Beyond the Dark Portal wow-4

by Aaron Rosenberg

  The pounding of his heart suddenly paused.

  And in that place of pure, brilliant light, he saw a fig­ure that was light — the Light — itself. It hovered and glowed, gleaming as if its form was hard and crystalline but also soft, unspeakably soft, as soft as a tear, as soft as forgiveness, as soft as Alleria's pale skin. Golden strands draped the being, and Turalyon could not tell at first if they were leading from or to the creature — and then he understood, it was both. All that was, was this being, and this being, was everything. Awe flooded him and he drank in the sight of this beautiful, lumi­nous being, feeling it fill him with hope and calm as if he were an empty vessel.

  Do not despair, came a voice like bells, like chimes, like the sigh of the ocean. The Light is with you. We are with you. No matter how vast the darkness, Light will scat­ter it. No matter what world, no matter what creature, the Light is there, in that place, in that soul. Know this, and go forward with a joyful heart, Turalyon.

  As if it sang in response, Turalyon's heart began to beat once more. He realized it had never stopped; that the long, frozen, rapt moment had been less than the blink of an eye.

  Khadgar gave Turalyon the space to let it sink in. Finally, Turalyon lifted his head. His eyes were focused, clear, and his face was resolute.

  "We have to stop them," Turalyon stated firmly. "We can't let other, innocent worlds have this… this… unleashed on them. It ends here. On Azeroth. No one else should have to suffer as we have. The Light shines on other worlds than ours, and it needs our help. It will have it."

  Khadgar heard some resentful murmurings from some of Turalyon's men. Turalyon heard it too, for he stood, frowning.

  "If you have something to say, say it clearly," he or­dered. The soldiers who'd been talking exchanged glances, then one stepped up.

  "Sir… why don't we just let them go? If they have fresh worlds to take, maybe they'll just go away and leave us alone."

  "Even if it were that simple, we can't let that hap­pen. Don't you understand?" Turalyon said. "We have to stop them. We can't save our world at the expense of countless innocent lives!"

  "Besides," came Alleria's clear voice as she strode up to them, dusty and sweaty and spattered with blood too dark to be her own, "what is to stop them from re­turning once they have gotten fat off plunder?” With her sharp sense of hearing, of course, she’d heard everything. Khadgar thought her a trifle paler than usual, but she was almost eerily composed. Would you like to battle a Horde twice the size of the one we faced during the Second War, completely united, and with the ability to open portals to Azeroth from any­where?"

  Khadgar saw the disappointment in Turalyon's eyes. The paladin had hoped the men would understand his point. And more, he'd hoped Alleria would. But it seemed that Alleria was still consumed with hatred for the orcs. She did not really care about other worlds. She wanted to hunt the orcs down and kill them her­self; she had no wish to let others share that particular cruel delight. She turned to Turalyon, and color rose briefly in her face, then subsided.

  "Sir, while we were fighting, I saw something I think you should be aware of. We noticed a group of . . ."

  Khadgar was barely listening to her musical voice. Something else was nagging at his thoughts… some­thing was not right. He gasped as understanding burst upon him.

  "I'm an idiot!" Khadgar cried, cutting Alleria off in mid-sentence. "They're not losing!" he shouted. "They're retreating! They've found all the artifacts they needed and they're returning home to Draenor! The entire invasion was just a feint to distract us, and now they're done!"

  Gaz Soulripper glanced up at him, shock and fear in his glowing eyes. The death knight surged to his feet. snapping the stout ropes that bound his hands and feet and chest. Terror lent him magical strength as well — from somewhere deep inside, Gaz shunted aside Khadgar's mental lance and raised fresh shields that blocked the archmage's reflexive attempt to regain control.

  "You will not interfere!" Gaz roared, leaping atop Khadgar and wrapping mailed hands around the arch­mage's throat. "You will not thwart our destiny!"

  The death knight began to squeeze, and Khadgar gasped for air, struggling to push the creature away even as his vision swam. Blackness crept in along the edges of his sight, framing wild colors flashing before him. He couldn't push the hands away, he couldn't think to summon a spell.

  And suddenly, through the insanely swirling palette of colors came a flash of pure white. Even as it seared Khadgar's eyes, it wrapped him in reassuring warmth and a sensation of peace sharply at odds with the pain of hands crushing his windpipe and cutting off blood. Briefly he wondered if he was already dead but hadn't gotten around to noticing it yet.

  The light swelled, then faded. The dead hands around Khadgar's throat tightened convulsively before the pressure suddenly disappeared. Khadgar swayed, blinking, dazzled from the white light, coughing and gasping at the same time, his lungs struggling to bring air back into his body.

  "You all right?" It was Turalyon, his hands, still glow­ing softly, helping Khadgar to rise. Glancing down, Khadgar noticed that his violet robe was now dusty gray — all that was left of Gaz Soulripper. He looked at Turalyon, stunned again by the young general's power. Turalyon read his glance and smiled sheepishly. Khadgar clasped his friends arm. "Thank you."

  "It was the Light, not I," Turalyon said with his char­acteristic modesty.

  "Well, your damned Light killed him too fast," Alleria growled. Even Khadgar blinked at the venom in her voice. "We could have asked him about the carts I saw."

  "Carts?" Khadgar asked. "Explain."

  She turned to him, clearly more comfortable speak­ing with the mage than with Turalyon. "I saw some of the orcs going through the portal. Black dragons ac­companied them. There were carts, several of them, all covered. They were taking things back to their world."

  "They came to get artifacts, not souvenirs," grunted Khadgar. "What would they need carts for?"

  Alleria shrugged. "I know not, but I thought you should know."

  "Another puzzle piece. Just when I thought we'd fig­ured it out." Khadgar brushed disgustedly at his robe, then looked up at them. "We've got quite the task ahead of us. We need to send an expedition into Draenor. We have to find and kill Ner'zhul before he can open any more portals, retrieve those artifacts — especially the Book of Medivh — and Gul'dan's skull, and destroy the Dark Portal for good."

  Turalyon nodded, summoning a scout with a quick gesture, every inch the military commander. "Send word to the Alliance kings," he said quickly. "The Horde is—"

  His words were cut off as a shadow passed over the sun. Shielding his eyes from the glare, he glanced up, then began to laugh as the shadow broke apart into several winged forms that circled down toward them. These were not arrow-straight like dragons; they were broader, stouter, and softer, covered in tawny fur and feathers of gold and white.

  “What took you?" Turalyon called back, laughing with Khadgar as Kurdran Wildhammer, leader of the Wildhammer dwarves, shook his head and managed to look embarrassed from atop his gryphon.

  "Bad winds," the dwarf admitted, bringing Sky'ree in for a landing. The great beast landed gracefully and cawed, flapping its wings one final time before its rider dismounted. Despite the direness of the situation, Khadgar found himself smiling. It was good to see hale, gruff Kurdran.

  "Your arrival is most timely," the archmage said, stepping forward to shake the dwarf's hand and per­mitting his own to be enthusiastically pumped up and down. "We've a message to be delivered, and quickly."

  "Aye? As long as ye promise me an' me boys we'll get a crack at those greenskins, we'll take a message for ye." He waved at some of the other Wildhammers, who hastened forward and stood at attention.

  "We'll need to dispatch several messages to the vari­ous leaders," Turalyon said, the grin fading. Khadgar wondered if Turalyon really knew just how no-nonsense he could look when he had to. "Tell them this: The orcs are retreating to Draenor, but they have found a
means to open new portals to other worlds."

  The dwarves' eyes widened, but they didn't inter­rupt. "They are taking with them cartloads of some­thing they obviously value, we do not yet know what," Turalyon continued. "We intend to pursue them through the Dark Portal, and stop them from opening those portals. By any and all means necessary."

  "Are ye sure, lad?" asked Kurdran quietly. Turalyon nodded. Everyone stood silently for a moment, know­ing that Turalyon spoke what had to be done, but even so rendered mute at the reality

  "Now hurry," Turalyon said. "Make that gryphon earn her dinner." The scouts nodded, saluted, mounted their gryphons, and took to the skies. Turalyon turned to his friends.

  "And now," he said somberly, "we prepare to leave our world behind."'

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The rest of that day and evening was crammed with chaotic planning. Who should go? Who should stay behind? What provisions should they take? How long should they wait? Debates went from discussion to argument to even shouting, and at one point Turalyon thought Alleria and Kurdran might come to blows over how best to utilize the gryphons. Finally a plan was drafted that all could be satisfied with. Some, including Alleria, wanted to head out right then. "My rangers can see as well or better than the orcs at night," she pointed out, "and even you humans have the moonlight."

  "No," Turalyon had said, putting his foot down. "We don't all have your vision, Alleria. And we're exhausted. The orcs would definitely have the advan­tage at night. You'll notice they're not attacking right now."

  Her eyes had narrowed. "No, they're probably resting up so they can be fresh in the morning to have at us then."

  Turalyon let her words hang there for a moment. Once she realized she'd made his arguments for him, she scowled, but stayed silent.

  "Turalyon's right," Khadgar said. "We're exhausted. Dead on our feet. The purpose here isn't to kill as many orcs as possible and go down shouting battle cries, it's to get to the other side with as many as we can so we can stop something bigger than the handful that's at the gates right now."

  Turalyon suspected the comment wasn't particu­larly directed at Alleria, but it struck home nonetheless. She'd turned first red, then white as a sheet, and stalked from the room. Turalyon automatically moved to follow, but Khadgar's hand closed on his arm.

  "Let her go," he said quietly. "Talking to her now will just make things worse. She's as exhausted as the rest of us right now and isn't thinking clearly at the best of times. Let her come to you."

  Let her come to you. Turalyon wondered, as always, how much the young-old mage knew, and if the phrase had been calculated or casual.

  "Verana, a moment," said Alleria as she and her second-in-command left the meeting room for their assigned barracks. She indicated that the other elf follow her out­side onto the walkway, underneath the moon and the stars. Wordlessly, Verana obeyed. There had never been any question but that Alleria would be among those going through the portal at dawn tomorrow. Verana and a few others would remain behind, to aid the Sons of Lothar in case something went wrong. Verana turned inquiringly to her commander.

  "I have a special task for you. One that goes beyond your military duties," Alleria began. "It is not maudlin to think that I might not return. That none of us might. We do not know what we face on the other side."

  Verana looked troubled; they had been friends for decades. But she nodded. "Of course."

  "If I do not come back… do not come home… bear a message for me to my family. Tell them I took the fight to the orcs' own world, to avenge Quel'Thalas and to keep our people safe from future attacks." She thought of Turalyon's impassioned, implacable words — that they could not release the horror that was the Horde on other, innocent people. A lump suddenly swelled in her throat. "Tell them," she continued, her voice rough, "tell them I went to try to save other worlds as well. Others who will, I pray, never know the pain of what we underwent. Tell them I chose to do this of my own free will, and that whatever happens to me … my heart is with them."

  She fumbled in a pouch and emerged with three small necklaces. Each was graced with a glowing, beau­tiful gem: an emerald, a ruby, and a sapphire. Verana gasped and looked up, clearly recognizing the stones.

  "Yes. They're from the necklace my parents gave me,"

  Alleria confirmed. "I had the necklace melted down in Stormwind, and three lockets made from it. I will keep this one." She selected the emerald and fastened it about her throat. "I wanted to give the other two to Vereesa and Sylvanas when I—" She bit her lower lip. "Please. Take these home with you, when you are able to return. Give them to my sisters. Tell them this way, no matter what happens… we'll always be together."

  Verana's eyes shone with tears that slipped down her cheeks. Alleria envied her the ability to weep. The other ranger studied the inscriptions, which Alleria knew by heart: To Sylvanas. Love always, Alleria. To Vereesa. With love, Alleria.

  "You will return, my lady, and give these to your sis­ters yourself. But for now I will keep them safe until you do. This I swear."

  Verana hugged her tightly, and Alleria stiffened. She had not allowed anyone to touch her in other than a perfunctory manner since —

  Alleria let her arms go around her friend and hugged Verana back for a long moment, then dismissed her. Ver­ana saluted, wiped her face, and hurried back to their bar­racks. Alleria lingered, letting the fresh air calm her. An ear twitched as she heard soft steps. Quickly she faded into the shadows, frowning to herself as she recognized Turalyon. He walked to the wall and leaned against it, his broad shoulders bowed in the moonlight. Her sharp ears heard her name whispered; her sharp eyes caught a glitter of tears. She turned and vanished, moving silently the way she had come. The talk with Verana had unnerved her sufficiently. To speak with Turalyon now could undo everything she had worked so hard to create over the last two years. She would not risk it.

  The general of the Alliance forces stood alone in the moonlight. Despite his advice to his troops, he had found himself unable to sleep. Khadgar’s words and Alleria's expression had haunted him, and his mind went back, as it had countless times before over the last two years, to the night when his whole world had changed.

  He barely heard the soft whisper above the pounding of the rain on the field tent, and at first Turalyon thought it was merely wishful thinking when he heard Alleria's voice whisper, "Turalyon?"

  He lifted his head and in the dim orange glow of the bra­zier saw her standing just inside the tent. "Alleria! By the Light, you're drenched!"

  Turalyon leaped up from his cot, clad only in a pair of light linen breeches, and rushed to her. Shivering, the elf gazed up at him mutely, her eyes wide, her glorious golden hair plastered to her skull. A thousand questions crowded Turalyon's lips. When had she gotten back? What had hap­pened? And most important, why was she here, in his tent, alone at this hour?

  All of that would wait. She was soaked and chilled, and as he reached to undo her cloak he found it to be as wet as if she'd fallen in a lake. "Here, he said, tossing the sodden thing away. "Stand close to the brazier. I'll get you something dry to wear."

  His matter-of-fact tone seemed to hearten her and she nod­ded, stretching out small hands to the warmth of the glowing embers while he rummaged through his trunk. He found a shirt, breeches, tabard, and cloak. She'd swim in them, but they were dry. He turned to see that Alleria hadn't moved. Something was very wrong indeed.

  "Come on," he said, gently, and led her to the trunk, sitting her down on it. Usually so self-controlled, almost haughty, at this moment Alleria looked like a despairing child. Biting his lip against the questions, Turalyon knelt and drew off her boots. Almost an inch of water was in them, and her feet were icy to the touch. He rubbed them briskly, noting how delicate and pale they were, until they warmed somewhat, then rose and helped her to her feet.

  "Here are some dry clothes," he said, steering her back to­ward the brazier. "Change into those and I'll get something hot for you to drink. Then we'
ll talk."

  Turalyon pressed the clothes into her hands and turned his back, blushing a little. He heard a soft rustling behind him and waited for her to tell him she was ready for him to turn around.

  He inhaled swiftly as he felt a pair of small hands slip around his waist from behind, and a slender figure press against his back. Turalyon did not move at once, then, slowly, took the cold hands in his, lifted them gently, and pressed them to his heart. It was racing. He shivered as he felt chilled lips press a soft kiss onto his shoulder, and closed his eyes.

  How long had he wanted this? Dreamed of it? He'd real­ized early on that he'd fallen head over heels in love with Alleria, but until recently he had never expected the emotion to be returned. Over the last few weeks, however, it seemed to him she had sought out his company; had contrived to touch him more often, though still in a teasing manner. And now…

  "I'm c-cold," she whispered, her voice thick. "So cold."

  Unable to bear it any longer, Turalyon turned around in her embrace, sliding his hands up her bare back, in awe of how silky her pale skin was beneath his callused, war-roughened hands. The dim light of the brazier caught the gleam of three gems on a necklace that encircled a long, swanlike throat and turned her skin warm and golden. His vision blurred as she turned her face up to him, and he blinked back tears of an emotion so profound it shook his very soul.

  "Alleria," he whispered into her long, pointed ear. Suddenly he tightened his arms around her, holding her close, pressing her against him. "Let me warm you," he said, brokenly. "Let me take away whatever it is that's hurting you, that's fright­ened you. I can't stand the thought of you in pain."

  He would do no more, ask for nothing more. He was terri­fied that at any minute she would recover, tell him she was simply playing with him, and retreat to a respectable dis­tance to discuss tactics or strategy with him. Turalyon would let her, if that was what she wanted. If that was what she needed to recover, to get the light and life back into her eyes, to banish this terrifying stillness.