Rise of the Horde

by Christie Golden

  They could not work in secret; the portal would have to be large in order for the armies Mcdivh wanted to pass through. Besides, the Horde was feeling defeated. The excitement and challenge of the arena battles and constructing this portal with high ceremony would give them something to focus on.

  Mcdivh was pleased with the idea. In one vision, he assumed the form of a large black bird, perching on Gul'dan's arm. Claws dug into his flesh and reddish-black blood trickled across green skin, but the pain felt... good. There was a small piece of paper rolled up around the bird's leg. In his vision, Gul'dan unrolled the paper and saw a design that took his breath away. When he awoke, he sketched it on a large parchment.

  He surveyed it, eyes bright with anticipation.

  "Beautiful," he said.

  "I do not understand your displeasure," Orgrim said one day as he and Durotan sat atop their mounts to survey the building of what Gul'dan called the Portal. Everywhere Durotan looked, ores were working. The males were bare to the waist, the females nearly so, and their green skins glistened with sweat underneath a sun that scorched the land. Some of them chanted rhythmic war cries as they worked, others were focused and silent. The road to this plateau, running in an almost straight line from what was starting to become known as Hcllfirc Citadel, was already well paved so that construction equipment could be easily moved.

  The shapes of the four large platforms were based on draenei design. The irony did not escape Durotan. The original design had been modified, crowned with the now-familiar spikes and sharp edges that were starting to make orc architecture distinctive. But Durotan could remember walking up similar steps as a boy, and walking up those steps again with the intent of killing all he found atop them. Two obelisks pointed into the sky like sharp spears, and a statue of Gul'dan sat atop another one.

  But most forbidding of all was the fourth, set a little way back from the other three. This was to be the framework for the actual Portal that Gul'dan kept promising them would manifest. Two huge slabs of stone towered into the air, a third lying across them to make the most primitive of gateways. Shapes were starting to appear out of the rock, looming shapes of cowled figures on cither side, and some sort of serpent undulated atop it.

  "Is this not better than having them ride into your camp and slaughter your clansmen?" Orgrim continued.

  Durotan nodded. "Yes, in a way," he said. "But we still do not know what this is a portal to." Orgrim gestured at the sere landscape. The Hcllfire Peninsula was one of the most damaged areas of the world, but far from the only one. "Does it matter? We know what it is a portal from."

  Durotan grunted with a hint of amusement. "I suppose you're right at that."

  He felt Orgrim's gray eyes regarding him steadily "Durotan... I have refrained from asking you this, but... why did you refuse your clan the draft Gul'dan offered?"

  Durotan looked at his friend, answering one question with another. "Why did you yourself not drink?" he countered.

  "There was something... not right," Orgrim said at last. "I did not like what I saw it doing to the others."

  Durotan shrugged, hoping his friend would not press the point. "You had the same insight as I did."

  "I wonder," said Orgrim. but he did not question further.

  Durotan saw no need to reveal what he knew. He had managed to protect his people from the horrors of what drinking demonic blood would do to them. He had asserted himself to Gul'dan. and thus far. no repercussions had fallen. And Orgrim, ancestors be praised, had had wisdom enough to realize that there was something amiss and had also declined. For now, that was enough for Durotan, son of Garad. chieftain of the Frostwolf clan.

  "I fight today," Orgrim said, changing the subject. "Will you come?"

  "I know that you do this not for glory, but for your clan," Durotan said. "You fight to win them food and water. But I will not show my face at these . . . displays. Ores should not be fighting ores. Not even in ritualized combat."

  Orgrim sighed. "You have not changed, Durotan. You were ever afraid of me defeating you."

  There was a hint of mirth in his voice. Durotan turned, and for the first time in many, many long months, grinned with genuine warmth.

  The day had come.

  All night, while a ring of warlocks stood guard lest any curious onlooker witness the dark ritual, several stonemasons had been hard at work carving the final seal into the portal's base. Once they had finished, wiping their sweaty brows and turning to smile at one another, they had been quickly slain. The blood of those who had created the seal would prime it, Gul'dan had been informed by Mcdivh. Gul'dan had no reason to doubt his new ally's wisdom. But the luckless masons would not be the last to die here.

  The dawn was a fiery one, crimson and orange, and the air was thick and stale. While the portal was being completed over the last several days, other tasks had been finished as well. The war machines that had so devastated Shattrath several months earlier now were again pressed into service, repaired, oiled, and tested. Armor that had been neglected was polished, swords were sharpened, dents hammered out of chest pieces and helms.

  The great orcish army that had so decimated the draenei was being reformed.

  Some clans had been requested to remain behind. Gul'dan had done his best to convince the chieftains of the Shattered Hand. Shadowmoon, Thunderlord, Bleeding Hollow, and Laughing Skull clans that they were needed here. Grom and the Warsong had been particularly hard to convince to remain. For a moment, as the chieftain raged at him, Gul'dan wondered if he had done the right thing in letting Hcllscrcam drink the demon blood. More than most, he seemed to have little control over his emotions; despite Gul'dan's flattery about how valuable Grom was to him and how he needed him here, it was Grom's wildncss and unpredictability that made Gul'dan want him to stay behind. He could not risk Grom getting some mad idea into his head and defying orders. Mcdivh would not like that; he would not like that at all.

  Blackhand had requested that the entire Horde gather at the Hcllfirc Citadel. Over the last few days, several who had returned to their ancestral lands, the Frostwolf clan among them, had trickled in and camped in the area. They had obeyed the order to arm themselves as if they were going into battle, although few of them understood cxacdy what was going on.

  They assembled, clan by clan. Each clan wore their traditional colors in the form of a decorative sash or belt over their armor, and on this hot. windy day, their banners snapped proudly.

  Gul'dan and Ner’zhul watched the assembly. Gul'dan turned to his former mentor. "You and your clan will be among those staying behind." he said shordy.

  Ner’zhul nodded, almost meekly. "So I assumed," he said. He did not say much these days, which was just as well with Gul'dan. He had half suspected that the older orc would try to wrest control from him after Kil’jaeden had abandoned them, but apparently Ner’zhul was too crushed to even do that. Gul'dan thought with contempt about the time, not so long ago, when he had idolized and envied Ner’zhul. How foolish he had been then. He had grown and learned, even from the bitterness of deception. Although there were times when he thought he caught a faint glimmer of something in Ner’zhul's eyes, as now. He looked sharply at the other orc and decided it was just a trick of the light. He returned his attention to the assembling clans and smiled.

  Even though his designs went far beyond simple bloodletting, he could not help but be stirred at the sight. They were glorious! The scorching sun glinting on their armor, their banners waving in the wind, their green faces shining with anticipation. If all was as Mcdivh promised, this could be the turning point to greatness. The drums began. Deep, primal, they shuddered along the earth, through stone, into the bones of the Horde. Many of them threw back their heads and howled as they began to march, falling naturally into step with one another, again a unified people.

  Gul'dan made no move to hurry. Once they were all assembled at the Portal, he would be magically transported there by another warlock. He could enjoy watching the parade of his army march
down the wide, paved road to the Portal.

  Standing in front of the Portal was a draenei child.

  Where had they found it? Durotan had not so much as glimpsed a draenei in months; nor had anyone else. They must have considered it great good luck to have found any draenei, let alone a youngling.

  They were in the front of the crowd, standing next to the Thundcrlord clan and the Dragonmaw clan. The Portal gate had been finished and looked both beautiful and terrifying. Two cloaked figures, whose eyes glowed red cither from magic or clever technology, flanked the opening. A carved serpentine creature curled about the top, its maw gaping open, showing pointed carved teeth. It extended sharp, lizardlikc claws and had ridges along its long neck and body. Durotan had never seen anything like this, and briefly wondered how such an image had occurred to the masons, A nightmare, possibly? He grimaced. All in all, it was a formidable construction.

  But he only barely registered the skill that had gone into its creation. His eyes were transfixed on the young draenei. He looked so terribly small next to the enormous arch—small, and thin, and bruised. He stared vacantly at the sea of ores who were bellowing at him, so far beyond terror that he obviously felt nothing.

  "What are they going to do with it?" Draka wondered aloud.

  Durotan shook his head. "I tear the worst," he said.

  She stared at him. "I saw some killing of children in battle." she said. "The bloodlust was upon them — I could not condone it, but I could see how it could happen, but surely they will not make a ritual sacrifice out of this child!"

  "I hope you are right." said Durotan, but he could see no other reason for the small figure to be present. If such were the case, he could not stand by. He did not want to risk harm to his clan, so he prayed he was wrong.

  The warlocks were chanting something now, and to Durotan's amazement, Gul'dan appeared right before their eyes. The Horde murmured, and Gul'dan smiled benevolently at them.

  "Today is a glorious day for the ores!" he cried. "You have all seen this Portal being built, admired the craftsmanship and how it stands as a monument to the glory of the Horde. Now, I will reveal to you the visions I have had." He pointed at the gate. "Far, far away, in a land called Azcroth, I have an ally. He offers us his land. It is green and lush, filled with pure water and fat creatures to hunt. Best of all, we will continue to exult in the glory of bloodshed. A race called "humans" the enemy of our ally, will try to stop us from taking their lands. We will destroy them. Their dark blood will flow freely upon our swords. As we have destroyed the draenei, so now we will destroy the humans!"

  A cheer went up. Draka shook her head in disbelief. "How can they still feel this way? Can they not see this new land will suffer as ours has if we continue on this path?"

  Durotan nodded his agreement. "But at the same time, there is no choice. We need food, water. We must go through this Portal." Draka sighed, seeing the logic but not liking it.

  "Even now, our ally is working to open the Portal on his side. And now. we will begin." He gestured to the little draenei captive. "Blood is a pure offering to those who give us these vast powers. And the blood of a child is purer still. With the life fluid of our enemies, we will open the Portal and step into a glorious new world — a new page in the history of the Horde!"

  He approached the bound child, who looked up at him with empty eyes. Gul'dan raised a jeweled dagger. It glinted in the sunlight.

  "No!"

  The word was ripped from Durotan's lips. Everyone turned to stare at him. He surged forward. If this new venture was opened by the blood of an innocent child, no good could come of it. He did not make it three steps before he was tackled and went down hard on the sun-baked earth. The instant it happened, he heard Draka utter her war cry and the clang of metal on metal as she charged. Chaos erupted. He struggled to his feet and beheld the crumpled form of the child. Blue blood spurted from his slashed throat.

  "Gul'dan, what have you done to us!" Durotan shrieked, but his protest was lost in the roar of the enraged mob of ores. The Frostwolves had sprung into action to defend their chieftain, and the shouts of battle were almost deafening. Durotan's breath was knocked out of his lungs as his attacker—he could not tell from what clan — resumed the fight. In defense, Durotan lifted his axe and swung. The other dodged, moving more swiftly than Durotan had expected, came up, and

  The tenor of the cries abruptly changed as the earth rumbled beneath their feet and a deep, piercing sound shuddered along their bones. The fighting stopped and as one the ores turned to gaze at the Portal. Moments before, one could look into the area outlined by the pillars and simply see more of the Hcllfirc Peninsula landscape. Now there was a blackness and a swirl ol stars, as if one were looking into a night sky gone mad. Even Durotan's eyes were riveted on the sight. As he watched, the blackness shimmered and reformed itself into a scene that both startled and puzzled him,

  Gul'dan had spoken of a beautiful land, rich with fat preybeasts, fertile fields, blue skies. Durotan was indeed looking at a place he had never seen before, but it was a far cry from the idyllic realm Gul'dan had described. It was as moist as Dracnor now was arid, A thick haze floated above brackish water and swaying marshland grasses. A buzzing, chirping sound filled the air. At least, thought Durotan. there was life in this strange place.

  Unhappy murmurs ran through die crowd. This was where Gul'dan wanted to send them? It was not much better on first glance than their own land. But then again. Durotan realized, water meant life. Orange though the sky was, not blue, and drenched though the land was. not filled with flowers and meadows, it could support life.

  He turned to look at Gul'dan as the murmuring rose in volume. Gul'dan was obviously trying to cover his own shock. He waved his arms for silence.

  "Azcroth is a large world, as is our own!" he cried. "You know how different the land can be from place to place. I am certain it is the same here. This place... docs not look as inviting as I was..." His voice trailed off and he shook himself, visibly recovering. "But behold, this is in truth another land! It is real! You!"

  Gul'dan pointed at two dozen fully armored ores who stood beside the Portal. They snapped to attention. "You have been chosen to be tiic first to investigate this new land. Go forth, in the name of the Horde!"

  The ores hesitated only an instant, then grimly ran forward into the Portal.

  The scene vanished.

  Durotan's head whipped around to stare at Gul'dan. The warlock was doing his best to stay composed, but clearly he had been ratded.

  "They are our scouts" Gul'dan said. "They will return with news of this world."

  And before the gathered ores could truly begin to grow worried, die image of the swamp reappeared and the ores hurried through. They were grinning from car to car. More than half of them carried the carcasses of large animals. One was a reptile of some sort, scaly, long-tailed, with stubby legs and huge jaws. The other was a four-legged, furry thing, with claws on all four of its feet, a long tail, small rounded ears and spots on its yellow, glossy coat. Both were obviously healthy specimens.

  "We have slain and eaten both type of creatures" the leader of the scout said. "Their flesh is wholesome. The water there is pure. We do not need a beautiful land. We need one that will feed and sustain us. This Azeroth will do so admirably, Gul'dan."

  A murmur went through the crowed. Despite himself, Durotan felt his gaze drawn to the beasts the scouts had brought through and his stomach growled. It had been two days since he had eaten. Gul'dan visibly relaxed. He looked over at Durotan, and his eyes narrowed. Durotan tasted apprehension, sharp and bitter, in his throat.

  He and his clan were needed. He knew that. He also knew that his defense of the child — and the reaction it had provoked among the other clans, many of whom had come to the defense of the Frostwolves — would not be forgotten. He had half suspected that Gul'dan would order his execution or banishment, but apparendy Durotan and the Frostwolves yet had some use to Gul'dan and Blackhand.

 
; So be it. For now, he would fight alongside his brethren. Tomorrow would have to take care of itself. Whatever betided, Durotan knew he would die with his honor intact.

  Gul'dan looked back over the crowd of expectant ores and took a deep breath.

  "This is the moment of destiny," he said. "On the other side, a new beginning awaits. A new enemy to slaughter. You can feel it, can you not? The bloodlust rising? Follow Blackhand! Listen to his orders and you will rule this new world as is your right! It's your world on the other side of the Portal. Take it!"

  The cries were deafening. The crowd surged forward. Even Durotan found himself caught up in the thrill of a new world, so lush and ripe and ready for the taking. Perhaps his worry was misplaced; perhaps this would indeed be a new beginning. Durotan loved his clan, loved his people. He wanted to see them thrive. And he, like all ores even before this moment, reveled in the kill.

  Perhaps it would all be well.

  Axe in hand, hope flourishing in his heart, Durotan joined in the race toward the Portal, toward this place called Azcroth. He lifted his arms and raised the cry that was on the lips of every orc as they surged forward:

  "For the Horde!"

  EPILOGUE

  And so began our people's history in this world of Azeroth. We thundered out of the Portal like death incarnate, a torrent of blood-mad killers intent on slaughter. It is little wonder the humans hate us so, many of them even now. But perhaps this history I have chronicled will one day be read by human, elven, gnomish, and dwarven eyes. Perhaps they will understand a little better that we, too, knew suffering and victimization.

  My father's suspicion that he and his clan were marked for exile proved correct. It was shortly after the Frostwolf clan entered Azeroth that Gul'dan banished them. They were forced to make their homes in the harshness of the mountains of Alterac. The white wolves who still hunt in this place are descended from the Frostwolves who followed my clan through the Portal and whose loyalty could not be swayed by the words of one who bore a grudge.