"Me too," echoed Maim.
"Where was he when the portal was destroyed and we got stuck here?" Rend continued. "Where was he when we were hunted for two long years, and slowly rebuilt our forces with whatever orcs had survived and could make their way to us? I'll tell you where — he was safe and snug on Draenor, not lifting a finger to help!" Rend snatched up his sword and slammed it down on the throne's arm so hard the stone splintered. Maim jumped, then laughed with an echo of mania in his voice.
"But I was here! I pulled these orcs back together! I rebuilt the Horde, not over on Draenor but here on Azeroth, right beneath the Alliance's nose! I am warchief now, and no used-up old shaman is going to take that away from me!"
Gorefiend longed to smear the boy into paste, but refrained. "Please," he said through clenched teeth. “Please, I ask you to reconsider. Without your aid, Nerzhul will—"
"—fail," Rend finished bluntly Maim looked gleeful. "He's got no experience with real war. He's got no head for tactics, no understanding of combat, and no real leadership skills. The Alliance will crush his little pretend Horde, and then"—he grinned—"I will pick up the pieces. We will gather all the survivors to us, Maim and I, just as we have been doing all along, since the last war ended."
Maim crept closer, and Rend let his hand fall on his brother's head as he might a pet dog's. "And with the Horde, the real Horde, even larger, and with the dragons at our side and me in command, we're going to sweep across the face of Azeroth." Rend grinned directly at Gorefiend. “And then, dead man, you'll serve me."
Behind Gorefiend, Tagar stiffened. "You coward!" he howled at Rend. "Traitorous dog, I'll cut you down like the cur you are, and take your throne for myself! Then your people will follow my orders and take their place in the Horde once more!"
"Oh yeah?" Rend replied lazily "You want to attack me now?" His grin widened, and Gorefiend turned to rest a hand on Tagar's shoulder.
"He has guards nearby — many of them," he warned the Bonechewer chieftain quietly. "If you attack him they'll kill you, and then we're short one chieftain." He shook his head. "Now is not the time."
Tagar grumbled but stepped back a pace. Rend looked disappointed.
"One final time — will you join us?" Gorefiend asked Rend softly.
"Oh, wait, let me think — no," Rend retorted, smirking. Maim chuckled.
"Very well." Gorefiend bowed. "Then there is nothing more to say."
Rend laughed. "Go on," he instructed. "I can't wait to get news of your gory destruction." He and his brother laughed again, and the sound echoed through the chamber and into the halls and corridors beyond as Gorefiend led his dispirited group out of the keep and back down from the spire itself.
The sun had already set and the sky was fading from dusk to true dark. Gorefiend glared at the dancing orange and yellow campfire. Things had not gone according to plan, and he was deep in thought, pondering his next move. The others were wisely silent, and the only sound was the crackle of the flames and the occasional soft grunt of quiet conversation. A sudden noise in the darkness made them all leap to their feet, the tension strung taut as a bow.
"Human! Kill him!" came the cry from the orc sent to keep watch. The death knights stayed silent, but the orcs roared, happy to have a target for their frustration. Gorefiend could see the human now, wandering boldly up to their very encampment. Tagar charged him, bringing down his club in a blow that would crush the human's fragile skull.
What happened next stunned them all. Gorefiend watched as the human reached upward, almost languidly, caught the club, and twisted it from the orcs grasp. Tagar gaped at him, then he and the others prepared to lunge again.
The human cried, "Hold!"
Even Gorefiend doubted he could move against the human, such was the power in that single word. Who was this man? Gorefiend watched, curious and not a little concerned, as the human entered the ring of firelight. He would be handsome among his people, Gorefiend thought; tall and well-built for a human, with lustrous black hair and strong yet elegant features. Fine clothing draped his frame and an untouched jeweled sword hung at his side. He grimaced slightly and brushed something from his sleeve.
“I know you'd like nothing better than to attack me again, but you've sullied my clothing enough for one night. I don't fancy getting your blood on it." He smiled, a slow, dangerous smile that revealed perfect teeth. "I'm not quite what I seem, you see." His shadow flickered behind him, then suddenly seemed to rise up, growing monstrous in size and shape, great shadow-wings spreading all around them.
"Who are you?" Gorefiend demanded.
"I've been known by many names." The grin widened. "One of them … is Deathwing."
Deathwing! Gorefiend's mind reeled. He didn't question the statement, bizarre as it sounded; he'd already felt the faintest hint of Deathwing's power. Gorefiend had heard of the mighty black dragon, perhaps the single most powerful creature on Azeroth. They had seen black dragons a few times during the war, and Gorefiend had always wondered why the Dragonmaw clan hadn't captured them instead of the reluctant red dragons. He had suspected they were either too difficult a target or that doing so would awaken Deathwing's wrath.
Gorefiend tried to speak, but could not, so stunned and horrified was he. He tried again. "Wh-what do you want with us?"
Deathwing waved a beringed hand airily. "Calm yourself," he replied, slightly contemptuously. "I have not come to slay you, else you would be mere ash already." His eyes glowed from within for an instant, hinting at the vast fires that lurked beneath that human facade. "Quite the contrary. I have been watching you, and I like what I see." He spread a kerchief on a nearby rock, then settled himself beside the fire and motioned for them to do the same. They obeyed, slowly. "You have great strength and impressive focus." He grinned at them. "I would very much like to behold the world that gave rise to such a fierce and determined people."
Gorefiend studied their uninvited guest. Was Deathwing asking to visit Draenor? Why?
As if reading his mind, Deathwing turned to meet Gorefiend's gaze, and nodded. His dark eyes were hooded, the power within banked, and for the moment he seemed merely a self-assured human. "I know of your meeting with the one called Rend Blackhand," Deathwing said softly "Idiots, he and his brother both. But not without their own power. And I know you desired the red dragons the Dragonmaw clan has… enslaved." The corners of his mouth turned up at that last word, as if the very idea delighted him. "Substandard beasts, in my opinion. I don't know why you're bothering with them."
Gorefiend wasn't sure how to respond. "Dragons are powerful beings," he began cautiously.
"Indeed we are. You wish for allies? Then I have an offer for you. My mighty children shall lend you their aid, and willingly rather than under duress."
One of the orcs, obviously anxious to please the unexpected guest, hesitantly offered Deathwing a mug of ale. The great creature frowned terribly, glaring at the orc. "Take that putrid stuff away!" Cowed, the orc retreated. Deathwing composed himself, turning his banked-fire eyes to Gorefiend. "Where was I? Oh yes. I will lend you the aid of my children. In return, I demand safe passage through the Dark Portal, and aid in transporting some cargo through there as well."
"You want to go to Draenor?" Tagar burst out. "Why?"