"And what must we do?" Khadgar asked, though he thought he already knew.
"We must gather the rulers of this land," Lothar answered, as Khadgar had thought he might. "We must force them to see the danger. No nation can stand alone, not against the Horde. My own land tried and is gone because of it. We must not let that happen here. The people must unite and fight!" His hands clenched on the horse's reins, and Khadgar could again see the powerful warrior who had led Stormwind's armies and kept its borders safe for so many years.
"Let us hope they listen," Khadgar said softly. "For all our sakes."
"They will," Lothar assured him. "They must!" Neither of them said what both were thinking. They had seen the power of the Horde firsthand. If the nations did not unite, if their rulers refused to see the danger, they would fall. And the Horde would sweep across this land as it had across Stormwind, leaving nothing behind.
SECOND PROLOGUE
A dark figure stood upon a tall tower, gazing out at the world below him. From his vantage point he could see the city beneath and the countryside around it. Both were covered in swirling, shifting darkness, a tide that swept across the land and covered the buildings, leaving them in ruins.
The figure watched. Tall and powerfully built, massively muscled, he stood motionless upon the stone peak, his sharp eyes studying the scene below him. Long dark hair swung in braids about his chiseled face, the tasseled ends occasionally striking the long tusks that jutted up from his lower lip. The sun beat down upon him, making his skin glow emerald in the light, and creating a glare from the many trophies and medallions he wore about his neck and across his broad chest. Heavy plates covered his chest, shoulders, and legs, their scarred surfaces gleaming black except where heavy bronze knobs studded them. Gold gleamed along the edges, proclaiming his importance.
At last the figure had seen enough. He raised the enormous black warhammer he had been leaning upon, its stone head absorbing rather than reflecting the sunlight, and bellowed. It was a warcry, a summons and an exclamation, and the sound swept forth, slamming into the buildings and hills around him and echoing back.
Below him, the dark tide ceased its movement. Then it rippled, as faces turned upward. Every orc in the Horde stopped and looked, staring up at the solitary figure high above.
Again he shouted, his hammer held high. And this time the tide erupted in cheers and shouts and answering cries. The Horde acknowledged its leader.
Satisfied, Orgrim Doomhammer let his signature weapon drop back down to his side, and the dark tide below resumed its destructive motion.
Down below, beyond the city's gates, an orc lay upon a cot. His short, scrawny frame was covered in thick furs, a sign of high status, and rich clothing lay in a pile nearby. But the clothing had not been touched, not in weeks. For the orc lay without stirring, as if dead, his ugly face scrunched in pain or concentration, his bushy beard bristling about his snarling mouth.
Then, suddenly, all changed. With a gasp the orc sat bolt upright, the furs falling away from his sweat—drenched body. His eyes opened, glassy and unseeing at first, then blinking away the long sleep and glancing around him.
"Where—?" the orc demanded. A larger figure was already moving to his side, both heads registering pleased surprise, and as the orc's gaze caught him the eyes sharpened, as did the features. Whatever confusion had lingered was gone, replaced by cunning and rage. "Where am I?" he demanded. "What has happened?"
"You were asleep, Gul'dan," the other creature replied, kneeling by the cot and offering a goblet. The orc grabbed it sniffed it, and tossed back the contents with a grunt, wiping a hand across his mouth afterward. "A sleep like death. For weeks now you have not moved, have barely breathed. We thought your spirit gone."
"Did you, now?" Gul'dan grinned. "Were you afraid I would leave you, Cho'gall? Abandon you to Blackhand's tender mercies?"
The two—headed ogre mage glared at him. "Blackhand is dead, Gul'dan!" one head snapped. The other frantically nodded agreement.
"Dead?" At first Gul'dan thought he had misheard, but Cho'gall's grim expressions convinced him even before both of the ogre's heads nodded. "What? How?" He pulled himself up to a sitting position, though the motion made him reel and break out in a cold sweat. "What has happened while I slept?"
Cho'gall began to answer but his words died as someone thrust aside the tent flap and burst into the small, dim space. Two burly orc warriors shoved Cho'gall out of the way and roughly grabbed Gul'dan's arms, hauling him to his feet. The ogre began to protest, rage darkening his twinned features, but two more orcs squeezed into the tight space and barred his path, heavy battleaxes at the ready. They stood guard as the first two dragged Gul'dan from the tent.
"Where are you taking me?" he demanded, trying to wrest his arms free. It was no use, however. Even at full health he would not have been a match for either warrior, and now he could barely hold himself upright. They were dragging him as much as leading him and he saw that he was being taken toward a large, well—crafted tent. Blackhand's tent.
"He took control, Gul'dan," Cho'gall said quietly, pacing beside him but staying beyond the warriors' reach. "While you were unconscious! He attacked the Shadow Council and killed most of them! Only you and I and a few of the lesser warlocks remain!"
Gul'dan shook his head, trying to clear it. He still felt fuzzy, unfocused, and from what Cho'gall said this was not a good time to lack clarity. But what the ogre had said made him more confused rather than less. Killed Blackhand? Destroyed the Shadow Council? It was insane!
"Who?" he demanded again, twisting to face Cho'gall over the warriors' broad shoulders. "Who did this?"
But Cho'gall had slowed his steps, falling back, a look of surprising fear crossing both his faces. Gul'dan turned back around just as a powerful figure strode forward. And at once, seeing the massive warrior in his black plate armor, the colossal black warhammer held so easily in his hands, Gul'dan understood.
Doomhammer.
"So you are awake." Doomhammer all but spat the words as the warriors stopped before him. They released Gul'dan's arms suddenly and the orc warlock was unable to stop himself from crumpling to the ground. He looked up, on his knees, and gulped at the naked fury and hatred he saw in his captor's face.
"I—" Gul'dan began, but Doomhammer cut him, backhanding him hard enough to lift him off the ground and drop him in a heap several feet away.
"Silence!" the new Horde leader snarled. "I did not say you could speak!" He strode closer, raising Gul'dan's chin with the head of his fearsome weapon. "I know what you have done, Gul'dan. I know how you controlled Blackhand, you and your Shadow Council." He laughed, a harsh sound filled with bitterness and disgust. "Oh, yes, I know about them. But your warlocks will not help you now. They are dead, many of them, and the few who remain are chained and watched." He leaned closer. "I rule the Horde now, Gul'dan. Not you, not your warlocks. Doomhammer alone. And there will be no more dishonor! No more treachery! No more deceit and lies!" Doomhammer rose to his full impressive height, towering over Gul'dan. "Durotan died from your scheming, but he will be the last. And he will be avenged! No more will you rule our people from the shadows! No more will you control our fate and direct us for your own sordid purpose! Our people will be free of you!"