"Do not fear, Rakmar," he assured the dead orc. "This is not the end for you. On the contrary. You shall succeed at your task, with my help. You will fight again for the Horde. And Doomhammer will have his undead warriors." He laughed. "That is the good thing about necromancers—we never let anything go to waste."
He glanced up. Cho'gall had killed several more necrolytes already, preserving their hearts and souls as jewels in the same manner. The rest were cowering, their magic still caught up in the altar, unable to flee and too terrified to fight. Gul'dan snorted. Worthless! He would have fought. But this made matters easier for him, at least. He laughed as he rose and stalked toward the remaining warlocks, licking the blood from his tusks as he approached. Soon they would be warlike enough for even the most bloodthirsty commander.
"Well?" Doomhammer asked as he strode onto the field. "Have you succeeded?" It did not escape Gul'dan's notice that the warchief's words were similar to those he had shouted at his necrolytes mere days earlier. But this time the answer was very different.
"I have, noble Doomhammer," he responded, gesturing at the bodies behind him. Doomhammer shouldered past him to glare at the figures, which lay stretched out upon the ground.
"These are fallen Stormwind soldiers," Doomhammer snarled. "What of them? Or did you ask me here to show me you could line bodies up so neatly?" He sneered. "Is this the extent of your powers, then, Gul'dan? To prepare corpses for burial?"
Gul'dan longed to wipe the smirk from his leader's face, to show the arrogant warrior the true extent of his magic. But now was not the time.
"Of course not," he did reply, the words still sharp enough to make Doomhammer's gaze narrow. "Watch!" He nodded to Cho'gall, who knelt beside the first body and placed a jeweled truncheon in its cold, stiff hands. Those enchanted weapons had been the most time—consuming part of the process but Gul'dan knew without them his new force would be far less powerful, just as Rakmar had guessed. Fortunately he and Cho'gall had been experimenting with such items already for their own purposes, and so they had merely modified the spells they had planned and adapted the weapons to this new role.
As he and Doomhammer watched, the corpse stirred. Its fingers closed tightly around the truncheon, which began to glow. That light spread to the body's hand, then up along its arm, slowly infusing the entire form with a green aura. And then the corpse opened its eyes.
Doomhammer started slightly, though he made no sound, and this time it was Gul'dan's lips that pulled back in a sneer. Still, he could not blame the warchief for being startled. He found the sight almost unnerving himself, and he had created these creatures.
The corpse slowly rose to its feet, its movements stiff at first but becoming more fluid by the second. It turned glowing red eyes upon Gul'dan, and the orc warlock saw them widen in recognition.
"You have succeeded then, Gul'dan," the creature stated, its words slurred from using an unfamiliar jaw and strange, too—small teeth. It stared down at itself, at its limbs and torso, and raised its empty hand to feel its face. "You have returned my spirit to this world!" It laughed, a harsh sound that was far more orc—like than human. "Excellent!"
"Welcome back, Teron Gorefiend," Gul'dan replied, trying to keep the laughter from his voice. "Yes, I have brought you back, to further serve the Horde."
Doomhammer stepped forward, studying the strange creature before him. "Gorefiend? One of your warlocks from the Shadow Council? I killed him myself."
"We all give ourselves to the Horde," Gul'dan replied mockingly, bowing low so Doomhammer could not see his expression. "Gorefiend's soul had not departed this plane—I merely recalled it and found it a new home. Only now his very body is imbued with sorcery. He is more powerful now than ever, and the other warlocks with him." Cho'gall had continued his task and behind Gorefiend the other bodies were rising as well.
"This, then, is what you give me?" Doomhammer rumbled. "Corpses for warriors, powered by your dead acolytes?" His face twisted in disgust.
"You asked for warriors," Gul'dan reminded him sharply. "I have provided them. They will be a match for anything the humans have and more. And though their bodies may be rotted human flesh, they are still orcs in spirit and in allegiance. And they can still wield their magic as well! Think what they will do in battle!"
Doomhammer nodded slowly, clearly considering. "Will you serve me?" he asked Gorefiend, showing what Gul'dan considered a fatal weakness. Warchiefs did not ask, they commanded. Though perhaps with creatures such as these it was best not to anger them.
Gorefiend considered for a moment, glowing eyes studying the Warchief. At last he nodded. "Gul'dan is correct," he said finally, his voice raspy. "I am still an orc, despite this shell. I live for the Horde, and I will serve you and our people." It grinned, a horrible rictus. "You killed me but I do not hold that against you, for it has resulted in this powerful new form. I am well pleased with the trade." The other bodies nodded behind him.
"Good!" Doomhammer stepped forward and clapped the surprised Gorefiend on the shoulder, a gesture of respect to an equal rather than a subordinate. "You shall be my death knights, the forefront of our great Horde," he informed the reanimated creatures. "Together we will crush the humans and take their lands, making this world safe for our people!" Then he turned and nodded at Gul'dan, though it seemed grudging. "You have done as you promised, Gul'dan," Doomhammer admitted. "You have given me a powerful force against our foes. I thank you for that."
"Of course, noble Doomhammer," Gul'dan replied, hoping he sounded more sincere than he felt. "Anything for our people."
Fool, he thought as he watched Doomhammer stride off, the newly awakened death knights beside him. Take them and go, yes, and return to your war. I have other matters to attend, and now that you are satisfied I will have the freedom to concentrate on them properly. I will play the loyal warlock a while longer, he vowed, but not forever. Soon enough I will have what I seek, and then you and the Horde may crumble away for all I care. I will raise a new race to replace you all, one loyal to me alone, and we shall reshape this world in my image!
A week later Doomhammer addressed the assembled Horde. They were gathered before the fortress Zul'jin told him was called the Blackrock Spire, a massive structure built from the same glossy black stone that dominated the landscape. It stood atop Blackrock Mountain, the tallest of the Burning Steppes mountain range that rose up along the continent, dividing east from west. Zuluhed had led them here, sensing the power within the mountains, and after defeating the handful of dwarves dwelling here, Doomhammer had claimed it. He had felt it was a good omen that this place, which he had selected as the Horde's base, bore the same name as his own clan.
Below him the orcs of every clan were gathered, waiting eagerly to hear what he had to say. They had conquered this land thoroughly, and while that gave them far better hunting and far richer lands than any left back home it was still not enough to contain their entire race comfortably. There was also the question of retaliation—they had driven the humans from this continent but there was no guarantee they would not return with reinforcements and perhaps allies. Doomhammer grinned. But now he had allies of his own.