Beyond the Dark Portal

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“They are gaining on us."

Ner’zhul glanced over at Kilrogg. "Then we move faster."

The Bleeding Hollow chieftain growled and shook his head. "We are already moving as fast as we can without killing our mounts and ourselves," he pointed out bitterly. "Any faster and my warriors will drop dead before the Alliance even reaches us. And who will pro­tect you then?"

They had been marching for almost a week now, and the first few days had been uneventful. They had reached Terokkar Forest without any problem, and had stepped under those tall, twisted trees with a hint of re­lief. The forest was as dark and gloomy as ever, the dark clumped foliage of its trees high enough overhead that little sunlight could pierce their cover, the ground covered in fine dark moss and short scrub but other­wise bare. But after days of walking under the hot sun it was pleasant to find shade, and the forest seemed cool and peaceful.

Until one of Kilrogg's warriors, who had stayed far back from the rest to scout behind them, had come running to find them where they camped for the night.

"The Alliance!" the warrior had gasped, panting and sweating from his run. "They are right behind us!"

"They must have taken Hellfire Citadel faster than we'd expected," Gorefiend had said. "Damn Kargath! He was supposed to hold them!"

Kilrogg had remained calm, as always. "How many are there?"

The scout had shaken his head. "I could not get a clear count of them, but many. More than we have here, for certain. And they're moving at a frenzied pace."

"They're pushing themselves to their limits," Kil­rogg had mused, idly stroking the scar below his miss­ing eye. "Hate lends one speed."

"How long before they reach us?" Gorefiend had asked.

"They are perhaps two days behind us," the scout had answered. "But their leader drives them like a mad­man, and they are closing the distance rapidly."

"Rouse the camp," Kilrogg had decided. "Everyone up. We will march through the night to put more dis­tance between them and us. Move!"

Within minutes they had been on the move again.

Since then they had taken only short breaks, stopping beside one of Terokkar's many glittering streams and rivers for water and to catch their breath. But still the Alliance came on, and the gap was lessening.

And now they faced an awful choice.

"We can stand and fight," Gorefiend suggested, but Kilrogg was already shaking his head.

"They outnumber us," the one-eyed orc pointed out, "by a significant margin." He scowled. "I hate to say it, but if we face them, they'll slaughter us. And while I will gladly die for the Horde, as will my clan, dying here will not get you to the Black Temple."

"And we cannot outrun them," Gorefiend offered. "I do not think that with their prey in sight, they will fall behind."

"We can take shelter in—" Ner’zhul began, but Kil­rogg cut him off quickly.

"That is still days away," he interrupted hastily. "Surely we do not need to consider that just yet?" Sweat beaded across his brow and Ner’zhul was both sur­prised and amused to realize that Kilrogg Deadeye, a legendary figure known for his courage and sheer guts, was afraid.

This was not the time to be squeamish, however. "It is our only option," he pointed out, his tone sharp enough to prevent Kilrogg from breaking in again. "They are still gaining on us, and if we cannot run and cannot fight we must hide. And the only place in this forest we can effectively do that is—“

This time the interruption came not from one of the two lieutenants before him but from above. Ner’zhul felt a change in the air, and the crackle of a possible storm, but unusually intense and concentrated in a tight line that bore down upon them. On instinct he dove for the ground. A heartbeat later something hurtled through the space where his head had been, trailing lightning behind it. He caught a glimpse of a dark blur that soared back up into the air and flew be­tween the trees — to land solidly in the hand of a stout figure riding a winged beast that was bearing down upon them.

"Gryphons!" Kilrogg shouted, raising his axe above his head. "Take cover!"

Chaos erupted. Orcs ducked behind tree trunks and slid into the nearby river or hugged its banks. Every­one was stumbling and running and falling, scrabbling in the darkness to avoid the dimly seen figures up above.

A second lightning bolt streaked through the trees and scared Ner’zhul's sight, leaving nothing but a blind­ing white for an instant and flashing afterimages when that had faded. Then a thunderclap shook the forest, rattling the trees and throwing many orc warriors off their feet.

Clearly one of the Wildhammers' attacks had been successful.

The Wildhammers flew down upon their gryphons, hurling their stormhammers left and right. Some attacks missed their target, but those accursed hammers merely rose and returned to their owners, who loosed them again like vengeful spirits. Lightning split the air again and again, and the thunder was an almost con­stant roar. When they were not throwing their ham­mers, they were swooping in so close that the gryphons themselves could attack the orcs, slashing throats with claws the size of an orc hand, pecking out eyes and fracturing skulls with a single jab of a deadly beak. Between flashes Ner’zhul saw that some of the orcs had clustered together, assuming safety in numbers but in reality only providing an easier target. He watched a hammer blow scatter a dozen orcs at once. After the thunder and lightning only one of them even stirred, and that feebly.

"They're slaughtering us!" he hissed at Gorefiend, who was crouched beside him. "Do something!"

The death knight glared at him, and a slow, calculat­ing grin spread across his rotting face. "This is but a handful of short human pretenders and overgrown birds. I thought the mighty Ner’zhul would be able to handle such a pathetic attack. But no matter. I can, if you are unable." He started to rise.

The impudence! Ner’zhul's mind shot back to the conversation with Gul'dan's skull.

Arrogance! He should not speak so to you.

No. He should not.

"You should not speak so to me, Teron Gorefiend," he said, his voice icy. Gorefiend blinked, surprised at his tone. "Nor will I permit it from you again." Ner’zhul rose, fueled by his anger. He clenched his fists and concentrated on the earth beneath them and the air around them. His shamanistic magic had once made him one with this world, able to tap the elements themselves. But the elements no longer heeded his call — they had not since he had sworn alle­giance to Kil'jaedcn, as if the elements were disgusted by the demonic energy that now tainted all his race. But no matter. He had learned new skills since.

Whereas before the forest had been still, save for the cries of attack and the wails of the dying, now a wind erupted out of nowhere. A gryphon that had a mo­ment before been diving smoothly for another pass, beak open in an angry shriek, claws extended, now cawed frantically as it was buffeted about as if by an un­seen hand. Its rider struggled to maintain his seat, but failed and fell heavily toward the ground. The unbur­dened gryphon sought the skies. Ner’zhul gestured with both hands commandingly, and the wind snatched up dry gray sand and proceeded to scour both dwarf and gryphon with it. The Wildhammer cried out, not in victory but in agony as his skin was scoured from his bones. It was a sweet sound to Ner’zhul's ears. Its mount was no luckier. Feathers flew and droplets of blood were caught up in the whirlwind. Seconds later there was nothing but two piles of glistening flesh on the forest floor.

But Ner’zhul was nowhere near done.

A wave of his left hand, and rocks the size of his head dislodged themselves from the earth and shot upward as if hurled by the very ground rippling be­neath them. Ner’zhul turned his attention to the rest of the Wildhammers. More rocks erupted from the ground, propelled into the sky, and the gryphons and their riders tried to dodge the suddenly animate stones. The attack against the orcs ended as the Wild­hammcrs found themselves forced to concentrate on evading this new menace.

Ner’zhul turned to Gorefiend, a slighdy superior smile on his lips. The death knight looked surprised, but recovered quickly. "Nicely done," Gorefiend said. "Now let me see if I can add to the confusion." Study­ing the forms darting about overhead, the death knight stood still a moment, eyes narrowed. "There," he said at last, gesturing toward one dwarf in particular. "I have seen that one before, during the Second War. He is their leader." Gorefiend stood up and raised his hands high. They began to glow with a pulsing green light, and then that energy shot upward, striking both gryphon and rider.

The gryphon squawked in obvious pain and plum­meted, its wings furled tightly around it. At the same time, its rider convulsed as well and toppled out of his saddle. The gryphon managed to shake off its injuries and spread its wings just in time, turning a dead fall into a choppy glide and then beating hard to rise back up above the lower branches and into the shadows. Its rider was not so fortunate. The dwarf slammed into the ground and lay unmoving. Gorefiend was already sprinting toward the body, as was Kilrogg, and Ner'zhul joined them.

This was the first dwarf Ner'zhul had ever seen up close, and he studied the strange little figure intently, taking in the stout muscular build, the craggy features, the long braided beard and hair, and the tattoos that covered most of the dwarf's flesh. The Wildhammer was bleeding from several gashes, but his chest still rose and fell regularly.

"Excellent," Kilrogg commented, pulling a leather strip from his belt pouch and tying the dwarf's hands together behind his back, then doing the same to his feet. "Now we have a captive." He lifted the bound dwarf to his feet, and bellowed, "Begone, winged pests, or we will slaughter and devour your leader while you watch!"

The Wildhammers apparently decided they had had enough. The gryphons cawed and clacked their beaks, then wheeled and flew up beyond the trees, disappear­ing from view. Only Kilrogg's captive remained behind.

But that couldn't last. "We need to assess our losses." Kilrogg pointed out after the Wildhammers had gone. “And we should post scouts to check on the rest of the Alliance army".

Ner'zhul nodded. "Take care of it," he said absently. He would die before admitting it, but he found himself surprised by his own power. It had come so easily, and was so strong. And produced such impressive results. It felt… good.

"We lost a full quarter of our forces," Kilrogg reported some time later, stepping back up beside Ner'zhul where the shaman waited against one of the larger trees. "Those dwarves know how to attack quickly and effectively, and they used the trees to good advantage," Ner'zhul could hear the grudging respect in the aging chieftain's tone. Kilrogg was too good a strategist not to appreciate sound tactics, even if they were from the other side.

Then Gorefiend joined them, "The rest of their army is still racing toward us," he confirmed. "Clearly they sent the dwarves on ahead to wound us and slow us down." The death knight bared his teeth at their captive, who lay on the ground near Ner’zhul's feet. He had groaned several times but had not yet regained consciousness.

"How far behind us are they?" Ner'zhul demanded.

"Still a day, perhaps two. And in our current state we cannot stand against them."

Ner'zhul nodded. "Then only one course of action remains," he stated. "We must go to Auchindoun."

Kilrogg started, his eyes bulging, though he must have known this was coming. "N-no!" he stuttered. "We cannot! Not there!"

"Do not be such a whelp." Gorefiend sneered at him. "We are out of options! That is the only way we can hope to survive the Alliance army and reach the Black Temple!"

But the one-eyed orc shook his head hard. "There must be another way!" He grabbed Ner’zhul's arm with one hand and Kilrogg's with the other. "There must be! We cannot go to Auch — to there! It will be the end of us!"

"It will not." Ner’zhul replied coldly pulling his arm free and staring at the orc. “Auchindoun is an unpleas­ant ruin, and a reminder of an ugly time in our past. Nothing more."

It was more, of course. Much more. Auchindoun had been well over a hundred summers old when Ner’zhul himself had been only a baby. It had belonged to die draenci then as always, hidden away deep within Terokkar Forest. The old shaman had told them that it was a sacred place where the draenei buried their dead and then returned to commune with their spirits, just as the orc shaman communed with their own ances­tors. As youths Ner’zhul and his clanmates had crept through the forest to study the strange place, staring at its towering, chiseled stone dome. They had challenged each other to enter, to race through the tall doorway carved into the arching stone block that marked the dome's front, touch something within, and then re­turn. None of them had dared attempt it. Ner’zhul had gone farther than most, creeping up to the entryway and running his hands along the rough stone that formed its massive doorway, but he could not bring himself to go farther. According to his clan's shaman, no one ever had. "The draenei dead protect their own," he had said.

Then the war had come. The orcs had banded to­gether, setting aside their clan rivalries. As a single mass they had attacked the peaceful draenei and slaughtered them. Ner’zhul tried not to remember the part he had played in that destruction, or the fiery creature who had given the order to destroy those quiet, unthreatening neighbors. And when Ner’zhul had refused to sub­ject his people to such an outsider's control, when he had resisted that stranger's grandiose plans, he had been replaced. His own apprentice, Gul'dan, had will­ingly given himself to the stranger, binding himself to the creature's will and gaining immense power in re­turn. Gul'dan had fed the Horde's bloodlust, transforming the orcs into the savages they were today. Then they had crushed the draenei and their entire cul­ture. Only a few had escaped, and those had fled into Auchindoun, hoping the orcs would not pursue them there.

They had been mistaken. Gul'dan's lust for power knew no limits, and his new master had promised him untold might if he wiped the draenei from the face of the world. So Gul'dan had sent agents, a group of war­locks from his Shadow Council, which controlled the Horde warchief Blackhand from behind the scenes. They had marched into Auchindoun, confident in their victory and already imagining the power they would wield from the artifacts rumored to be buried there.

But something had gone wrong. They had found an artifact, to be sure, only to discover that it contained a strange entity — a being they had freed, though whether deliberately or through careless arrogance no one could now be sure. Because the creature's exultant escape had shattered Auchindoun itself, the great stone dome crumbling, the massive temple within it torn to pieces, and the coundess underground tunnels that housed the draenei dead exploding outward into coundess fragments. The impact had destroyed the for­est for over a league in every direction, and littered the now-barren ground with bones from the draenei who had once lain at rest within Auchindoun's catacombs. Only a few of the Shadow Council members had sur­vived and escaped, fleeing back to Gul'dan to report the grave-city gone but any draenei within assuredly killed as well. No one had ever returned there, and to this day orcs avoided the Bone Wastes, as the area around Auchindoun had been named.

Until now.

"We have no choice," Ner’zhul reiterated, fixing first Kilrogg and then Gorefiend with his gaze. "We must go there. Some of the tunnels must survive, at least for a short length, and within them we may be able to de­fend ourselves. Without such protection the Alliance forces will kill us all, and our race will die with us."

Kilrogg sputtered something unintelligible. Gorefiend stared at him contemptuously, red eyes narrow­ing. "Ner’zhul is right. We've no other choice. But we must proceed with caution. I've no wish to waken something we can't defeat."

"It is settled, then," Ner’zhul said. "Is it not, Kilrogg? I should hate to leave you behind."

The old chieftain swallowed hard and lowered his head. "Ner’zhul, you know I am afraid of nothing that lives. Nothing that I can fight and tear to pieces. But that place …" He sighed deeply. "The Bleeding Hollow clan will go where Ner’zhul leads."

"Good. Between us we will be more than a match for anything that waits within those walls. Now gather our warriors, and your death knights," he told his two lieutenants. "We must reach the Bone Wastes as soon as possible."

Kilrogg nodded and walked away Gorefiend glared after him, then saluted Ner’zhul and followed, his fel­low death knights clustering around him before he had gone far. Ner’zhul turned away as well, his hands clutching the bag at his side and feeling the rough shapes of the artifacts it contained. Despite his strong words, he wondered what they would find in Auchin­doun. Did the draenei dead still linger there? Would they hold him responsible for the actions of his former pupil, or would they see that Gul'dan had betrayed Ner’zhul as well? Would the strange ruins prove a much-needed shelter from the Alliance army, or would taking his orcs there only expose them to even greater danger? He did not know. But he could not think what else to do, and so they would find out. Ner’zhul just hoped he was not making a grave error.

The Horde warriors came to a stop, staring. The trees ended just behind them, and before them stretched the gray soil and littered fragments of the Bone Wastes. Auchindoun rose in its midst, squat and ugly, the re­mains of its shattered dome jutting upward like broken teeth, the ruined temple nestled within it like a battered head half-buried in the dull ground.

Ner’zhul stared as well. He couldn't help it. The last he had seen of this place, the draenei's holy resting place, it had been ominous and intact. Now, with great gaping rents in the temple walls, with entire sections open to the sky, with the forest that had cradled it blasted away and bones covering the ground, he could barely reconcile it with the dreadful majesty of the monument that had so terrified him in his youth.

The ground seemed to shake all around him, and at first Ner’zhul thought it was merely the rush of blood pounding through his veins, his heart racing from the sight of the ancient grave-city. Then he real­ized the vibrations were coming from somewhere outside himself, and glanced around. His orcs stood still or quietly shuffling, some looking around as if searching for the same thing he was. Then he looked behind them, through the trees, and saw shapes flick­ering there.

"The Alliance is right behind us!" he shouted, his voice carrying easily here where the trees did not im­pede it. "We must take shelter! Into Auchindoun! Hurry!"

"Move it, you worthless cretins!" Kilrogg added, slamming his axe against a nearby tree so hard the en­tire trunk shuddered. The sound and the motion seemed to wake the warriors from their shocked trance, and they broke into a run, all heading for the draenei building's ruined doorway.

Passing through that massive, lopsided portal, Ner’zhul felt a shiver of fear race through him. Were there still spirits guarding this mass tomb, as he had felt there were when he had first approached it so long ago? Or had they fled with the buildings ruination?

There was no time to ponder such things. He has­tened deep into the demolished temple and down through a gaping hole into what remained of the labyrinth below, Kilrogg and Gorefiend beside him and several of Kilrogg's most trusted warriors before and behind them. Underground, Auchindoun was more elaborate than without, its carvings more in­tricate.

Some things, it seemed, had survived, at least to some degree. An elegant arch, now shattered, rose above the base of the stairs they had used, and above that Ner’zhul saw strangely graceful shapes that seemed less faithful than representative. Thick pillars had once supported a high roof directly beneath the temple floor, and portions of them remained, their rough unadorned surfaces a strong contrast to the dec­orated walls around them. Niches had been carved into those walls, row upon row of them, and hints of white and yellow within told him what he would find there. Bones. No doubt all the walls had contained such draenei remains, and it was their contents that were now strewn across the Bone Wastes, the draenei ances­tors exposed to the elements where once they had rested in peaceful shade beneath heavy stone. The floor here was stone as well, small tiles intricately worked into a cunning pattern, and broad stairways connected different levels.

Glancing down Ner’zhul saw at least six floors below them, their centers ripped away by that fateful explosion, the remnants now exposed to open air. Then the others pulled him into a wide tunnel that ran off to one side from this central space.

"The walls here are still sound," Kilrogg was saying, glancing about and nodding in approval. Ner’zhul was pleased. Kilrogg had worried him earlier, with his al­most crippling fear. But now that he had made up his mind, Kilrogg was committed and calm.

"A few collapses, but most of the ceiling remains and the floor is still passable. We can group our warriors a bit farther back, where there seems to be less damage." He gestured toward the tunnel's back end, which stretched on into shadow. Ner’zhul saw that he was right — there was less rubble there and the ceiling seemed unbroken. "We can set up a strong defensive post here. The Alliance will have a hard time digging us out once we're set in."

"Some of the lower tunnels may still be intact," Gorefiend pointed out. "We should check those care­fully before venturing forth. If nothing… else is there, they might provide an even better stronghold."

Kilrogg nodded and detailed some of his warriors to search the rest of this tunnel and several to search the tunnels nearby, though he warned them not to stray too far. The others he ordered to carry rubble to the tunnel mouth and to build a low wall across it as best they could. Then he, Gorefiend, and Ner’zhul settled in to wait and to discuss battle strategies.

A few hours later one of Kilrogg s scouts returned. The warrior's eyes were wide, but a faint smile played across his lips. "There is something you need to see!"

"What is it?" Ner’zhul asked, rising to his feet and dusting his hands against his thighs. He and Gorefiend had been working on a contingency plan that might ul­timately save them all, but it was not yet finished.

"I — we found something, sir." the warrior replied. The smile was broadening into a grin now, and that lifted Ner’zhul's spirits. Whatever it was they had found, clearly this scout did not consider it a threat. Ner’zhul gestured for the orc to lead on, and followed him out of the room they had claimed for their project and down the long tunnel behind it. Other warriors were clustered there, and as Ner’zhul approached they fell back.

"By the ancestors!" Ner’zhul whispered, the words falling from slack lips as he gaped openly. Before him stood several figures. One was an ogre and the rest… were orcs! Ner’zhul did not recognize them, though. and their attire and adornment were wholly strange to him.

"Who are you?" he demanded, stopping only a few feet from these strangers. "And what are you doing here in Auchindoun?"

One of the orcs stepped forward. He was short and stout, much as Gul'dan had been, and indeed Ner’zhul saw much of his former student in the stranger's fea­tures and posture. The new orc's domed head glistened in the torches the warriors had placed along the hall, and his long fringed beard was black streaked with sil­ver. Yet there was an aura of power around him as he stood there in strange rune-scribed black robes, an ornate staff in one hand.

"Ner’zhul?" he said softly, his voice rough. "Is that you? Where is Gul'dan?"

"Gul'dan is dead, the traitor," Kilrogg replied, snarling at the stranger and glowering down at him with his one eye. "He nearly saw the death of us all for his own twisted ambitions! Ner’zhul rules the Horde once more!"

The stranger nodded, apparently not shocked by this news. "Then I submit to your leadership, Ner’zhul," he replied, the words halting as if he had not spoken in some time. "I am Vorpil, once of the Shadow Council, though perhaps you do not recognize me."

"Vorpil!" Ner’zhul stared at the stranger, squinting in the dim light. Yes, it was Vorpil, whom he remem­bered as a promising young Thunderlord shaman. But that Vorpil had possessed a thick dark braid of hair that reached down his back, and his beard was short and black as well. What had happened to him, to age him so and give him such dear mystical strength?

Gorefiend stepped forward now, for he had also been part of Gul'dan's Shadow Council. "Vorpil?" he whispered. "How came you here, old friend?"

Vorpil hissed and jumped back, as did the others. Fear flitted across his blunt features as he got a good look at the death knight.

"Be easy," soothed Gorefiend. lifting his hands in a calming gesture. "It's me, Teron Gorefiend."

For a long moment Vorpil stared at Gorefiend, his eyes narrowing as he studied the death knight with more than mere sight. After a second those eyes widened. "Teron Gorefiend?" he asked. "It… yes, it feels like you, trapped within that rotting meat." The orcs lowered their weapons and looked uneasily at each other, but trusted their leader. Vorpil stepped forward hesitantly. "What has happened to you? What dead thing do you drape about your spirit like a cloak?"

"I inhabit the body of a creature called a human." Gorefiend answered. At the blank looks he received, he added. "It is one of the races we encountered when we went to that other world — Azeroth. The one Gul'dan created a portal to."

"Other world?"

Ner’zhul was growing impatient. "When our world was dying, Gul'dan was able to open a portal into an­other world known as Azeroth. It is there that we met these humans, and Gorefiend's spirit inhabits one of their corpses. More we will tell you later, but right now we would hear your tale, for that may aid us in our cur­rent plight."

"What plight?" asked the larger figure Ner’zhul had noticed earlier, stepping forward to join the conversa­tion. "Are you in danger?" This creature was an ogre, as Ner’zhul had already realized, but not just any ogre, he saw as the torchlight revealed a second head atop those massive shoulders. Two-headed ogres were rare, and two-headed ogre warlocks-—as the dark energies ema­nating from this one told Ner’zhul it was — were rarer still. Only two such had been part of Gul'dan's inner circle, he remembered: Gul'dan's own right hand, Cho'gall, and —

"Blackhcart," Gorefiend whispered, having obvi­ously reached the same conclusion. "Is it really you?"

The creature's two heads nodded. "It is," one an­swered. "Though not perhaps as you remember us," the second added.

That was certainly true. Ner’zhul had never had dealings with Blackhcart directly — Gul'dan had re­cruited the ogre warlock personally, after taking control of the Horde — but he had seen the creature around more than once, a towering figure with long warrior braids and piercing black eyes.

Those eyes were gone now. One head had a strange metal patch over its right eye, evidently welded in place, and the other eye bore a sorcerous tattoo around it. The other head, which was covered in a close cowl, had only a single eye above its nose, twice the size of any natural orb. Strange runes covered Blackhcart's flesh, a single massive sigil across his chest and two below a band on each arm. The ogre wore a loose robe draped across both shoulders and then down across its belly, a belt holding the fabric over its loins. Thick brac­ers covered both wrists, and it held a massive spiked hammer in one oversized hand. Blackhcart's sheer size and strength had always been imposing, but now he presented a truly savage figure.

"I ask again," the ogre rumbled, "what plight?"

"The Alliance is right behind us," Kilrogg said. "The humans we spoke of earlier, and other races they work with. We are outnumbered and cannot stand against them, not without aid."

"We cannot fall," Gorefiend added. "The fate of our people rests upon Ner’zhul reaching the Black Temple. He will perform a rite that will save us all." He did not explain further, but both Blackhcart and Vorpil nodded.

"We have been here since Gul'dan sent us to Auchindoun to plunder it," Vorpil told them, "surviving within these tunnels and hoping to one day return to the Horde. Now the Horde has come to us. We know these ruins well, for they have been our home for years." The others behind him nodded. "We will fight these humans alongside you, and help you defeat them."

"I will crush any who stand against us," Blackhcart agreed, raising his enormous hammer so the top spikes brushed the hallway's high ceiling. "We will rend them limb from limb!" his other head assured them.

"Our ancestors have smiled upon us, to restore you to us in this hour of need," said Ner’zhul. "Know that you are welcome in the Horde once more, and will share in our people's triumph."

The warriors around them cheered, chanting "Ner’zhul!" and "Vorpil!" and "Blackhcart!" and "Horde!" loud enough for the walls to tremble, and Ner’zhul smiled.

He had been right to brave Auchindoun. With these newfound allies, he would surely make it to the Black Temple in time.