Tides of Darkness (world of warcraf)

by Aaron Rosenberg

  "I agree." The young man had impressed Lothar as well. Turalyon had been hesitant to speak at first, and after a few minutes the reason became clear. He had heard of Lothar and his deeds in Stormwind and seemed awed, a fact that made Lothar uncomfortable though it was not the first time he had faced it—many youths back home had worshipped him as well and begged him to train them and induct them into his guard. But after overcoming that initial reserve Turalyon had proven to be a bright young man with an agile mind and more appreciation for subtleties and shades than his fellows. Lothar had liked him right away, and the fact that Khadgar felt the same only confirmed his opinion.

  "I will speak to Faol," Lothar said at last. "The Paladins will no doubt be valued assets, and I will take Uther as our liaison to them and to any other forces the Church can supply." Something else occurred to him. "I will propose an additional candidate, as well," he said. "Gavinrad. He was one of my knights in Azeroth, the most faithful of us, and a good man. I suspect he would make a fine Paladin." He smiled. "But Turalyon I will take to serve as one of my lieutenants."

  Khadgar nodded. "A good choice, I'd say." He shook his head. "Now let us hope the Horde gives us time to prepare them and the rest of our forces."

  "We will prepare what we can," Lothar answered pragmatically, already thinking on how to disposition whatever troops the kings supplied. "And we will face them when we must. There is little else we can do."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Gul'dan was furious.

  "Why have you not succeeded yet?" he demanded. The other orcs cowered away from him. They had seen the chief warlock enraged before, and knew he might turn his fearsome powers upon them as well if he was not appeased.

  "We are trying, Gul'dan," Rakmar replied. The oldest of the surviving orc necromancers after Gul'dan himself, Rakmar Sharpfang was the necrolytes' unofficial leader and often thrust into the role of conveying their accomplishments—or failures—to the high warlock. "We have been able to animate the bodies, yes, but not to give them consciousness. They are little more than shells. We can direct them as puppets, but their movements are sloppy and slow. They will pose little threat to anyone."

  Gul'dan glared at the bodies beyond Rakmar. They were human, warriors slain here on the fields of Stormwind, and would make a powerful force for the Horde, just as he had promised Doomhammer. But only if his worthless assistants could transform them into something more than the shambling wrecks he saw here!

  "Find a way!" Gul'dan shouted, spit flying from his mouth. He clenched his fists, tempted to strike down the necrolytes where they stood, but what good would that do him? If they were dead they would hardly be able to help him—

  A thought struck him, and Gul'dan rocked back on his heels, stunned by its brilliance. Of course! That was the answer!

  "You are right, Rakmar," he said softly, opening his hands and smoothing them along the front of his robes. "You are trying. I understand. This is a new and different thing we are attempting, and would pose a great challenge to anyone. I have no right to be angry that you have not yet succeeded. Please, return to work. I will leave you in peace to experiment once more."

  "Uh, thank you," Rakmar stammered, his eyes wide. Gul'dan could see that the lesser orc was surprised by his sudden change of heart, as were the other warlocks behind him. He suppressed a chuckle, simply nodding to them and turning away. Let them think he had thought better of his outburst, or even that he had become distracted by something else and forgotten why he had been so angry at them. Let them think whatever they liked.

  Soon it would not matter.

  As he walked, Gul'dan glanced around. Cho'gall was nearby, as always—the ogre mage had been crouched within a ruined building not far away, close enough to be ready if Gul'dan should need him but far enough away that the other necrolytes would not see him and become unnerved by his presence. Gul'dan beckoned and the two—headed ogre rose and approached, his long strides quickly covering the distance between them.

  "The necrolytes have served their purpose," Gul'dan told his towering lieutenant. "Now they shall have a new one, an even greater one." He grinned, stroking his beard in anticipation. "Gather our implements. We shall make a sacrifice."

  "We are summoning our fallen brethren?" Rakmar asked softly. He and the other necrolytes were standing around the altar Gul'dan and Cho'gall had built, as ordered, but Gul'dan could see they were trying to decipher its purpose. Let them. By the time they did, it would be too late.

  "Yes," Gul'dan replied, concentrating on the incantation he was about to perform. "Doomhammer slaughtered the other warlocks but their souls linger. We will summon them and instill them in the human bodies." He grinned. "They will be eager to return to this world, and to serve the Horde once more."

  Rakmar nodded. "That will animate them," he agreed, "but will it give them power? Or will they be little more than walking corpses?"

  Gul'dan frowned, surprised and not pleased that the necrolyte had figured that out so quickly. "Silence!" he commanded, forestalling other questions. "We begin!"

  He began the ritual, summoning his magic to him and feeling it fill him with power. Not enough power, but soon that would change. In the meantime he concentrated on his task, channeling his energies into the altar before them, priming it for the transformation he was about to evoke.

  Rakmar and the other necrolytes joined in, lending their own necromantic magic to his incantation. Thus they were distracted and did not notice that Gul'dan had moved from his position until it was too late.

  "Rrargh!" Gul'dan could not stop the growl from escaping his lips, but it did not matter. He was already positioned right behind Rakmar, curved dagger at the ready, and as the taller orc turned Gul'dan's blade lashed out, catching the necrolyte full across the throat. Blood arced out, spraying them both, and Rakmar toppled backward, clutching at the wound, gasping for air. He fell onto the altar, and gasped with horror as he tried to push himself away from it. But Gul'dan was on top of him, straddling the fading necrolyte, and batted his hands away. Then he plunged the dagger into Rakmar's chest, wrenching it about to create a gaping hole. Into this he reached and, with a sharp tug, removed Rakmar's still—beating heart. Before his former assistant's eyes Gul'dan cast the spell he had prepared, his magic enveloping the bloody organ and trapping Rakmar's spirit within. The magic of the altar surged up then, reshaping the heart, shrinking it and hardening it and granting it an unnatural luster. As the necrolyte collapsed, his body now an empty shell, Gul'dan grinned down at him and held up the glowing gem.

  "Do not fear, Rakmar," he assured the dead orc. "This is not the end for you. On the contrary. You shall succeed at your task, with my help. You will fight again for the Horde. And Doomhammer will have his undead warriors." He laughed. "That is the good thing about necromancers—we never let anything go to waste."

  He glanced up. Cho'gall had killed several more necrolytes already, preserving their hearts and souls as jewels in the same manner. The rest were cowering, their magic still caught up in the altar, unable to flee and too terrified to fight. Gul'dan snorted. Worthless! He would have fought. But this made matters easier for him, at least. He laughed as he rose and stalked toward the remaining warlocks, licking the blood from his tusks as he approached. Soon they would be warlike enough for even the most bloodthirsty commander.

  "Well?" Doomhammer asked as he strode onto the field. "Have you succeeded?" It did not escape Gul'dan's notice that the warchief's words were similar to those he had shouted at his necrolytes mere days earlier. But this time the answer was very different.

  "I have, noble Doomhammer," he responded, gesturing at the bodies behind him. Doomhammer shouldered past him to glare at the figures, which lay stretched out upon the ground.

  "These are fallen Stormwind soldiers," Doomhammer snarled. "What of them? Or did you ask me here to show me you could line bodies up so neatly?" He sneered. "Is this the extent of your powers, then, Gul'dan? To prepare corpses for burial?"

  Gul'dan longed to wip
e the smirk from his leader's face, to show the arrogant warrior the true extent of his magic. But now was not the time.

  "Of course not," he did reply, the words still sharp enough to make Doomhammer's gaze narrow. "Watch!" He nodded to Cho'gall, who knelt beside the first body and placed a jeweled truncheon in its cold, stiff hands. Those enchanted weapons had been the most time—consuming part of the process but Gul'dan knew without them his new force would be far less powerful, just as Rakmar had guessed. Fortunately he and Cho'gall had been experimenting with such items already for their own purposes, and so they had merely modified the spells they had planned and adapted the weapons to this new role.

  As he and Doomhammer watched, the corpse stirred. Its fingers closed tightly around the truncheon, which began to glow. That light spread to the body's hand, then up along its arm, slowly infusing the entire form with a green aura. And then the corpse opened its eyes.

  Doomhammer started slightly, though he made no sound, and this time it was Gul'dan's lips that pulled back in a sneer. Still, he could not blame the warchief for being startled. He found the sight almost unnerving himself, and he had created these creatures.

  The corpse slowly rose to its feet, its movements stiff at first but becoming more fluid by the second. It turned glowing red eyes upon Gul'dan, and the orc warlock saw them widen in recognition.

  "You have succeeded then, Gul'dan," the creature stated, its words slurred from using an unfamiliar jaw and strange, too—small teeth. It stared down at itself, at its limbs and torso, and raised its empty hand to feel its face. "You have returned my spirit to this world!" It laughed, a harsh sound that was far more orc—like than human. "Excellent!"

  "Welcome back, Teron Gorefiend," Gul'dan replied, trying to keep the laughter from his voice. "Yes, I have brought you back, to further serve the Horde."

  Doomhammer stepped forward, studying the strange creature before him. "Gorefiend? One of your warlocks from the Shadow Council? I killed him myself."

  "We all give ourselves to the Horde," Gul'dan replied mockingly, bowing low so Doomhammer could not see his expression. "Gorefiend's soul had not departed this plane—I merely recalled it and found it a new home. Only now his very body is imbued with sorcery. He is more powerful now than ever, and the other warlocks with him." Cho'gall had continued his task and behind Gorefiend the other bodies were rising as well.

  "This, then, is what you give me?" Doomhammer rumbled. "Corpses for warriors, powered by your dead acolytes?" His face twisted in disgust.

  "You asked for warriors," Gul'dan reminded him sharply. "I have provided them. They will be a match for anything the humans have and more. And though their bodies may be rotted human flesh, they are still orcs in spirit and in allegiance. And they can still wield their magic as well! Think what they will do in battle!"

  Doomhammer nodded slowly, clearly considering. "Will you serve me?" he asked Gorefiend, showing what Gul'dan considered a fatal weakness. Warchiefs did not ask, they commanded. Though perhaps with creatures such as these it was best not to anger them.

  Gorefiend considered for a moment, glowing eyes studying the Warchief. At last he nodded. "Gul'dan is correct," he said finally, his voice raspy. "I am still an orc, despite this shell. I live for the Horde, and I will serve you and our people." It grinned, a horrible rictus. "You killed me but I do not hold that against you, for it has resulted in this powerful new form. I am well pleased with the trade." The other bodies nodded behind him.

  "Good!" Doomhammer stepped forward and clapped the surprised Gorefiend on the shoulder, a gesture of respect to an equal rather than a subordinate. "You shall be my death knights, the forefront of our great Horde," he informed the reanimated creatures. "Together we will crush the humans and take their lands, making this world safe for our people!" Then he turned and nodded at Gul'dan, though it seemed grudging. "You have done as you promised, Gul'dan," Doomhammer admitted. "You have given me a powerful force against our foes. I thank you for that."

  "Of course, noble Doomhammer," Gul'dan replied, hoping he sounded more sincere than he felt. "Anything for our people."

  Fool, he thought as he watched Doomhammer stride off, the newly awakened death knights beside him. Take them and go, yes, and return to your war. I have other matters to attend, and now that you are satisfied I will have the freedom to concentrate on them properly. I will play the loyal warlock a while longer, he vowed, but not forever. Soon enough I will have what I seek, and then you and the Horde may crumble away for all I care. I will raise a new race to replace you all, one loyal to me alone, and we shall reshape this world in my image!

  A week later Doomhammer addressed the assembled Horde. They were gathered before the fortress Zul'jin told him was called the Blackrock Spire, a massive structure built from the same glossy black stone that dominated the landscape. It stood atop Blackrock Mountain, the tallest of the Burning Steppes mountain range that rose up along the continent, dividing east from west. Zuluhed had led them here, sensing the power within the mountains, and after defeating the handful of dwarves dwelling here, Doomhammer had claimed it. He had felt it was a good omen that this place, which he had selected as the Horde's base, bore the same name as his own clan.

  Below him the orcs of every clan were gathered, waiting eagerly to hear what he had to say. They had conquered this land thoroughly, and while that gave them far better hunting and far richer lands than any left back home it was still not enough to contain their entire race comfortably. There was also the question of retaliation—they had driven the humans from this continent but there was no guarantee they would not return with reinforcements and perhaps allies. Doomhammer grinned. But now he had allies of his own.

  "My people!" he shouted, raising his hammer high above him. "Hear me!" The crowd quieted, every face turning toward him. "We have taken this land, and it is good!" A cheer erupted, and Doomhammer waited for it to die down before speaking again. "This world is rich with life, and we can raise strong families here!" Another cheer. "Yet it is not without its defenders! The humans are strong and skilled, and fight hard to retain what was theirs." Murmurs of agreement rippled through the Horde. There was no weakness in acknowledging a powerful foe, and the humans were certainly that. Enough orcs had fought them now to agree.

  "We must continue our conquest!" Doomhammer told his people, gesturing to the north with his hammer. "Another land, Lordaeron, lies beyond this one, and once we control it our clans may claim territories, settle, craft homes, and raise families again. But first we must take it from the humans! And they will not surrender it lightly." The crowd growled as one, showing its willingness to fight on. Doomhammer quieted them with a raised hand.

  "I know that you are strong," he assured them. "I know that you are warriors, and will not falter in battle. But the humans are many, and this time they will be ready for us." He leaned on his hammer. "But they will not be ready for our allies."

  He gestured behind him, and Zul'jin stepped forward. The forest troll leader had brought a hundred of his people for this meeting, and they stood now arrayed behind him and Doomhammer, hefting their axes and short, curved swords and wicked broad—bladed spears. "These are the forest trolls," Doomhammer told the orcs below. "They are now part of the Horde, and will fight alongside us! They are as mighty as an ogre but as crafty as an orc, and in woodcraft they are unsurpassed! They will be our guides, our scouts, and our forest warriors!"

  Zul'jin stepped forward, his long scarf waving in the wind. "We have pledged to the Horde," he declared, his voice carrying clearly despite the fabric covering his mouth. "We be fightin' with you, and together we be crushin' the humans, the elves, an' any others who stand against us!" The orcs cheered, as did the forest trolls, and Zul'jin nodded before stepping back.

  "Nor are they our only allies," Doomhammer announced. He turned, and Gorefiend strode forward, the other death knights beside him. They had masked themselves to conceal their hideous features, with heavy cloth wrapped around their heads and faces so th
at only their glowing eyes were visible. But the Horde could see the breadth of their shoulders and the width of their chests, and Gorefiend raised his truncheon high, the weapon's jewels flaring into a brightness that rivaled the sun overhead.

  "We are the death knights," Gorefiend intoned, his strange voice casting the words across the crowd like a chill over the land. "We have pledged ourselves to the Horde, and to Doomhammer. We will fight as one of you, and will drive the orcs' foes from this world!" He had requested that Doomhammer not reveal their true nature to the other orcs, and Doomhammer had agreed. Many might not be happy to learn these new warriors were orcs themselves, former warlocks he had slaughtered and Gul'dan had then trapped within rotting human bodies.

  "The death knights will be our cavalry and our vanguard," Doomhammer announced. "They are strong and swift and possess a dark magic to strip away our foes' defenses."

  He paused. "We may have other allies soon as well," he admitted. He had hoped those would be ready as well, but Zuluhed had said his clan needed more time to finish the preparations. Still, this was enough for now.

  "We march north," Doomhammer told his people. "Across this land and into Khaz Modan, the home of the dwarves. Those lands are rich with metals and with fuel. We shall take those resources and use them to build a mighty fleet of ships. With those ships our forces will sail north to Lordaeron, for the humans will not expect us by water. We shall land to the west and march back, catching them from behind. We will crush them, and then we shall rule that land and all this world as our own!"

  The Horde cheered again, a cheer that grew and grew until it echoed from the rocks around them. Doomhammer felt the echo beneath his feet, shaking the very peak, and glanced back at Zuluhed, who stood behind him. His people's shouts and war cries should not have been able to disturb the mountain itself! But the old shaman nodded.