Aaron Rosenberg: Tides of Darkness

Gul'dan cowered, thinking fast. He had known Doomhammer could become a problem. The powerful orc warrior was too intelligent, too honorable, too noble to be easily swayed or controlled. He had been second to Blackhand, the powerful Blackrock leader Gul'dan had chosen as his puppet for the Horde leadership. Blackhand had been an extremely powerful fighter but had thought himself clever and thus had been easily controlled. Gul'dan and his Shadow Council had been the real powers, and Gul'dan had ruled the council as easily as he did their warchief.

But not Doomhammer. He had refused to follow, carving his own path with reckless abandon equaled only by his loyalty to their people. Clearly he had seen what occurred behind the scenes, witnessed what he considered corruption. And when he had finally seen enough, when he could endure no more, he had acted.

Clearly Doomhammer had chosen his moment carefully. With Gul'dan out of the way, Blackhand had been vulnerable. How he had discovered the Shadow Council's location was unclear, but obviously he had done so and then had eliminated most of them. Leaving Gul'dan, Cho'gall, and who knew what others.

And now he stood over Gul'dan, hammer raised, ready to destroy him as well.

"Wait!" Gul'dan cried out, both hands raising automatically to shield his face and head from harm. "Please, I beg you!"

That made Doomhammer pause. "You, the mighty Gul'dan, beg? Very well, dog, beg! Beg for your life!" The hammer had not lowered, but at least it had not fallen. Yet.

"I—" Gul'dan hated him then, hated him with a passion he had never known for anything but power itself. Yet he knew what he had to do. Doomhammer hated him as well, for orchestrating his old friend Durotan's death and for transforming their people from peaceful hunters to raving warmongers. Given even the slightest excuse, that hammer would smash his skull in, coating itself with his blood and hair and brain. He could not allow that to happen.

"I bow to your might, Orgrim Doomhammer," he managed at last, pronouncing each word clearly and loud enough that all those nearby could hear him. "I acknowledge you as warchief of the Horde, and I pledge myself to you. I will obey you in all things."

Doomhammer grunted. "You have never demonstrated obedience before," he pointed out sharply. "Why should I believe you capable of it now?"

"Because you need me," Gul'dan replied, raising his head to meet the warchief's glare. "You have slain my Shadow Council, yes, and consolidated your power over the Horde. That is as it should be. Blackhand was not strong enough to lead us on his own. You are, and so you have no need of a council." He licked his lips. "But you do need warlocks. You need our magic, for the humans have magic of their own and without us you will fall to their power." He shook his head. "And you have very few warlocks left. Myself, Cho'gall, and a handful of neophytes. I am too useful to kill simply for revenge."

Doomhammer's lips pulled back in a snarl, but he lowered the hammer. For a moment he said nothing, simply glaring at Gul'dan, his gray eyes filled with hate. But finally he nodded.

"What you say is true," he admitted, though the words clearly took enormous self—control to utter. "And I will place the needs of the Horde over my own." He bared his tusks. "I will allow you to live, Gul'dan, you and those of your warlocks who remain. But only as long as you prove useful."

"Oh, we will be useful," Gul'dan assured him, bowing low. His mind was already working. "I will create for you a host of creatures such as you have never seen before, mighty Doomhammer—warriors who will serve you alone. With their might and our magic we will crush this world's magi even as the Horde tramples its warriors into the dust."

Doomhammer nodded, his snarl fading to a thoughtful frown. "Very well," he said at last. "You have promised me warriors who can combat the humans' magic. I will hold you to that." Then he turned and walked away, clearly dismissing him. The orc warriors departed as well, leaving Gul'dan still on his knees with Cho'gall not far away. The orc warlock thought he heard them laughing as they left.

Damn him! Gul'dan thought, watching the warchief disappear back into his tent. And damn that human wizard as well! Gul'dan shook his head. Perhaps he should be cursing his own impatience instead. It had been that which had driven him to enter Medivh's mind, seeking the information the Magus had promised but thus far withheld from him. And it had merely been bad luck that Gul'dan had been inside Medivh's mind when the human had died, his own spirit weakened by the sudden violence. He had been trapped, unable to return to his body all this time, unaware of the world around him. And that had given Doomhammer the opportunity to seize control.

But now, at last, he was awake again. And once more he could pursue his plans. Because at least that desperate, dangerous act had not been wasted. Gul'dan had the information he needed. And soon he would not need Doomhammer or the Horde any longer. Soon he would be all—powerful without them.

"Gather the others," he told Cho'gall, pushing himself up off the ground and testing his limbs. He was weak, but he would manage. He had no time to do otherwise. "I will forge them into a clan in truth, one that will serve my own ends and protect me from Doomhammer's wrath. They shall be Stormreavers, and they will show all the Horde what we warlocks can accomplish, until even Doomhammer cannot deny their worth. Gather your clan as well." Cho'gall led the Twilight's Hammer clan—they were obsessed with the end of the world but were fearsome fighters. "There is much to do."

Despite himself, Lothar was impressed.

Stormwind had been a towering, imposing city, filled with spires and terraces, carved from strong stone to resist the wind but polished to a mirror sheen. But in its own way Capital City was equally lovely.

Not that Capital City was the same as Stormwind. It was not as tall, for one. But what it lacked in height it made up for in elegance. It sat on a rise above the north shore of Lordamere Lake, gleaming all in white and silver. It did not glitter as Stormwind had, but it glowed somehow, as if the sun were rising from its graceful buildings instead of beating down upon them. It seemed serene, peaceful, almost holy.

"It is a mighty place," Khadgar agreed beside him, "though I prefer a little more warmth." He glanced behind them, toward the lake's southern shore, where a second city rose. Its outlines were similar to those of Capital City, but this mirror image seemed more exotic, its walls and spires suffused in violet and other warm hues. "That is Dalaran," he explained. "Home of the Kirin Tor and its wizards. My home, before I was sent to Medivh."

"Perhaps there will be time for you to return, at least briefly," Lothar suggested. "But for now we must concentrate on Capital City." He studied the gleaming city again. "Let us hope they are as noble in their thoughts as they are in their dwellings." He kicked his horse into a canter, and rode down out of the majestic Silverpine Forest, Varian and the mage right behind him and the other men trailing them in their carts.

Two hours later they reached the main gates. Guards stood by the entrance, though the double gates were wide open and large enough for two or even three wagons to pass abreast. The guards had clearly seen them long before they reached the gates, and the one who stepped forward wore a crimson cloak over his polished breastplate and had gold traceries in his armor and helmet. His manner was polite, even respectful, but Lothar could not help noticing how the man stopped only a few feet away, well within sword range. He forced himself to relax and ignore the laxity. This was not Stormwind. These people were not seasoned warriors, hardened by constant battle. They had never had to fight for their lives. Yet.