Then a gout of fire and smoke erupted from the heaving water a short way ahead of the lead ship, filling the air with fire and ash and steam. Through the gritty, burning air they could see something poking up through the water like a chick's beak piercing its egg. The something proved to be rock, and as the warriors watched, too stunned to do more than blink and gasp, it grew larger, rising rapidly from the waves as water and lava dripped down and off it. The small rock became a boulder, the boulder became a small plateau, the plateau became a wide ledge, and the ledge became a small rocky plain. Other shapes emerged as well, rising from the tumultuous sea a short ways from the first, but they all proved to be connected, and as the sea spilled away from it the orcs could see an entire island emerging from the sea's grasp, still spouting flames and dirt and steam. A second, smaller island followed, grinding as it shifted to the surface, and then a third and a fourth.
At last, as the sky overhead shifted from swirling crimson to a mere leaden gray and the waves dropped to heights only as great as a tall ship's mast, Gul'dan opened his eyes. He staggered slightly and leaned against the railing for support, as did a few of his warlocks. But he glanced out over the new island chain, still steaming from the heat of its rapid ascent and still growling and groaning as it settled into a new configuration, and smiled.
"Soon," he said softly, looking upon the land and feeling it with his mind, noting the location of the place he sought. "Soon I will stride across you to the temple I seek, and the great prize that lies within it."
"I see them!" a warrior shouted. "There they are, off those islands!"
Rend Blackhand, one of Black Tooth Grin clan's two chieftans, looked where the other orc had pointed, near the place where they had seen the sea and air rolling madly as they approached. At last he saw the thin spit of land ahead and to the west, and the dark shapes alongside it. "Good," he said, nodding and resting his hands against the handle of his axe. "Increase speed," he told his drummer. "I want to reach them before they have a chance to disappear into some hideout there." On one of the other boats he saw his brother Maim speak to his own drummer, no doubt giving similar instructions.
"What will we do if they use magic against us?" one of his younger warriors asked. Several others nodded agreement. It was their single greatest fear, even beyond being captured by the Alliance and being eaten by a dragon, and Rend could hardly fault them for their concern. He was not thrilled with the idea of battling Gul'dan and his cronies. Doomhammer had given them an order, however, and the Blackhand name was at stake. Rend intended to carry that out—or die trying.
"Their magic is potent," he admitted now, "and Gul'dan himself could easily kill three or four of us within minutes. But he needs those minutes. And he needs physical contact, or to be close by, or to have something that belongs to the intended victim." He grinned. "Did any of you loan the chief warlock a waterskin or a pair of gauntlets or a sharpening stone?" That got chuckles from several, just as he'd hoped. "Then just steer clear of the warlocks until we are across, do not let them close to you, and swarm over them before they can cast any spells." He tapped his axe for emphasis. "Despite their powers they are still orcs, and they can still bleed and die. This is no different from hunting an ogre back home—each of them may be stronger than any one or even two of us but we can wear them down and attack in groups and prevent them from fighting back." His warriors nodded. They understood the concept, and now that they were thinking of magic as just another weapon it was no longer as frightening.
"Almost there," the helmsman announced then, and Rend glanced behind him, past the edge of his ship. The island now loomed up along one side, and Rend could tell from the size of the ships that this new land was big, bigger than most of the islands he had already seen on this world. The boats had gone from specks to full—fledged ships, and he could clearly see orcs pouring off them and onto the dark, damp land. Rend repressed the snarl he had felt building in the back of his throat and gave the order: "Prepare to land! Once we do, aim for those warlocks. And kill anyone—anything—that gets in our way."
"We are not alone," Cho'gall pointed out to Gul'dan. Their boat had finally beached on the shore of the new island, which still shuddered and threw off steam and occasional belches of fire and lava.
Gul'dan followed his assistant's gesture and saw a fleet of ships approaching from the far side of the island. His island. From the way the lead boat moved Gul'dan could tell it was rowed rather than sailed, and that usually meant one thing: orcs. Doomhammer's troops had found them.
"Damn him," Gul'dan muttered. "Why did he always have to be so quick to make decisions? Another day and we would have been here and done before they arrived." He sighed. "Well, there is nothing for it. Tell the warriors to prepare for battle. You will need to fend them off while I enter the temple and find the tomb."
Cho'gall grinned with both his heads. "With pleasure." The massive two—headed ogre was as fanatic as the rest of his clan, and firmly believed in ushering in the end of the world, preferably with violence and bloodshed. All the Twilight's Hammer orcs held the same belief, and would happily fight anyone or anything if doing so would bring the world closer to its ultimate demise. It did not hurt that the demon blood most of them had imbibed back on Draenor had increase their natural bloodlust a hundredfold. "They will not get past us," the ogre promised, drawing the long curve—bladed sword he wore at his side.
Gul'dan nodded. "Good." Then he turned and began picking his way carefully across the island, steam rising from every step he took. Drak'thul and the other necromancers and ogre magi followed quickly behind him.
"Attack!" Rend shouted, his axe clutched in his hands as he ran forward with his warriors. "Kill the traitors!"
"Death to the traitors!" Maim echoed beside him.
"To battle!" Cho'gall bellowed, his scythe—like blade raised so its long sharp blade caught the weak late—afternoon sunlight. "Let this land be awash in their blood," his other head added, "that their deaths may usher in the end times!"
The two forces met with a thunderous impact there on the lava—strewn rocky shore, as orc slammed into orc. Weapons flashed, axes and hammers and swords and spears rising and falling, swinging and stabbing, in a wild display of energy, passion, and violence. Blood sprayed everywhere, filling the thick air with a red mist and turning the nearby waves dark. The ground, still uneven and unsteady, grew slippery, and many warriors lost their balance and met their deaths while struggling to regain their feet.
The battle was fierce. Cho'gall's warriors fought savagely and with no concern for their own safety—their only goal was to inflict as much damage and pain as possible. Doomhammer's soldiers fought for revenge and for justice, avenging Gul'dan's betrayal and the battle it had already cost them. Both sides believed in their goals, and neither was willing to yield.
The one difference between the two sides was numbers. Gul'dan had brought only two clans with him: his own Stormreavers and Cho'gall's Twilight's Hammers. His Stormreavers were the smallest clan and they were all warlocks—every single one of them was with Gul'dan now, leaving only the Twilight's Hammers to block Doomhammer's forces. Rend and Maim Blackhand had brought the bulk of their Black Tooth Grin clan, one of the largest in the Horde. The Twilight's Hammer warriors were outnumbered and they knew it. And as the battle continued, and both sides suffered heavy casualties, that difference began to show.
The fanatic orc warriors refused to surrender, however, and fought to the last orc. They took many of Doomhammer's warriors with them—Cho'gall himself cut one of the strongest Black Tooth Grins's right arm from him as he fell, both of the orc warrior's axes buried in his chest, and another Black Tooth Grin lost an eye to a well—aimed blow from the back spike on a war axe—but in the end the fiery shore was littered with bodies and only the troops the Blackhands had led here still remained.
"Now," Rend said, wiping his axe clean on a fallen orc's chest, blood still dripping from a long gash across his chest, "we go after Gul'dan. The war
lock has much to answer for."
Gul'dan was standing at the base of an ancient temple, its outer walls barely visible beneath centuries of moss, fungus, coral, and barnacles. He could still see traces of architecture that matched what he had glimpsed in the Quel'Thalas, both in grandeur and in style. Elves had crafted this structure, and once it had been beautiful and ornate, he was sure. Now, however, its walls were rough and rolling, and the edifice resembled a natural mound of dirt and seaweed and encrustations rather than something that had been built deliberately. But the appearance did not matter to him. What excited him was the pulsing he could feel just behind his eyes, as the power tugged at him so strongly he could almost see its influence quivering the building around it.
"Inside," he told Drak'thul and the others. "We must go inside."
He had debated bringing them beyond the temple's front steps, actually. He knew that the Tomb of Sargeras lay within, and that the Eye of Sargeras housed within it could be tapped for immense, god—like powers. But would he be able to do so alone, or would he be forced to share that potency with the rest of the Shadow Council? What had decided him, finally, was that he did not know what else the ancient temple might contain. Thus Gul'dan had felt it was best to bring his servants and assistants with him into the temple. If necessary he could always kill them when they reached the Tomb itself.
Entering cautiously, Gul'dan created a globe of green light to better see his surroundings. The halls and rooms here were as altered as the building's exterior, the floors coated with sand and grit and seaweed, the walls festooned with more weeds and with shells of various sorts and sizes. Even the doorways had been altered, their outlines smoothed and rounded and distorted by the creatures that had clung to them for all these long years.
"Quickly, you fools," he told his clanmates impatiently, "fan out and search for the primary passageway! We must reach the Chamber of the Eye before the tomb's guardians awaken!"
"Guardians?" one of the warlocks, Urluk Cloud—killer, asked hesitantly. "You said nothing of guardians!"
"Spineless cowards!" Gul'dan railed, slapping the cowering Urluk across the face. "I said move!" His rage mobilized them, at least temporarily overpowering their fear of this strange place and the horrors it might contain, and the warlocks began searching through the building. Finally they found a wide central corridor, and proceeded along it.
As they ventured farther in, however, the depredations lessened. Now Gul'dan could see the fine carvings on the columns and pillars, and the delicate engravings along the walls, as well as the beautiful mosaics that made up the floors and ceilings. Any paint had long since been destroyed by the salt water, of course, but there was still enough decoration to see how beautiful this building had been, a truly elaborate and ornate temple that would have impressed even the most jaded visitors.
Gul'dan had eyes for none of it, however. He was interested in one thing and one thing only, and that was the magic waiting for him in the vault at the very bottom. When he finally reached the vault door he paused, savoring the moment.
"Now, Sargeras," he whispered, "I will claim whatever's left of your power—and bring this wretched world to its knees!"
He could feel the energy already, and it was enough to make his senses dance and his mind quiver in anticipation. The ball of green light, no larger than his hand when he had first conjured it, was now twice the size of his head and made up of roiling green fire so bright he could not bear to look at it directly and so hot he had to keep it to the center of the hall lest it melt its way through a wall. And this was from mere proximity to the source! What would he be capable of once he had actually touched the power, and absorbed it fully into himself?
Wrapped in these thoughts, Gul'dan motioned the others back and they obediently retreated to the far side of the room. Then he reached out and grasped the heavy stone handle of the massive black iron vault door. It was one of the only places in the entire temple that was unadorned, and its stark simplicity gave it a grandeur the statues and carvings had lacked. Clearly, it said, here was a place too important for such fripperies. Eager to see what that place contained, Gul'dan tugged the handle down with all his strength. He felt it stick from centuries of disuse, and also felt a prickle as a spell washed over him. It was not harmful, more a spell trigger than a spell itself, and he could sense the much larger and far more potent spell linked behind it. But the initial spell swept through him and then back out again, and its mate lay untriggered. Just as Sargeras had assured him it would. Aegwynn had warded this vault against intrusion by humans, elves, dwarves, even gnomes—against every race, in short. Every race native to this world. But he was an orc, and Aegwynn had never heard of Draenor. Her spell did not include him, and so he was now able to push the handle the rest of the way, causing a loud click from the door, and then give a mighty yank and swing the door wide open.
Beyond the doorway lay a darkness that even Gul'dan's light could not penetrate. A darkness so cold it froze his fingers numb in an instant and turned his breath to ice. And slowly that darkness took form, coalescing into discreet shapes, scuttling, crawling, writhing shapes with eyes that glowed darker than the rest, so dark it hurt to look upon them. And then these dark shapes smiled as they approached the vault door and exited their eternal prison. Advancing upon the stunned Gul'dan and his warlocks.
Demons. But like none he had seen before. Gul'dan thought he had faced terrible creatures in the past, but these made all others seem mere shadows, harmless and easily dispelled.
No! Gul'dan screamed in his mind, unable to make his mouth work to form the word out loud. This is not how it is supposed to happen! Sargeras promised! He tried to summon his magic, to raise his hands, to run—to do anything. But the mere sight of the beings before him had paralyzed him, body and soul, and he who had thought himself master could do nothing but stare and shudder as they crept toward him, their shadowy claws reaching out to caress his face.
That first touch was enough to break his paralysis, and Gul'dan found himself running, falling in his haste to be away from this nightmarish place. Drak'thul and the others had been standing right behind him. Now they were nowhere to be seen; they must have already fled. Screams echoed up from the vault as Gul'dan, too, raced through corridor after corridor. His face burned where the claws had touched him, and it was only after he raised one hand to his cheek that he realized he had been cut there, and deeply.
"Damn you, Sargeras!" he cursed as he stumbled past columns and pillars, through rooms and alcoves. "I won't be beaten like this! I am Gul'dan! I am darkness incarnate! It cannot end…like this."
He paused to catch his breath and to listen behind him. Nothing. The screams had stopped. Blasted, feebleminded weaklings, he thought, picturing the Stormreavers who had followed him down there. "They're all likely dead by now!" His cheek was throbbing now, and he pressed his hand against it, trying to staunch the blood that was leaking from the wound. He was beginning to feel dizzy and his limbs felt weak. "Still, I must press on," he told himself grimly. "My power alone should be enough to—"
Gul'dan stopped speaking to listen carefully. What was that sound? It was faint, and repetitious, and made his skin crawl, but it carried both cruelty and—amusement?
"That laughter…Is that you, Sargeras?" he demanded. "You seek to mock me? We'll see who laughs last, demon, when I claim your burning Eye for my own!"
He turned a corner and found himself in a wide room, its walls surprisingly blank. Inspired by something he could not name, Gul'dan crossed to the nearest wall and began writing upon it, scrawling his description of the vault and its guardians with his own blood. Several times he faltered, his hand too heavy to lift.
"Ambushed…by the guardians," he wrote heavily. "I am…dying." He knew it was true, and struggled to finish writing his tale before death claimed him. But behind him he could already hear the same dry, hungry scrabbling he had heard inside the vault. They were coming for him.
"If my servants had not abandoned me,
" he wrote, his eyes barely able to focus now, his throat too tight to form words. But he realized now that it was not their fault. It was his own. All this time he had thought he was in control, when in truth he had been little more than a dupe, a pawn, a slave. His very existence had been a sham, a mere joke. And soon it would be over.
I've been a fool, he thought. He stopped writing and turned to run, knowing already that it was too late.
And then the claws bit in deep, and Gul'dan found his voice long enough to scream.
Rend put out an arm and stopped Maim from going any farther. "No," he said softly. Blood still seeped from beneath the rough binding he had fashioned from a fallen warrior's belt.
"We need to go after Gul'dan," Maim insisted, though he swayed from his own wounds and the rough bandages wrapped around one leg and shoulder were already soaked through with blood.
"There is no need," his brother assured him. "Those…creatures have finished the task for us." Something strange had emerged from the building before them, something with too many limbs and too many joints and altogether too many teeth. It had been followed by others and they had attacked the orcs without pause, tearing into them like hunger—crazed animals setting upon fresh prey. Several orcs had been frozen with fear at the sight of the terrible creatures, but others had fought back and they had finally destroyed the last one, though it had taken enough wounds to slay a dozen orcs before it had finally stopped thrashing and biting.
And the creatures had come from within that building. Though only a warrior, Rend had a tenuous feel for magic. And he could sense the magic within the strange old structure before them. It was powerful, immensely so, and evil beyond imagining. And it was filled with hatred, intense and directed toward anything living. Those creatures had only been the barest hint of its strength.
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