Durotan looked at his friend, answering one question with another. "Why did you yourself not drink?" he countered.

"There was something... not right," Orgrim said at last. "I did not like what I saw it doing to the others."

Durotan shrugged, hoping his friend would not press the point. "You had the same insight as I did."

"I wonder," said Orgrim. but he did not question further.

Durotan saw no need to reveal what he knew. He had managed to protect his people from the horrors of what drinking demonic blood would do to them. He had asserted himself to Gul'dan. and thus far. no repercussions had fallen. And Orgrim, ancestors be praised, had had wisdom enough to realize that there was something amiss and had also declined. For now, that was enough for Durotan, son of Garad. chieftain of the Frostwolf clan.

"I fight today," Orgrim said, changing the subject. "Will you come?"

"I know that you do this not for glory, but for your clan," Durotan said. "You fight to win them food and water. But I will not show my face at these . . . displays. Ores should not be fighting ores. Not even in ritualized combat."

Orgrim sighed. "You have not changed, Durotan. You were ever afraid of me defeating you."

There was a hint of mirth in his voice. Durotan turned, and for the first time in many, many long months, grinned with genuine warmth.

The day had come.

All night, while a ring of warlocks stood guard lest any curious onlooker witness the dark ritual, several stonemasons had been hard at work carving the final seal into the portal's base. Once they had finished, wiping their sweaty brows and turning to smile at one another, they had been quickly slain. The blood of those who had created the seal would prime it, Gul'dan had been informed by Mcdivh. Gul'dan had no reason to doubt his new ally's wisdom. But the luckless masons would not be the last to die here.

The dawn was a fiery one, crimson and orange, and the air was thick and stale. While the portal was being completed over the last several days, other tasks had been finished as well. The war machines that had so devastated Shattrath several months earlier now were again pressed into service, repaired, oiled, and tested. Armor that had been neglected was polished, swords were sharpened, dents hammered out of chest pieces and helms.

The great orcish army that had so decimated the draenei was being reformed.

Some clans had been requested to remain behind. Gul'dan had done his best to convince the chieftains of the Shattered Hand. Shadowmoon, Thunderlord, Bleeding Hollow, and Laughing Skull clans that they were needed here. Grom and the Warsong had been particularly hard to convince to remain. For a moment, as the chieftain raged at him, Gul'dan wondered if he had done the right thing in letting Hcllscrcam drink the demon blood. More than most, he seemed to have little control over his emotions; despite Gul'dan's flattery about how valuable Grom was to him and how he needed him here, it was Grom's wildncss and unpredictability that made Gul'dan want him to stay behind. He could not risk Grom getting some mad idea into his head and defying orders. Mcdivh would not like that; he would not like that at all.

Blackhand had requested that the entire Horde gather at the Hcllfirc Citadel. Over the last few days, several who had returned to their ancestral lands, the Frostwolf clan among them, had trickled in and camped in the area. They had obeyed the order to arm themselves as if they were going into battle, although few of them understood cxacdy what was going on.

They assembled, clan by clan. Each clan wore their traditional colors in the form of a decorative sash or belt over their armor, and on this hot. windy day, their banners snapped proudly.

Gul'dan and Ner’zhul watched the assembly. Gul'dan turned to his former mentor. "You and your clan will be among those staying behind." he said shordy.

Ner’zhul nodded, almost meekly. "So I assumed," he said. He did not say much these days, which was just as well with Gul'dan. He had half suspected that the older orc would try to wrest control from him after Kil’jaeden had abandoned them, but apparently Ner’zhul was too crushed to even do that. Gul'dan thought with contempt about the time, not so long ago, when he had idolized and envied Ner’zhul. How foolish he had been then. He had grown and learned, even from the bitterness of deception. Although there were times when he thought he caught a faint glimmer of something in Ner’zhul's eyes, as now. He looked sharply at the other orc and decided it was just a trick of the light. He returned his attention to the assembling clans and smiled.

Even though his designs went far beyond simple bloodletting, he could not help but be stirred at the sight. They were glorious! The scorching sun glinting on their armor, their banners waving in the wind, their green faces shining with anticipation. If all was as Mcdivh promised, this could be the turning point to greatness. The drums began. Deep, primal, they shuddered along the earth, through stone, into the bones of the Horde. Many of them threw back their heads and howled as they began to march, falling naturally into step with one another, again a unified people.

Gul'dan made no move to hurry. Once they were all assembled at the Portal, he would be magically transported there by another warlock. He could enjoy watching the parade of his army march down the wide, paved road to the Portal.

Standing in front of the Portal was a draenei child.

Where had they found it? Durotan had not so much as glimpsed a draenei in months; nor had anyone else. They must have considered it great good luck to have found any draenei, let alone a youngling.

They were in the front of the crowd, standing next to the Thundcrlord clan and the Dragonmaw clan. The Portal gate had been finished and looked both beautiful and terrifying. Two cloaked figures, whose eyes glowed red cither from magic or clever technology, flanked the opening. A carved serpentine creature curled about the top, its maw gaping open, showing pointed carved teeth. It extended sharp, lizardlikc claws and had ridges along its long neck and body. Durotan had never seen anything like this, and briefly wondered how such an image had occurred to the masons, A nightmare, possibly? He grimaced. All in all, it was a formidable construction.

But he only barely registered the skill that had gone into its creation. His eyes were transfixed on the young draenei. He looked so terribly small next to the enormous arch—small, and thin, and bruised. He stared vacantly at the sea of ores who were bellowing at him, so far beyond terror that he obviously felt nothing.

"What are they going to do with it?" Draka wondered aloud.

Durotan shook his head. "I tear the worst," he said.

She stared at him. "I saw some killing of children in battle." she said. "The bloodlust was upon them — I could not condone it, but I could see how it could happen, but surely they will not make a ritual sacrifice out of this child!"

"I hope you are right." said Durotan, but he could see no other reason for the small figure to be present. If such were the case, he could not stand by. He did not want to risk harm to his clan, so he prayed he was wrong.

The warlocks were chanting something now, and to Durotan's amazement, Gul'dan appeared right before their eyes. The Horde murmured, and Gul'dan smiled benevolently at them.

"Today is a glorious day for the ores!" he cried. "You have all seen this Portal being built, admired the craftsmanship and how it stands as a monument to the glory of the Horde. Now, I will reveal to you the visions I have had." He pointed at the gate. "Far, far away, in a land called Azcroth, I have an ally. He offers us his land. It is green and lush, filled with pure water and fat creatures to hunt. Best of all, we will continue to exult in the glory of bloodshed. A race called "humans" the enemy of our ally, will try to stop us from taking their lands. We will destroy them. Their dark blood will flow freely upon our swords. As we have destroyed the draenei, so now we will destroy the humans!"