Their eyes met. Even as Turalyon watched, the orc leader lifted a mammoth axe in a salute.
'Were ready for you this time, you bastards," Danath muttered. His eyes were bright and he was more than eager for battle. As was every soldier present.
"Sons of Lothar! Attack!" Turalyon cried. His troops let out a yell of their own and streamed down from all sides. The battle was on.
It was a simple plan — kill as many orcs as possible while heading straight for the portal. Turalyon fought fiercely, swinging his hammer left and right and beating back the snarling foes that surged up to block his path. Close by him fought Alleria, seemingly as grimly joyful in the slaughter as ever. Some sixth sense prickled at him and he looked up just in time to see the elven ranger bringing a sword down on one hapless orc while another loomed up behind her, lifting a brutal-looking club. She didn't seem to notice the threat — her face was alight with harsh glee as she pulled her sword free from the green corpse. She was too focused, too intent on her revenge —
“Alleria!" Turalyon cried, clapping heels to his warhorse and galloping toward her. As if in slow motion, Alleria raised her golden head, her eyes widening, her arm lifting the bloody sword to block the blow, but she was too slow, too slow, and he would never get there in time —
The prayer left his lips and he thrust his hands forward. White light shot forward and struck the orc square in the chest. He arched backward, the club tumbling helplessly from his grasp as he crumpled to the earth. For the briefest of instants, Turalyon's gaze locked with Alleria's, then she was on to the next orc, and he too had turned back to the fray.
His eye fell upon the orc leader he'd spotted earlier. He seemed to dance through the Alliance forces. The heavy axe in his hand shrieked as it cut air and flesh alike, and the sound rose above the screams and groans of his many victims. He paused now and then to shout and point.
But powerful though he was, he and his warriors were outnumbered, and by the look on his face he knew it. The wave of Alliance kept moving inexorably forward, to the portal. The orc seemed to make a decision. He turned and shouted something to a cloaked figure next to the portal itself, and the figure nodded. Then the leader bellowed something else, and all across the valley his orcs hastened to obey, backing away from the Alliance and retreating slowly but surely toward the waiting portal.
Another movement caught Turalyon's eye. A cloaked figure reached down and pulled something from beside the portal's rightmost pillar. Turalyon couldn't make out what it was, but it was metal and it glinted in the light. Something about the way he fiddled with it made Turalyon nervous and for some reason, his mind went back to his conversation with the gnome Mekkatorque.
How safe will it be?
…I'm willing to bet it will eventually be as safe as the safest gnomish creation ever…
The orcs were suddenly trying to get through, whereas before they had fought. Khadgar had confirmed that they'd had the artifacts they needed and they were likely ready to —
"Damn it!" Turalyon cried. He hoped he was wrong. He looked over the sea of fighting men and orcs and saw Khadgar and another group of magi. He rode toward them, gasping out what he'd seen.
Khadgar frowned as he listened. "If I were them, I'd head for home too — but first I'd destroy the portal behind me so no one here could interfere."
"My thoughts too. I think it's something mechanical — like something the gnomes would make."
"Or the goblins," said Khadgar. Both men knew that, unlike the gnomes, who were firmly on the Alliance side, the recently encountered goblins happily sold their mechanical gizmos to both sides. "We destroyed the last portal. They can certainly destroy this one. And without Medivh's book and Guldan's skull, I doubt I could reopen it."
"Then let's go. I’ll hold them off," Turalyon said, already wheeling his horse to charge the portal. Khadgar was right behind him. Turalyon battered away at the orcs, cutting a path through them like a man possessed. Khadgar bore down on the portal and the figure adjusting something beside it. Leaning over in his saddle, Khadgar slashed at the figure, who turned at the last second, though not fast enough to avoid a blow to the neck. It wasn't a strong enough blow to kill him at once, but the cloaked figure grunted in pain and dropped the device, his hands flying to his neck.
Swinging down from his horse, Khadgar ran over and grabbed up the strange machine. It was the size of a small shield, definitely mechanical… and it was making an odd ticking sound. He analyzed it quickly, but the construction was too alien. There was no way he could stop it. Whatever it had been intended to do, it was going to do it soon. Grunting, the mage lifted the package and threw it as far as he could, augmenting his physical strength with magic so that it arced out over the valley and looked like it might even glance off the cliff walls along that side.
The explosion rocked the entire valley.
Grom swore, ducking and covering his head, feeling stings along his back and shoulders where he had been peppered with small fragments of shattered rock. He looked up, rage burning inside him, and strode with dreadful purpose to the warlock. Kra'kul looked as shocked as Grom felt and cowered as Grom's fist descended.
"Traitor! You would kill us!"
"No! No, I swear, I was told it was a shield, a shield to protect us! I didn't know!"
Red swam before Grom's eyes as he lifted the cringing warlock with one hand and shook him. How he wanted to crush the orc's windpipe, to rip his head off and throw it as the elderly human had thrown the device that Grom had been told would protect them but instead had nearly killed them.
'Who told you this? Where is he, that I may tear his heart out!" Roughly he shook the warlock, curbing his bloodlust with great effort.
"I don't know — Malkor was sent to do it — he told me it was a shield—"
Cursing, Grom hurled the worthless wretch away and turned back to the fight.
Grom had been told the device was a shield, so that at the last moment, the Warsong clan could safely escape. He had been lied to. Someone in a position of power — Gorefiend? Ner'zhul?—had intended that the warriors left behind would not escape with their lives.
Grom vowed to survive this battle, unlikely as it seemed, so that someone would pay.
The explosion had rattled his people. The Alliance had recovered more quickly than the orcs, and Grom saw; furious and helpless, that they were being herded like beasts to the southwest. Yet he could do nothing about it. One group came from one side, a second blocked off the exit from another, forcing the orcs back and into a narrow valley mouth, away from the portal. Away from home.
"So be it," he growled. The Alliance might have this victory, but it would cost them dearly. He threw his head back, opened his jaw wide, and let forth a scream that froze two Alliance warriors in mid-swing. "Fight, my Warsong, fight like the orcs you are! Let your blood sing with battle lust! Tear them to pieces! For the Horde!"
* * *
"Someone has to stay here and watch this crew," Turalyon said, reining in beside Alleria and Khadgar and waiting for Kurdran to circle low enough to hear the conversation. "I'll station some men at the mouth of this valley to keep them from escaping again. Everyone else—"
He fell silent. Khadgar didn't envy him. No one really wanted to go through the Dark Portal — although he had to admit, a small part of him, the part that had led to him become a mage in the first place, was very curious about what lay beyond it.
"Well,” Turalyon said. "We know what we need to do. Each of you, tell your units one more time that this is a volunteer expedition. I'll not force any soldier to cross worlds if he does not wish to."