Aaron Rosenberg - Tides of Darkness

At last, as the sky overhead shifted from swirling crimson to a mere leaden gray and the waves dropped to heights only as great as a tall ship's mast, Gul'dan opened his eyes. He staggered slightly and leaned against the railing for support, as did a few of his warlocks. But he glanced out over the new island chain, still steaming from the heat of its rapid ascent and still growling and groaning as it settled into a new configuration, and smiled.

"Soon," he said softly, looking upon the land and feeling it with his mind, noting the location of the place he sought. "Soon I will stride across you to the temple I seek, and the great prize that lies within it."

"I see them!" a warrior shouted. "There they are, off those islands!"

Rend Blackhand, one of Black Tooth Grin clan's two chieftans, looked where the other orc had pointed, near the place where they had seen the sea and air rolling madly as they approached. At last he saw the thin spit of land ahead and to the west, and the dark shapes alongside it. "Good," he said, nodding and resting his hands against the handle of his axe. "Increase speed," he told his drummer. "I want to reach them before they have a chance to disappear into some hideout there." On one of the other boats he saw his brother Maim speak to his own drummer, no doubt giving similar instructions.

"What will we do if they use magic against us?" one of his younger warriors asked. Several others nodded agreement. It was their single greatest fear, even beyond being captured by the Alliance and being eaten by a dragon, and Rend could hardly fault them for their concern. He was not thrilled with the idea of battling Gul'dan and his cronies. Doomhammer had given them an order, however, and the Blackhand name was at stake. Rend intended to carry that out—or die trying.

"Their magic is potent," he admitted now, "and Gul'dan himself could easily kill three or four of us within minutes. But he needs those minutes. And he needs physical contact, or to be close by, or to have something that belongs to the intended victim." He grinned. "Did any of you loan the chief warlock a waterskin or a pair of gauntlets or a sharpening stone?" That got chuckles from several, just as he'd hoped. "Then just steer clear of the warlocks until we are across, do not let them close to you, and swarm over them before they can cast any spells." He tapped his axe for emphasis. "Despite their powers they are still orcs, and they can still bleed and die. This is no different from hunting an ogre back home—each of them may be stronger than any one or even two of us but we can wear them down and attack in groups and prevent them from fighting back." His warriors nodded. They understood the concept, and now that they were thinking of magic as just another weapon it was no longer as frightening.

"Almost there," the helmsman announced then, and Rend glanced behind him, past the edge of his ship. The island now loomed up along one side, and Rend could tell from the size of the ships that this new land was big, bigger than most of the islands he had already seen on this world. The boats had gone from specks to full—fledged ships, and he could clearly see orcs pouring off them and onto the dark, damp land. Rend repressed the snarl he had felt building in the back of his throat and gave the order: "Prepare to land! Once we do, aim for those warlocks. And kill anyone—anything—that gets in our way."

"We are not alone," Cho'gall pointed out to Gul'dan. Their boat had finally beached on the shore of the new island, which still shuddered and threw off steam and occasional belches of fire and lava.

Gul'dan followed his assistant's gesture and saw a fleet of ships approaching from the far side of the island. His island. From the way the lead boat moved Gul'dan could tell it was rowed rather than sailed, and that usually meant one thing: orcs. Doomhammer's troops had found them.

"Damn him," Gul'dan muttered. "Why did he always have to be so quick to make decisions? Another day and we would have been here and done before they arrived." He sighed. "Well, there is nothing for it. Tell the warriors to prepare for battle. You will need to fend them off while I enter the temple and find the tomb."

Cho'gall grinned with both his heads. "With pleasure." The massive two—headed ogre was as fanatic as the rest of his clan, and firmly believed in ushering in the end of the world, preferably with violence and bloodshed. All the Twilight's Hammer orcs held the same belief, and would happily fight anyone or anything if doing so would bring the world closer to its ultimate demise. It did not hurt that the demon blood most of them had imbibed back on Draenor had increase their natural bloodlust a hundredfold. "They will not get past us," the ogre promised, drawing the long curve—bladed sword he wore at his side.

Gul'dan nodded. "Good." Then he turned and began picking his way carefully across the island, steam rising from every step he took. Drak'thul and the other necromancers and ogre magi followed quickly behind him.

"Attack!" Rend shouted, his axe clutched in his hands as he ran forward with his warriors. "Kill the traitors!"

"Death to the traitors!" Maim echoed beside him.

"To battle!" Cho'gall bellowed, his scythe—like blade raised so its long sharp blade caught the weak late—afternoon sunlight. "Let this land be awash in their blood," his other head added, "that their deaths may usher in the end times!"

The two forces met with a thunderous impact there on the lava—strewn rocky shore, as orc slammed into orc. Weapons flashed, axes and hammers and swords and spears rising and falling, swinging and stabbing, in a wild display of energy, passion, and violence. Blood sprayed everywhere, filling the thick air with a red mist and turning the nearby waves dark. The ground, still uneven and unsteady, grew slippery, and many warriors lost their balance and met their deaths while struggling to regain their feet.

The battle was fierce. Cho'gall's warriors fought savagely and with no concern for their own safety—their only goal was to inflict as much damage and pain as possible. Doomhammer's soldiers fought for revenge and for justice, avenging Gul'dan's betrayal and the battle it had already cost them. Both sides believed in their goals, and neither was willing to yield.

The one difference between the two sides was numbers. Gul'dan had brought only two clans with him: his own Stormreavers and Cho'gall's Twilight's Hammers. His Stormreavers were the smallest clan and they were all warlocks—every single one of them was with Gul'dan now, leaving only the Twilight's Hammers to block Doomhammer's forces. Rend and Maim Blackhand had brought the bulk of their Black Tooth Grin clan, one of the largest in the Horde. The Twilight's Hammer warriors were outnumbered and they knew it. And as the battle continued, and both sides suffered heavy casualties, that difference began to show.

The fanatic orc warriors refused to surrender, however, and fought to the last orc. They took many of Doomhammer's warriors with them—Cho'gall himself cut one of the strongest Black Tooth Grins's right arm from him as he fell, both of the orc warrior's axes buried in his chest, and another Black Tooth Grin lost an eye to a well—aimed blow from the back spike on a war axe—but in the end the fiery shore was littered with bodies and only the troops the Blackhands had led here still remained.

"Now," Rend said, wiping his axe clean on a fallen orc's chest, blood still dripping from a long gash across his chest, "we go after Gul'dan. The warlock has much to answer for."

Gul'dan was standing at the base of an ancient temple, its outer walls barely visible beneath centuries of moss, fungus, coral, and barnacles. He could still see traces of architecture that matched what he had glimpsed in the Quel'Thalas, both in grandeur and in style. Elves had crafted this structure, and once it had been beautiful and ornate, he was sure. Now, however, its walls were rough and rolling, and the edifice resembled a natural mound of dirt and seaweed and encrustations rather than something that had been built deliberately. But the appearance did not matter to him. What excited him was the pulsing he could feel just behind his eyes, as the power tugged at him so strongly he could almost see its influence quivering the building around it.