Alleria frowned. "The road… it—" She went suddenly pale, then her lovely face contorted in anger. "Those… monsters . . ."
Turalyon had cantered up beside her. "What is it?"
"The road . . ." Alleria seemed unable to find the words. She tried again. "It's… it's paved with bones."
They all fell silent. Surely Alleria was mistaken. The road she indicated was no small path. It was a road proper, meant for dozens to ride abreast. For huge engines of war to traverse. It was wider than the bridge over the water that led into Stormwind, and so long that it trailed out of sight.
For it to be paved with bones would mean that hundreds… no, no… thousands of bodies had —
"Merciful Light," a young man whispered. He'd gone starkly white, and murmurs rose behind him. Even as the troops registered this horrific information, the enemy showed itself. Only a few orcs had been near the Dark Portal when they'd passed through. Khadgar had hoped they'd be the only ones they'd fight upon entering the orcs' world, but those few had had time to summon reinforcements. Along a ridge beyond the road of the dead, Khadgar could now see dozens of orcs, their weapons glinting in the harsh red light.
For the first time since this whole nightmare with the rift had started, Khadgar thought the soldiers might falter.
"It's a small army," he said softly. Orcs had been in his vision as well, orcs standing on a ridge, bellowing and snarling and cursing.
"We have an army of our own," Alleria said, looking at Turalyon.
"We do," Turalyon replied, emotion making his voice crack. He too had been shaken by their first sight of this world, but now he wore a look of passionate resolve. “An army that will stand between the orcs and those they would harm. That will not stand by and watch its own world suffer, as this poor place has." He looked back at his troops.
"Sons of Lothar," he shouted. "This is the fight we were made for! More than ever before, we fight for our world now! We will not permit them to do to us or others what they have done here!" His voice carried, clear and pure and strong, as bright and shining as the hammer he now lifted. "For Stormwind! For Lordaeron, and Ironforge, and Gnomeregan. For Azeroth!"
So be it, Khadgar thought, and followed his general into the fray.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ner'zhul sat upon his throne in Hellfire Citadel, the brooding, nightmarish fortress the Horde had built shortly after the clans united. He loathed this place.
It was hideous, a disturbing, disjointed creation of jagged angles, dark stone, and corridors and walkways that twined in and over one another like a maddened snake. If it bore any resemblance to a traditional orс village, which was a collection of small buildings, huts, and short towers, it was only the most twisted distortion of such a wholesome thing, much as the orсs themselves had become twisted and distorted. Whereas orс huts were fabricated from green branches and covered in bark, these buildings were dark stone banded with rough iron. Strange support pillars rose around them, topped with gleaming steel spikes, as if colossal clawed hands were erupting from the cracked ground to grip the structures. The twisting, connecting paths extended from one roof to the next, more as if the buildings had melted and shifted than as if the paths were intentional. At the back rose a taller tower with a peaked roof. It was here that they had shaped a throne room for Blackhand, the Shadow Council giving a puppet ruler a pretend throne. Now that throne belonged to Ner'zhul, the new Horde leader in truth, and the rest of the abomination that was the stronghold with it.
Ner'zhul did not glance out through the arching windows toward the portal. He had no desire to be struck, again, by how desolate his once-fertile world had become. But really, there was no avoiding it, was there? Absently his fingers went to touch the white-painted skull on his face. Death. The death of his world, the death of his people, the death of his own idealism. Blood was on his green, gnarled hands; the blood of so many innocents. The blood of orсs who had trusted him, whom he had inadvertently led astray.
You must stop thinking of it that way, came a voice inside his head. He ignored it. It was easier to ignore the voice of the dead Gul'dan when he was not in physical contact with the skull. Yet even as he vowed not to give it heed, he cast a glance at it now as it sat on a small table. Torchlight danced off the yellowing bone. He found himself speaking to it, as if Gul'dan could hear him. Which, in a way, was true.
“We did much harm, you and I. Deathbringers, doom callers, both of us. But now we can try to save them. And your skull, my old apprentice… your skull will be part of that. Dead you are better use to the orcs than you were alive. Back you have come, to your old master. Maybe together we can give them a new chance."
But that's not what you really want, is it, my master?
Ner'zhul blinked. "Of course it is! I have ever sought to aid my people! That I have become death to them … it sears me. It is why I wear this." He touched the paint on his face yet again. Skulls: the one before him, the one he adorned his face with. Death's heads.
Perhaps it once was, and Guldan's voice crept into his mind, soft, soothing. But you are greater than that, mighty Ner'zhul. Together, we can —
A scuffling sound drew his attention, and Ner'zhul reluctantly tore his gaze from the skull, leaving the latest debate with its owner unfinished. Gorefiend stood before him, along with a human Ner'zhul did not recognize, a tall, slender man with dark curls and a neat beard. The stranger wore sumptuous clothing and moved with the manner of a leader, all grace and confidence. There was something about him that did not ring true, and Ner'zhul frowned, sensing the power around the stranger.
"I have the artifacts," Gorefiend announced without preamble, holding up a large sack. Ner'zhul felt hope surge inside him and waved the death knight forward eagerly. Gorefiend approached the throne, pulling each of the items in turn from the sack and placing them in his ruler's lap.
Ner'zhul stared down at them, lifting each one to admire it. A large, heavy book, its red cover trimmed in brass and emblazoned with a raven in flight. A crystal the size of a man's head, its center faceted like a star and edged in deepest violet. And a long, slender scepter, silver and wood with a large white gem glittering at its peak.
"Yes," Ner'zhul whispered, resting his hands atop the three items. He could feel the power radiating from them, immense power — power enough to tear open the space between worlds. "Yes, with these we will create new portals. We will save the Horde. We must begin work at once! It will take some time to craft a spell of this magnitude, and everything must be exact." He allowed himself a smile. "But with these three things, we cannot fail."
Gorefiend bowed. "I told you this would work," he reminded Ner'zhul. He stepped back a pace and turned toward the human he had brought with him.
"We could not have retrieved the artifacts if not for the black dragonflight. Deathwing is their father and leader."
Deathwing! Ner'zhul's hands tightened on the arms of his throne. Skulls, death knights… and now before him a mighty being even named for death. Ner'zhul could see the dragon's true form wrapped around his human shell like wisps of smoke, and shivered inwardly. Deathwing’s lips curved in a smile that was not at all warming, and he bowed with a hint of mockery. Ner'zhul tried to calm his racing heart. This, too, he had dreamed of — this shadow of death.
"He freely gave us the aid of his children in exchange for passage through the Dark Portal for himself, his kin, and certain cargo he provided," Gorefiend said.
"Cargo?" Ner'zhul found his voice, though he winced slightly at how treble it sounded in his ears. "What manner of cargo?"
"Nothing you need worry yourself about," Deathwing replied in the smooth, cool voice. It carried the subtlest hint of a deadly serious warning. For an instant the torches flickered as if a sharp wind stirred them, and the dragon's shadow rose up behind him, filling the room.
You see? Even now you fly with the dragon, all unwitting. You fly with the shadow of death, Ner'zhul. Will you not embrace it?
/> Ner'zhul wanted to clap his hands to his ears, but he knew it would be a futile gesture. He took a deep breath and forced himself to be calm.
"I thank you for your aid, Deathwing. We are grateful."
"Lord Deathwing."'
"Of course — Lord Deathwing." The human-seeming dragon stood there, not acknowledging the subtle dismissal. "Is there anything else we could help you with?" Ner'zhul said. He wanted this creature gone.
The dragon-man considered, lips pursed, long fingers stroking his beard. Ner'zhul got the distinct impression that his pondering was feigned.
"That is generous of you to offer, noble Ner'zhul," he replied after a moment, managing to twist the words so that they sounded sarcastic. “And I would be lying if I said the skull you have over there did not intrigue me greatly." The words were polite, diplomatic, but they surged with barely restrained power, and the dragon's eyes glowed for an instant with a fire that put the torches to shame.
Ner'zhul gulped. Did Deathwing hear Gul'dan's voice too?
Deathwing chuckled softly and extended a well-manicured hand. A ring glittered in the light. "Come, good Ner'zhul. It's my understanding that with these trinkets I helped your friend Gorefiend obtain, you have all the power you need to achieve your goals. The skull is not necessary to you anymore. And I want it."
Ner'zhul fought back rising panic. While what Deathwing said was true, he did not want to hand over the skull. Gul'dan had been his apprentice, after all, and if there was any knowledge still locked in that yellowed relic, surely no one had a better right to it than Ner'zhul.
"I grow impatient," said the silky smooth voice of the dragon named for death. "I don't think you want me to be impatient, Ner'zhul. Do you?"
Ner'zhul shook his head and found his voice. "Please, take the skull, if you wish it. It is a trifling thing." A lie, of course, and both he and the dragonlord knew it. Deathwing smiled, showing sharp teeth, and strode to the skull. His eyes widened as it came into contact with his flesh, and for an instant Ner'zhul saw spikes and scales and metal plates where flesh had been, and smoldering red eyes in a long, triangular head.
"I must say, I'm pleased with our… partnership. It seems to benefit us both." The voice was warm, almost gloating. "Know that, if you should have need of us, you have but to call. I shall leave you for now. Several of my children will remain behind and heed all your commands as if they were my own." He nodded to both Ner'zhul and Gorefiend, then turned and exited the room, the skull in his hand, draped beneath a portion of his long cloak.
The orc shaman and the death knight watched him leave. "I wish he had not taken the skull," Gorefiend said after they were sure the dragon had gone. "Still, if we do not need it, it is a small price to pay for the artifacts he helped us acquire."
Ner'zhul took a deep breath, as if the air in the room was suddenly breathable again. "Do you have any idea what he wants it for?" he asked Gorefiend.
"None," the death knight admitted reluctantly. Their eyes met. In Gorefiend's glowing red depths, Ner'zhul saw something that alarmed him almost as much as the dragon's presence had: worry.
"Time grows short, and our window is narrow. Let us make all preparations as swiftly as we may." They needed to leave this dead world before it was too late.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Khadgar found he liked looking at the night sky in this world.
It wasn't red.
He sighed and adjusted his telescope, focusing in on a particularly bright star. It was a tiny bit closer to the constellation he'd dubbed Turalyon's Hammer. Now, if it would just —
"How much longer?"
Khadgar started, began to slip, and grabbed a handhold on the roof. "Damn it, Alleria, quit sneaking up on me like that!"'
The beautiful ranger, peering at him from the window, simply shrugged. "I can't help it if I move quietly. And you're so focused you wouldn't hear an ogre trundling up here. How much longer?"
The mage sighed and rubbed his eyes. The tower whose roof he was currently perched atop was part of an outpost they'd named Honor Hold. It had taken months to lay the foundations for it and months more to finish the outer walls and one or two buildings, including this one. During that time they'd had to fight off repeated Horde attacks, though fortunately most had been little more than brief skirmishes. That the Horde was out there was certain. That they were holding back was also certain. Figuring out why they were holding back was one of the reasons Khadgar came out, night after night, to look at the stars.
The last several months had not been without their challenges.
Since arriving and emerging victorious in that first battle with the orcs on their native world, the Alliance had held the portal. At least on this side. Shortly after this expedition had come through, they had cheered at the sight of more troops and supplies following them. "Courtesy of the kings of the Alliance," they'd been told. Particularly welcome had been a few kegs of ale. For that little luxury, they had Magni Bronzebeard to thank.
But that hadn't lasted. When the second caravan of supplies had failed to materialize on the appointed day, a small group sent to investigate had returned quickly with news that the orcs were currently in charge of the Azerothian side of the portal. And so it had gone, the supplies that made existence bearable — even possible — coming only sporadically. Sporadically, too, came the promised troops. Turalyon had optimistically predicted being able to mount an assault within a month, but with the portal changing sides so often, the promised troops were unable to get through.
The orcs were based in a foul-looking fortress to the west of Honor Hold. It was huge and well-fortified in addition to being aesthetically repugnant, and any attack would take a lot of thought and preparation if it was to be successful.
"Soon,” Khadgar told Alleria. "It will happen soon."
It had been a puzzle, at first. Shortly after they had arrived and building had begun on Honor Hold, the orcs had started attacking. That in itself was not surprising. What was surprising was that they kept attacking. Not daily, and not a lot of them. But enough. Also strange was that they seemed not to care about the portal anymore.
"Whatever else you can say about the Horde, they've never been stupid," Turalyon said one evening as he spoke with Danath, Alleria, Kurdran, and Khadgar. "So why do they keep just throwing themselves at us? Their numbers are too small to take the hold. And they're not after the portal."
"I do not think we are too late to prevent Ner'zhul from opening portals to other worlds," Khadgar mused. "Though why he has not done so, I'm not certain. He has the artifacts he needs. He must need something else." Khadgar had leaned back in the rough wooden chair, stroking his long white beard thoughtfully.
"Wouldn't it take massive amounts of power, and some very complex spellwork?" asked Danath. "Maybe he's spent all this time just working out the details."
"Doubtful," Khadgar said. "It's complicated, yes, but I'm sure he was working on it while he was having the artifacts retrieved. Scepter, book, and Eye," he mused, thinking. “And what else? What could he be waiting for?"
They'd tried interrogating a few orcs they had captured, but none of them had told them anything useful. These were not death knights, but peons — cannon fodder, sent only to delay the Alliance while Ner'zhul waited for… whatever.
While knowing the need to travel light, Khadgar had nonetheless permitted himself to take a few items with him. One was a ring that enabled him to understand any language — and to be understood. It was what had enabled them to interrogate the orcs, who spoke only their own, guttural language. Among the other items were a handful of books — spellbooks and one book that had once belonged to Medivh. There was nothing magical about it, just notes about Draenor, its skies, its continents. Khadgar found comfort in gazing up at the skies at night; they were only red in the daylight, and Khadgar amused himself by identifying constellations while letting his mind chew on Ner'zhul's mystery. Comprehension came to him one night while he was so engaged,
as if the stars had the answer. And it turned out they did.
"Scepter, book, and Eye!" he'd exclaimed to Kurdran as he rushed out of his quarters.
"Eh?" grunted the startled dwarf "Lost yer mind finally, have ye, laddie?"
"Get the others. We need to talk." A few moments later, the commanders of the various forces were in the tower. "Turalyon — you first. Get out there and look through the telescope. Tell me what you see."
Turalyon threw him a look of utter bafflement, but obeyed. Peering through the telescope, he said, "I see … stars. What am I supposed to be looking at?"
"Constellations. Groups of stars." Khadgar was so excited that the words tumbled out of him. "What do they look like?'"
"Well, one's kind of a square. The other's long and thin. I can't see any other distinctive shapes."
"No… you're not used to looking at them. One of Medivh's many areas of expertise was astronomy. He had books with star maps of constellations I'd never even seen. Constellations of this world."
"That's all well an' gud, lad, but I'm not about tae crawl up there without understanding why ye want me tae," Kurdran grumbled.
"Look at this." Khadgar shoved a book into the dwarf's hands. Turalyon continued to look through the telescope as Alleria, Danath, and Kurdran examined the book Khadgar had foisted upon them. "What do you see?"
"Constellation names," Danath said. "The Staff… the Tome… and the Seer."
"Scepter, book, and Eye," Alleria said slowly, lifting her fair head to stare at Khadgar with admiration. "So… Ner'zhul needed those artifacts because they corresponded with this world's constellations?"
"Yes — and no," said Khadgar, barely able to restrain his excitement. "There's much more. Once every five hundred and forty-seven years, there's a celestial event that involves these three stars. See that reddish dot in the middle of the book? That's the first thing that appears. In about a month you'll be able to see a comet streaking through the scepter. And at the next moon cycle, the moon will be full right smack in the middle of the Eye. Apparently it's quite the spectacle, according to these notes."
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