"Speakin' tae 'is troops," the dwarf replied.
"They'll have to catch up, then," Khadgar said, shaking his head. "We have no time to waste! To the Dark Portal!"
The gryphons squawked as their riders tugged on the reins, then they wheeled about and rose, wings beating hard against the wind and the weight of two passengers each. Khadgar watched the Black Temple slip away behind them and closed his eyes, his hair and beard streaming out behind him. He held the sack close. With the gryphons they would reach the portal in minutes instead of hours or days. He just hoped it was soon enough.
Alleria rested her head on her lover's shoulder as the gryphon they rode hovered over the Black Temple. She squeezed Turalyon's waist gently, giving him silent support. She knew how bleak his heart was at what he was about to do. But she also knew he would not shirk what had to be done.
"Sons of Lothar!" Turalyon cried, raising his hammer high above his head. Alleria glanced away; its light pierced the clouds gathering above, shedding a brilliant white radiance upon the entire valley, from the Black Temple behind them to the mouth of the Alliance fort far ahead. "Months ago, we came through the Dark Portal, not knowing what awaited us, but knowing that we had to come. We had to come to stop the Horde from taking other worlds as it tried — and failed!—to do with our beloved Azeroth. And the moment to do precisely that has arrived, Khadgar has what he needs in order to close the portal, but this world is in chaos. Azeroth — our home — is in danger once again. We must all do everything we can — serve as best we may — to save it, and our families we have left behind."
He looked out over the men before him, and Alleria knew he was burning each face into his memory. "I go to help Khadgar, to protect him, for I am sure there will be resistance. You … must hold the line here. You have never failed me yet. I know, my brothers, you will not fail me now." His voice cracked. Through the tears in her own eyes, Alleria saw that he wept.
"None of us knows what will happen. We may survive this, and find a way home, and live to a ripe old age with stories to dazzle our grandchildren. Or we may die here, with this world. And if such is our fate, I know each one of you chooses it gladly. For we fight for our world — our families — our honor. We fight so that others might live free because of what we do here, today, this hour, this moment. And if there is anything in this world or any other worth dying for — the Light knows, it is this."
Alleria stared at him. His eyes, though still filled with tears, shone now with the radiant white light. Awe shivered through her. Bright… Turalyon, my love, you are so bright.
"Sons of Lothar! The Light is with you … as it always has been, and always will be. For Azeroth!"
His hammer glowed brighter than the day, and many of the captured orcs nearby fell to the ground screaming as its aura burned at their eyes. Turalyon's soldiers were strengthened by the glow, however, and cheered as the gryphon rose, carrying Turalyon and Alleria after the Wildhammers, toward the Dark Portal.
"I would I could stand with them," he murmured softly. She kissed his neck.
"You do, beloved. Their hearts are filled with the Light… and so you are there."
The scene around the Dark Portal was utter chaos. Turalyon had told his troops the unvarnished truth — Khadgar would need defending. He just hadn't realized how much he and his friends would be defending the wizard from.
Danath, Khadgar, Kurdran, and several others had arrived before them and were fiercely fighting their way to the portal. It seemed the orcs had rallied. Ner'zhu’s abrupt departure had stranded several clans on Draenor, and all of them had realized the same thing — the Dark Portal was the only stable rift, and the only one that led to a world they knew was hospitable.
Nor was the battle just on Draenor. One was raging on the other side of the portal as well — it would seem that once again, the orcs had wrested control of the portal from the Alliance. They were trying to push their way through the portal and back into Draenor, unaware of the cataclysm gripping their homeworld. The Alliance forces there were holding them at bay for the moment, but Turalyon could expect no aid. He and this handful were all that stood between the Horde and Azeroth.
But they weren't here to win a battle, he reminded himself. That was entirely secondary right now. Their goal was simply to protect Khadgar and the other magi while they closed the portal once and for all.
"Do what you have to do," he told Khadgar, who stood nearby, the other magi clustered around him. The young-old archmage nodded and raised his hands, letting his eyes close. His staff was in one hand, the Skull of Gul'dan in the other, and he began to chant, energies coalescing and swirling around him.
The orcs outnumbered them by a significant margin, and were fighting in a frenzy, desperate to escape their collapsing world by any means necessary. The ground was trembling so violently warriors could barely keep their feet, and the battle devolved into mere brawling as orc and human swung wildly at each other, unable to concentrate enough to attack more effectively. The sky split with lightning storms appearing and disappearing at blurring speeds, stars visible one instant and the sun the next. The planet was going mad.
Between skirmishes Turalyon caught glimpses of Khadgar. The other magi had joined in now, all of them outlined in radiance, and when he squinted Turalyon could just see the trails of energy they were pouring into Khadgar, who stood at their center. He knew his friend was absorbing all that magic, so that he could focus it upon the portal and destroy it for good.
Just as Khadgar's chanting reached a fever pitch, Turalyon heard a strange ripping sound, sharp but somehow faint as well, as if it had occurred both nearby and very far away. He had heard something similar atop the Black Temple, and after dispatching another orc he glanced around and saw a strange shimmer in the air not far from them, a short ways behind the magi. A new rift!
The earth shook beneath his feet and on pure gut instinct Turalyon leaped backward. A fissure opened where he'd been standing just a second before, widening like a hungry mouth. Cracks raced around jaggedly and then suddenly an enormous chunk of earth surged upward, carrying with it a small cluster of men and orcs, bucking them off like an unbroken steed as it turned wildly in midair.
Khadgar hadn't exaggerated. Draenor quite literally was physically tearing itself to pieces.
He was still staring at the floating hunk of earth when Khadgar raised his staff high and a beam of light shot from it to strike the Dark Portal in its center. The light was too bright to look upon, but unlike the Holy Light this was many colors all at once, swirling and dancing and shifting. It was pure magic wrought into a powerful spell, and when it struck the whirling surface of the portal he heard a sound like shattering glass. Then the Dark Portal began to crumble, its curtain of energy splitting and fragmenting as the spell unwrought it.
"It is done," Khadgar said wearily, planting his staff against the ground and leaning heavily upon it. Then he looked up and spotted one of Kurdran's dwarves, a young Wildhammer who had just hurled his stormhammer at a hulking orc that had threatened Danath. "You!" Khadgar shouted. "Take these!" He slammed the skull into his sack and thrust the unwieldy bundle at the surprised dwarf. "Take it and fly back to Azcrouh! This needs to get to the Kirin Tor!"
"But sir," the young dwarf said, "are ye nae coming through yersels?"
Khadgar shook his white head. "No. We've got to shut it down here. It's the only way to make sure the damage happening here won't follow us into Azeroth."
Turalyon inhaled swiftly. So there it was, then. Khadgar had never been one to mince words and he'd just said blundy what they'd all suspected. Only this one dwarf would make it back. The rest of them would be stranded in a world that lurched closer to nothingness by the second.
So be it.
The paladin saw the young Wildhammer hesitate, not sure how to respond, and then gasped as he saw the gleaming are of a massive axe slicing directly toward the unwary dwarf. But before Turalyon could shout a warning, a stormhammer flash
ed past, striking the axe wieldcr with a thunderclap that rang in his ears, and axe and orc alike fell to the ground.
"Go on, lad!" Kurdran ordered, his stormhammer returning to his grasp as he wheeled Sky'ree alongside the surprised dwarf.
The younger dwarf nodded, leaning down to grab the sack from Khadgar and then nudging his gryphon with heel and knee and elbow. She responded at once, beating her wings hard and rising like a shot, then arrowing straight for the collapsing portal. But as she passed under its cracking arches, the sack flared with light, and the portal responded, the resulting glare blinding them all. Turalyon heard the gryphon shriek in pain, and the dwarf screamed as well, but he could not see what had happened to them. The terrible sounds were drowned out by a ferocious rumbling. Before he fully realized what had happened, there was a deafening crash and Khadgar was flying backward. He landed hard, blacking out for a second. When he came to an instant later, aching and barely able to breathe, he looked immediately toward the portal.
It was gone.
The giant statues that had guarded it had tumbled to unrecognizable boulders. The three pillars that had formed the gateway, that had contained the rift in glorious carved majesty, were now nothing but rubble. No sight of Azeroth remained.
They had done it. They had destroyed the rift and the portal. And now, they were forever cut off from everything they had known.
All around himб Horde and Alliance were staggering to their feet, only to feel Draenor buck beneath them again. The orcs took off, not understanding, as Khadgar did, that there was really nowhere for them to run. The portal's collapse had apparently injured Draenor further, and the upheavals grew in intensity and frequency. They were constandy jarred and tossed about as if they were a small boat on an angry sea, the ground rippling like water and the sky thicker than fog. What an ignominious death, Khadgar thought with a hint of wry amusement. Having one's brains bashed out by a chunk of earth. He looked around one last time at his friends — Danath still on his feet, still fighting what orcs hadn't fled. Alleria had fallen and Turalyon was helping her to her feet, quickly wrapping linen around a nasty gash on her arm.
Perhaps feeling Khadgar's gaze, Turalyon looked up. Their eyes met for a moment, and Turalyon smiled that calm, gentle smile that Khadgar associated with the paladin. Alleria glanced at the archmage as well, and nodded her head, the bright gold dimmed with dust and matted here and there with blood. Kurdran, still hovering on Sky'ree, raised a hammer in salute.
And so it would end. Khadgar had always suspected they wouldn't survive this, but he was fiercely grateful they'd been able to close the portal and save their world. And he was equally grateful that if they had to die — which, he mused wryly, all men did — it would be here, together, fighting side by side as they always had.
A faint glimmer caught his eye.
He blinked. No, it was there — a ripple in the fabric of space and time. Another rift.
Another world. One that, perhaps, wasn't shuddering in its death throes.
"There!" he yelled as loudly as he could, pointing at the rift. "We go through there! It's the only chance we've got!"
Turalyon and Alleria looked at one another. Khadgar couldn't hear what they said over the deafening noises of a world shaking itself to pieces, but he saw them hold each other for a moment before, hands joined, they turned to the rift.
They had all ventured forth through the Dark Portal into Draenor, but at least they'd had a vague idea of what they would find. But this…
Draenor's death throes continued, and Khadgar hit the earth hard. Scrambling to his feet, knees and palms scraped raw, he looked toward the rift. Salvation, or a yet worse fate? He didn't know. None of them knew.
They'd just have to find out… one way or the other.
Khadgar, archmage, old man, youth, swallowed hard, steeled himself, and ran through.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"Push on, Horde warriors! We are not far!"
Grom Hellscream's voice cut through the din, heartening those who heard it. Rexxar spun, the battle-axe in his left hand shearing through an Alliance warrior's neck and the matching axe in his right slicing down to split another warrior from shoulder to waist. Beside him his wolf Haratha snarled and lunged in, his massive jaws snapping shut upon a third warrior's forearm. Rexxar heard the distinctive crunch of teeth splintering bone and the man cried out, the sword falling from his hand. Haratha released the mangled arm and, in a lightning-fast move, sprang and crunched the man's throat in his jaws. They made a lethal team.
Off to one side Rexxar could see Grom Hellscream, chieftain of the Warsong, Gorehowl shrieking and slicing through foes. Other Warsong warriors fought beside their leader, their chants and battle cries blending together into an eerie melody of death and destruction. Rexxar was one of the few left who wasn't from that clan, but that was not unusual for him. He didn't really have a clan. At least, not one involved in the Horde. His own people, the mok'nathal, had always been stubbornly independent. Small in number, their lives had been difficult and focused on maintaining their traditional land in the Blade's Edge Mountains, defending it against the ogres who sought to claim it. Rexxar had tried to tell his father, Leoroxx, about the Dark Portal the orcs were building; about the chance to find a fresh new world for the beleaguered mok'nathal. But Leoroxx saw only that his son was not staying where he had been born, to fight to protect his homeland. Both had the goal of helping their people; but in the end, Rexxar had followed the Horde, and been disowned for his choice. Now, it was the only family he had.
But then, he'd always been different.
Another human went down. Rexxar glanced up, his height allowing him to see over the other warriors. Grom was right — they were not far from the Dark Portal. Perhaps a hundred humans stood between him and his homeworld. Rexxar grinned and raised both axes. He was about to thin that number considerably.
Over the last few months, the fortunes of war had swung back and forth. The Alliance had penned them in a small valley adjoining this one for a short time, but could not hold the Horde there for long. The human warriors had underestimated the will and ferocity of the cornered orcs, and Grom had led his people to freedom. They had regrouped in a place to the north called Stonard. It had been the first outpost the Horde had created when they had come through the Dark Portal originally. The swamp, though fetid and unpleasant, held life and water, and Grom had refused to let the orcs fall into despair. They had built up Stonard, augmented it with raids on Alliance supplies, and had eventually regained control of the portal.
Back and forth the Horde and Alliance had gone. But now, the little game was at an end. Grom had decided that it was time to return. No other clans had come to aid them, and while they were still a fighting force to be reckoned with — as the Alliance was discovering now — their numbers were slowly dwindling, while the Alliance seemed to breed more by the minute. Too, there was the matter of that strange device — the one the warlocks had tried to activate. They had told Grom that it would create a shield to protect them from attack and make it easier to defend the Dark Portal. But the thing had been designed to destroy, not to protect. Someone was ready to abandon them here — and Grom Hellscream would not let his people die because of another's treachery. Rexxar wanted to be around when Grom returned and confronted the one who had issued the order.
A human charged him on horseback, sword raised high and shield set before him, but the soldier hadn't counted on Rexxar's height. Rexxar struck the shield a heavy blow with one axe, smashing it into the man, while knocking the sword away with the other. As the rider was jolted from his saddle, Rexxar brought both axes up and let the man's own momentum impale him on the blades. He grinned and let loose a fierce war cry as he yanked the axes free and stepped over the dead soldier, the riderless horse turning and fleeing Haratha's snapping jaws.
Sometimes it was good to be half ogre.
Something flickered at the corner of his vision, from inside the Dark
Portal. He had only seen it for a second, but he'd gotten a clear impression of lightning, rolling dust clouds, lashing waves, and shifting ground. Always before the portal had shown the other side, so he had been able to catch glimpses of Draenor during the fight. But what he'd just seen — that was not his homeworld. It was a place of nightmare.
Another Alliance soldier attacked him then, and that brought Rcxxar's mind instantly back to the battle. He dispatched the warrior easily, but a handspan or two away from him another orc was not so lucky. Clad in the robes of a warlock, the orc had the green skin of most Horde members — unlike Rexxar himself, who had not joined the Horde until shortly before they invaded Azeroth. There were several warlocks here, some of them quite powerful, but their death magics took time, and things happened quickly in battle.
Two warriors attacked the warlock together, and while the orc had managed to disable one, sending him fleeing in mindless terror, the other had stabbed the warlock through the chest before a nearby Warsong warrior had caved in the human's skull with a shrieking warclub. Now the warlock staggered, one hand pressed to the blossoming bloodstain across his front, his skin already turning pale, sweat breaking out on his brow. Rexxar merely grunted and shook his head. He had little use for warlocks, and this one had clearly not been prepared for combat.
The motion caught the warlock's gaze, and the wounded orc stared at Rexxar, disgust and disdain washing across his features in turn. Then he staggered forward, his other hand palm out.
"You!" the warlock shouted. "Half-breed! You are not true Horde, not a true orc. But you will do. Come here!"
Rexxar stared at the warlock, too surprised to respond. What? This warlock insulted him and then expected him to help? Was he completely mad?
But then, as the warlock drew closer, Rexxar saw the green glow outlining the orc's fingers, and sucked in a quick breath as he felt a rare burst of fear. No, the warlock didn't want his help. He wanted Rexxar's life. Warlocks could leech life energy off others, healing themselves by draining another. The process had a high cost, and a severe wound could easily render a healthy orc lifeless.
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