Beyond the Dark Portal

by Aaron Rosenberg

  “…we’re too late. It’s gone.”

  “Gone? By the Light, no!” Turalyon was right behind Khadgar but apparently hadn’t seen the rift. Then again, Khadgar had felt it with his other senses before he’d actually seen it. Although Turalyon too wielded great power, his facility with the Holy Light gave him no particular insight into arcane magic.

  “He must have closed the rift behind him,” Khadgar guessed as he and Turalyon stepped back onto the roof itself, Alleria right behind them.

  “But you got the Eye of Dalaran back,” Alleria pointed out. “That’s important, isn’t it?” Khadgar nodded. “Well, what do we do now?” She turned her head to gaze down from the Black Temple. “It looks like we’re winning down there, at least.”

  “Any way you can follow him?” Turalyon asked.

  Khadgar shook his head. “I don’t know the spell Ner’zhul was using,” he admitted, “or how to find whatever world that rift took him to. So even if I could open a new rift here, there’s no guarantee it would open onto the same world.” His attention was caught by something else, however, and he frowned, stepping forward and walking to the triple circle inlaid in the roof.

  “What is it?”

  “Power,” Khadgar said absently. “More power than I’ve ever felt in any one place save Medivh’s tower.” He cocked his head to the side. “That’s why,” he muttered. “I’d wondered why Ner’zhul left Hellfire Citadel to us instead of defending it properly and casting the spell from there. But he couldn’t. He had to be here. He needed the magic here to fuel his ritual.”

  “Does that help us any?” Alleria asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied. “Perhaps.” He stepped into the center circle, and his head snapped back, mouth falling open in a silent scream. Such power! It poured through him like wildfire, igniting his veins, sending every sense into overload.

  Ner’zhul was a shaman, not a mage. His magics came from the earth and the sky and the water, from the world itself. And that was what this place was, a focal point for the world’s power. For Ner’zhul it would have been like tapping full force into something he had already broached repeatedly, but on a lesser scale—he would know how to handle it. For Khadgar, however, it was a completely new experience. And a dangerous one.

  But Khadgar was not an archmage for nothing. He had been a promising student at Dalaran, and had learned much during his brief apprenticeship with Medivh—and far more afterward. He was a master of magic, and while this form was new, it was still magic. And that meant it was still a matter of willpower.

  And Khadgar had will.

  Slowly he reined in his senses, forcing the new energy down until it was merely a background hum. Then he opened his eyes—and gasped. Standing here now, flooded with the power of a whole world, he could see what he couldn’t see previously.

  “Oh, no,” he breathed.

  “What is it?” Turalyon asked.

  “The rifts…,” Khadgar breathed, barely able to find the words to encompass the scope of it. “Ner’zhul didn’t just open one. He opened many—so many, all over this poor world.” They flickered and glittered, looking almost like fireflies on a hot summer evening. “The scope of this…I don’t think Draenor can bear it. It can’t hold all this. Rifts are tears—and these tears are going to rip this whole damned place apart.” And us with it, he thought, but did not say.

  Turalyon and Alleria looked at each other. As one, they turned to Khadgar. “What do we do? And how long do we have?”

  Even as he formed the words a shudder passed through the temple and the land around it. The volcano before it trembled, spewing even more of its noxious lava out into the air and creating a billowing green cloud. Then they heard a horrible crack and a deafening rumble from behind them.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Khadgar watched as a mountain of rock cascaded down, literally. The Black Temple had been built up against the mountains that overlooked the sea, and those peaks were crumbling away. Most of the debris was falling into the waters, but some of it exploded toward them instead. Thinking quickly, Khadgar murmured a spell that shielded them from the onslaught, and the three of them stood untouched as rock and gravel and dust flew by on either side. A second spell protected the area directly below, where the Alliance forces were already mopping up the remaining Horde. Many of the orcs had scattered when the battle had turned against them, and the sudden avalanche only hastened their headlong flight.

  Draenor, as he had realized it would be, was a beast in pain tearing itself to pieces.

  And, Khadgar realized, Draenor might not die alone. “Azeroth is in danger!” he yelled over the din. “These rifts are links between worlds. And the Dark Portal is the largest and the only stable one.” There was an odd silence as, for the moment, the earth stilled. Khadgar spoke quickly.

  “Our worlds are connected. Damage here could leak through the portal and affect Azeroth as well!” He grimaced and stepped out of the circle, trying not to groan in dismay as his energy levels plummeted back to normal. It was like turning away from a bonfire and accepting a weak torch in its place. But he knew that to stay there longer would endanger them all. “I have to get back to the Dark Portal!”

  “Do you have what you need to close it?”

  “I have the skull. And the book is here, somewhere. I’ll find it,” he said with more assurance than he felt.

  Turalyon nodded. “I’ll rally the troops,” he promised.

  But Khadgar shook his head. “There’s no time!” he insisted, grabbing his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t you understand? I’m sorry, Turalyon, so sorry—but if I can’t shut down the portal right away, when Draenor is destroyed it could take Azeroth with it!”

  He saw the realization dawn in Turalyon’s eyes, and hated the grim resignation he saw accompany it. But his friend merely nodded. “We’ll take gryphons,” he announced. “That’s the fastest way back.” Then he squared his shoulders. “I will speak to the troops before we go. However short time may be, they deserve that.” He extended a hand to Alleria and together they ran down the stairs.

  Khadgar barely noticed them depart. He’d snatched the Eye right out of Ner’zhul’s hand, but he hadn’t had time to locate the Book of Medivh before Ner’zhul had retaliated. It was here, he told himself—it had to be in order for the spell to work in harmony with the three constellations. Ner’zhul had still been clutching a silver-trimmed scepter when he’d disappeared, presumably the Scepter of Sargeras. Fine—far safer for such an accursed item to be well away from Azeroth. But where was the blasted book? He needed it to finish the job, and that job had to be finished right now, before it was too late for all of them.

  He extended his senses, but there was too much magic in the air for him to sense anything clearly. The book could be right beneath my nose or miles away. Damn it! he thought in frustration.

  Khadgar caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. He whirled, ready to defend himself. One of the bodies had moved, just a little. Its midsection was badly charred, and Khadgar realized that this was the orc Ner’zhul had attacked just before going through the portal. The one who’d called Ner’zhul a coward for leaving the others behind. Again, Khadgar was grateful he’d brought the ring that had enabled him to understand other languages, and he lowered his hands, watching closely.

  The orc heaved and grunted, obviously in tremendous pain. It reached for something and, with great effort, held it out to Khadgar with an arm that shook. It was a large, heavily embossed rectangle with carved metal edges. Khadgar caught his breath as he recognized it.

  The Book of Medivh.

  “I am no…shaman. But Obris is smart enough to know…that this will be of use to you, will it not?”

  Khadgar hesitated. The orc was a few steps away from death, but it could still be some kind of trick. “Yes,” he said at last. “Why do you give it to me then? I am your enemy.”

  “You at least are an honorable foe,” Obris growled. “Ner’zhul betrayed us. He re-formed th
e Horde, and forced my Laughing Skull clan back into the fold. He promised us a new start. But as soon as—” He coughed and then continued in a ragged voice. “As soon as he found safety, he fled. He and his favorites live…. The rest of us…we are nothing to him.”

  The eyes flashed with a final spark. “It would please me to know my last act…was to defy him. Take it. Take it, curse you! Take it and make him pay for his treachery.”

  Khadgar moved toward the dying orc and gently took the book from his blackened, bloody hands. “I promise you, Obris: We will do everything in our power to stop Ner’zhul.”

  The orc nodded, closed his eyes, and went still.

  The vagaries of fate, Khadgar mused, quickly undoing the clasps and opening the book to glance through its pages. He remembered first seeing this massive tome back in Medivh’s library only a few years ago. So much had changed since then; it felt like a lifetime. Then, he had been terrified of the book but overpowered by curiosity. Fortunately, its wards had prevented him from even turning the cover, or else the magics contained within might have destroyed him. Now Khadgar bypassed them with ease, and skimmed the book’s contents with growing excitement. As he expected, the book contained details about how Medivh and Gul’dan had worked together to create the rift. Armed with these necessary details and the still-lingering power in Gul’dan’s skull, Khadgar was confident he could now shut down the Dark Portal for good. But could he do so in time?

  He glanced up at the sound of beating wings. Several gryphons were circling the roof, wings spread as they prepared to land. Khadgar spotted Kurdran, and another Wildhammer was gesturing to the mage. Nodding, he threw the book in his sack, handed the precious bag up, then gripped the Wildhammer’s outstretched hand and swung himself onto the gryphon.

  “Where are Alleria and Turalyon?” Khadgar shouted to Kurdran.

  “Speakin’ tae ’is troops,” the dwarf replied.

  “They’ll have to catch up, then,” Khadgar said, shaking his head. “We have no time to waste! To the Dark Portal!”

  The gryphons squawked as their riders tugged on the reins, then they wheeled about and rose, wings beating hard against the wind and the weight of two passengers each. Khadgar watched the Black Temple slip away behind them and closed his eyes, his hair and beard streaming out behind him. He held the sack close. With the gryphons they would reach the portal in minutes instead of hours or days. He just hoped it was soon enough.

  Alleria rested her head on her lover’s shoulder as the gryphon they rode hovered over the Black Temple. She squeezed Turalyon’s waist gently, giving him silent support. She knew how bleak his heart was at what he was about to do. But she also knew he would not shirk what had to be done.

  “Sons of Lothar!” Turalyon cried, raising his hammer high above his head. Alleria glanced away; its light pierced the clouds gathering above, shedding a brilliant white radiance upon the entire valley, from the Black Temple behind them to the mouth of the Alliance fort far ahead. “Months ago, we came through the Dark Portal, not knowing what awaited us, but knowing that we had to come. We had to come to stop the Horde from taking other worlds as it tried—and failed!—to do with our beloved Azeroth. And the moment to do precisely that has arrived. Khadgar has what he needs in order to close the portal, but this world is in chaos. Azeroth—our home—is in danger once again. We must all do everything we can—serve as best we may—to save it, and our families we have left behind.”

  He looked out over the men before him, and Alleria knew he was burning each face into his memory. “I go to help Khadgar, to protect him, for I am sure there will be resistance. You…must hold the line here. You have never failed me yet. I know, my brothers, you will not fail me now.” His voice cracked. Through the tears in her own eyes, Alleria saw that he wept.

  “None of us knows what will happen. We may survive this, and find a way home, and live to a ripe old age with stories to dazzle our grandchildren. Or we may die here, with this world. And if such is our fate, I know each one of you chooses it gladly. For we fight for our world—our families—our honor. We fight so that others might live free because of what we do here, today, this hour, this moment. And if there is anything in this world or any other worth dying for—the Light knows, it is this.”

  Alleria stared at him. His eyes, though still filled with tears, shone now with the radiant white light. Awe shivered through her. Bright…Turalyon, my love, you are so bright.

  “Sons of Lothar! The Light is with you…as it always has been, and always will be. For Azeroth!”

  His hammer glowed brighter than the day, and many of the captured orcs nearby fell to the ground screaming as its aura burned at their eyes. Turalyon’s soldiers were strengthened by the glow, however, and cheered as the gryphon rose, carrying Turalyon and Alleria after the Wildhammers, toward the Dark Portal.

  “I would I could stand with them,” he murmured softly. She kissed his neck.

  “You do, beloved. Their hearts are filled with the Light…and so you are there.”

  The scene around the Dark Portal was utter chaos. Turalyon had told his troops the unvarnished truth—Khadgar would need defending. He just hadn’t realized how much he and his friends would be defending the wizard from.

  Danath, Khadgar, Kurdran, and several others had arrived before them and were fiercely fighting their way to the portal. It seemed the orcs had rallied. Ner’zhul’s abrupt departure had stranded several clans on Draenor, and all of them had realized the same thing—the Dark Portal was the only stable rift, and the only one that led to a world they knew was hospitable.

  Nor was the battle just on Draenor. One was raging on the other side of the portal as well—it would seem that once again, the orcs had wrested control of the portal from the Alliance. They were trying to push their way through the portal and back into Draenor, unaware of the cataclysm gripping their homeworld. The Alliance forces there were holding them at bay for the moment, but Turalyon could expect no aid. He and this handful were all that stood between the Horde and Azeroth.

  But they weren’t here to win a battle, he reminded himself. That was entirely secondary right now. Their goal was simply to protect Khadgar and the other magi while they closed the portal once and for all.

  “Do what you have to do,” he told Khadgar, who stood nearby, the other magi clustered around him.

  The young-old archmage nodded and raised his hands, letting his eyes close. His staff was in one hand, the Skull of Gul’dan in the other, and he began to chant, energies coalescing and swirling around him.

  The orcs outnumbered them by a significant margin, and were fighting in a frenzy, desperate to escape their collapsing world by any means necessary. The ground was trembling so violently warriors could barely keep their feet, and the battle devolved into mere brawling as orc and human swung wildly at each other, unable to concentrate enough to attack more effectively. The sky split with lightning, storms appearing and disappearing at blurring speeds, stars visible one instant and the sun the next. The planet was going mad.

  Between skirmishes Turalyon caught glimpses of Khadgar. The other magi had joined in now, all of them outlined in radiance, and when he squinted Turalyon could just see the trails of energy they were pouring into Khadgar, who stood at their center. He knew his friend was absorbing all that magic, so that he could focus it upon the portal and destroy it for good.

  Just as Khadgar’s chanting reached a fever pitch, Turalyon heard a strange ripping sound, sharp but somehow faint as well, as if it had occurred both nearby and very far away. He had heard something similar atop the Black Temple, and after dispatching another orc he glanced around and saw a strange shimmer in the air not far from them, a short ways behind the magi. A new rift!

  The earth shook beneath his feet and on pure gut instinct Turalyon leaped backward. A fissure opened where he’d been standing just a second before, widening like a hungry mouth. Cracks raced around jaggedly and then suddenly an enormous chunk of earth surged upward, carrying with it a sm
all cluster of men and orcs, bucking them off like an unbroken steed as it turned wildly in midair.

  Khadgar hadn’t exaggerated. Draenor quite literally was physically tearing itself to pieces.

  He was still staring at the floating hunk of earth when Khadgar raised his staff high and a beam of light shot from it to strike the Dark Portal in its center. The light was too bright to look upon, but unlike the Holy Light this was many colors all at once, swirling and dancing and shifting. It was pure magic wrought into a powerful spell, and when it struck the whirling surface of the portal he heard a sound like shattering glass. Then the Dark Portal began to crumble, its curtain of energy splitting and fragmenting as the spell unwrought it.

  “It is done,” Khadgar said wearily, planting his staff against the ground and leaning heavily upon it. Then he looked up and spotted one of Kurdran’s dwarves, a young Wildhammer who had just hurled his stormhammer at a hulking orc that had threatened Danath. “You!” Khadgar shouted. “Take these!” He slammed the skull into his sack and thrust the unwieldy bundle at the surprised dwarf. “Take it and fly back to Azeroth! This needs to get to the Kirin Tor!”

  “But sir,” the young dwarf said, “are ye nae coming through yersels?”

  Khadgar shook his white head. “No. We’ve got to shut it down here. It’s the only way to make sure the damage happening here won’t follow us into Azeroth.”

  Turalyon inhaled swiftly. So there it was, then. Khadgar had never been one to mince words and he’d just said bluntly what they’d all suspected. Only this one dwarf would make it back. The rest of them would be stranded in a world that lurched closer to nothingness by the second.

  So be it.

  The paladin saw the young Wildhammer hesitate, not sure how to respond, and then gasped as he saw the gleaming arc of a massive axe slicing directly toward the unwary dwarf. But before Turalyon could shout a warning, a stormhammer flashed past, striking the axe wielder with a thunderclap that rang in his ears, and axe and orc alike fell to the ground.