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.