Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. Then, before Danath could begin his charge, Ner’zhul said something to the one-eyed orc, turned, and slipped past him. racing through a door at the far end of the room.
"No you don't!" Danath cried, starting after Ner’zhul, but the one-eyed orc strode forward, blocking him. A long scar ran down the side of the large orc's face, and a patch covered that eye, but the other glared at Danath without fear.
"I am Kilrogg Deadeye," the orc announced proudly in heavily accented Common, pounding his chest with one hand even as he raised a massive war axe with the other. "I am chieftain of the Bleeding Hollow clan. Many humans have I slain. You will not be the last. I am charged with stopping you from passing, and so … you shall not."
Danath eyed this new foe carefully. He could see from the streaks of white in his hair and the lines on his face that this Kilrogg was older than he, but his body was still heavily muscled and he moved with the grace of a natural warrior. He seemed to have honor, too. For some reason, Danath was prompted to respond in kind.
"So be it," he replied, raising his sword to salute his opponent. "I am Danath Trollbane, commander of the Alliance army. I have slain many orcs, and you won't be the last. And I will pass!" With that he charged, shield braced before him, sword already moving in a vicious downward stroke.
Kilrogg blocked the blow with his axe, almost wrenching the sword from Danath's grip as the blade caught between the axe blade and handle. Danath did not slow, however, and his shield slammed full force into Kilrogg's chest. The orc staggered back a pace. Danath took advantage of the moment to set free his sword and swing again, this time low and to the side. The edge clipped Kilrogg's torso just above the waist, and the Bleeding Hollow chieftain grunted as the strike drew blood.
The wound did not slow him down, however, and Kilrogg responded with an attack of his own. He slammed his heavy fist against Danath's shield, denting the sturdy metal and making Danath falter on his feet, then brought his axe around and up with an almost lazy arc that drove it beneath the shield's bottom edge. Danath had to jump back to avoid being disemboweled, and winced as the axe's back edge bashed into the inside of his shield, driving it hard away from him and wrenching his shield arm in the process.
Danath glanced up, and their eyes met. The human saw his own grudging admiration reflected in the orc's single eye as Kilrogg nodded. Each found the other a worthy foe.
The temperature suddenly plummeted, and Danath grinned fiercely. Cries rose from elsewhere in the room, sounds of not only pain but fear; once again Boulestraan's spirit-soldiers, beautiful and terrible, had come to the aid of the Alliance forces. Talthressar and Rellian were firing arrow after arrow, dropping orcs with well-placed shots. Kurdran, meanwhile, was focusing upon the orcs in the front of the room, the Wildhammer single-handedly keeping them at bay with furious swings and throws of his stormhammer, his fighting spirit unbroken although the orcs had done their damnedest to break his body.
Kilrogg noticed all this as well. He roared in rage and charged — not at Danath but at a cluster of men off to his side. The heavy axe rose and fell with lightning speed and two of the soldiers dropped, blood spattering everywhere as their fellows leaped back, desperately trying to hold their own against the enraged orc leader. The draenei spirits floated toward him with dreadful purpose, but Kilrogg evaded their attacks, concentrating his efforts on the humans instead. As fast as Danath's troops cut down the other orcs, Kilrogg carved a space through them in return.
Suddenly Danath winced. A strong droning noise was drilling in his head. What the — he looked everywhere but could not locate it. Then he realized that it was coming from the other door, the one Ner’zhul had disappeared through moments ago. And that the edge beneath the door was glowing. The sounds were a chant, Danath realized suddenly. Between the glow and the chanting, and the hairs rising on the back of his neck, Danath knew they must be working some sort of magic. By the Light, was he opening the portals right now?
"Get past them!" he shouted to his men. "Get in the next room! Now!"
But still Kilrogg blocked the way. The Bleeding Hollow chieftain was almost alone now, all his warriors cut down by the elves and dwarf and humans and draenei working together, but he showed no sign of giving up. Danath could tell that the big orc was willing to sacrifice himself to buy Ner’zhul the time he needed for whatever magic he was working.
A voice suddenly shouted from the other side of the door. Danath couldn't understand the guttural language, but he didn't need to — whatever Ner’zhul had been trying to do, he'd done. There was a faint bursting sound, and the glow under the door intensified suddenly, filling the room with light and sound. Then it faded just as rapidly and soon was completely gone, leaving the room even darker than it had seemed before.
Kurdran managed to get past the burly orc, however. Panting heavily, he swung with all his might, straight at the now-darkened door. The portal shattered with a loud crack and the Wildhammer leader kicked the fragments aside, revealing a smaller room with a rune-scribed circle set into the stone floor. The room was empty.
Kilrogg had glanced toward the door as well, and now he grinned. "You did get past me — I give you that. Well fought, but in the end, you have failed, human. My master has gone ahead to the Black Temple to cast his spell. You cannot stop him now, and worlds without end will know the trampling feet of the Horde."
“By the Light, at least you won't follow him!” Danath renewed the attack, fueled by his anger. He rained blow after blow, but each one was blocked by the wily old warrior. Kilrogg grabbed the shield with one hand, shoving it aside, and slammed his axe down with the other, knocking the sword away before it could reach his belly. Then he grinned at Danath, showing the long curving tusks that sprang from his lower lip.
"You will have to do better than that, human," the orc chided. Taking his axe in both hands, again he swung for Danath's face, then reversed direction and swung once again, forcing Danath to step back or lose his head.
On the next swing Danath ducked and brought his shield up hard. It smashed into Kilrogg's arms, forcing them up as well, and threw the orc off-balance. Then Danath thrust, his sword catching the orc in the belly and sinking deep. He was almost surprised that he'd managed it.
With a roar Kilrogg slammed his forearms down, sending the shield crashing onto Danath's head, and staggered back. He was bleeding heavily from the gut wound, but that only seemed to enrage him. Raising his axe again, Kilrogg brought it down squarely atop Danath's shield, the heavy blade sinking deep into the protective metal. He yanked back and the shield tore away from its straps, leaving Danath defenseless.
"Now we face each other blade to blade," Kilrogg told him, ripping the sundered shield from his axe blade and tossing it aside. "And only one will live to sing of the battle."
"Fine by me," Danath muttered back through clenched teeth. Taking his sword in both hands, he ran forward, straight for Kilrogg, sword held high over one shoulder. But just as the orc chieftain stepped up to meet him, Danath stopped short, using his momentum to pivot on one foot instead, one hand releasing the sword and the other arcing outward so that his strike came from the opposite side. Kilrogg's blind side.
The flashing blade took the surprised orc in the neck, slicing through his throat, and Kilrogg toppled, his axe falling from his hands as they flew up to stop the blood spurting from his wound. But the Bleeding Hollow chieftain was grinning as he dropped to his knees.
"By my blood… the Horde… lives," the orc managed to gasp out, his voice a bubbling whisper. “Ancestors … I come… ." Then his eyes glazed over and Kilrogg Deadeye toppled sideways, to land heavily upon the carved stone floor of the prayer room. Danath was panting, but lifted his sword in salute to a fallen foe.
"Well done, lad," Kurdran said, stepping up beside Danath and patting him on the arm. But Danath shook his head.
"I failed," he said bitterly, glancing down at Kilrogg's body. "He was right. He
did what he was supposed to do — he gave them enough time to escape." Danath scowled and gritted his teeth. "Whatever spell they used transported them straight to some place he called the Black Temple! How can we possibly stop them now? I don't even know where this place is!"
The arakkoa turned, his eyes bright. "Grizzik know! Can take you there!"
"You know where—"
"Sir!" One of Danath's men burst into the room, followed by Nemuraan and the flowing, drifting forms of the draenei dead. "We have the orcs on the run, sir! Some of them have fled deeper into the tunnels, though!" He paused, clearly expecting a reply, and seemed puzzled when Danath did not respond. "Sir?"
Kurdran nudged Danath. "Ye're in charge, lad," the Wildhammer reminded him quietly. "Even if ye feel ye've failed, ye canna let yer troops know it, eh?"
He was right, of course. Danath nodded and straightened. Then he met the soldiers eyes.
"Let the orcs run," he said. "We know where Ner’zhul went, and we're going to follow him. We'll be making for a place called the Black Temple."
"The Black Temple?"
Danath turned at the anger he heard in Boulestraan's spectral voice, and saw the spirit glowering, though not at him. "That was once Karabor, our holiest place. But the orcs defiled it, as they defile all that they touch." His hands tightened on his glowing hammer, which was still completely clean despite the orcs he had slain with it. "I pray when you reach it, you will drive the orcs from its hallowed ground."
Danath nodded. "That's the plan. Thank you for your help. It has been an honor fighting alongside you.”
"For us as well," Boulestraan replied, bowing. "You and your Alliance arc noble warriors, and honorable people. I wish you well, Danath Trollbane. We go to our rest, until summoned again." Then he and his warriors faded away, leaving only soft glows behind, until those diffused as well.
Danath turned to Nemuraan. On impulse, he said, "Come with us. This is no place to live, and you can serve your people more by leaving here and returning to the world. We would even take you to Azeroth with us, if you liked."
Nemuraan smiled. "Truly your world must be a wondrous place, to have produced such a people," he complimented, "and I appreciate your offer. But no, my place is here. Our dead remain in this world — honorably laid to rest in Auchindoun, or scattered in the forest, even paving the path the orcs misname the Path of Glory. Here they lie, in Draenor, and here I stay, to tend them. The Holy Light has placed us here for a reason, and some day it will triumph over all. Until then, I rejoice in the knowledge that I have aided you, and that you and your people carry the Light as well. Go forth, and let your courage and strength drive the orcs before you like chaff before the strong wind. And who knows? Perhaps one day our peoples will indeed battle such evil side by side." He hesitated. “A favor, before you go?"
Danath nodded. "Name it."
"Do not let that one undo what the Light has wrought. A noble and fierce warrior he is to be sure, but wisdom marks a warrior as much as bravery." He indicated Kurdran, who scowled and colored slightly. In the midst of his worry, Danath managed a small smile.
"I'll do what I can — but you see how stubborn he is."
"Bah, the lot of ye."
"Come on, walking wounded," Danath said to Kurdran. "We've a Black Temple to take." And with a final nod to the Auchcnai, Danath Trollbane headed back into the corridors of the city of the dead, hoping that Nemuraan's prayers for the Alliance would be answered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"Don't worry — we're still on the right track," Khadgar felt compelled to say as the group stopped for a rest and to drink some precious water. They needed the reassurance.
They had traveled north from the orcish citadel, skirting the savage coastline to the east. The ground had remained consistent with what they had seen near the portal itself, though less severe: cracked earth, gray, dusty soil, withered plants and trees. They had passed patches of greenery here and there, but most of Draenor was dreary and desolate and bitter.
Now the ground around them had grown more uneven, its dips and rises more significant, and wind whipped by on all sides. Most assuredly a mountain range, but like none he'd ever seen. Stone spikes protruded from the cliff walls around them, jutting outward in every direction as if the peaks themselves were hungry for blood. The rock was a dull reddish brown, too, the color of dried blood, and the sky seemed a vivid scarlet in comparison. It was one of the most unwelcoming places he'd ever encountered, and he suspected the shudder that passed through him had as much to do with that as with the sharp winds knifing among the spikes.
Idly, Khadgar reached out to touch the nearest spike, but stopped just short of actual contact — perhaps tempting the fates was not the best plan. "The skull is not far," he said again.
"You're certain?" Turalyon asked.
"Oh, trust me, I'm certain." He could sense its presence in his head without even searching now, a dull pulse just behind the eyes that almost became visible when he squeezed them shut. Definitely close.
"Good," Turalyon replied, hefting his hammer and eyeing the spikes. "I've had enough of this place."
"I think we—" began Khadgar, but Alleria lifted a commanding hand for silence.
"Listen!"
Khadgar strained to hear, but his ears were not as sharp as an elf's. Moments passed; all he heard were the winds. And then — there it was, a sort of flapping sound, like wings, but somehow sharper than those of any bird he knew. The only creature he'd ever encountered that made a noise like that in flight was —
"Dragon!" he shouted, grabbing Turalyon and yanking his friend down as he dove to the ground himself. Just behind him he heard an angry roar and a hiss.
White-hot pain blossomed in his arm, and even as he sucked in his breath at the agony he heard more hissing. There was a smoking hole in his sleeve, and a nasty-looking burn in his arm below that. The hissing was the sound of something eating away at the rocks below them as well. Magma. Krasus had said that black dragons spat magma.
Glancing up, Khadgar saw several small dark forms flit among the spikes and then rise and swoop back around. "Shields up!" Turalyon shouted, rising to his feet, "and weapons at the ready! They're not fully grown dragons — We can take them!"
Turalyon was right. The creatures attacking them were no larger than the horses, perhaps six feet long, but with a wingspan wider than that. They had small heads and only a few spikes along their back, and Khadgar realized that these must be an immature form. Drakes, he remembered Krasus calling them once. Yes. drakes.
"Drakes — young dragons," he warned Turalyon, raising his staff as the black drakes circled for a second attack. "Not as strong as their parents, but still dangerous."
Turalyon nodded, but his focus was on the attacking creatures. He was back in his element now, and had settled at once into the military commander mind-set.
"Archers, fire at will!" he shouted. Beside him Alleria began loosing arrows at the small, agile creatures. One of her shots took a drake through the throat, the power of her longbow propelling the shaft clean through the dragon youth's lighter scales, and the thing reared up, clearly in pain. A second arrow pierced its eye and brain, and it fell to the ground with a croak and lay still.
That heartened the soldiers, and they swung with enthusiasm, swatting at the young dragons and ducking to avoid the creatures' small but sharp claws and the fist-sized gobbets of lava they spewed. The drakes shot past them, then banked, circling back. There were fewer of them now — several of their fellows lay dead among the spikes.
Turalyon turned to say something else to Khadgar — and stopped, toppling without warning and catching himself just in time to avoid being impaled upon the nearest duster of stone spikes. Everyone was staggering about, trying to keep their footing, as the ground itself danced beneath them.
"What in the name of the Light?" Turalyon asked, his words jarred out of him; then he was staring back and to the left of Khadgar.
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Afraid to see but terrified of not knowing, Khadgar glanced behind himself.
And almost fell over from shock.
The creature pounding through — not around but through — the stone spikes was monstrous even compared with an ogre. It stood easily twice as tall as those giant creatures, its skin as thick and rough as rock, sweeping designs carved into its arms and shoulders. A ridge of dark spikes ran like a miniature mountain range down its back, and more spikes protruded from its shoulders and upper arms. But the face — the face was perhaps the most horrific thing of all. It resembled that of an ogre, but was far more intelligent. The creature had no tusks but its teeth were long and sharp and yellowing, its cars pointed and tufted, and its single eye glaring and glowing — and fastened on them.
"Intruders!'' the behemoth shouted, the force of his cry cracking stone all around them. "Crush them!"
More figures emerged from the stone thicket to the east and west. These were ogres of the same type — and size — that Khadgar had encountered before, and they snarled and growled and laughed as they moved toward the Alliance soldiers.
"Wait!" Khadgar shouted. To his relief, the things actually paused. Thank the Light, he had the means to at least converse with them. "We meant no offense!"
"Offense? You live, that is offense!" The creature roared and continued to advance.
"Whatever you're telling him, it isn't working," Turalyon muttered. "And damn it, here come the drakes again."
Khadgar never thought he'd be happy to see dragons, but when the drakes circled back right at that moment for another attack, he wanted to thank them. The ogres and their master were completely distracted when the drakes began spitting magma at both groups, and turned their attention to the assault from the skies. They raised massive conical clubs — Khadgar realized at once that they were simply using spires they'd broken off the mountain itself. Khadgar realized an opportunity when he saw one. "The drakes!" he cried. “Attack the drakes!"
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