"I will speak to Faol," Lothar said at last. "The Paladins will no doubt be valued assets, and I will take Uther as our liaison to them and to any other forces the Church can supply." Something else occurred to him. "I will propose an additional candidate, as well," he said. "Gavinrad. He was one of my knights in Azeroth, the most faithful of us, and a good man. I suspect he would make a fine Paladin." He smiled. "But Turalyon I will take to serve as one of my lieutenants."

Khadgar nodded. "A good choice, I'd say." He shook his head. "Now let us hope the Horde gives us time to prepare them and the rest of our forces."

"We will prepare what we can," Lothar answered pragmatically, already thinking on how to disposition whatever troops the kings supplied. "And we will face them when we must. There is little else we can do."

CHAPTER SIX

Gul'dan was furious.

"Why have you not succeeded yet?" he demanded. The other orcs cowered away from him. They had seen the chief warlock enraged before, and knew he might turn his fearsome powers upon them as well if he was not appeased.

"We are trying, Gul'dan," Rakmar replied. The oldest of the surviving orc necromancers after Gul'dan himself, Rakmar Sharpfang was the necrolytes' unofficial leader and often thrust into the role of conveying their accomplishments—or failures—to the high warlock. "We have been able to animate the bodies, yes, but not to give them consciousness. They are little more than shells. We can direct them as puppets, but their movements are sloppy and slow. They will pose little threat to anyone."

Gul'dan glared at the bodies beyond Rakmar. They were human, warriors slain here on the fields of Stormwind, and would make a powerful force for the Horde, just as he had promised Doomhammer. But only if his worthless assistants could transform them into something more than the shambling wrecks he saw here!

"Find a way!" Gul'dan shouted, spit flying from his mouth. He clenched his fists, tempted to strike down the necrolytes where they stood, but what good would that do him? If they were dead they would hardly be able to help him—

A thought struck him, and Gul'dan rocked back on his heels, stunned by its brilliance. Of course! That was the answer!

"You are right, Rakmar," he said softly, opening his hands and smoothing them along the front of his robes. "You are trying. I understand. This is a new and different thing we are attempting, and would pose a great challenge to anyone. I have no right to be angry that you have not yet succeeded. Please, return to work. I will leave you in peace to experiment once more."

"Uh, thank you," Rakmar stammered, his eyes wide. Gul'dan could see that the lesser orc was surprised by his sudden change of heart, as were the other warlocks behind him. He suppressed a chuckle, simply nodding to them and turning away. Let them think he had thought better of his outburst, or even that he had become distracted by something else and forgotten why he had been so angry at them. Let them think whatever they liked.

Soon it would not matter.

As he walked, Gul'dan glanced around. Cho'gall was nearby, as always—the ogre mage had been crouched within a ruined building not far away, close enough to be ready if Gul'dan should need him but far enough away that the other necrolytes would not see him and become unnerved by his presence. Gul'dan beckoned and the two—headed ogre rose and approached, his long strides quickly covering the distance between them.

"The necrolytes have served their purpose," Gul'dan told his towering lieutenant. "Now they shall have a new one, an even greater one." He grinned, stroking his beard in anticipation. "Gather our implements. We shall make a sacrifice."

"We are summoning our fallen brethren?" Rakmar asked softly. He and the other necrolytes were standing around the altar Gul'dan and Cho'gall had built, as ordered, but Gul'dan could see they were trying to decipher its purpose. Let them. By the time they did, it would be too late.

"Yes," Gul'dan replied, concentrating on the incantation he was about to perform. "Doomhammer slaughtered the other warlocks but their souls linger. We will summon them and instill them in the human bodies." He grinned. "They will be eager to return to this world, and to serve the Horde once more."

Rakmar nodded. "That will animate them," he agreed, "but will it give them power? Or will they be little more than walking corpses?"

Gul'dan frowned, surprised and not pleased that the necrolyte had figured that out so quickly. "Silence!" he commanded, forestalling other questions. "We begin!"

He began the ritual, summoning his magic to him and feeling it fill him with power. Not enough power, but soon that would change. In the meantime he concentrated on his task, channeling his energies into the altar before them, priming it for the transformation he was about to evoke.

Rakmar and the other necrolytes joined in, lending their own necromantic magic to his incantation. Thus they were distracted and did not notice that Gul'dan had moved from his position until it was too late.

"Rrargh!" Gul'dan could not stop the growl from escaping his lips, but it did not matter. He was already positioned right behind Rakmar, curved dagger at the ready, and as the taller orc turned Gul'dan's blade lashed out, catching the necrolyte full across the throat. Blood arced out, spraying them both, and Rakmar toppled backward, clutching at the wound, gasping for air. He fell onto the altar, and gasped with horror as he tried to push himself away from it. But Gul'dan was on top of him, straddling the fading necrolyte, and batted his hands away. Then he plunged the dagger into Rakmar's chest, wrenching it about to create a gaping hole. Into this he reached and, with a sharp tug, removed Rakmar's still—beating heart. Before his former assistant's eyes Gul'dan cast the spell he had prepared, his magic enveloping the bloody organ and trapping Rakmar's spirit within. The magic of the altar surged up then, reshaping the heart, shrinking it and hardening it and granting it an unnatural luster. As the necrolyte collapsed, his body now an empty shell, Gul'dan grinned down at him and held up the glowing gem.

"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?"