Tides of Darkness (world of warcraf)

by Aaron Rosenberg

His friend nodded. "Yes, I agree. The sooner the better."

  It was three more days before the scouts came back and announced that the orcs had stopped moving. "They're all holed up in a large valley just ahead," one of them announced. "And there's some kind of gateway in the center."

  Khadgar exchanged a glance with Turalyon, Uther, and the Bronzebeard brothers. That had to be the Dark Portal.

  "Tell the men," Turalyon said softly, drawing Lothar's broken sword with one hand and hefting his own hammer with his other. "We attack at once." Khadgar marveled once again at the changes the last few months had caused in his friend. Turalyon had become more stern, more commanding, more sure of himself—he had gone from being an untried youth to a seasoned warrior and an experienced commander. But since Lothar's death he had also had an aura about him, a sense of calm and wisdom and even majesty. Uther and the other Paladins had similar feels but more removed, as if they were above the problems of this world. Turalyon seemed to be more at one with the world around him, more attuned to his surroundings. It was a magic Khadgar did not understand, but one he respected a great deal. In many ways it was the opposite of his own magic, which sought to control the elements and other forces. Turalyon was not controlling anything, but by opening himself to those same forces he gained the ability to tap them, with less control but more subtlety than any mage.

  The soldiers were readied, and they all crept forward, leading their horses to keep them at least quieter on the hard red stone. The ground rose up slightly and then dropped abruptly into a deep valley whose far walls reared even higher. At the center of the valley, as the scout had said, stood a massive gate, not set in any wall or structure but freestanding, and Khadgar gasped as he saw it fully. The Dark Portal—it could hardly be anything else—was easily a hundred feet high and almost as wide, and was crafted from some greenish gray stone. It had harsh, swirling patterns carved on either side, each based around a scowling skull, with two wickedly curved barbs along the outer edges. The centerpiece had a crude ornamental border below but was plain and unmarked above. Four wide steps led up to the portal itself, which glowed green and black and crackled with energy. And to Khadgar's senses it was a maelstrom, radiating power and a strange sense of vast distance. He could also feel it reaching out, digging into the land and pulling tendrils of energy into its gaping maw.

  The orcs were milling about before the portal, as if unsure what to do now. There were more here than they had been following, so clearly Turalyon had been right—Doomhammer had left orcs here to guard the place. But the Alliance still outnumbered them. And the orcs were separated into distinct clusters, as if they no longer had reason to trust one another and so had reverted to their own families and hunting parties. This was not an army but a collection of small bands.

  "Now!" Turalyon shouted, and he leaped over the edge of the cliff and slid down the long slope, landing almost on top of several orcs sitting there. Lothar's sword stabbed forward, impaling one orc on its jagged half—length, and then Turalyon' hammer struck another orc, crushing his skull and sending him careening into the first, who fell free of the sword and toppled to the ground. Then Uther and the rest of the Paladins were there as well, flanking Turalyon as he stood and stalked toward the other orcs, and the rest of the Alliance was right behind them.

  Khadgar knew he was less useful in battle than wielding his magic, so he stayed upon the cliff with the other magi, watching the fight. It was quick and decisive. Lothar and Turalyon had forged the Alliance troops into a powerful unified force, and it fought as one now, with the men working together against a common foe. Pikemen were defending by swordsman and axe—wielders, and the archers watched over all of them and provided ranged support as needed. The orcs were too disorganized to work together, and each cluster stood and fought alone. That made it easy for Turalyon to send in his men, surround one orc band at a time, and either slaughter them or take them prisoner. He worked his way methodically across the valley, defeating orc after orc, and as many huddled in chains as lay dead upon the ground. By this time a large number of orcs, death knights, and others had fled through the portal rather than face death or capture. Only a small ragged group remained behind, standing its ground to cover the others' retreat.

  Finally Turalyon had reached the bottom of the portal's bottom step. Two stocky, muscular orcs stood on the top step, each wielding massive, jagged axes. They had medals and bones hanging from their hair, their noses, their ears, their brows, and all over their armor, and their hair rose in a single mass of short dark spikes atop their heads, as if those too were weapons. One of the orcs had bloodstained bandages around his left shoulder and leg. Nevertheless, both orcs seemed arrogant and confident of victory, evidently unmoved by their leader's recent defeat.

  "You face Rend and Maim Blackhand, of the Black Tooth Grin," one of them shouted as they stomped down the steps toward Turalyon. "Our father, Blackhand, led the Horde until that upstart Doomhammer slew him unjustly. Now he is gone we will rebuild the Horde until it is even larger than before, and we will smash you out of existence!"

  "I think not," Turalyon replied, his words ringing across the valley. Against the backdrop of the portal's swirling energy he glowed a brilliant white, small and piercing. "Your leader is captured, your army destroyed, your clans in disarray, and what remains of your Horde gathered here in this one valley, which we have surrounded." He raised both hammer and sword. "Face me, if you dare. Or turn and flee back to your own world and never return."

  The taunt worked, and the two brothers charged down the last step, leaping upon Turalyon with fierce battle cries. But the young Paladin and recent commander did not flinch. He took a quick step back and brought both hammer and sword down hard, knocking the orcs' axes down to the ground. Then he closed again and swept his own weapons back up, catching both orcs under the chin. The one to the left staggered back a pace, stunned, but his brother reeled, blood flying from the deep cut beneath his chin.

  As Khadgar watched the two orcs growled and lashed out again, but their attacks were clumsier this time, more wild, and Turalyon avoided them both by the simple expedient of darting forward, between and past the two orcs. He struck them each in the stomach as he passed, doubling them over from the impact, and then kicked them both from behind, sending them tumbling from the ramp to the hard stone ground. He was right behind them, his weapons whistling as they arced through the air.

  Unfortunately, the brothers were not alone.

  "Clanmates, to us!" one of the brothers bellowed. "Kill the human!"

  Two more orcs leaped into the fray, giving the Blackhands space to pull back. The brothers swung at some of the men approaching them, but to Khadgar their blows seemed half—hearted. They had clearly reconsidered their chances. A gap appeared in the Alliance forces approaching the portal and the orc brothers took advantage of it and ran. A handful of their brethren followed their example. But Turalyon was too busy to chase after them, however. Many of the other orcs remained to fight, some even spitting at and cursing the fleeing Blackhands. And the two who had moved to the Blackhands' aid were still menacing Turalyon himself.

  "Rargh!" one of the newcomers growled, sweeping out with his axe. Turalyon blocked the blow with his hammer and battered the heavy orc weapon aside, then stabbed in with the broken sword, the blade piercing armor and flesh alike and driving deep into the orc's middle. The orc dropped his weapon and stiffened, gasping as his hands clutched at the blood—slick blade, and then he crumpled to the ground, his eyes already glazing over.

  "Die!" the other orc howled and threw himself at Turalyon. But Turalyon had pulled the sword free of the first orc and now swung it at the second, catching him in the throat with the jagged tip. It was not enough to stop the charging warrior but Turalyon knocked his axe blow aside with the hammer and then swung again, the heavy hammer connecting solidly with the orc's head. The impact must have been tremendous because the orc warrior collapsed, blood pouring from his shattered temple, and did not move again.
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  Turalyon glanced down at the two dead bodies for a second, then toward the Blackhands disappearing at the far end of the valley. Then he looked up toward the ledge until he spotted Khadgar. "Do it now!" the Paladin shouted, pointing Lothar's blade at the portal. "Destroy it!"

  "Get back!" Khadgar shouted in reply. "I don't know what will happen!" He barely noticed his friend nodding and trotting clear of the massive stone structure. Instead he and the eleven magi with him were already concentrating on the object.

  He could feel its power, and its link to both this world and Draenor, and the rift it had fashioned to allow access between the two. The rift would simply swallow their magic, he suspected. And the worlds themselves were too large and too powerful for them to affect, even all of them together. Which left the physical gate itself. Because no matter how powerful it was, stone was still stone. And stone could be shattered.

  Concentrating, Khadgar summoned the power to him, filling himself up with magical might. There was little power left in these lands but the Dark Portal itself had ample energy and nothing to safeguard that reservoir, to prevent people like the magi from tapping that power for their own ends. Khadgar and the other magi did so now, draining the portal's reserves utterly and directing all the energy into Khadgar himself. His hair stood on end and energy crackled across his face and along his fingers. The wind howled around him, and he thought he saw lightning nearby, though it could have simply been the energy arcing across and even through his eyes. He just hoped it was enough.

  Facing the Dark Portal, Khadgar closed his eyes and opened his arms wide, his hands turned palm—up. He gathered all the magic he had just absorbed, every last bit of it, and bound it into something like a mystical ball that hung, pulsing and beaming, before his eyes. He could feel the ball, feel how it throbbed, and feel how loosely it was assembled. Perfect. He shifted his senses toward the portal, toward the energies there, and then he aligned himself with its position.

  Then at last he opened his eyes.

  And slammed his hands together, turning them at the last second so they met palm—to—palm. And the ball of energy was propelled forward, flattening and elongating and transforming from a simple sphere to a long slim shape, very like a different kind of spear.

  A spear that lanced the portal right in the center, its energy pouring out and into the Dark Portal and across the stone slabs that formed its sides and top. The explosion rocked most of the Alliance soldiers and many of the remaining orcs from their feet, and Khadgar himself staggered on his perch. But the portal's heavy lintel and squared columns were blown apart. Fortunately for the Alliance forces nearby, the explosion drove most of the larger stone fragments into the portal's depths.

  Then the portal itself vanished, the roiling colors replaced by simple empty space. And Khadgar felt the world draw breath again as whatever had bound it to Draenor snapped, ending the tug of that dying world and letting nature reassert itself.

  Glancing down, Khadgar saw Turalyon picking himself up off the ground. The Paladin was covered with rock dust and small rock chips but looked otherwise unharmed, and he grinned up at Khadgar as he wiped the dust from his face, arms, and chest.

  "I don't think they will be using that again," he called up, and they both laughed, their humor born of profound relief.

  The war was over. And the Alliance had won. Their world was safe.

  EPILOGU

  "It will be an impressive monument," Turalyon comented. He and Khadgar sat their horses near the cliff's edge, looking out over the same plain where Lothar had fought his final battle months before. The landscape was bleak, brutal, and harsh, all black stone and hardened lava except where fresh lava glowed red amid the shadows. The air was thick with ash and soot, and the sky seemed perpetually overcast. The mountains loomed like disapproving guardians. Blackrock Spire rose at the far end.

  "It will," Khadgar agreed. "His sacrifice will always shine as a symbol of loyalty and bravery, even after other traces of this war have vanished."

  Turalyon nodded, his gaze still focused upon the statue that was being raised before Blackrock Spire. Regent Lord Anduin Lothar, Champion of Stormwind and Commander of the Alliance, stood with sword raised and shield at the ready, looking to the skies as if daring them to battle. He was dressed in full armor but without his helm, and his strong features stared out across the valley, his gaze stern but kind.

  "At least it's over," Khadgar said.

  It was true. That battle at the Dark Portal had been the last. Those few orcs who had survived had surrendered and been taken prisoner. No one was quite sure what to do with them, and for now they had been put to work hauling materials for Lothar's monument, an irony Turalyon appreciated. Once this was done, perhaps the orcs would be sent to do more hard labor elsewhere. He doubted they would be slaughtered but neither could they be set loose, in case they dreamed of creating a Horde once more. Some, including the Blackhands, had escaped, but they lacked the numbers to pose a serious threat now.

  Still, that was not his concern. Terenas and the other kings would make that decision, when the time came. After Lordaeron had been cleansed Terenas had marched his forces into Alterac and declared martial law, deposing the traitorous Perenolde and imprisoning him. Alterac's fate was still uncertain, but the Alliance would continue, and the remaining monarchs had asked Turalyon to remain as its Commander. He had accepted, feeling Lothar would have wanted him to continue in that role. His friend and mentor had only wanted to protect the land and its people, and he vowed to do the same.

  "You're thinking heavy thoughts," Khadgar commented, nudging him in the arm.

  "Only about the future and what it may bring," Turalyon replied.

  "No one knows the future," his friend said, though a strange look crossed his face. "Though I suspect we have not seen the last of the Horde or its world."

  "I hope you are wrong," Turalyon told him. "But if you are right, we will be here waiting for them when they return. And we will drive them back again, just as we did this time. This world is ours, and by the Holy Light we will keep it safe, now and forever."

  The mage laughed. "A noble statement, good Turalyon," he teased. "Perhaps that is what they will carve on your statue, when the time comes."

  "A statue?" Turalyon laughed. "What could either of us possibly do to earn statues?"

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, massive thanks go to Chris for starting the tide and to Marco for controlling it. I'd also like to thank Evelyn for her sharp eyes and kind words. Most importantly I'd like to thank the World of Warcraft fans, without whom Lothar and Orgrim and the others would have no one to tell their tale.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  AARON ROSENBERG is originally from New Jersey and New York. He returned to New York City in 1996 after stints in New Orleans and Kansas. He has taught college—level English and worked in corporate graphics and book publishing.

  Aaron has written novels for Star Trek, StarCraft, Warcraft, Warhammer, and Exalted. He also writes role—playing games and has worked on the Star Trek, WarCraft, and Warhammer games. He writes educational books as well.

  Aaron lives in New York City with his family. For more information about his writing you can visit him online at www.rosenbergbooks.com.

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