Beyond the Dark Portal wow-4

by Aaron Rosenberg

  "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 Auchcnai," 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 Auchcnai 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 Auchcnai 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 Auchcnai 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 Auchcnai 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 Auchcnai 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 warhammcr 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 relief 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 clement 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 cased 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.

  "Go!" Danath shouted to his men even as the last few orcs fell. "Go! Kill every orc you sec!" He glanced at Boulcstraan. Send your warriors with them," he said, and the draenei commander nodded, his spirit-warriors already splitting off to accompany Danath’s men. "Nemuraan — show me to their prisoner!"

  The Auchcnai nodded and opened a door in the far wall, then led Danath and the two elven rangers through it and into a shorter, narrow corridor. Grizzik followed close behind them. They passed along that and into a larger room at the end, where more orcs sat or ate or slept. Fortunately, both rangers had their bows at the ready, and arrows flew from their graceful fingers, killing several orcs before the others even real­ized they were not alone. Then Danath was in among them, his sword biting deep, and the screams and groans of his victims mingled with the sounds of chaos he heard from the rooms behind them, where his men were engaged in the same grisly work.

  Nor was Grizzik idle. The bird-man launched him­self forward in a strange gliding leap that carried him soundlessly behind several orcs, his long taloncd hands darting forward and slashing one orc's throat open with a single swipe. A second orc turned, axe raised high, but the arakkoa ducked beneath the awkward blow and twisted around to the front, then pecked the orс's eyes out before shredding his throat as well. Whatever else the arakkoa was, Danath thought, catch­ing glimpses of the quick, silent carnage, he was no pacifist.

  "This way!" Nemuraan urged once the room's de­fenders were dead, and led them across the blood-spattered chamber to another door. The Auchenai had not attacked any of the orcs himself, though his very presence and the light from his staff had seemed to confound them and make them easier to dispatch. This new door opened onto a much smaller room, and oc­cupying half the space was a strange wooden frame­work like a rough table with raised crossbeams.

  Lashed to those beams was a short, muscular figure. Blood had dried in a pool around him, had caked on his flesh. He sagged, unconscious, against the restraints, and Danath, seasoned warrior though he was, stared for a precious moment in simple horror at the atroci­ties perpetrated on his friend.

  A single heavy-set orc leaned against the wall nearby, a spiked club at its side, clearly set to guard the pris­oner. It pushed off the wall as Danath came into the room, a look of surprise on its brutish face, and its eyes widened further when the elves put a pair of arrows in its chest. A third arrow struck right between the eyes, and the orc died before it could even speak.

  Danath was already hacking at the ropes binding his friend. "Kurdran!" he shouted, grasping his friend. "Kurdran!"

  Talthressar murmured something in his musical tongue, but he too was pale as he helped Danath lower the Wildhammer to the table. Danath was still in shock. Both of Kurdran's arms bent in unnatural ways, and his muscular body seemed to have more welts and cuts than tattoos now. His hands and feet were utterly broken, as if crushed with a club; the only sign that he was even alive was a faint rise and fall of his chest. The dwarf looked like something they'd find in a butcher's shoo. What had the orcs done to him?

  "Light… I don't even know where to start," Danath said, his voice thick, staring at the bloody, broken body.

  "I do … if you will permit me." Danath's head whipped up. Nemuraan had come forward, his staff glowing. "I am a priest of my people. I would do what I can to heal him. But you should know — your friend's spirit clings to life only tenuously. I can try to heal him, or I can case his crossing, if you would rather let him pass.”

  "No!" Danath cried. "I've seen too many — please. If you can heal him, please do it."

  Danath and Talthressar stepped back as the draenei extended a hand. He placed it on Kurdran's head, mat­ted with dried blood, and lifted his staff with the other hand. Closing his eyes, the Auchenai began to pray.

  Danath gasped softly as a pure, gende radiance limned Nemuraan's form. He didn't know the words, but they calmed his heart. The glow brightened at the draenei's hand where it rested on Kurdran's brow. The radiance increased, until it was so bright Danath reluctantly closed his eyes against it.

  He'd seen this before. This being from another world, this draenei, so strange in appearance to him — he was wielding the Light, Just as Turalyon did.

  A grunt made Danath open his eyes. "Eh? What?" Kurdran muttered, his head tossing from side to side. "Do yer worst, ye green-skinned beasties!" He opened his eyes and stared straight up at the blue figure bend­ing over him. "It's all right." Danath assured him before he could struggle, placing a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. Nemuraan stepped back, the light around him starting to fade, and smiled. "He's… will he be… ?"

  "I have done all I could. He is healed, for the most part. But not all scars can be erased, nor things that are broken made as they were before."

  "Who's broken?" Kurdran snorted. He sat up slowly, flexing his hands and feet, touching his body. "Heh. Dinna know I had that much blood in me." He peered up at Danath. "Ah, Danath, lad!" he said when he realized who was beside him, his broad face splitting into a wide grin. "It's ye, then, eh? And about bloody time! Not to worry — those beasties got not a word out o' me. Did ye bring my hammer?"

  "He should rest," the draenei warned.

  "Bah! Rest is fer the dead," Kurdran growled.

  "And sometimes not even for them," Talthressar said quietly, glancing at Nemuraan.

  "He's a Wildhammer," Danath said to the priest; it was the best explanation he could come up with. "I brought it, Kurdran. Here." The hammer had been on Sky'ree when the gryphon had returned, and Danath had possessed enough foresight to bring it with him into the tunnel. He handed over the weapon, and couldn't help grinning as the dwarf took the ponderous hammer and hefted it, though Kurdran moved more slowly and stiffly than before.

  "Good." Kurdran inspected the hammer quickly, then nodded his approval. "Now then, what's the plan, laddie? And who be yer friends?" A nod of his head in­dicated Grizzik and Nemuraan. and Danath didn't miss the revulsion that washed across the Auchenai's face at being considered in the same breath as the arakkoa.

  "Nemuraan is an Auchenai, a draenei priest of the dead." Danath explained quickly. "He is o
ne of the last of this place's guardians. You owe your life to him — he healed you."

  "Ah," said Kurdran, putting the pieces together. "Thank ye, lad. The Wildhammers dinna ferget such debts." Nemuraan inclined his head graciously.

  "And that's Grizzik the arakkoa." Danath continued. "He hates the orcs and guided us into this place from the forest. And the plan?" He raised his sword. "The troops are storming the tunnel. The rest will attack soon and draw the orcs' attention away. And we will find Ner’zhul and bring his head back on a polearm."

  "Aye, that's a plan I'm liking. Where be this orc shaman, then?"

  They both glanced at Nemuraan, who tilted his head to one side. "The most defensible room is our for­mer prayer center." the Auchenai said after a moment. "That is where he is most likely to be found."

  "Lead on, then!" Danath said, and Nemuraan nod­ded, taking them out of that room and down a short corridor to a wide, heavy stone door covered in elabo­rate designs.

  "Here," he told them. "Behind this door lies the prayer center." Grief shone from his eyes. "We would come here to pay our respects and commune with our dead."

  Rellian tried the handle. "Locked," he said.

  "Stand back, lad," Kurdran urged as he raised his hammer. "This may splinter some." He was still un­steady on his feet, and Danath bit back a protest. He wouldn't try to stop Kurdran; the Wildhammer needed to reassure himself he could still fight, Danath held his breath as the dwarf steadied himself, and then hurled the stormhammer at the barrier before them.

  The thunderclap that sounded upon impact nearly knocked Danath off his feet. A loud crack and a cloud of dust followed, and as he waved that away Danath saw that the blow had shattered the door. Through it he could see a large round room beyond, and a mass of figures near its center. Several of them glanced up, sur­prise evident in their faces, but two did not — a massive one-eyed orc and an older-looking orc whose face had been painted white to resemble a skull. That had to be Ner’zhul.