Tides of Darkness

SECOND PROLOGUE

A dark figure stood upon a tall tower, gazing out at the world below him. From his vantage point he could see the city beneath and the countryside around it. Both were covered in swirling, shifting darkness, a tide that swept across the land and covered the buildings, leaving them in ruins.

The figure watched. Tall and powerfully built, massively muscled, he stood motionless upon the stone peak, his sharp eyes studying the scene below him. Long dark hair swung in braids about his chiseled face, the tasseled ends occasionally striking the long tusks that jutted up from his lower lip. The sun beat down upon him, making his skin glow emerald in the light, and creating a glare from the many trophies and medallions he wore about his neck and across his broad chest. Heavy plates covered his chest, shoulders, and legs, their scarred surfaces gleaming black except where heavy bronze knobs studded them. Gold gleamed along the edges, proclaiming his importance.

At last the figure had seen enough. He raised the enormous black warhammer he had been leaning upon, its stone head absorbing rather than reflecting the sunlight, and bellowed. It was a warcry, a summons and an exclamation, and the sound swept forth, slamming into the buildings and hills around him and echoing back.

Below him, the dark tide ceased its movement. Then it rippled, as faces turned upward. Every orc in the Horde stopped and looked, staring up at the solitary figure high above.

Again he shouted, his hammer held high. And this time the tide erupted in cheers and shouts and answering cries. The Horde acknowledged its leader.

Satisfied, Orgrim Doomhammer let his signature weapon drop back down to his side, and the dark tide below resumed its destructive motion.

Down below, beyond the city's gates, an orc lay upon a cot. His short, scrawny frame was covered in thick furs, a sign of high status, and rich clothing lay in a pile nearby. But the clothing had not been touched, not in weeks. For the orc lay without stirring, as if dead, his ugly face scrunched in pain or concentration, his bushy beard bristling about his snarling mouth.

Then, suddenly, all changed. With a gasp the orc sat bolt upright, the furs falling away from his sweat—drenched body. His eyes opened, glassy and unseeing at first, then blinking away the long sleep and glancing around him.

"Where—?" the orc demanded. A larger figure was already moving to his side, both heads registering pleased surprise, and as the orc's gaze caught him the eyes sharpened, as did the features. Whatever confusion had lingered was gone, replaced by cunning and rage. "Where am I?" he demanded. "What has happened?"

"You were asleep, Gul'dan," the other creature replied, kneeling by the cot and offering a goblet. The orc grabbed it sniffed it, and tossed back the contents with a grunt, wiping a hand across his mouth afterward. "A sleep like death. For weeks now you have not moved, have barely breathed. We thought your spirit gone."

"Did you, now?" Gul'dan grinned. "Were you afraid I would leave you, Cho'gall? Abandon you to Blackhand's tender mercies?"

The two—headed ogre mage glared at him. "Blackhand is dead, Gul'dan!" one head snapped. The other frantically nodded agreement.

"Dead?" At first Gul'dan thought he had misheard, but Cho'gall's grim expressions convinced him even before both of the ogre's heads nodded. "What? How?" He pulled himself up to a sitting position, though the motion made him reel and break out in a cold sweat. "What has happened while I slept?"

Cho'gall began to answer but his words died as someone thrust aside the tent flap and burst into the small, dim space. Two burly orc warriors shoved Cho'gall out of the way and roughly grabbed Gul'dan's arms, hauling him to his feet. The ogre began to protest, rage darkening his twinned features, but two more orcs squeezed into the tight space and barred his path, heavy battleaxes at the ready. They stood guard as the first two dragged Gul'dan from the tent.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded, trying to wrest his arms free. It was no use, however. Even at full health he would not have been a match for either warrior, and now he could barely hold himself upright. They were dragging him as much as leading him and he saw that he was being taken toward a large, well—crafted tent. Blackhand's tent.

"He took control, Gul'dan," Cho'gall said quietly, pacing beside him but staying beyond the warriors' reach. "While you were unconscious! He attacked the Shadow Council and killed most of them! Only you and I and a few of the lesser warlocks remain!"

Gul'dan shook his head, trying to clear it. He still felt fuzzy, unfocused, and from what Cho'gall said this was not a good time to lack clarity. But what the ogre had said made him more confused rather than less. Killed Blackhand? Destroyed the Shadow Council? It was insane!

"Who?" he demanded again, twisting to face Cho'gall over the warriors' broad shoulders. "Who did this?"

But Cho'gall had slowed his steps, falling back, a look of surprising fear crossing both his faces. Gul'dan turned back around just as a powerful figure strode forward. And at once, seeing the massive warrior in his black plate armor, the colossal black warhammer held so easily in his hands, Gul'dan understood.

Doomhammer.

"So you are awake." Doomhammer all but spat the words as the warriors stopped before him. They released Gul'dan's arms suddenly and the orc warlock was unable to stop himself from crumpling to the ground. He looked up, on his knees, and gulped at the naked fury and hatred he saw in his captor's face.

"I—" Gul'dan began, but Doomhammer cut him, backhanding him hard enough to lift him off the ground and drop him in a heap several feet away.

"Silence!" the new Horde leader snarled. "I did not say you could speak!" He strode closer, raising Gul'dan's chin with the head of his fearsome weapon. "I know what you have done, Gul'dan. I know how you controlled Blackhand, you and your Shadow Council." He laughed, a harsh sound filled with bitterness and disgust. "Oh, yes, I know about them. But your warlocks will not help you now. They are dead, many of them, and the few who remain are chained and watched." He leaned closer. "I rule the Horde now, Gul'dan. Not you, not your warlocks. Doomhammer alone. And there will be no more dishonor! No more treachery! No more deceit and lies!" Doomhammer rose to his full impressive height, towering over Gul'dan. "Durotan died from your scheming, but he will be the last. And he will be avenged! No more will you rule our people from the shadows! No more will you control our fate and direct us for your own sordid purpose! Our people will be free of you!"

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."