Kilrogg scratched the scar tissue beneath his missing eye. "He has done all this? This plan — you think it sound?"

Gorefiend nodded.

"Hmm. Perhaps he's finally shaken off the weakness and doubt Gul'dan inflicted upon him, then. If he is anything like the Ner'zhul of old, I would gladly follow him." He shook his head and lowered his voice. "And, in truth, I would happily forsake this world for our own, even in its current state. We have been trapped here too long."

Gorefiend nodded. "Go then," he urged the Bleed­ing Hollow chieftain. "Ner'zhul and the others await you beyond the portal, and I know your experience and wisdom would be of great value to them. But first tell me, what of the other orcs still here?"

'Aside from the Frostwolves, who will have nothing to do with the rest of us, there are only two other clans not in captivity," Kilrogg said. "The Dragonmaw and the Blackrock." He grimaced. "The Dragonmaw remain hidden in the mountains somewhere, safe from human eyes, and they still control the red dragons. They formed an alliance with the Blackrock a year ago. Rend and Maim Blackhand lead the Blackrock, and have claimed Blackrock Spire as their own." He shrugged. "I’d not want the site of Doomhammer's defeat as my base, but then the brothers never cared for him."

This was not good news. "Will they return to the portal, and to Draenor, do you think?" Gorefiend asked.

Kilrogg shook his head. "Nay, they seem content to remain on Azeroth," he replied. "Id not expect them."

Gorefiend scowled but nodded. "My thanks, Kil­rogg. Now go — Draenor awaits."

Kilrogg nodded and turned away, leading his war­riors up the ramp to the restored portal, which shim­mered even in the darkness. "Onward to Draenor!" he bellowed, pointing, and the first warrior strode through the portal without hesitation, followed by the rest. Kilrogg himself went last, then he glanced back at the valley and at Azeroth. He lifted his weapon.

"A warrior retreats… but only to regroup. I will return," he vowed. "This world and its people will know my wrath." Then he too stepped through, and was gone.

Grom Hellscream watched the Bleeding Hollow war­riors vanish through the portal. He was pleased to see that Kilrogg still survived — the older chieftain had al­ways been one of the canniest of the Horde leaders, and one of their finest tacticians. He was sure Kilrogg's ex­pertise would prove valuable very soon.

Turning back to the orc who had just approached, Grom nodded for the warrior to continue.

"The humans have not been idle. A large fortress stands to the north," the scout reported. "It guards the pass out of this area. There is no other way past."

Grom grinned. "Perfect," he said slowly. "That's our target. We take the fortress and we can hold this valley indefinitely no matter what this human Alliance throws against us." He nodded to the scout. "Tell the others to prepare. We will march at once."

The scout nodded, but before he could move away Grom held up a hand for silence. He paused, listening closely. It sounded like footsteps, but faster, harder, and with a strange echo. More like a beast than a man, but if so it was a heavy beast, with solid hooves rather than soft paws. He had heard about the humans and their strange steeds—"horses," they were called — and guessed that was what he was hearing.

"Humans approach!" he shouted immediately, rais­ing Gorehowl and whipping it around overhead. "Dis­pel the darkness!"

He didn't know where the death knights were, or even which ones had been maintaining the unnatural shadows that covered the valley, but they heard him. The darkness began to fade, light seeping through a wisp at a time, color washing across the valley even as the dark ebbed away, until at last he could see the place clearly. There stood the Dark Portal, fully restored. Up to the north he spotted stone towers — the fortress his scout had mentioned. But now, through the narrow pass from that direction came a force of men, astride beasts with gleaming hides and long flowing manes and tails. At the front of the wave of warriors was a man who wore metal across his chest, dark blue but with a pattern like twinned flames outlined in gold. He waved a sword overhead, driving his horse forward without pause. This, then, was their leader.

Grom grinned and raised Gorehowl again. With the darkness gone its blade shone silver in the daylight. He swung it in a slow arc, his grin widening as the weapon sang its war song of approaching death. Several of the humans faltered.

"For the Horde!" he shouted, and charged forward. His warriors were right behind him.

The humans hesitated, thrown off by the strange darkness they'd just seen slip away, surprised to find a mass of orcs now charging toward them, and terrified by the shrieks and howls arising not just from the ap­proaching green-skinned warriors but from their very weapons. And for the first rank of humans, that hesita­tion proved deadly.

Grom struck first, Gorehowl slicing the leading rider from shoulder to opposite hip. The top half of the corpse slid from the horse even as the bottom half top­pled the other way. Grom never saw it fall; he was al­ready on to the next targets, spinning to remove the legs of two more warriors as he stepped between them.

The orcs strode between the beasts, slicing into steed and rider alike, sending some horses careening back into and even over many of the Alliance foot sol­diers. The force that had marched into the valley was sizeable but nothing to compare with the clans Grom had brought with him, and the orcs had surprise and focus on their side.

The humans fought bravely, Grom would grant them that. And some showed skill at arms. But they lacked an orc’s size and strength, and he found it an easy matter to overpower a human fighter and carve him open right through the strange metal shirt they all wore. For a sweet time he let the bloodlust take con­trol, hacking and slashing savagely about him, caring for nothing more than the spatter of blood, the reek of death, and the cries of the wounded and dying. How glorious to again kill without concern or guilt! No fel­low orcs fell beneath Gorehowl, only the pink-skinned humans, one after another after another, and their fear and screams were intoxicating.

His blood pounded in his veins, his vision had strange spots of color around the edges, and he was gasping for breath, but Grom had never felt more alive. Good. It was good. There came a momentary lull in the fighting, and he glanced around. Everywhere he looked he saw human corpses. Dozens of them, their eyes staring, fear twisting their features, blood still pumping from…

Grom frowned, the bloodlust starting to retreat. Yes, dozens of corpses, but the human he had noted, the one with the golden chest plate — where was he?

He growled and shook his black head, forcing the bloodlust back so he could listen to his warrior's in­stincts. Ignoring the shouts and cheers of his warriors.

Grom ran toward the edge of the valley. Then he stopped and listened. Yes, he could definitely hear hoofbeats, and they were receding fast. Someone had sur­vived, and had the sense to ride away.

Back toward the fortress.

Returning to the battlefield, Grom found Gorefiend. Seizing his arm, Grom shouted, "One of them escaped! Their leader, I think. He is headed for the fortress!"

Gorefiend nodded. "Follow him," he replied, yelling as Grom had been to hear over the din, "and keep the Alliance forces in that fortress busy. We need to get to the artifacts. We should be back in a matter of days."

Grom nodded. "You need not worry," he promised. "I will do my duty. See to it you do yours."

The death knight laughed and turned away without further reply, dismissing the Warsong clan leader. He extended his mailed hands, and a bolt of darkness ex­ploded from them to flatten two horses and their rid­ers. Grom ground his teeth together. He disliked Gorefiend, and all the death knights, in fact — they had already lived their lives and had returned from death it­self, trapped now in human bodies. How could such unnatural creatures be trusted? But Ner'zhul had ap­proved Gorefiend's plan, and so Grom had no choice but to go along with it. He just hoped the death knight was right, and that these strange items they were so doggedly hunting really would allow Ner'zhul to save their people.