"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.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Danath slammed his fist into his other palm, "We have them!" he shouted, "Now all we have to do is go in and get them!"
"Yes, but not now," Talthressar replied. One of Alleria's rangers, he had somehow assumed the role of Danath's adviser during their pursuit of the Horde, and despite his aloof manner Danath liked him. Too, more often than not the elf was right. "We need to wait until morning."
"By morning they'll have dug in," Danadi protested, glaring down at the slender russet-haired ranger and then across the bone-littered stretch of land to where the colossal ruins sprouted. "If we attack now we can take them before they've had a chance to settle and build up defenses!"
"Look around you," Talthressar urged. "You may be ready to fight, but your men are not. It is growing dark, and they are weary. Would you have them stumbling about underground, blind to danger and too tired to defend themselves from inevitable ambush?"
Danath turned an angry, anguished face to the elf. "They killed Kurdran!"
The news had shaken a group of men who were already exhausted from the brutal pace Danath had set them. When the Wildhammers had returned, making no effort to hide the tears in their eyes at the thought of their fallen — including their beloved leader — Danath had been forced to turn away himself. He'd lost so many, and now the bluff, jovial dwarf too — how many would have to die before these damned green things were stopped?
"I know," Talthressar said quietly. "And you will not honor his spirit if you take men too exhausted to fight to avenge him. They will simply join him in death."
Danath scowled, but he knew the elf was right. He'd pushed his men hard all the way from the orcish citadel trying to catch Ner’zhul's forces in time. It was ironic that now that they had, they were too tired to do anything about it.
"One night," he said finally. "We'll camp one night, rest, and attack at first light."
"A wise choice," Talthressar agreed, and as usual Danath could not tell if the ranger was being sarcastic or sincere. And, as he always did, he decided to ignore the elf's tone and take his words at face value.