Beyond the Dark Portal

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Khadgar found he liked looking at the night sky in this world.

It wasn't red.

He sighed and adjusted his telescope, focusing in on a particularly bright star. It was a tiny bit closer to the constellation he'd dubbed Turalyon's Hammer. Now, if it would just —

"How much longer?"

Khadgar started, began to slip, and grabbed a hand­hold on the roof. "Damn it, Alleria, quit sneaking up on me like that!"'

The beautiful ranger, peering at him from the win­dow, simply shrugged. "I can't help it if I move quietly. And you're so focused you wouldn't hear an ogre trundling up here. How much longer?"

The mage sighed and rubbed his eyes. The tower whose roof he was currently perched atop was part of an outpost they'd named Honor Hold. It had taken months to lay the foundations for it and months more to finish the outer walls and one or two buildings, includ­ing this one. During that time they'd had to fight off re­peated Horde attacks, though fortunately most had been little more than brief skirmishes. That the Horde was out there was certain. That they were holding back was also certain. Figuring out why they were holding back was one of the reasons Khadgar came out, night after night, to look at the stars.

The last several months had not been without their challenges.

Since arriving and emerging victorious in that first battle with the orcs on their native world, the Alliance had held the portal. At least on this side. Shortly after this expedition had come through, they had cheered at the sight of more troops and supplies following them. "Courtesy of the kings of the Alliance," they'd been told. Particularly welcome had been a few kegs of ale. For that little luxury, they had Magni Bronzebeard to thank.

But that hadn't lasted. When the second caravan of supplies had failed to materialize on the appointed day, a small group sent to investigate had returned quickly with news that the orcs were currently in charge of the Azerothian side of the portal. And so it had gone, the supplies that made existence bearable — even possible — coming only sporadically. Sporadically, too, came the promised troops. Turalyon had optimistically predicted being able to mount an assault within a month, but with the portal changing sides so often, the promised troops were unable to get through.

The orcs were based in a foul-looking fortress to the west of Honor Hold. It was huge and well-fortified in addition to being aesthetically repugnant, and any at­tack would take a lot of thought and preparation if it was to be successful.

"Soon,” Khadgar told Alleria. "It will happen soon."

It had been a puzzle, at first. Shortly after they had arrived and building had begun on Honor Hold, the orcs had started attacking. That in itself was not sur­prising. What was surprising was that they kept attack­ing. Not daily, and not a lot of them. But enough. Also strange was that they seemed not to care about the portal anymore.

"Whatever else you can say about the Horde, they've never been stupid," Turalyon said one evening as he spoke with Danath, Alleria, Kurdran, and Khadgar. "So why do they keep just throwing themselves at us? Their numbers are too small to take the hold. And they're not after the portal."

"I do not think we are too late to prevent Ner'zhul from opening portals to other worlds," Khadgar mused. "Though why he has not done so, I'm not certain. He has the artifacts he needs. He must need something else." Khadgar had leaned back in the rough wooden chair, stroking his long white beard thoughtfully.

"Wouldn't it take massive amounts of power, and some very complex spellwork?" asked Danath. "Maybe he's spent all this time just working out the details."

"Doubtful," Khadgar said. "It's complicated, yes, but I'm sure he was working on it while he was having the artifacts retrieved. Scepter, book, and Eye," he mused, thinking. “And what else? What could he be waiting for?"

They'd tried interrogating a few orcs they had cap­tured, but none of them had told them anything use­ful. These were not death knights, but peons — cannon fodder, sent only to delay the Alliance while Ner'zhul waited for… whatever.

While knowing the need to travel light, Khadgar had nonetheless permitted himself to take a few items with him. One was a ring that enabled him to understand any language — and to be understood. It was what had enabled them to interrogate the orcs, who spoke only their own, guttural language. Among the other items were a handful of books — spellbooks and one book that had once belonged to Medivh. There was nothing magical about it, just notes about Draenor, its skies, its continents. Khadgar found comfort in gazing up at the skies at night; they were only red in the daylight, and Khadgar amused himself by identifying constellations while letting his mind chew on Ner'zhul's mystery. Comprehension came to him one night while he was so engaged, as if the stars had the answer. And it turned out they did.

"Scepter, book, and Eye!" he'd exclaimed to Kurdran as he rushed out of his quarters.

"Eh?" grunted the startled dwarf "Lost yer mind fi­nally, have ye, laddie?"

"Get the others. We need to talk." A few moments later, the commanders of the various forces were in the tower. "Turalyon — you first. Get out there and look through the telescope. Tell me what you see."

Turalyon threw him a look of utter bafflement, but obeyed. Peering through the telescope, he said, "I see … stars. What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Constellations. Groups of stars." Khadgar was so excited that the words tumbled out of him. "What do they look like?'"

"Well, one's kind of a square. The other's long and thin. I can't see any other distinctive shapes."

"No… you're not used to looking at them. One of Medivh's many areas of expertise was astronomy. He had books with star maps of constellations I'd never even seen. Constellations of this world."

"That's all well an' gud, lad, but I'm not about tae crawl up there without understanding why ye want me tae," Kurdran grumbled.

"Look at this." Khadgar shoved a book into the dwarf's hands. Turalyon continued to look through the telescope as Alleria, Danath, and Kurdran examined the book Khadgar had foisted upon them. "What do you see?"

"Constellation names," Danath said. "The Staff… the Tome… and the Seer."

"Scepter, book, and Eye," Alleria said slowly, lifting her fair head to stare at Khadgar with admiration. "So… Ner'zhul needed those artifacts because they corresponded with this world's constellations?"

"Yes — and no," said Khadgar, barely able to restrain his excitement. "There's much more. Once every five hundred and forty-seven years, there's a celestial event that involves these three stars. See that reddish dot in the middle of the book? That's the first thing that appears. In about a month you'll be able to see a comet streaking through the scepter. And at the next moon cycle, the moon will be full right smack in the middle of the Eye. Apparently it's quite the spectacle, according to these notes."

"So if Ner'zhul has items that correspond to these constellations," Turalyon said slowly, still peering at the stars, "and he uses the artifacts at a time when something extremely rare is happening in the skies to those three constellations — it augments his power, right?"

"The harmony so established, the sympathetic reso­nance — by the Light, Turalyon, I'm not sure it'd be possible to fail at any spell using that kind of energy."

Turalyon lifted his head from the telescope. "When?" was all he said.

"Fifty-five days. And the power will last for three."

They waited for more reinforcements, chafing at the delay. At least they knew precisely how long they could wait, and when they would have to attack regardless of their numbers. Khadgar sighed at the ranger who had interrupted his stargazing as he slipped back through the window. "We're one day closer than we were yes­terday. I can't rush the stars, Alleria."

"Soon, soon; patience is a virtue," Alleria muttered angrily as Khadgar climbed back into the room. "I'm sick of the platitudes."

"For an elf, you're awfully impatient."

"For a human, you drag your heels. I want to be fighting, not holed up here."

Khadgar's irritation suddenly boiled over. "You don't want to fight, Alleria, you want to die."

She suddenly went very still. "What do you mean?"

"We've all seen it. You rush out there, on fire for blood. On fire for your revenge. You're reckless. You fight badly, Alleria, and you didn't use to. That's why Turalyon keeps ordering you to stay close, and sometimes not even go out at all. He's worried he's going to lose you."

Her gaze was haughty, cold, and angry. "I am not his to lose. I belong to no one but myself."

Khadgar knew he should just shut up. But he couldn't. He had held back all this time, watching Alleria and Tu­ralyon, who obviously still loved each other, circle one another like wary dogs. He could take it no longer. "You don't even belong to yourself. You belong to the dead. Joining them wont bring them back, Alleria. There's a good, kind, intelligent man right here in this keep who could teach you a thing or two about how to live. You should try living for a change — opening yourself to something rare and wonderful instead of slamming doors."'

She marched up to him until their faces were only inches away. "How dare you say such things to me! It's none of your business! Why do you care how I choose to live my life?"

"I care because I don't get to choose!"

The confession burst from him before he could stop it, and they both fell silent, staring at each other. He hadn't realized the truth himself, but there it was, out in the open now, naked and raw. "I know you think of our lives as shockingly brief. Our youths are even briefer. What, ten years to be young and strong, at the most… most alive we'll ever be? I didn't even get that. I became an old man at seventeen. Alleria, I'm even younger than Turalyon! Look at this face. I'm twenty-two — but what twenty-two year old girl would have this old man?"

He pointed angrily at his face — lined, framed by snow-white beard and hair. She gasped slightly and stepped back. Compassion softened her expression. Suddenly embarrassed, Khadgar looked away.

"I just — to watch the two of you throwing away something I’ll never even get to taste — it bothers me, sometimes. And I'm sorry I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"No — I'm sorry. I didn't think."

The silence hung, heavy and awkward, between them. Finally Khadgar sighed. "Come on. Let's go find Turalyon and the others. We need to finalize our plans. Because, this is going to happen… well, you know."

"Soon," she said, and gave him an uncharacteristi­cally gentle smile.

"The place is enormous," Alleria explained. Turalyon had asked her and her rangers to scout the citadel, and now the two of them, plus Khadgar, Kurdran, and Danath, were in the meeting hall discussing what they'd found. "The walkways on the walls alone support dozens of orcs. There are watch towers here." She indi­cated the places on the map. "We should attack from this area, here. While you're distracting them there, I can send rangers in and dispatch the sentries. Without an alarm being raised, the real fighting force will come in from the main gate — which we'll have opened for you."

"Good," Turalyon said. "We'll be attacking on two sides, one completely unexpected. We'll need to hit them hard. Box them in, don't give them room to es­cape, and then close ranks and cut down any orc still fighting."

"We'll be attacking from above," Kurdran pointed out, "keepin" them busy whilst you lads and lasses charge across tae finish the job."

Turalyon nodded, but Alleria shook her head. "You'll be busy with your own problems," she said. "They've got dragons, remember?" They had all seen the long dark shapes circling about the citadel, swooping and diving like great birds at play.

But Kurdran laughed. “Aye, but only a handful, lassie! Well be killin' them afore you can blink, don't ya know?"

Turalyon couldn't help but smile at the Wildhammer leader's confidence. "Nonetheless," he said, "we'd best not assume any help from your gryphon riders, just in case." Kurdran nodded. He looked over at Khadgar. "Can you do anything to negate their warlocks, or the dragons?"

"I'm sure I can come up with something," Khadgar replied. He glanced at Kurdran. "I have some ideas that might give your gryphons even more of an advantage, and provide help for the soldiers as well."

Turalyon nodded. The plan was beginning to come together. Now for the part he dreaded. He took a deep breath. "Well need someone to stay behind and be in charge of Honor Hold, in case we need to fall back. Alleria, I'd like that to be you."

"What?" She stared at him, openmouthed.

"It's key that someone I trust stay here. This is our base. We can't risk losing it if they split their—"

"You need me on the assault."

"I told you. I need you here. Send your rangers to take out the sentries."

She shook her golden head. "No, you don't. Any sol­dier here would know how to hold this keep. My rangers answer to me. And I will not send them with you. Not if you order me to stay behind."

"Be reasonable," he began, but she interrupted him.

"Reasonable? I'm a veteran of more battles than you have years, Turalyon!"

“Alleria, you're — you're reckless," Turalyon said, hating to have to say it but seeing no other choice. "I've saved your life when—"

“And I've saved all of you, more than once!"

"Gentlemen," Khadgar said smoothly, clamping a hand down on Kurdran's and Danath's shoulders and steering them toward the stairs, "I'm sure you both want to see that celestial alignment I'm talking about."

"Och, aye," said Kurdran, and the three of them left the room quickly.

Turalyon was too focused on Alleria to notice that they'd been given a moment of privacy. “Alleria, you don't fight smart. Not anymore. I can't keep watching your back to save you from yourself!"

"I have a right to revenge! They butchered my family — my people—"

"You think Lirath would have wanted you to throw your life away? What kind of testament to his life would that be?"

It was the first time he had spoken of Alleria's brother, and the name stilled the hot words on her lips. Recklessly, Turalyon continued before she could speak again. "I know you're a good fighter. Just — not right now."

"Lirath… the others … I wasn't there with them. I might have been able to do something. But I wasn't there. I stayed safe while they died." Tears stood in her bright green eyes, and Turalyon inhaled swiftly. He had not seen her weep for her lost kinsmen before. "So I did the next best thing. I went after their murderers. And it helped. It kept pushing the pain away."

And suddenly Turalyon understood. "What you told me that night," he said, praying he was saying the right thing, "I had it translated." He hesitated, then whis­pered, "'Help me forget."

The tears welled and slipped down her angular cheek­bones. "But I didn't want to forget. I don't want to let them go. If I don't grieve them… it's as if they're not really gone."

Tears stung Turalyon's own eyes. His heart was breaking for her. But she needed this. She needed to grieve, to mourn the dead. Killing orcs was no longer the panacea it once had been; it was no longer keeping the pain at bay, and she was starting to come undone with the holding-in of all of it.

"I can't stay behind. Don't ask me to. I stayed behind the last time. I won't watch someone I love go to his death while I—"

Suddenly her arms were around him, her head bur­ied against his chest, and he held her tight. Her slender body shook with sobs too long held in check, and she clung to him like a drowning woman. Turalyon pressed a kiss against her golden hair, inhaling her scent of pine and loam and flowers.

"I will never leave you behind," he vowed.

She turned her wet face up to his. "And I," she whis­pered as he bent to kiss her, "will never leave you."