CHAPTER SIX

Whispers.

Soft susurrations, barely heard unless lis­tened for. The flutter of a bird's wings in flight, the sound of a leaf drifting toward the earth… these were louder than the whispers that teased at Ner'zhul's ears.

But he heard them.

He held the skull in his hands, gazing deeply into empty eye sockets, and heard Gul'dan's voice. It sounded to him as it had in life — sycophantic, anxious for approval, eagerly answering questions and offering solutions; and yet simultaneously barely hiding a vast contempt and lust for power.

Gul'dan, in death, hoped to lull his former master into the same false sense of security he had when he lived. But Ner'zhul would not be duped a second time. Inadvertently Ner'zhul had betrayed his people with his gullibility, and this orc whose skull rested in his gnarled hands had risen to power by thinking he had ground the old shaman into the dirt.

'Who is alive and in power, and who is dead, eh, my apprentice?" he whispered to the skull.

He blinked suddenly, startled out of his conversation with the skull as light flooded his traveling tent. A fig­ure stood silhouetted against the daylight that knifed through the gloom of the tent's interior.

"We control the portal!" Grom Hellscream an­nounced.

Ner'zhul smiled. Thus far all had gone according to plan. He absently caressed the yellowed bone as he might a pet fawning for his attention. Fitting and just, that Gul'dan's skull should help him reopen the rift.

Ner'zhul waved Grom and his companion, Teron Gorefiend, inside. He had appointed them his seconds, Gorefiend overseeing the death knights and ogres and Grom conveying his orders to the various clans. And there were many clans now. The Thunderlord, Laugh­ing Skull, and Bonechewer clans had joined them, leav­ing only the Redwalker clan — what was left of it. All the other clans had united under his leadership once more, making the Horde nearly as strong as it had been before the first attack on Azeroth. Nearly.

"I am well pleased," he said. 'And now — you know what you must do next."

"Oh, I know what to do," Gorefiend assured the old shaman. "But are you sure you can maintain the rift by yourself?" Even with the skull's aid and suggestions — not that all of those had proven valuable or even reasonable — it had taken several death knights working in tandem to help Ner'zhul sufficiently widen the rift.

Arrogance! He should not speak so to you, came the soft whisper from the relic.

No. He should not.

"I can manage," Ner'zhul replied shortly, feeling the power coiled within him, more power than he had felt in years. It was as if tapping into the skull's energies had awakened something deep within him, something he had never even realized he had been missing. And it felt… good. "Once the framework is rebuilt there, the portal will maintain itself. Be off about your duties, Teron."

From within the darkness of his hood, the death knight's eyes flickered slightly Then he nodded curtly and turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him as he slipped out of the tent.

Ner'zhul turned to Grom, who nodded. "I am ready, Ner'zhul. More than ready"

"Very well — the sooner you begin, the sooner we can achieve our goals." Grom raised his axe in salute, then followed Gorefiend. Ner'zhul lingered for a mo­ment in the darkness, then emerged from the tent just in time to see orc and death knight stride up to the por­tal and step through it into that other world, a place he had never set foot upon himself.

He stared at the rift, his fingers idly stroking the smooth surface of Gul'dan's skull.

And now, you will never need to see this Azeroth. Soon, a greater glory will be yours! came the skull's eager, dead voice.

Yes, mused Ner'zhul, very soon.

"What news?"' Teron Gorefiend demanded of Gaz Soulripper as his booted feet strode on Azerothian soil. The other death knight had led a handful of their brethren through the rift once it had opened, and was now in charge of the work on this side of the portal. While the orcs provided the labor that would rebuild the portal from the rubble that was strewn about the area, it was the death knights who would make that portal more than a physical gateway. With their dark magics, they would be able to widen and stabilize the rift so that it would be of better use to the Horde.

"They died almost too easily," Soulripper replied, laughing. "With the darkness they never stood a chance." He gestured behind him, to where Gorefiend's altered senses could pick out the framework de­spite the magical shadows filling the valley. "We're progressing well on the framework. It should be up within the next day or two."

Gorefiend grunted, studying the work. A simple stone archway at the top of a short ramp had held the original Dark Portal. When the portal had collapsed, the archway had fallen as well. The orcs they had pressed into service for this task had already cleared all those remains out of the way and were busy assembling the stone blocks they had lugged through from Draenor. This framework would be more functional than decorative, with only a few orcish runes hastily carved on it, but as long as they could utilize the frame­work to stabilize the portal he didn't care.

“What of the other clans still on this world?" he asked.

"We spoke to them through dreams and visions once we'd secured the valley" Soulripper replied. "No idea how long it will take for any of them to reach us, though."

As it turned out, it was mere hours later that Gorefiend heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He rose from the boulder he had been leaning against, noticing that the portal was already nearing comple­tion, and paused. The unnatural darkness still held — it would prevent the humans from mounting a counter­attack too quickly, and would keep them guessing — but it did not much slow down either orcs or death knights, and the footsteps drew steadily closer.

At last a band of orcs marched into view. They were battered and worn, barely three dozen, but they held their heads high and their weapons ready. Before them strode an older orc, his body still powerful de­spite advanced years, his head turning constantly. As they drew closer, Gorefiend recognized him and real­ized why he moved his head so — the orc had only one eye. The other was a mass of scar tissue, and Gorefiend remembered the many rumors of how Kilrogg Deadeye had lost that orb — and what he had gained in return.

Gorefiend moved forward to meet the Bleeding Hollow chieftain. "Kilrogg," he called out as he approached. It was not a good idea to approach Kilrogg without warning.

The chieftain's head swiveled about until his one eye was locked on Gorefiend. "Gorefiend,"' he called in re­turn, stepping up and gesturing for his warriors to spread themselves out behind him. "I had a vision you were here."

The death knight nodded. He watched Kilrogg's gaze track past him to the almost completed Dark Portal.

"So it is true," the chieftain said softly. "The portal has been restored!"

"It is true," Gorefiend replied. "We came from Draenor. And you can return there."

"Has the land been restored to life?"

"Draenor is still dying," Gorefiend acknowledged, "but Ner'zhul has a plan."

That only made Kilrogg's scowl deepen, however. "Ner'zhul? That old fool? What is his involvement here? I saw him too in my vision, but thought that merely an image from the past."

"An image of our future, more like," Gorefiend re­sponded. "Ner'zhul has taken control again, and has reforged the Horde. He has united all the remaining clans on Draenor"—he conveniently ignored the Redwalker clan, which was barely alive now anyway—"and reopened the rift. And he has a plan that will ensure the survival of our people, if not our world."