Beyond the Dark Portal

CHAPTER ONE

“Ner'zhul!" Gorefiend and Gaz Soulripper strode into the village as if they owned it, booted feet moving swiftly over hard-packed dirt. Curious villagers poked their heads out of the doors and windows of their simple huts, only to shrink back inside as the in­terlopers fixed them with a baleful stare from unnatu­rally glowing eyes.

"Ner'zhul!" Gorefiend called again in a voice that was both cold and commanding. "I would speak with you!"

"Don't know who you are,” a voice growled behind him, "and don't much care. You're trespassing on Shadowmoon territory. Leave or die."

"I need to speak with Ner'zhul," the death knight replied, turning to face the powerful orc warrior who had stepped threateningly behind him. "Tell him Teron Gorefiend is here."

The orc looked unsettled at the name. "Gorefiend?

“You are the death knight?" He grimaced, showing his tusks, glancing at Gorefiend and his companion, then obviously mustering his courage. "You don't look so dangerous."

"Dangerous enough," replied Soulripper. He turned and nodded at something the orc could not see. Several more beings, their faces hooded but their glowing eyes visible, emerged from the very shadows of the village's huts and stepped up beside their two fellow death knights. Gorefiend chuckled, and the orc swallowed. "Now fetch your master, lest your arrogance bring you swift death instead."

"Ner'zhul sees no one,"' the orc stated. He was be­ginning to sweat, but he obviously had his orders.

Gorefiend sighed, a strange whistling sound as air was taken into and then expelled from dead lungs.

"Swift death then," he said. Before the orc could even form a reply, Gorefiend extended a mailed hand and murmured something. The warrior gasped, dou­bling over and then dropping to his knees. Gorefiend tightened his fist and blood suddenly burst from the hapless orc’s nose, eyes, and mouth. Gorefiend had al­ready turned away by this point, having lost interest in tormenting the annoyance.

"Dark magic!" one of the Shadowmoon warriors shouted, grabbing up the axe beside him. "Kill the warlocks before they can afflict any more of us!" he bellowed, and his fellows responded by readying them­selves as well.

Gorefiend whirled, glowing eyes narrowing. "If you all die so be it; I will speak with Ner'zhul!" This time he extended both hands, and darkness formed at his fin­gertips. It exploded like a glowing black flame, knock­ing back the orc who had hurled the axe as well as his fellows. They lay where the blast had blown them, screaming in agony.

"Stop! There has been enough killing already!" The old orc’s voice rang with authority. Gorefiend lowered his arms and his companions fell back, watching their leader.

"There you are, Ner'zhul," Gorefiend drawled. "I thought that might get your attention." He turned to regard Ner'zhul, mildly surprised to notice that the old orc’s face had been painted white — almost like a skull, Gorefiend mused. As their eyes met, Ner'zhul's widened.

"I… have dreamed of you," he murmured. "I have had visions of death, and now here you are." Long green fingers reached to touch the skull painted on his face. Small bits of white flaked off at the gesture. "Two years have I been dreaming of this. You have come for me, then. For us all. You have come to take my soul!"

"Not at all. I've come to save it. But — you are par­tially right: I have come for you, but not the way you think. I wish to see you lead."'

Ner'zhul looked confused. "Lead? Why? So that I can destroy more of the Horde? Haven't I done enough?" The old shaman's eyes were haunted. "Nay, I am done with such things. I led our people once — straight into Gul'dan's plots, straight into schemes that have doomed this world and a battle that nearly de­stroyed us. Seek a leader elsewhere."

Gorefiend frowned. This was not going as expected, and he couldn't simply slay Ner'zhul as he had the shaman's clansmen. He tried again. "The Horde needs you."'

"The Horde is dead!"' Ner'zhul snapped. "Half our people are gone, trapped on that horrible world, and lost to us forever! You want me to lead that?"

"They are not lost forever," Gorefiend replied, and the calm certainty in his tone brought Ner'zhul up short. "The portal was destroyed, but may yet be re­stored."

That got Ner'zhul's attention. "What? How?"

"A small rift remains on Azeroth," Gorefiend ex­plained, "and this side is intact. I helped create the Dark Portal, and I can still sense it. I can help you widen the rift until the Horde can pass through it."

The shaman seemed to consider this for an instant, then shook his head, folding in on himself almost vis­ibly. "What good would that do us? The Alliance is too great a foe. The Horde will never win. Our people are as good as dead already. All we have left now is the manner of that death." Again his fingers touched the painted image on his face, almost of their own volition. His weakness disgusted Gorefiend. It was hard to believe that this wreck, obsessed with death, his own and that of others, had once been so revered.

And unfortunately still so necessary.

'Death is not the only option, not if we rebuild and use the portal," Gorefiend countered, forcing patience. "We don't have to win — we don't even need to battle the Alliance again. I have quite another plan for the Horde. If I can get ahold of certain artifacts — there are things I learned about from Gul'dan that—"

"Gul'dan and his twisted schemes — they reach out and destroy lives even from beyond the grave!" He scowled at Gorefiend. 'You and your plans! And how much power would you gain from success? Power is all you Shadow Council bastards care about!"

Gorefiend's patience, never great, had evaporated. He seized the old shaman's arms and shook him an­grily. "Two years since the portal collapsed, and you have been hiding in your village while the clans slaugh­ter each other. All they need is guidance and then they will be powerful again! Between your supporters and my death knights, we can force the clans to obey you. With Doomhammer dead or imprisoned on Azeroth, you are the only one left who can lead them. I have been examining the portal, assessing the damage, and I told you I have a solution. I've assigned several death knights to the site already. Even as I speak to you, they are working spells, preparing it for its reopening. I am sure it can succeed."

'And what is this solution?" Ner'zhul spat bitterly. "Did you discover a way for us to return to Azeroth and win the war we lost two years ago? I think not. We are doomed. We will never win." He turned away, and took a step back toward his hut.

"Never mind the war! Listen to me, old man!" the death knight shouted after him. "We do not need to defeat the Alliance because we do not need to conquer Azerothl"

Ner'zhul paused and glanced back. "But you said you could reopen the portal. Why do that if not to re­turn there?"

"Return, yes, but not for battle." Gorefiend closed the gap between them again. "We need only to find and claim certain magical artifacts. Once we have those, we can leave Azeroth and never return."

'And stay here?" Ner'zhul waved a hand, the gesture encompassing much of the stricken landscape around them. "You know as well as I that Draenor is dying. Soon it will not be able to sustain even those of us left."

He had not remembered the shaman as being so slow-witted. "It will not have to," Gorefiend assured him, speaking slowly as if to a child. "With these arti­facts in hand, we can leave both Azeroth and Draenor behind and go someplace else. Some place better."

Now he had Ner'zhul's full attention. Something like hope flickered across the white-painted face. For a long moment, Ner'zhul stood poised either to reenter his hut and resume his self-pitying seclusion, or to em­brace this new possibility.

"You have a plan for this?" the old shaman asked finally.

“I do.”

Another long pause. Gorefiend waited.

"… I will listen." Ner'zhul turned and stepped back into his hut.

But this time Teron Gorefiend — warlock and death knight — came with him.