Beyond the Dark Portal

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Khadgar was in the meeting hall, one of the few completely finished structures in Nethergarde. He had wanted to stay on the parapet and continue lending a hand against the Horde but Turalyon had convinced him to rest for a few minutes and eat something. “Archmage or not, you're no good to us if you're fainting from hunger or fatigue,"' his friend had pointed out. It was sound advice, and so Khadgar had let himself be led over here and had dutifully eaten the bowl of stew someone had placed in front of him. He remembered that much, and now he supposed he must have fallen asleep. He was dreaming, and the dream was bittersweet. For in the dream, Khadgar was young.

He turned his clean-shaven face to the night sky, and let the moon bathe it, the wind tousling his hair that was dark save for single streak of white. He lifted his hands, marveling at how young and strong they looked, ungnarled and unspotted. He strode across Lordaeron like a giant, each step carrying him whole leagues, his head brushing the clouds. It was night, yet he walked surely and without hesitation, his feet knowing the way. He found himself heading toward Dalaran, and forded the lake in one step to stand beside the mage-city. Light poured from a single room in the Violet Citadel, despite the late hour, and Khadgar focused his attention there. He began to float upward, growing smaller as he ap­proached the room. As his feet touched down on the balcony, he was his normal size again. The door was open, and he entered, pushing aside the gauze curtains that kept out bugs but allowed moonlight.

"Welcome, Khadgar. Come and join me." Khadgar was not surprised to see Antonidas there, and to realize that these were the Kirin Tor leader's own chambers. He sat in the proffered chair and accepted a glass of wine from the other archmage, amused that for once Antonidas, with his long brown beard just beginning to gray, actually looked the senior — normally it was Khadgar whom strangers thought the elder mage, thanks to his snow-white beard, even though in reality Antonidas had several decades of experience over him.

"Thank you," Khadgar said quietly, after they'd both sipped at their wine a moment. He gestured at his boy­ish face, his powerful, slim youth's body. "For this."'

Antonidas looked a bit uncomfortable. "I thought I would make this as pleasant as possible."

"I've missed it. Being young. I wouldn't change a thing — Medivh had to be stopped — and most of the time I don't mind. But sometimes … I miss it."

“… I know.

Khadgar changed the subject. "I take it this is no or­dinary dream?"

Antonidas shook his head. "No, unfortunately not. I have grave news to impart. The black dragonflight has allied itself with the Horde."

It took a great deal of will not to choke on his wine. "The black dragonflight?" Khadgar repeated. "But what of the red?" The two dragonflights were mortal ene­mies.

His host shrugged. "They have not been seen for some time. It may be that they have finally broken the Horde's control." He frowned. "But the orcs have found new allies, and it seems to us willing ones this time."

Khadgar shook his head. "Are they heading toward Nethergarde?"

"We don't know," Antonidas admitted. "Perhaps. They have already been here, and to Alterac as well." His frown became a full-fledged scowl. "They stole the Eye of Dalaran, Khadgar."

"The Eye?" Khadgar knew well what kind of a blow that was to Dalaran. "But what does the Horde want with it?"

"I know not, but they were here specifically to steal it," Antonidas confirmed. "A handful of death knights managed to get past all our defenses, take it, and use the dragons to escape. Dragons that shortly thereafter slaughtered the Alliance forces watching Alterac, no doubt at that traitor Perenolde's command."

Khadgar made a face. "I wonder how Perenolde managed that."

"Yet another mystery. I know how much you are deal­ing with already Khadgar. But I thought you should know."

"Thank you," Khadgar told him, and meant it. "Yes, I'd rather know." He frowned thoughtfully, reaching to stroke his beard and momentarily nonplussed to find only his bare chin. "And perhaps I can even find out why these things happened. First the Book of Medivh, now the Eye of Dalaran. Why these specifically?" He set his wineglass down on Antonidas's desk and stood, reluctantly. "I should be getting back."

Back to being a boy in an old man's body. Back to watching Alleria and Turalyon enact a painful drama of denial and hurting and solitude when any fool could see they would be stronger and happier together. Back to fighting orcs and closing portals and bearing the weight of the world on his artificially aged shoulders. He sighed heavily.

"As you wish. Good luck, my boy." Antonidas waved his hand, and Khadgar awoke, sitting up at Nethergarde's meeting room table. He was back in his elderly body now, and felt a wistful pang as he regarded his withered hands and long white beard.

Rising, Khadgar left the dream and the meeting hall behind. He spotted Turalyon and a few others at the main gate. They were clustered around a new pris­oner. They looked up as he approached and stepped back. The archmage suppressed a shudder as he saw the creature's rotting, once-human face and glowing red eyes.

"Khadgar!" Turalyon called as he noticed his friend. "I was just about to send for you."

"I assume you needed my help with this one? Was the Light ineffective?"

Turalyon looked frustrated. "Quite the contrary. His reaction was so extreme I was afraid I was going to kill him. I thought perhaps you—"

"Of course." Khadgar sank down to a crouch beside the prisoner, meeting his fiery gaze. "Do you have a name, death knight?"

The creature merely snarled, writhing against his bonds. They held fast, however.

"If that's the way you want it," said Khadgar, shrug­ging. He summoned power to him, then focused that power into a tight beam. The spell easily pierced the Horde creature's defenses as Turalyon's Light probably had, but although the death knight stiffened, he was not so maddened by agony he could not speak. And speak he would.

"Your name?"

The death knight glared at him, murder in his eyes, but his mouth opened and formed words of its own ac­cord. "Gaz Soulripper."

"Good. Now, how did the Horde reopen the portal?" Khadgar demanded, as Turalyon and the others crowded close behind him.

"Ner'zhul," it replied. "Ner'zhul used the Skull of Gul'dan to force the rift open again."

"Is such a thing possible?" Turalyon asked.

"Entirely," Khadgar said. "It's starting to make sense now. We know Gul'dan created the Dark Portal in the first place, working together with Medivh. It's likely that his remains would still have a link to it, and there­fore could be used to gain greater control over the rift. Just like the Book of Medivh."

Ner'zhul had needed Gul'dan, or at least his skull, to open the rift again. And without that skull, Khadgar couldn't shut it either, not completely. Now he under­stood why the rift had remained before. Without using Gul'dan's skull, Khadgar would never be able to seal the rift for good. And without the book, he wouldn't be sure he was using the right spell.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. Glancing up, he saw Turalyon gesturing him to step away. Puzzled, Khadgar complied.

"Good news," Turalyon said. "Our forces are driv­ing the Horde back toward the Dark Portal. We also had word from Admiral Proudmoore. Other groups of orcs are running, too. Apparently a band of Horde orcs — backed by black dragons, if you can believe it!—stole several boats from Menethil Harbor re­cently."

Khadgar sighed, remembering his dream conversation with Antonidas. "I can believe it. I — wait. You said 'boats'?"

"Aye. They headed southwest, into the Great Sea."

Khadgar gripped Turalyon's tunic. "Southwest? Damn it!"

"What is it, Khadgar?"

"They're not running. The boats — they were head­ing for the Tomb of Sargeras! Gul'dan tried that once, and it killed him!"

"Why would the orcs do that? Medivh is dead and Sargeras is gone. The tomb's empty." His eyes widened slightly. " …Isn't it?"

It all clicked into place. "Sargeras is gone," Khadgar said slowly, "but that doesn't mean the tomb is empty. We know the orcs are seeking artifacts — what if Sar­geras left something there? The tomb was shielded so that no creature of Azeroth could enter — but the orcs were never from here! The wardings would mean noth­ing to them now; just as they meant nothing to Gul'dan when he — that's it. That's got to be it!"

Khadgar turned back to the death knight and dropped to his knees beside the creature.

"Why did Ner'zhul send orcs to the Tomb of Sar­geras?" he demanded. Gaz Soulripper laughed, foul breath from dead lungs caressing Khadgar's face. He'd pulled tightly into himself in the few moments of respite and was not about to say anything. Khadgar frowned. He extended his magic once again, this time without any effort at finesse, and the illumination of his spell was like a lance to the creature's forehead. Soulripper arched in agony, but stayed silent.

"Tell us!"

"We — care nothing for your world!" Soulripper grunted, his hands clenching.

Khadgar made a subtle move with his fingers, and this time Gaz Soulripper cried out. "I need better than that."

"Ah!" The dead thing bit its lip in pain, teeth sinking easily through rotted flesh. "Our destiny — greater than you can imagine, human!"

Khadgar's heart sped up. These half-truths, these hints… What was the reality? Sweat dotted his fore­head, but not from exertion. He tightened his grip, and the death knight convulsed.

"Khadgar …" said Turalyon, wincing a little.

"I can keep this up all day, Soulripper," Khadgar said. When there was no response, Khadgar lifted his left hand to join his right.

"An artifact!" the death knight screamed. "From the tomb. The Scepter of Sargeras."

"That's better. What about it?"

"W-with that, the Book of Medivh, and the Eye of Dalaran, Ner'zhul can — no!"

Khadgar was surprised at the level of resistance the death knight could put up. He shared Turalyon's dis­taste of torture, but they were so close… .

"What can he do? Tell us!"

"He — he can open portals from Draenor to other worlds."

Khadgar immediately ceased tormenting the death knight, who flopped over, groveling in recovery. He sat, stunned for a moment, then looked up at Turalyon. He saw his own horror mirrored in the youth's face.

“Other… worlds?” Turalyon said, his voice faint with shock. "Azeroth and Draenor… aren't the only ones?" He stared down at the death knight, his mouth working for a moment before anything came out. “Worlds… more than ours. Worlds without end, in­nocents without number falling before them… Light save us."

Khadgar nodded. "I know it's difficult to grasp. The Horde we've faced was half-crazed with desperation and hunger. Their world is dying, and they needed to take ours. Now they're going to open portals to count­less other worlds as well. This same scenario will be re­peated again… and again and again."

Turalyon barely heard his friends words. They seemed to fade away, smothered by the thudding of his own heart in his ears. The hideous visage of the death knight, too, was fading, drowning in a slow but steady glow of white light that seemed to be coming from in­side the paladin's own head.

He burned to protect his people — the Alliance — all life on this world from the havoc that the ever-hunger­ing orcs had chosen to wreak. That seemed daunting enough, but now — worlds! Just how many were they talking about, anyway — one? Two? Two million?

Hysteria bubbled up inside him as he sat in the white, empty space and danced on the verge of madness as he tried to comprehend the incomprehensible. The inno­cent were his charge. He had to protect them. But how could he possibly do so? So many who —

The pounding of his heart suddenly paused.

And in that place of pure, brilliant light, he saw a fig­ure that was light — the Light — itself. It hovered and glowed, gleaming as if its form was hard and crystalline but also soft, unspeakably soft, as soft as a tear, as soft as forgiveness, as soft as Alleria's pale skin. Golden strands draped the being, and Turalyon could not tell at first if they were leading from or to the creature — and then he understood, it was both. All that was, was this being, and this being, was everything. Awe flooded him and he drank in the sight of this beautiful, lumi­nous being, feeling it fill him with hope and calm as if he were an empty vessel.

Do not despair, came a voice like bells, like chimes, like the sigh of the ocean. The Light is with you. We are with you. No matter how vast the darkness, Light will scat­ter it. No matter what world, no matter what creature, the Light is there, in that place, in that soul. Know this, and go forward with a joyful heart, Turalyon.

As if it sang in response, Turalyon's heart began to beat once more. He realized it had never stopped; that the long, frozen, rapt moment had been less than the blink of an eye.

Khadgar gave Turalyon the space to let it sink in. Finally, Turalyon lifted his head. His eyes were focused, clear, and his face was resolute.

"We have to stop them," Turalyon stated firmly. "We can't let other, innocent worlds have this… this… unleashed on them. It ends here. On Azeroth. No one else should have to suffer as we have. The Light shines on other worlds than ours, and it needs our help. It will have it."

Khadgar heard some resentful murmurings from some of Turalyon's men. Turalyon heard it too, for he stood, frowning.

"If you have something to say, say it clearly," he or­dered. The soldiers who'd been talking exchanged glances, then one stepped up.

"Sir… why don't we just let them go? If they have fresh worlds to take, maybe they'll just go away and leave us alone."

"Even if it were that simple, we can't let that hap­pen. Don't you understand?" Turalyon said. "We have to stop them. We can't save our world at the expense of countless innocent lives!"

"Besides," came Alleria's clear voice as she strode up to them, dusty and sweaty and spattered with blood too dark to be her own, "what is to stop them from re­turning once they have gotten fat off plunder?” With her sharp sense of hearing, of course, she’d heard everything. Khadgar thought her a trifle paler than usual, but she was almost eerily composed. Would you like to battle a Horde twice the size of the one we faced during the Second War, completely united, and with the ability to open portals to Azeroth from any­where?"

Khadgar saw the disappointment in Turalyon's eyes. The paladin had hoped the men would understand his point. And more, he'd hoped Alleria would. But it seemed that Alleria was still consumed with hatred for the orcs. She did not really care about other worlds. She wanted to hunt the orcs down and kill them her­self; she had no wish to let others share that particular cruel delight. She turned to Turalyon, and color rose briefly in her face, then subsided.

"Sir, while we were fighting, I saw something I think you should be aware of. We noticed a group of . . ."

Khadgar was barely listening to her musical voice. Something else was nagging at his thoughts… some­thing was not right. He gasped as understanding burst upon him.

"I'm an idiot!" Khadgar cried, cutting Alleria off in mid-sentence. "They're not losing!" he shouted. "They're retreating! They've found all the artifacts they needed and they're returning home to Draenor! The entire invasion was just a feint to distract us, and now they're done!"

Gaz Soulripper glanced up at him, shock and fear in his glowing eyes. The death knight surged to his feet. snapping the stout ropes that bound his hands and feet and chest. Terror lent him magical strength as well — from somewhere deep inside, Gaz shunted aside Khadgar's mental lance and raised fresh shields that blocked the archmage's reflexive attempt to regain control.

"You will not interfere!" Gaz roared, leaping atop Khadgar and wrapping mailed hands around the arch­mage's throat. "You will not thwart our destiny!"

The death knight began to squeeze, and Khadgar gasped for air, struggling to push the creature away even as his vision swam. Blackness crept in along the edges of his sight, framing wild colors flashing before him. He couldn't push the hands away, he couldn't think to summon a spell.

And suddenly, through the insanely swirling palette of colors came a flash of pure white. Even as it seared Khadgar's eyes, it wrapped him in reassuring warmth and a sensation of peace sharply at odds with the pain of hands crushing his windpipe and cutting off blood. Briefly he wondered if he was already dead but hadn't gotten around to noticing it yet.

The light swelled, then faded. The dead hands around Khadgar's throat tightened convulsively before the pressure suddenly disappeared. Khadgar swayed, blinking, dazzled from the white light, coughing and gasping at the same time, his lungs struggling to bring air back into his body.

"You all right?" It was Turalyon, his hands, still glow­ing softly, helping Khadgar to rise. Glancing down, Khadgar noticed that his violet robe was now dusty gray — all that was left of Gaz Soulripper. He looked at Turalyon, stunned again by the young general's power. Turalyon read his glance and smiled sheepishly. Khadgar clasped his friends arm. "Thank you."

"It was the Light, not I," Turalyon said with his char­acteristic modesty.

"Well, your damned Light killed him too fast," Alleria growled. Even Khadgar blinked at the venom in her voice. "We could have asked him about the carts I saw."

"Carts?" Khadgar asked. "Explain."

She turned to him, clearly more comfortable speak­ing with the mage than with Turalyon. "I saw some of the orcs going through the portal. Black dragons ac­companied them. There were carts, several of them, all covered. They were taking things back to their world."

"They came to get artifacts, not souvenirs," grunted Khadgar. "What would they need carts for?"

Alleria shrugged. "I know not, but I thought you should know."

"Another puzzle piece. Just when I thought we'd fig­ured it out." Khadgar brushed disgustedly at his robe, then looked up at them. "We've got quite the task ahead of us. We need to send an expedition into Draenor. We have to find and kill Ner'zhul before he can open any more portals, retrieve those artifacts — especially the Book of Medivh — and Gul'dan's skull, and destroy the Dark Portal for good."

Turalyon nodded, summoning a scout with a quick gesture, every inch the military commander. "Send word to the Alliance kings," he said quickly. "The Horde is—"

His words were cut off as a shadow passed over the sun. Shielding his eyes from the glare, he glanced up, then began to laugh as the shadow broke apart into several winged forms that circled down toward them. These were not arrow-straight like dragons; they were broader, stouter, and softer, covered in tawny fur and feathers of gold and white.

“What took you?" Turalyon called back, laughing with Khadgar as Kurdran Wildhammer, leader of the Wildhammer dwarves, shook his head and managed to look embarrassed from atop his gryphon.

"Bad winds," the dwarf admitted, bringing Sky'ree in for a landing. The great beast landed gracefully and cawed, flapping its wings one final time before its rider dismounted. Despite the direness of the situation, Khadgar found himself smiling. It was good to see hale, gruff Kurdran.

"Your arrival is most timely," the archmage said, stepping forward to shake the dwarf's hand and per­mitting his own to be enthusiastically pumped up and down. "We've a message to be delivered, and quickly."

"Aye? As long as ye promise me an' me boys we'll get a crack at those greenskins, we'll take a message for ye." He waved at some of the other Wildhammers, who hastened forward and stood at attention.

"We'll need to dispatch several messages to the vari­ous leaders," Turalyon said, the grin fading. Khadgar wondered if Turalyon really knew just how no-nonsense he could look when he had to. "Tell them this: The orcs are retreating to Draenor, but they have found a means to open new portals to other worlds."

The dwarves' eyes widened, but they didn't inter­rupt. "They are taking with them cartloads of some­thing they obviously value, we do not yet know what," Turalyon continued. "We intend to pursue them through the Dark Portal, and stop them from opening those portals. By any and all means necessary."

"Are ye sure, lad?" asked Kurdran quietly. Turalyon nodded. Everyone stood silently for a moment, know­ing that Turalyon spoke what had to be done, but even so rendered mute at the reality

"Now hurry," Turalyon said. "Make that gryphon earn her dinner." The scouts nodded, saluted, mounted their gryphons, and took to the skies. Turalyon turned to his friends.

"And now," he said somberly, "we prepare to leave our world behind."'