inclined his head graciously.

  “And that’s Grizzik the arakkoa,” Danath continued. “He hates the orcs and guided us into this place from the forest. And the plan?” He raised his sword. “The troops are storming the tunnel. The rest will attack soon and draw the orcs’ attention away. And we will find Ner’zhul and bring his head back on a polearm.”

  “Aye, that’s a plan I’m liking. Where be this orc shaman, then?”

  They both glanced at Nemuraan, who tilted his head to one side. “The most defensible room is our former prayer center,” the Auchenai said after a moment. “That is where he is most likely to be found.”

  “Lead on, then!” Danath said, and Nemuraan nodded, taking them out of that room and down a short corridor to a wide, heavy stone door covered in elaborate designs.

  “Here,” he told them. “Behind this door lies the prayer center.” Grief shone from his eyes. “We would come here to pay our respects and commune with our dead.”

  Rellian tried the handle. “Locked,” he said.

  “Stand back, lad,” Kurdran urged as he raised his hammer. “This may splinter some.” He was still unsteady on his feet, and Danath bit back a protest. He wouldn’t try to stop Kurdran; the Wildhammer needed to reassure himself he could still fight. Danath held his breath as the dwarf steadied himself, and then hurled the stormhammer at the barrier before them.

  The thunderclap that sounded upon impact nearly knocked Danath off his feet. A loud crack and a cloud of dust followed, and as he waved that away
Danath saw that the blow had shattered the door. Through it he could see a large round room beyond, and a mass of figures near its center. Several of them glanced up, surprise evident in their faces, but two did not—a massive one-eyed orc and an older-looking orc whose face had been painted white to resemble a skull. That had to be Ner’zhul.

  Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. Then, before Danath could begin his charge, Ner’zhul said something to the one-eyed orc, turned, and slipped past him, racing through a door at the far end of the room.

  “No you don’t!” Danath cried, starting after Ner’zhul, but the one-eyed orc strode forward, blocking him. A long scar ran down the side of the large orc’s face, and a patch covered that eye, but the other glared at Danath without fear.

  “I am Kilrogg Deadeye,” the orc announced proudly in heavily accented Common, pounding his chest with one hand even as he raised a massive war axe with the other. “I am chieftain of the Bleeding Hollow clan. Many humans have I slain. You will not be the last. I am charged with stopping you from passing, and so…you shall not.”

  Danath eyed this new foe carefully. He could see from the streaks of white in his hair and the lines on his face that this Kilrogg was older than he, but his body was still heavily muscled and he moved with the grace of a natural warrior. He seemed to have honor, too. For some reason, Danath was prompted to respond in kind.

  “So be it,” he replied, raising his sword to salute his opponent. “I am Danath Trollbane, commander of the Alliance army. I have slain many orcs, and you won’t be the last. And I will pass!” With that he charged, shield braced before him, sword already moving in a vicious downward stroke.

  Kilrogg blocked the blow with his axe, almost wrenching the sword from Danath’s grip as the blade caught between the axe blade and handle. Danath did not slow, however, and his shield slammed full force into Kilrogg’s chest. The orc staggered back a pace. Danath took advantage of the moment to set free his sword and swing again, this time low and to the side. The edge clipped Kilrogg’s torso just above the waist, and the Bleeding Hollow chieftain grunted as the strike drew blood.

  The wound did not slow him down, however, and Kilrogg responded with an attack of his own. He slammed his heavy fist against Danath’s shield, denting the sturdy metal and making Danath falter on his feet, then brought his axe around and up with an almost lazy arc that drove it beneath the shield’s bottom edge. Danath had to jump back to avoid being disemboweled, and winced as the axe’s back edge bashed into the inside of his shield, driving it hard away from him and wrenching his shield arm in the process.

  Danath glanced up, and their eyes met. The human saw his own grudging admiration reflected in the orc’s single eye as Kilrogg nodded. Each found the other a worthy foe.

  The temperature suddenly plummeted, and Danath grinned fiercely. Cries rose from elsewhere in the room, sounds of not only pain but fear; once again Boulestraan’s spirit-soldiers, beautiful and terrible, had come to the aid of the Alliance forces. Talthressar and Rellian were firing arrow after arrow, dropping orcs with well-placed shots. Kurdran, meanwhile, was focusing upon the orcs in the front of the room, the Wildhammer single-handedly keeping them at bay with furious swings and throws of his stormhammer, his fighting spirit unbroken although the orcs had done their damnedest to break his body.

  Kilrogg noticed all this as well. He roared in rage and charged—not at Danath but at a cluster of men off to his side. The heavy axe rose and fell with lightning speed and two of the soldiers dropped, blood spattering everywhere as their fellows leaped back, desperately trying to hold their own against the enraged orc leader. The draenei spirits floated toward him with dreadful purpose, but Kilrogg evaded their attacks, concentrating his efforts on the humans instead. As fast as Danath’s troops cut down the other orcs, Kilrogg carved a space through them in return.

  Suddenly Danath winced. A strong droning noise was drilling in his head. What the—he looked everywhere but could not locate it. Then he realized that it was coming from the other door, the one Ner’zhul had disappeared through moments ago. And that the edge beneath the door was glowing. The sounds were a chant, Danath realized suddenly. Between the glow and the chanting, and the hairs rising on the back of his neck, Danath knew they must be working some sort of magic. By the Light, was he opening the portals right now?

  “Get past them!” he shouted to his men. “Get in the next room! Now!”

  But still Kilrogg blocked the way. The Bleeding Hollow chieftain was almost alone now, all his warriors cut down by the elves and dwarf and humans and draenei working together, but he showed no sign of giving up. Danath could tell that the big orc was willing to sacrifice himself to buy Ner’zhul the time he needed for whatever magic he was working.

  A voice suddenly shouted from the other side of the door. Danath couldn’t understand the guttural language, but he didn’t need to—whatever Ner’zhul had been trying to do, he’d done. There was a faint bursting sound, and the glow under the door intensified suddenly, filling the room with light and sound. Then it faded just as rapidly and soon was completely gone, leaving the room even darker than it had seemed before.

  Kurdran managed to get past the burly orc, however. Panting heavily, he swung with all his might, straight at the now-darkened door. The portal shattered with a loud crack and the Wildhammer leader kicked the fragments aside, revealing a smaller room with a rune-scribed circle set into the stone floor. The room was empty.

  Kilrogg had glanced toward the door as well, and now he grinned. “You did get past me—I give you that. Well fought, but in the end, you have failed, human. My master has gone ahead to the Black Temple to cast his spell. You cannot stop him now, and worlds without end will know the trampling feet of the Horde.”

  “By the Light, at least you won’t follow him!” Danath renewed the attack, fueled by his anger. He rained blow after blow, but each one was blocked by the wily old warrior. Kilrogg grabbed the shield with one hand, shoving it aside, and slammed his axe down with the other, knocking the sword away before it could reach his belly. Then he grinned at Danath, showing the long curving tusks that sprang from his lower lip.

  “You will have to do better than that, human,” the orc chided. Taking his axe in both hands, again he swung for Danath’s face, then reversed direction and swung once again, forcing Danath to step back or lose his head.

  On the next swing Danath ducked and brought his shield up hard. It smashed into Kilrogg’s arms, forcing them up as well, and threw the orc off-balance. Then Danath thrust, his sword catching the orc in the belly and sinking deep. He was almost surprised that he’d managed it.

  With a roar Kilrogg slammed his forearms down, sending the shield crashing onto Danath’s head, and staggered back. He was bleeding heavily from the gut wound, but that only seemed to enrage him. Raising his axe again, Kilrogg brought it down squarely atop Danath’s shield, the heavy blade sinking deep into the protective metal. He yanked back and the shield tore away from its straps, leaving Danath defenseless.

  “Now we face each other blade to blade,” Kilrogg told him, ripping the sundered shield from his axe blade and tossing it aside. “And only one will live to sing of the battle.”

  “Fine by me,” Danath muttered back through clenched teeth. Taking his sword in both hands, he ran forward, straight for Kilrogg, sword held high over one shoulder. But just as the orc chieftain stepped up to meet him, Danath stopped short, using his momentum to pivot on one foot instead, one hand releasing the sword and the other arcing outward so that his strike came from the opposite side. Kilrogg’s blind side.

  The flashing blade took the surprised orc in the neck, slicing through his throat, and Kilrogg toppled, his axe falling from his hands as they flew up to stop the blood spurting from his wound. But the Bleeding Hollow chieftain was grinning as he dropped to his knees.

  “By my blood…the Horde…lives,” the orc managed to gasp out, his voice a bubbling whisper. “Ancestors…I come….” Then his eyes glazed ov
er and Kilrogg Deadeye toppled sideways, to land heavily upon the carved stone floor of the prayer room. Danath was panting, but lifted his sword in salute to a fallen foe.

  “Well done, lad,” Kurdran said, stepping up beside Danath and patting him on the arm. But Danath shook his head.

  “I failed,” he said bitterly, glancing down at Kilrogg’s body. “He was right. He did what he was supposed to do—he gave them enough time to escape.” Danath scowled and gritted his teeth. “Whatever spell they used transported them straight to some place he called the Black Temple! How can we possibly stop them now? I don’t even know where this place is!”

  The arakkoa turned, his eyes bright. “Grizzik know! Can take you there!”

  “You know where—”

  “Sir!” One of Danath’s men burst into the room, followed by Nemuraan and the flowing, drifting forms of the draenei dead. “We have the orcs on the run, sir! Some of them have fled deeper into the tunnels, though!” He paused, clearly expecting a reply, and seemed puzzled when Danath did not respond. “Sir?”

  Kurdran nudged Danath. “Ye’re in charge, lad,” the Wildhammer reminded him quietly. “Even if ye feel ye’ve failed, ye canna let yer troops know it, eh?”

  He was right, of course. Danath nodded and straightened. Then he met the soldier’s eyes.

  “Let the orcs run,” he said. “We know where Ner’zhul went, and we’re going to follow him. We’ll be making for a place called the Black Temple.”

  “The Black Temple?”

  Danath turned at the anger he heard in Boulestraan’s spectral voice, and saw the spirit glowering, though not at him. “That was once Karabor, our holiest place. But the orcs defiled it, as they defile all that they touch.” His hands tightened on his glowing hammer, which was still completely clean despite the orcs he had slain with it. “I pray when you reach it, you will drive the orcs from its hallowed ground.”