Danath was a little shaken at the matter-of-factness with which this was presented. He knew the Horde's death knights were orc spirits placed in human bodies, so clearly spirits could survive beyond death, although he'd always been taught the dead should be left to rest in peace. But if Nemuraan was a protector of the dead, it would be all right if he asked for their help… wouldn't it? Danath had said to Turalyon earlier that the ghosts of the men who had fallen would fight with him when they found the orcs, but he'd been speaking metaphorically. It looked as though the ghosts of some­one's fallen took such comments literally. Finally Danath shrugged. Such questions were for those of a more esoteric mind-set, and from a military standpoint he could certainly use all the help they could get.

"I am honored," he told Nemuraan. "And if it would not disturb or anger them, we would welcome their assistance."

Nemuraan nodded and bowed deeply, clearly pleased with Danath's reply, then straightened and raised his staff high. Violet light blossomed down the length of the hallway, filling it with light and awaken­ing answering gleams all along the ceiling. These gleams grew brighter rather than dimming, their colors shifting from violet to blue to green to gold as they de­scended and expanded, gaining shape and definition. The one nearest Danath and Nemuraan altered to re­veal a massive figure, clearly a draenei but burlier than Nemuraan and wearing ornate plate armor rather than robes, a giant warhammcr across one shoulder and a long cape trailing behind him. Others came into crisp focus as well, filling the room.

And they were all staring at Danath and his men.

A wind sprung out of nowhere, rustling Danath's cape, stirring Talthressar's long hair. A deep coldness seized Danath and he began to shiver uncontrollably. The spectral warriors advanced, beautiful and implaca­ble, and Danath was rooted to the spot in sudden terror. Their leader extended a hand and brushed Danath's forehead with it. The human cried out as images filled his mind — young Farrol and Vann in the stables before departing. Vann's words cut off as an orc club had si­lenced him forever. Crouching low over his horse, living so the dead could know peace. Sky'ree, returning riderless. Bodies … so many of them, my boys, my boys, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry —

The image of the Horde, strong and armed, racing over fertile fields that were not Azeroth. Hundreds of fields, hundreds of worlds, innocent people dying as a green wave that did not belong in that place snuffed the life out of it. Moving on to the next, and the next —

"Your soul is troubled, Danath Trollbane of the Al­liance," said the spirit, though his face did not move. The words were in his mind. "You grieve for the fallen. Though you have come here with grief and rage in your heart, the true reasons that drive you are good and just. Be at peace. I am Boulestraan. once known as the Blinding Light, and my army and I shall aid you in your struggle."

The cold terror faded, replaced by an odd sort of peace. Danath blinked. He looked again at the spirit and saw with a start that its eyes were pure gold, and that a flare of golden light rose from its brow as well.

"We are in your debt," Danath managed. It was diffi­cult to force the words out, or to tear his eyes from the figure before him. and Danath wondered if this was what Turalyon meant when he referred to the glory of the Holy Light, for Boulestraan and his ghostly war­riors were no longer terrifying in the least. They were glorious, golden and gleaming and beautiful. Danath realized he'd just been tested, and relief washed over him as he regarded the draenei dead hovering protec­tively around his men.

With a quick shake to clear his head, Danath settled his shield upon one arm. Drawing his sword, he gripped the leather-wrapped pommel firmly. He glanced at Talthressar and Rellian. "Once we're out, you're with me," he told them. "We have to find Kurdran." Turning to the men in his charge, he said. "The orcs are behind this door. They don't know we are here, and are likely expecting a dawn attack in a few hours. We have the clement of surprise — let's use it to full advantage. Once through the door, attack the first orc you see. Shout and yell and kick things out of your way. We want them confused, panicked, and unsure of how many foes they face and where." He grinned. "That will leave them easy marks for our blows." The men nodded back, and raised their fists in a silent cheer. Danath raised his fist as well, the torch held high. Then he turned back toward the door, readied himself, and nodded for Nemuraan to open it.

The Auchenai cased the door handle, then slammed the door open with surprising force, the thud of stone against stone a sharp crack that echoed like thunder in the enclosed space of the ruins.

"For the Sons of Lothar!" Danath shouted as he leaped through the opening. The door had opened onto a medium-sized tunnel not far behind a makeshift wall, and there were perhaps a dozen orcs here, loung­ing and sleeping and repairing gear. They glanced up. startled, as he burst in among them. Several stumbled to their feet, scrambling for weapons. But they were too slow. Danath's first blow took an orc in the throat just as it was raising its head to shout an alarm. He con­tinued the swing around, cut another orc across the forehead, and stabbed the creature through the heart while it shook its head to clear its vision. By now sev­eral of his men accompanied him.

Then in came the glowing, golden dead, implacable and beautiful, their weapons spectral but lethal. The orcs panicked at the sight, bellowing in terror, many of them dropping what weapons they'd raised and falling to the floor, and they were quickly dispatched. Most of the orcs here had not even been fully armed yet.

"Go!" Danath shouted to his men even as the last few orcs fell. "Go! Kill every orc you sec!" He glanced at Boulcstraan. Send your warriors with them," he said, and the draenei commander nodded, his spirit-warriors already splitting off to accompany Danath’s men. "Nemuraan — show me to their prisoner!"

The Auchcnai nodded and opened a door in the far wall, then led Danath and the two elven rangers through it and into a shorter, narrow corridor. Grizzik followed close behind them. They passed along that and into a larger room at the end, where more orcs sat or ate or slept. Fortunately, both rangers had their bows at the ready, and arrows flew from their graceful fingers, killing several orcs before the others even real­ized they were not alone. Then Danath was in among them, his sword biting deep, and the screams and groans of his victims mingled with the sounds of chaos he heard from the rooms behind them, where his men were engaged in the same grisly work.

Nor was Grizzik idle. The bird-man launched him­self forward in a strange gliding leap that carried him soundlessly behind several orcs, his long taloncd hands darting forward and slashing one orc's throat open with a single swipe. A second orc turned, axe raised high, but the arakkoa ducked beneath the awkward blow and twisted around to the front, then pecked the orс's eyes out before shredding his throat as well. Whatever else the arakkoa was, Danath thought, catch­ing glimpses of the quick, silent carnage, he was no pacifist.

"This way!" Nemuraan urged once the room's de­fenders were dead, and led them across the blood-spattered chamber to another door. The Auchenai had not attacked any of the orcs himself, though his very presence and the light from his staff had seemed to confound them and make them easier to dispatch. This new door opened onto a much smaller room, and oc­cupying half the space was a strange wooden frame­work like a rough table with raised crossbeams.

Lashed to those beams was a short, muscular figure. Blood had dried in a pool around him, had caked on his flesh. He sagged, unconscious, against the restraints, and Danath, seasoned warrior though he was, stared for a precious moment in simple horror at the atroci­ties perpetrated on his friend.