Beyond the Dark Portal

by Aaron Rosenberg

  “Ah!” The arakkoa got to his feet excitedly, staring at the gryphons which roosted in the trees, claws digging into the branches they had chosen, heads tucked under one wing. He hurried toward them.

  “Magnificent!” he whispered, reaching out to stroke the nearest gryphon along a shoulder. The beast shuddered slightly but did not wake up. Danath noticed that Grizzik’s hands were more like talons than anything else, but his touch across the gryphon’s feathers was gentle.

  “’Ere now, what are ye doing!” exclaimed one of the Wildhammers, hurrying toward Grizzik.

  “Easy, Fergun,” Danath said before the dwarf tackled their potential new guide. “They’re called gryphons, from our world,” Danath explained to Grizzik. “Each gryphon has a rider, a Wildhammer dwarf like Fergun here.”

  Grizzik had reached the last gryphon in line, a magnificent beast that stood shivering as if cold, despite the fact that it was a warm night. “She grieves,” he said, stroking her shoulder and back.

  “‘At’s Sky’ree,” Fergun said in a voice that was gruffer than usual. “Kurdran’s mount.”

  Grizzik clacked his beak and cocked his head askew, peering at Danath. “Sky’ree’s rider, Kurdran, was the leader of the Wildhammers,” Danath explained. “He…he fell in battle today.”

  Grizzik nodded. “Ah. Prisoner. I see him.”

  “Prisoner?” Danath exclaimed.

  “The orcs bring captive with them into Auchindoun. Look like him,” and the bird-man pointed at Fergun. “Red fur on chin. Blue drawn on skin. He very loud.”

  Danath felt a surge of excitement. Kurdran was alive? He turned to Talthressar. “We need to rescue him.”

  “The dwarf knew the risk,” the ranger replied coolly. “And the mission must come before personal attachments.”

  But Danath shook his head. “Kurdran is one of Turalyon’s most trusted lieutenants. The fact that he’s even alive means that the Horde realizes he knows things about our forces that they’d find very valuable—if they can crack him. We need to get him out of there before that happens. And this…arakkoa can take us to him.”

  Talthressar sighed. “Grizzik. No doubt it is dangerous for you to help us. Why do you do so?”

  “Is simple answer. You oppose Horde,” Grizzik replied with a decisive clack of his beak. “I too hate Horde, for what they have done to arakkoa, to our world.”

  Danath looked from Grizzik to Talthressar. The ranger nodded. It was the best chance they had—and if Grizzik did try to betray them, he’d pay, and quickly.

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  By the time Grizzik had sketched out a basic map of Auchindoun and the various tunnels, and explained them in Common that grew clearer almost by the moment, Danath had abandoned the idea of taking a small force in to rescue Kurdran. Instead, he had a far better plan.

  Now he strode down a long, dark tunnel, only the torch in his hand providing any light. Grizzik was perhaps ten feet in front of him, and Talthressar was between the two of them, neither the arakkoa nor the elf requiring additional light to make their way.

  And behind Danath walked fully half the Alliance army.

  “Tunnels are wide—ten Alliance-people can go together,” Grizzik had assured him. “And tall. Even ogre only stoops! Draenei built them well. Explosion that des-destroyed central passages not reach the outer tunnels. Still clean and dry and secure.”

  That had convinced Danath, especially once Rellian had gone with Grizzik and reported back on the tunnel the bird-man had shown him. “It’s like the long hall in a palace,” the ranger had said. “Exactly as he told us, and I saw no other movement, not even vermin.”

  “We will divide in two,” Danath had decided. “Half of our forces will follow me through the tunnels and up into Auchindoun. The other half will attack the front, sneaking in through the temple ruins and down to distract the Horde while we approach from behind. Once we’re in position we’ll strike and crush them between us.”

  And now, less than an hour after entering the tunnel, Grizzik was stopping and gesturing toward a wide door set into the wall. “Behind this, stairs,” the arakkoa explained. “Lead us down into Auchindoun proper.”

  Danath scowled, remembering the maze the arakkoa had sketched out for him. “And you don’t know where exactly the Horde will be, or where they’ve taken their prisoner?” he asked again.

  Unfortunately, the bird-man’s answer was the same as before. “I know way into Auchindoun,” he said again, “but little beyond that.” For a second the shadows of his cowl gave his long, sharp-planed face a sinister cast. “My people—we not truly welcome here. Draenei revere their dead, not appreciate intrusion. I wander, I explore here—learn a little. Only a little, though.”

  Danath nodded. He’d known it was too much to hope that the arakkoa could lead him straight to Kurdran, but still he didn’t relish the idea of wandering aimlessly through miles of tunnel while the Horde warriors crouched in ambush.

  Grizzik reached for the door—and jumped back, beak clacking in surprise, taloned hands rising even as he crouched, as the door shifted and creaked open. Danath raised his shield and lifted his sword as well—and stopped, staring at the figure outlined in the now-open door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was not an orc.

  It was no race Danath had ever seen before. The figure was tall and broad-shouldered, with pale blue skin that nearly glowed in the dim torchlight. Its features were strong and noble, similar to an elf’s but more rugged, with smaller pointed ears and wide slanting eyes. A row of ridged plates covered the figure’s high forehead, ending just above the stern brow, and thick tentacles hung down from the jaw on either side of a small tufted beard. Silver hair swept back around the head and fell beyond the shoulders of the stranger’s richly brocaded but heavily worn robes, and he held a long, ornate staff in one hand. Cloven hooves emerged below the robe’s frayed hem, Danath saw, and a sweep of motion behind them told him this strange figure had a tail as well.

  The figure spoke in a deep smooth voice, raising the staff before him, and its tip flared with a pale violet light that reflected in his eyes. Those eyes caught sight of Grizzik, who was cowering behind Danath, and they narrowed. He spoke again, in angry tones, and Grizzik replied in the same language.

  “What is this creature? What’s it want?” Danath barked at Grizzik. “He certainly doesn’t seem happy to see you.”

  “I tell him, I lead noble warriors here, that’s all.”

  The being turned toward them again and impaled Danath with his gaze. Then he murmured something and his staff glowed yet again. He opened his eyes and spoke—in perfect Common.

  “This…creature…tells me he leads you here. What are you, and what is your goal here, among the revered dead?

  Danath lowered his shield and sheathed his sword, shocked that the other knew his language, but caring more about convincing him to let them pass than in finding out how he learned it.

  “I apologize for the intrusion,” he told the stranger. “We would not disturb your dead, or yourself. But the orcish Horde has taken refuge in your tunnels, and has captured our friend. We seek to rescue him and to defeat them as well.”

  The being—Danath assumed it was some sort of draenei, since Grizzik had said this was their temple—glared at the mention of the Horde, but nodded when Danath had finished. “Yes, the orcs have invaded our tunnels,” he confirmed, lowering his staff to rest its base upon the floor. “They have laid claim to the Shadow Labyrinth, the deepest part of Auchindoun and the least damaged. It is there they will have taken your friend, and there you will find the majority of the Horde forces.”

  “The majority?” Danath asked, leaning forward eagerly.

  “Some of the orcs did not arrive recently,” the draenei said. “They have been here for some years, since just before the explosion. They reside within a different tunnel.” He shook his head, a mixture of anger and grief on his noble features. “They have sullied this temple with their pr
esence for far too long.”

  “We’ll soon fix that,” Danath assured him.

  “You have told me your purpose. Now tell me what manner of creature you are. Many places I have traveled, but I have never seen your like before.”

  “I am human,” Danath replied. “We hail from Azeroth, another world—the orcs forged a portal between there and Draenor and invaded, but we have broken their army and pushed them back. Now we seek to seal the portal once and for all, to protect our home and our people.”

  The draenei studied him, those large eyes unblinking, and Danath knew the stranger was somehow testing the truth of his words. At last he nodded. “That is a noble goal,” he stated, and stepped out of the doorway to stand before Danath. “I am Nemuraan, one of the last of the Auchenai,” he introduced himself. “We were the priests of our people, and cared for the dead here in Auchindoun.” Danath introduced himself and Talthressar, and both bowed slightly.

  “I applaud your determination, both in rescuing your friend and in removing the Horde’s taint,” Nemuraan continued. “I can help you with both tasks, if you will allow it.”

  “I’d be grateful,” Danath answered honestly. He showed the Auchenai the rough map Grizzik had sketched out. “This is all I know of Auchindoun.”

  Nemuraan examined the crude drawing and chuckled, though it was a bitter sound. “Did that one draw this for you, then?” he asked, indicating the arakkoa with a quick jerk of his tentacled chin. Grizzik was no longer cowering, though he was carefully staying back among the Alliance warriors, Danath noted. “He has been prowling through our halls for years,” the Auchenai continued after Danath nodded, “but he knows little beyond where to search for items to steal.”

  “I meant no harm!” Grizzik protested. “I not know anyone remained within Auchindoun! I never have taken anything if I’d thought—”

  “If you thought you’d get caught?” Nemuraan interrupted. “Be careful with this one,” he warned Danath. “The arakkoa were ever a devious race, and a selfish one.”

  “He has been true to his word thus far,” Danath replied, “and I believe him when he says he hates the Horde.”

  “Yes!” Grizzik agreed fervently, his dark eyes glittering. “I hate them all! Please please! We have common enemy!”

  “That we do,” Nemuraan admitted after a moment. “Very well, arakkoa, we will start fresh as of this moment.” The Auchenai turned back to Danath, taking the parchment from his hand and producing a small black stick from a fold in his robes. With several quick marks he altered a few lines, linked a few tunnels, and expanded the map considerably. “The orcs will be here,” he explained, indicating one section. “Come. I will lead you to them.” Without another word Nemuraan thrust the map back at Danath and turned away, starting back up the stairs, his hooves clopping on the stone floor.

  Danath glanced at Talthressar and Rellian, who nodded. He took a deep breath, and followed the draenei into Auchindoun.

  “Have you lived here by yourself all these years?” he asked softly as Nemuraan led them into a second wide hallway and then through a series of twisting corridors.

  “There are others,” the Auchenai replied, his staff raised to light the way. “Several of us survived the Horde’s attack and fled into the tunnels. Other draenei joined us later, seeking refuge from the Horde’s sudden onslaught. Many of them died in the explosion, and others have been lost since. Only a handful of us remain.”

  Danath glanced around, wondering where these others might be, but ahead of him Nemuraan shook his head.

  “You will not see them. Though you seem noble and true, it would not be wise for me to put the rest of my people at risk. They will remain hidden while I aid you, so that if you do betray me, our race will yet continue.”

  “A wise precaution,” Danath agreed. “I’d have done the same.”

  They continued to walk for some time, finally stopping at another door. “This marks the start of the Shadow Labyrinth,” Nemuraan explained. “Behind it lies the Horde.” He turned and studied Danath closely, his face somber yet his eyes alight with…anticipation? Joy? “I would aid you further, if you will permit it,” he offered softly, “though I warn that the type of aid might prove unsettling to some.”

  Danath frowned and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  The Auchenai bowed his head. “In my keeping are the souls of all our departed,” he explained humbly, hands clasped on his staff. “At times of great need I may call upon them. I would do so now—they would relish the chance to cleanse these halls of the orcs’ foul touch.”

  Danath was a little shaken at the matter-of-factness with which this was presented. He knew the Horde’s death knights were orc spirits placed in human bodies, so clearly spirits could survive beyond death, although he’d always been taught the dead should be left to rest in peace. But if Nemuraan was a protector of the dead, it would be all right if he asked for their help…wouldn’t it? Danath had said to Turalyon earlier that the ghosts of the men who had fallen would fight with him when they found the orcs, but he’d been speaking metaphorically. It looked as though the ghosts of someone’s fallen took such comments literally. Finally Danath shrugged. Such questions were for those of a more esoteric mind-set, and from a military standpoint he could certainly use all the help they could get.

  “I am honored,” he told Nemuraan. “And if it would not disturb or anger them, we would welcome their assistance.”

  Nemuraan nodded and bowed deeply, clearly pleased with Danath’s reply, then straightened and raised his staff high. Violet light blossomed down the length of the hallway, filling it with light and awakening answering gleams all along the ceiling. These gleams grew brighter rather than dimming, their colors shifting from violet to blue to green to gold as they descended and expanded, gaining shape and definition. The one nearest Danath and Nemuraan altered to reveal a massive figure, clearly a draenei but burlier than Nemuraan and wearing ornate plate armor rather than robes, a giant warhammer across one shoulder and a long cape trailing behind him. Others came into crisp focus as well, filling the room.

  And they were all staring at Danath and his men.

  A wind sprung out of nowhere, rustling Danath’s cape, stirring Talthressar’s long hair. A deep coldness seized Danath and he began to shiver uncontrollably. The spectral warriors advanced, beautiful and implacable, and Danath was rooted to the spot in sudden terror. Their leader extended a hand and brushed Danath’s forehead with it. The human cried out as images filled his mind—young Farrol and Vann in the stables before departing. Vann’s words cut off as an orc club had silenced him forever. Crouching low over his horse, living so the dead could know peace. Sky’ree, returning riderless. Bodies…so many of them, my boys, my boys, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—

  The image of the Horde, strong and armed, racing over fertile fields that were not Azeroth. Hundreds of fields, hundreds of worlds, innocent people dying as a green wave that did not belong in that place snuffed the life out of it. Moving on to the next, and the next—

  “Your soul is troubled, Danath Trollbane of the Alliance,” said the spirit, though his face did not move. The words were in his mind. “You grieve for the fallen. Though you have come here with grief and rage in your heart, the true reasons that drive you are good and just. Be at peace. I am Boulestraan, once known as the Blinding Light, and my army and I shall aid you in your struggle.”

  The cold terror faded, replaced by an odd sort of peace. Danath blinked. He looked again at the spirit and saw with a start that its eyes were pure gold, and that a flare of golden light rose from its brow as well.

  “We are in your debt,” Danath managed. It was difficult to force the words out, or to tear his eyes from the figure before him, and Danath wondered if this was what Turalyon meant when he referred to the glory of the Holy Light. For Boulestraan and his ghostly warriors were no longer terrifying in the least. They were glorious, golden and gleaming and beautiful. Danath realized he’d just been tested, and rel
ief washed over him as he regarded the draenei dead hovering protectively around his men.

  With a quick shake to clear his head, Danath settled his shield upon one arm. Drawing his sword, he gripped the leather-wrapped pommel firmly. He glanced at Talthressar and Rellian. “Once we’re out, you’re with me,” he told them. “We have to find Kurdran.” Turning to the men in his charge, he said, “The orcs are behind this door. They don’t know we are here, and are likely expecting a dawn attack in a few hours. We have the element of surprise—let’s use it to full advantage. Once through the door, attack the first orc you see. Shout and yell and kick things out of your way. We want them confused, panicked, and unsure of how many foes they face and where.” He grinned. “That will leave them easy marks for our blows.” The men nodded back, and raised their fists in a silent cheer. Danath raised his fist as well, the torch held high. Then he turned back toward the door, readied himself, and nodded for Nemuraan to open it.

  The Auchenai eased the door handle, then slammed the door open with surprising force, the thud of stone against stone a sharp crack that echoed like thunder in the enclosed space of the ruins.

  “For the Sons of Lothar!” Danath shouted as he leaped through the opening. The door had opened onto a medium-sized tunnel not far behind a makeshift wall, and there were perhaps a dozen orcs here, lounging and sleeping and repairing gear. They glanced up, startled, as he burst in among them. Several stumbled to their feet, scrambling for weapons. But they were too slow. Danath’s first blow took an orc in the throat just as it was raising its head to shout an alarm. He continued the swing around, cut another orc across the forehead, and stabbed the creature through the heart while it shook its head to clear its vision. By now several of his men accompanied him.

  Then in came the glowing, golden dead, implacable and beautiful, their weapons spectral but lethal. The orcs panicked at the sight, bellowing in terror, many of them dropping what weapons they’d raised and falling to the floor, and they were quickly dispatched. Most of the orcs here had not even been fully armed yet.