整个世界都是那么的不正常。

　　其实最不正常的还是他和布洛多戈被要求驻守在这里，任由他俩在这里玩着那无聊的游戏来虚度时光。他抬头看着 前方高耸的拱门以及充斥于其间的能量散发着光芒。那就是黑暗之门，一道奇异的可以将人传送到另外一个世界的门。 尽管他和他氏族的成员并没有亲身体验过传送，但他却曾经见证过伟大的部落战士们穿越过那道门，为了荣耀而与人类 和他们的同盟作战。虽然在那以后曾有几个兽人带着部落的最新战况回来，但是最近却没有任何人穿越过那道门。没有 只言片语，没有侦察兵，什么都没有。

　　突然，格莱塔尔感觉到黑暗之门似乎有一些异样。他皱了皱眉头，没有管旁边的布洛多戈还在那里扔着他的骨块。 他走进了几步，身上的毛发都有着一阵轻微的刺痛感。

　　“格莱塔尔？该你了，你在干什么啊？”

　　他没有理睬布洛多戈，而是半蹲着，继续观察那股不断涌动的能量波。在那个诡异的世界里到底发生了些什么事呢 ？
　　黑暗之门中那不停起伏着的光幕变得更加透明。有如在尝试着看穿浑水一般，格莱塔尔专心的注视着那道光幕。突 然，他深吸一口气，蹒跚着后退了几步。

　　他不敢相信自己的眼睛。在那道光幕之后，他看到了一场残暴的战斗。

　　“什么？”布洛多戈站在他的身边大口的喘着粗气，丝毫不记得刚才还在进行的游戏。两人就那样在那里傻傻的看 着，直到格莱塔尔恢复了意识。他向布洛多戈吼道：“快去，告诉他们这里所发生的一切！”

　　“好的，我去找司令官。”虽然嘴上这么说，但是布洛多戈还是在一动不动的看着那道光幕。

　　“不行。”格莱塔尔简短的说道。他深知他们的司令官并不能够很好的处理即将要发生的事情，但是有另外一个兽 人也许可以。“去找耐奥祖！他会知道该怎么办的。”

布洛多戈点点头，转身跑了起来，不时地回头看看远处的黑暗之门。格莱塔尔耳听着他离开，眼睛仍是直直的望着 眼前那模糊的惨烈战斗。他可以看到许多兽人，其中还有一些似乎是他所认识的。那些兽人在和一种奇怪的生物对抗着 。这种生物要比兽人矮小许多，但是他们身上却穿着沉重的铠甲。格莱塔尔想了起来，这些生物就是所谓的“人类”。 这些人类动作敏捷，并且数量多得可以和虫群媲美，将兽人包围起来一一击败。为什么他们的兽人军团会失败呢？毁灭 之锤到哪里去了？格莱塔尔看了许久，仍是没有发现他们的酋长。在那个世界到底发生了什么？

　　就在他仍在凝视着黑暗之门的时候，他仿佛听到了有人接近的声响。格莱塔尔强迫自己不再观察那道传送门，而是 把头转了过去，于是他看到布洛多戈带着另外两人回来了。其中的一个是那么的高大壮硕，比任何一个兽人都要强壮得 多，他那小而贪婪的双目在此时此刻显得十分明亮。和这个食人魔法师同行的兽人带领着众人径直走向黑暗之门。

　　抛开他灰白的头发和皱纹满布的面容不谈，耐奥祖，影月氏族的首领仍被认为是史上最强大的萨满之一。他的身型 还是十分的强健，而他那双棕色的眼睛也和以往一样的锐利。他盯着传送门，看着那道光幕之后清晰的显现出的那场灾 难。

　　“那么，这是一场战斗。”耐奥祖好像是在自言自语。

　　“而且是一场部落输掉的战斗。”格莱塔尔暗想道。

　　耐奥祖开始发问：“这场战斗持续了多——”突然，拱门中的空间仿佛被移动了一般，它的入口处形成了一道漩涡 。有如从水中浮起一般，一只手穿刺了那道光幕，光与影在那绿色的皮肤上交相辉映。一颗脑袋，接着是整个身体，于 是一个兽人就这样穿过了黑暗之门。虽然他的双眼看上去是那么的狂热，但他仍紧抓着他的战斧，磕磕绊绊的跑了过来 。他甚至都没有看耐奥祖和其他几人就直接越过了众人。

　　在他之后，成百上千的兽人穿越了那道传送门，并且尽全力跑了过来。格莱塔尔在人潮中发现了一些食人魔，以及 一些头戴兜帽身披斗篷的身影，看起来要比兽人略为瘦小。格莱塔尔的目光最后落到了一个战士的身上。他远比一个成 年兽人高大，格莱塔尔认定他的身上有着些许食人魔的血统。他并没有和其他兽人一样毫无目的的狂奔，而是骑着一只 黑色战狼，朝向一个特定的目标前进。

　　有一个兽人嫌他挡在了路正中，于是把战士挤开，并朝他吼道：“杂种，别挡道！”尽管如此，那战士只是摇了摇 头，不愿在这紧要关头仍被人取笑。而他胯下的战狼却向那兽人开始咆哮，于是他只得挥手示意他的坐骑停下。战狼很 听话的安静了下来，而后它的主人用他一只巨大的手轻轻拍了拍它的脑袋。

耐奥祖大声的问道：“到底发生了什么事？”他指着其中一个戴兜帽的人说：“你是什么兽人？为什么要把你的脸 遮住？给我过来！”

　　那身影停了下来，而后耸了耸肩，走向耐奥祖，用一种冷淡而又略带嘲讽的语气说道：“如你所愿。”尽管大地仍 是那么的灼热干涸毫无生机，格莱塔尔仍是为他那令人战栗的声音而打了一个寒颤。

　　他抬起他戴着锁甲的右手，将头巾向后推下。格莱塔尔看到他的面容，不禁因惊吓而惨叫出来。他的容貌也许曾经 是很正常的，但现在再也不是了。他的皮肤呈现出一种苍白的暗绿色，并且在耳朵和下颚的接合处裂开，一股闪闪发亮 的分泌物顺着脸庞流下。他那破碎的暗紫色双唇深陷入头骨中，形成一个诡异的笑容。从他的双眼中可以看到智慧和恶 毒并存。
这很明显是一具死尸。

　　就连耐奥祖都忍不住向后退了几步。他很快恢复了神志，声音微微颤抖的问道：“你是谁——是什么？还有，你想 要干些什么？”

　　那活死人为萨满的尴尬而暗笑，简短的回答道：“难道你不记得我了？我是泰隆•血魔。”

　　“那不可能！他早就死了，和暗影议会的其他成员一样被毁灭之锤杀死了。”

　　血魔承认道：“我确实死了，但是还不是无药可救的。你曾经的学徒古尔丹发现了一种能够令我们起死回生的方法 ，尽管是以这种腐尸的形态。”他耸了耸肩，格莱塔尔甚至可以听到那毫无生机的血肉在吱吱作响。“不过那已经足够 了。”

　　“古尔丹？”苍老的萨满似乎因为这一事实受到了不小的震惊，相比之下亲眼看到能说话能走动的尸体都不算什么 。“你的主人还活着？那你就应该回去找他。当你还活着的时候，你背弃了我和萨满的传统，选择了跟随他的步伐成为 一名术士。现在，虽然你死了，但你仍在为他而服务。”

　　泰隆•血魔摇了摇头。“古尔丹死了，而那对于我们来说是件好事。他背叛了我们，在最关键的时候带走了一半的部 落，并且迫使毁灭之锤放弃他对一座人类城市的征战转而去追击他。那个叛徒让我们付出了整场战争的代价。”

　　“我们……输了？”耐奥祖结结巴巴的说道。“但是……那怎么可能？部落的实力如此庞大，而毁灭之锤也不可能 任由我们输掉这场战争。”

　　血魔同意道，“是啊，他曾经作战过，但是他的实力并不足以挽回大局。尽管他杀死了人类的领袖，但是他最终还 是被击败了。”

耐奥祖不敢相信这一事实。他转头看了看那些先前穿越过传送门，现在仍在喘着粗气，被鲜血覆盖的兽人和食人魔 们。他深吸一口气，挺直身子，转向了与他同来的食人魔。“邓塔格——召唤其他的酋长们。让他们尽快带上武器和铠 甲在这里集合，我们——”

　　突然之间，一道能量波毫无预兆的从黑暗之门中冲了过来，将所有人撞倒在地。格莱塔尔大口呼着气。一道飓风吹 来，于是他又被绊倒。第二道更为猛烈的能量波在兽人们面前爆炸。许多块巨石被这能量击起，飞过了众人。远处那道 光幕闪烁着，变得不再透明。

　　“不！！！”耐奥祖冲向黑暗之门。当那道光幕闪动，收缩，凝结而最终爆炸的时候，耐奥祖离它仍有数步之遥。 石块和尘土从拱门处迸发。耐奥祖就好像一块老骨头一般被扔向半空，而后狠狠的撞到地上。邓塔格怒吼一声，奔向了 他主人的身边，轻如无物地将耐奥祖抬起。老萨满无力的躺在他的怀中，脑袋悬在空中，双眼紧闭，一道血迹从他右边 流下。那道能量发出尖利的声音，有如愤怒的远古之灵的嚎叫。那几道光来得快，去得也快。一瞬之间，整个光幕就完 全消失了，只剩下那石制的拱门矗立于此。

　　黑暗之门就这么被切断了与艾泽拉斯的连接。

　　格莱塔尔看着那石拱门，以及那些从传送门逃离回来的部落战士。之后，他朝邓塔格看了过去。他看到苍老的耐奥 祖就好像在襁褓之中一样被食人魔轻轻的抓住。

　　以先祖之名……他们现在应该怎么办呢？

prologue

"Throw down!"
"Shut up!"
"Throw down, damn you!"

"Fine!" Gratar growled, half-rising, his powerful
shoulder muscles bunching. One arm whipped forward
and down, fist descending in a blur—and his fingers
opened, the small bone cubes spilling from them to clatter upon the ground.

"Hah!" Brodog laughed, tusks jutting up as his lips pulled back in a grin. "Only one!"

"Damn!" Gratar sank back down onto his stone,
sulking as he watched Brodog again gather the cubes and
shake them vigorously. He didn't know why he kept
throwing against Brodog—the other orc practically always won. It was almost unnatural.

Unnatural. A word that had nearly stopped having any
meaning for Gratar. He glanced up at the stark red sky
that filled the horizon, the sun a burning globe of the
same shade. The world had not always been thus. Gratar
was old enough to remember blue skies, a warm yellow
sun, and thick green fields and valleys. He'd swum in
deep, cool lakes and rivers, blissfully ignorant of how
precious a thing water would one day become. One of
the most basic needs of life, uncontaminated water was now brought in, in casks and stingily parceled out.

Rising, Gratar kicked idly at the ground before him,
watching the red dust puff upward, parching his mouth,
and he reached for the waterskin and drank sparingly.

The dust covered his skin, dulling the green hue,
lightening his black hair. Red everywhere, as if the world had been drenched in blood.

Unnatural.

But the most unnatural thing of all was the reason he
and Brodog were stationed here, whiling away the dusk-clogged day with idle games of chance. Gratar looked
past Brodog at the towering archway just beyond them
and the shimmering curtain of energy that filled it, The
Dark Portal. Gratar knew that the strange mystic
doorway led to another world, though he had not passed
through it himself—none of his clan had. But he had
watched as proud Horde warriors had entered the portal
to win glory over the humans and their allies. Since
then, a few orcs had returned to report the Horde's
progress. But lately there had been nothing. No word, no scouts; nothing.

Gratar frowned, ignoring the clattering sound of
Brodog's tossing of the bones. Something about the
portal seemed . . . different. Gratar stepped closer to the
towering gateway, the hairs along his arms and chest tingling as he approached.

"Gratar? It's your turn. What are you doing?"
Gratar ignored Brodog. Squinting, he stared at the
rippling veil of energy that was going on beyond it, on that strange other world?
As he watched the curtain's undulating shimmer grew
and became more translucent, allowing Gratar to see
through it as if through murky water. He squinted his
eyes, peered intently—and gasped, staggering back.
Playing out before his eyes, as if he were watching a
ritual enactment, was a fierce and violent battle.
"What?" Brodog was beside him in an instant, the
game forgotten, and then he was gaping as well. They
both stared for a second before Gratar regained his wits.

"Go!" he shouted at Brodog. "Tell them what's happening!"

"Right—the commander." Brodog's eyes were still glued to the scene before them.

"No," Gratar replied sharply. He had a gut feeling that
what was about to happen would be more than his
commander was prepared to handle. But one orc he
knew might be. "Ner’zhul. Get Ner’zhul—he'll know what to do!"

Brodog nodded and took off at a run, though not
without glancing back a few times. Gratar heard him
leave, but still his gaze was riveted to the battle that was
so violent but so oddly veiled. He could see orcs, sonic of
whom he thought he recognized, but they were fighting
strange figures, shorter and more narrowly built but
more heavily armored. The strangers—they were called
"humans," Gratar remembered—were quick and as
numerous as gnats, swarming over the beleaguered orcs
and overpowering them one by one. How could his
people be suffering such a defeat? Where was
Doomhammer? Gratar saw no sign of the massive,
powerful warchief. What had happened on that other world?

He was still watching, sickly enraptured, when he
heard the sound of approaching feet. He tore his gaze away to see that Brodog had returned with two others.




One was a massive figure, larger by far than any orc and
much stronger, with pale milky skin and heavy features.
An ogre, and a mage, by the cunning Gratar saw glinting
in his small, piggy eyes. More important than this
towering figure was the orc who accompanied him,
pushing his way forward right up to the portal itself.

Though his hair was gray and his face heavily lined,
Ner’zhul, chieftain of the Shadowmoon clan and once
the most skilled shaman the orcs had ever known, was
still powerfully built and his brown eyes were as sharp as
ever. He stared at the portal and the vaguely glimpsed disaster unfolding behind its shimmer.

"A battle, then," Ner’zhul said as if to himself.

And one the Horde is losing, Gratar thought.

"How long has—" Ner’zhul began. Suddenly the space
framed by the Dark Portal shifted, its energies swirling
violently. A hand thrust from the curtain as if it were
rising from water, gleams of light and shadow clinging to
green skin as it breached the barrier. A head followed,
then the torso, and then the orc was through. His war
axe was still in his hand but his eyes were wild as he
stumbled, then caught himself, racing past Ner’zhul and the others without even looking.


Behind him came another orc, then another and another and another, until there was a flood of them, all
racing to pass through the portal as fast as their feet
would carry them. And not just orcs—Gratar saw several
ogres emerge, and a group of smaller, slighter figures
with heavy hooded cloaks bridged the gap as well. One
warrior caught Gratar's attention. Too tall and bulky to
be a full orc, his features brutish enough to have some
ogre blood in him, this one did not run with the air of
panic the others did, but with purpose, as if he was
running to something rather than from it. At his heels loped a massive jet-black wolf.
An orc shoved past this warrior as they stepped from the portal, snarling at the obstruction.

"Out of the way, half-breed!" the orc snapped, but the
warrior merely shook his head, refusing to be baited at
such a time. The wolf, however, snarled at the orc before
the warn or silenced it with a sharp hand gesture. The
wolf fell silent, utterly obedient, and the warrior dropped a huge hand on the black head with affection.

"What has happened here?" Ner’zhul demanded
loudly. "You!" the shaman pointed toward one of the
unfamiliar creatures. "What manner of orc are you? Why cover your face so? Come here!"

老规矩。。。

先收藏。。。

The figure paused, then suddenly shrugged and
stepped closer to Ner’zhul, "As you wish," he said in a
cold voice that had a slightly mocking tone to it. Despite
the heat of the land's baked, lifeless soil, Gratar shivered.
A mailed hand slid the hood back, and Gratar could
not help crying out in horror. Perhaps the being's features had once been fine and regular, but no longer. The
skin was a pale grayish green, and had burst open at the
juncture where ear met jaw. A thin trickle of ooze
glimmered. Swollen, cracked, purple lips drew back in a
smile as the eyes glowed with malevolent humor and a fierce intelligence.

The thing was obviously dead.
Even Ner’zhul shrank back, though he rallied quickly.
"Who—what are you?" Ner’zhul demanded in a voice that shook only a little. "And what do you want here?"

"Don't you recognize me? I am Teron Gorefiend," the
figure replied, chuckling at the shaman's obvious discomfiture.

"Impossible! He is dead and gone, slaughtered by
Doomhammer along with the rest of the Shadow Council!"


"Dead I am indeed," the creature agreed, "but not
gone. Your old apprentice Gul'dan found a way to bring
us back, and into these rotting carcasses." He shrugged,
and Gratar could hear the lifeless flesh creak in slight protest. "It suffices."

"Gul'dan?" The old shaman seemed more shocked by
that revelation than by die sight of the walking corpse in
front of him, "Your master still lives? Then vou should
return to him. You forsook me and the shaman tradition
to follow his lead and become a warlock when you lived,
abomination. Serve him now that you are dead."
But Gorefiend was shaking his head. "Gul'dan is dead.
And good riddance, He betrayed us, halving the Horde at
a crucial moment and forcing Doomhammer to pursue
him instead of conquering a human city. That treachery cost us the war."

"We . . . have lost?" Ner’zhul stammered. "But . . .
how is that possible? The Horde covered the very plains,
and Doomhammer would not go down without a fight!"
"Oh, he fought," Gorefiend agreed. "Yet all his might
was not enough. He killed the humans' leader but was overpowered in turn."

Ner’zhul seemed stunned, turning to look at the
panting, bloodied orcs and ogres who had rushed
through the gates moments earlier. He took a deep
breath and straightened, turning to the ogre who had
accompanied him. "Dentarg—summon the other
chieftains. Tell them to gather here at once, bringing only weapons and armor. We—"

The wave washed out of the portal with no warning, a
massive energy burst that slammed all of them to the
ground. Gratar gasped for breath, the wind knocked out
of him. He stumbled to his feet, only to be greeted by a
second explosion, more violent than the first. This time
hunks of stone had been snatched up by the energy that
powered the portal and came flying past them, chips and
slabs and slivers and sheets. The curtain wavered,
becoming opaque.

"No!" Ner’zhul raced toward the portal. He was still
several feet away when the shimmering curtain of light
flickered, contracted, froze—and then exploded. Stones
and dust erupted from the archway. Ner’zhul was tossed
into the air like an old bone, and struck the earth hard.
Dentarg let out an angry bellow and rushed to his
master's side, scooping him up as if he weighed nothing.
The old shaman lay limp, head lolling, eyes shut, a trickle
of blood along his right side. For a wild moment energy
screamed and shrieked about them all, howling like
angry spirits. Then as abruptly as they had come the
lights vanished, the curtain disappearing utterly, leaving only an empty stone portal behind.

The Dark Portal had been severed.
Gratar stared at that stone archway, and at all the
Horde warriors who had escaped back through it one last
time. Then he glanced over at Dentarg, and the elderly
shaman cradled in the ogre's surprisingly gentle grasp.


In the name of the ancestors . . . what would they do now?

第一章

　　“耐奥祖！”

　　泰隆•血魔和贾兹•碎魂者旁若无人的走进了影月氏族的村落中，轻快的步伐扬起了脚下厚实的尘土。好奇的村民们 从他们简易的房屋的门窗中探出头来想要一窥究竟，而那两个入侵者闪烁着奇异光芒的眼睛朝他们恶狠狠的瞟了几眼， 于是所有人又都被吓了回去。

　　“耐奥祖！！！”血魔又一次以一种冷酷而又发号施令的语气吼道。“我要跟你谈谈！”

　　在他的身后，似乎有人低声嘟哝着，“我不知道你是谁，我也不怎么在乎。你现在侵入的是影月氏族的领地。现在 就滚，要不然就死在这里。”

　　死亡骑士转身面向刚才从他身后走近的强壮的兽人战士，回复道，“我需要跟耐奥祖谈话，告诉他泰隆•血魔来找他 了。”

　　那个兽人听到这个名字的时候显得有些不安。“血魔？你就是那个死亡骑士？”他的脸部因厌恶而有些扭曲，露出 了两只獠牙。他看着血魔和他的同伴，鼓起勇气说道，“你看着倒并不是那么的危险么。”

　　碎魂者告诉他，“他可是相当的危险哦。”他转过身去朝着一些兽人所看不到的东西点了点头。其他的几个身影从 村落中小屋的阴影中走出，来到那两个死亡骑士的身旁。虽然他们身披兜帽，但是那双闪着诡异光芒的眼睛仍是清晰可 见。血魔笑了笑，而那个兽人咽了一口口水。

　　“现在，赶快把你们首领找来，要不然你的骄傲自大会让你死得很惨。”

　　兽人说道，“耐奥祖谁都不见。”虽然他已经开始出汗，但是很显然他还是的要遵从上级的命令。

　　血魔轻叹一声，他那早已腐烂的肺部吸入一口气而后排出，发出一声奇异的呼啸之声。
　　他说道，“那么你马上就可以去死了。”就在那兽人还没能做出任何回复的时候，他就已经伸出了自己被锁甲保护 着的右手，低声吟唱着什么咒语。兽人深吸一口气，疼得弯下了腰。血魔握紧了他的拳头，于是血液就突然从那倒霉的 兽人的鼻子、眼睛和嘴里喷涌而出。与此同时，血魔已经转身而去，对于折磨这烦人的兽人已不再有任何的兴趣。

“黑暗魔法！”一个影月战士叫了出来，抓起了他身旁的战斧。“杀了他们！不要让他们再伤害我们当中的任何一 个！”他怒吼一声，身边的其他几人作为响应，也拿起了武器随时准备作战。

　　泰隆•血魔迅速转身，他那双发光的眼睛眯了起来。“你们想死的话尽管放马过来，大不了我自己去找耐奥祖。”这 一次他的双手同时向前展开，黑暗之力在他的指尖凝聚。而后，它就好像黑火一般在众人面前爆炸，将那些刚刚挥动着 战斧冲了过来的兽人击倒在地。他们躺在地上，痛苦的尖叫着。

　　“住手！这里被杀的人已经足够多了！”老兽人的声音听起来还是那么的充满权威。泰隆将他的双臂放下，命令他 的同伴们后退，然后看着前方影月氏族的首领。

　　“耐奥祖，你终于来了。”血魔用懒散的口气说道。“我认为那样做可以引起你的注意。”他转向耐奥祖，惊奇的 发现影月首领的脸上被涂得一片煞白——就好像骷髅头一般，血魔暗想道。当他们的眼神相会时，耐奥祖睁大了双眼。

　　“我……梦到过你，”他沉吟道。“在梦中，我预见了死亡。而现在，你来了……”他那细长的指尖触摸着自己脸 上的骷髅手绘，几点白块剥落下来。“两年来，我一直有着同样的梦境。最终，你还是来了，来取走我的灵魂！”

　　“你错了。我是来救赎你的。但是你还是说对了一部分。我的确是为你而来的，但并不是如你所想象的那样。我来 请求你领导整个部落。”

　　耐奥祖很是迷惘。“我？为什么？为了让部落变得更加得支离破碎？难道我所做的还不够么？”他的眼神中充满了 不安。“我再也不要做这样的事情了！曾经，我带领着我的人民——落入了古尔丹的圈套，使得我们的世界近乎毁灭。 那是一场几乎完全摧毁了我们的灾难。请你另寻他人吧。”

　　泰隆眉头微皱。事情并不如所想象的那么顺利，而他也不能像他对待影月兽人一样把耐奥祖杀了完事。他又一次尝 试着，“部落需要你……”

　　“部落已死。”耐奥祖打断了他的话。“半数的兽人都被困在那万恶的世界，永远的离开了我们！你想让我去当一 群死人的领袖么？”

　　血魔平静的回复着他，“他们并未离我们而去。”他的那股镇定感染了耐奥祖。“虽然黑暗之门被毁了，但是说不 定它还可以被重建。”

　　耐奥祖好奇的问，“啥？重建？”

　　死亡骑士向他解释道，“在艾泽拉斯大陆上还留有一个空间裂痕，而德拉诺这一边的则完好无损。我仍然能感应到 它，并且我可以重建黑暗之门。我会将裂痕扩大，直到整个部落都可以穿越它。”

　　死亡骑士向他解释道，“在艾泽拉斯大陆上还留有一个空间裂痕，而德拉诺这一边的则完好无损。我仍然能感应到 它，并且我可以重建黑暗之门。我会将裂痕扩大，直到整个部落都可以穿越它。”

　　萨满酋长似乎在考虑着这一点，而后摇了摇头。“即便可以，又能给我们带来什么好处呢？联盟实在是太强大了， 我们部落永远不可能赢得这场战争。兽人们已经基本上和死了没有什么区别，我们现在就只能去选择自己怎么个死法。 ”他的手指仿佛有着自己的意识一般，又一次摸了摸他脸上的骷髅。血魔为他的软弱而直犯恶心。真难以想象曾经如此 受人尊敬的酋长现如今居然会变得这么怕死。

　　更不幸的是他还是部落计划中必要的一环。

　　血魔强迫自己要忍耐，他反驳道，“死亡并不是唯一的选择。如果我们得以重建黑暗之门的话，我们就不一定要去 赢，甚至都不需要再和联盟作战。我为部落筹备了另外的一个计划。我曾经从古尔丹口中听说过一些神器，如果我们能 够获取其中一些的话……”

　　“就是因为古尔丹和他的那些阴谋，有多少兽人直到他死了之后都还在做着无谓的牺牲！”耐奥祖向他怒吼道。“ 你和你的那些该死的计划！如果成功的话，从中你能获得多少力量？你们这些暗影议会的混蛋只知道想尽一切办法获得 力量，其他的一切你们都毫不在乎！”

　　血魔再也忍耐不住了。他抓住了耐奥祖的双臂愤怒的晃了起来，“两年了！自从黑暗之门崩坏之后，你他妈的都躲 了两年了！在这里你们氏族成员除了互相残杀就再也没有干过别的。现在他们只需要正确的引导，然后他们就可以重获 力量！你的支持者根本无法和我的死亡骑士匹敌，我们完全可以让所有的氏族都遵从你的号召。毁灭之锤要么死在了艾 泽拉斯，要么就是被关了起来。现在你就是能够号令群雄的唯一一人。我检验过黑暗之门，知道它的受损程度，并且我 告诉过你我有一套解决方案。我已经派了几个死亡骑士前去，哪怕是现在，他们仍然在进行着修复工作，等待着它有朝 一日再次开启。我确信我们可以成功。”

　　“那么你所谓的解决办法到底是什么？”耐奥祖刻薄的问道。“你有没有找到一个能够使我们回到艾泽拉斯，并且 赢得我们两年前失败的那场战争的方法？我不这么想。我们是命中注定的，我们不可能取胜。”他转过身去，朝着他的 小屋走去。

　　“不要管那些战争！你这个糟老头，听我说！”死亡骑士在他的身后喊道。“我们并不需要战胜联盟，因为我们的 目的并不是征服整个艾泽拉斯！”

耐奥祖停了下来，转身看着他。“但是你说你可以修复黑暗之门。如果我们不回艾泽拉斯那么我们修它干啥？”

　　“我们的确是要回去。是的。但是并不是为了战争。”泰隆•血魔走近了他。“我们只需要找到一些有魔力的神器。 当我们拿到它们之后，我们就可以离开，并且永不再回艾泽拉斯。”

　　“然后我们就呆到这里？”耐奥祖挥了挥手，指着身边那干涸的大地。“你我都很清楚德拉诺是一片将死之地，在 不久的将来它甚至都无法维持我们这些生命。”

　　在血魔的记忆中，耐奥祖并不总是如此的迟钝。“它不再需要了。到那时候我们就可以远离艾泽拉斯和德拉诺，到 其他的世界去生活。其他更好的世界。”泰隆向耐奥祖缓缓道来，有如在跟一个小孩讲道理一般。

　　耐奥祖现在全神贯注的听着。在他那惨白的脸上血魔仿佛看到了一种叫做希望的东西。耐奥祖在那里站立良久，不 知道是应该进入他那间小屋并继续隐居，还是选择接受新的命运。

　　他最终还是问道，“你已经计划好了么？”

　　“是的。”

　　又是良久。血魔耐心的等待着他。

　　“……告诉我吧。”耐奥祖转身，走进他的小屋。

　　不过这一次，泰隆•血魔和他一起走了进去。

ONE

"Ner'zhul!"
Gorefiend and Gaz Soulripper strode into the
village as if they owned it, booted feet moving
swiftly over hard-packed dirt. Curious villagers poked
their heads out of the doors and windows of their simple
huts, only to shrink back inside as the interlopers fixed them with a baleful stare from unnaturally glowing eyes.

"Ner’zhul!" Gorefiend called again in a voice that was
both cold and commanding. "I would speak with you!"
"Don't know who you are," a voice growled behind
him, "and don't much care. You're trespassing on Shadowmoon territory. Leave or die."

"I need to speak with Ner’zhul," the death knight
replied, turning to face the powerful orc warrior who had
stepped threateningly behind him. "Tell him Teron Gorefiend is here."

The orc looked unsettled at the name. "Gorefiend?
You are the death knight?" He grimaced, showing his
tusks, glancing at Gorefiend and his companion, then
obviously mustering his courage. "You don't look so dangerous."

"Dangerous enough," replied Soulripper. He turned
and nodded at something the orc could not see. Several
more beings, their faces hooded but their glowing eyes
visible, emerged from the very shadows of the village's
huts and stepped up beside their two fellow death
knights. Gorefiend chuckled, and the orc swallowed.
"Now fetch your master, lest your arrogance bring you swift death instead."

"Ner’zhul sees no one," the orc stated. He was beginning to sweat, but he obviously had his orders.
Gorefiend sighed, a strange whistling sound as air was
taken into and then expelled from dead lungs.

"Swift death then," he said. Before the orc could even
form a reply, Gorefiend extended a mailed hand and
murmured something. The warrior gasped, doubling over
and then dropping to his knees. Gorefiend tightened his
fist and blood suddenly burst from the hapless orc's nose,
eyes, and mouth. Gorefiend had already turned away by
this point, having lost interest in tormenting the annoyance.

"Dark magic!" one of the Shadowmoon warriors
shouted, grabbing up the axe beside him. "Kill the warlocks before they can afflict any more of us!"
bellowed, and his fellows responded by readying themselves as well.

Gorefiend whirled, glowing eyes narrowing. "If you all
die so be it; I will speak with Ner’zhul!" This time he
extended both hands, and darkness formed at his fingertips. It exploded like a glowing black flame, knocking
back the orc who had hurled the axe as well as his
fellows. They lay where the blast had blown them,
screaming in agony.

"Stop! There has been enough killing already!" the old
orc's voice rang with authority. Gorefiend lowered his
arms and his companions fell back, watching their leader.
"There you are, Ner’zhul," Gorefiend drawled. "I
thought that might get your attention." He turned to
regard Ner’zhul, mildly surprised to notice that the old
orc's face had been painted white—almost like a skull,
Gorefiend mused.

As their eyes met, Ner'zhuls widened, "I . . . have
dreamed of you," he murmured. "I have had visions of
death, and now here you are." Long green fingers
reached to touch the skull painted on his face. Small bits
of white flaked off at the gesture. "Two years have I been dreaming of this. You have come for me, then. For us all.
You have come to take my soul!"

"Not at all, I've come to save it. But—you are partially
right: I have come for you, but not the way you think, I wish to see you lead."

Ner’zhul looked confused. "Lead? Why? So that I can
destroy more of the Horde? Haven't I done enough?" The
old shaman's eyes were haunted. "Nay, I am done with
such things. I led our people once— straight into
Gul'dan's plots, straight into schemes that have doomed
this world and a battle that nearly destroyed us. Seek a leader elsewhere."

Gorefiend frowned. This was not going as expected,
and he couldn't simply slay Ner’zhul as he had the
shaman's clansmen. He tried again. "The Horde needs you."

"The Horde is dead!" Ner’zhul snapped. "Half our
people are gone, trapped on that horrible world, and lost to us forever! You want me to lead that?"

"They are not lost forever," Gorefiend replied, and the calm certainty in his tone brought Ner’zhul up short.

"The portal was destroyed, but may yet be restored."

That got Ner’zhul's attention. "What? How?"

"A small rift remains on Azeroth," Gorefiend explained, "and this side is intact. I helped create the Dark
Portal, and I can still sense it. I can help you widen the rift until the Horde can pass through it."

The shaman seemed to consider this for an instant,
then shook his head, folding in on himself almost visibly.

"What good would that do us? The Alliance is too great a
foe. The Horde will never win. Our people are as good as
dead already. All we have left now is the manner of that
death." Again his fingers touched the painted image on
his face, almost of their own volition. His weakness
disgusted Gorefiend. It was hard to believe that this
wreck, obsessed with death, his own and that of others,
had once been so revered.
And unfortunately still so necessary.

"Death is not the only option, not if we rebuild and
use the portal," Gorefiend countered, forcing patience.
"We don't have to win—We don't even need to battle
the Alliance again. I have quite another plan for the
Horde. If I can get a hold of certain artifacts—there are
things I learned about from Gul'dan that—“
"Gul'dan and his twisted schemes—they reach out and
destroy lives even from beyond the grave!" He scowled at
Gorefiend. "You and your plans! And how much power
would you gain from success? Power is all you Shadow Council bastards care about!"

Gorefiend's patience, never great, had evaporated. He
seized the old shaman's arms and shook him angrily.
"Two years since the portal collapsed, and you have been
hiding in your village while the clans slaughter each
other. All they need is guidance and then they will be
powerful again! Between your supporters and my death
knights, we can force the clans to obey you. With
Doomhammer dead or imprisoned on Azeroth, you are
the only one left who can lead them. I have been
examining the portal, assessing the damage, and I told
you I have a solution. I've assigned several death knights
to the site already. Even as I speak to you, they are
working spells, preparing it for its reopening. I am sure it can succeed."

"And what is this solution?" Ner’zhul spat bitterly.
"Did you discover a way for us to return to Azeroth and
win the war we lost two years ago? I think not, we are
doomed, we will never win." He turned away, and took a step back toward his hut.

"Never mind the war! Listen to me, old man!" the
death knight shouted after him. "We do not need to
defeat the Alliance, because have do not need to conquer Azeroth!"
Ner’zhul paused and glanced back "But you said you
could reopen the portal. Why do that if not to return there?"

"Return, yes, but not for battle." Gorefiend closed the
gap between them again. "We need only to find and
claim certain magical artifacts. Once we have those, we can leave Azeroth and never return."

"And stay here?" Ner’zhul waved a hand, the gesture
encompassing much of the stricken landscape around
them. "You know as well as I that Draenor is dying. Soon
it will not be able to sustain even those of us left."
He had not remembered the shaman as being so slowwitted. "It will not have to," Gorefiend assured him,
speaking slowly as if to a child. "With these artifacts in
hand, we can leave both Azeroth and Draenor behind and go someplace else. Some place better."

Now he had Ner’zhul's full attention. Something like
hope flickered across the white-painted face. For a long
moment. Ner’zhul stood poised either to reenter his hut
and resume his self-pitying seclusion, or to embrace this new possibility.


"You have a plan for this?" the old shaman asked finally.
"I do."
Another long pause, Gorefiend waited.
". . . I will listen." Ner’zhul turned and stepped back into his hut.
But this time Teron Gorefiend—warlock and death knight—came with him.

第二章

　　“看看这儿！”

　　吉恩•灰鬃，吉尔尼拉斯的国王，指向了他们前方高耸的要塞。就在他说着这句话的时候，众人已经从那同样高大 雄伟的前门中鱼贯而入。尽管灰鬃是那么的魁梧壮硕，但是和这道门相比起来他看着就好像侏儒一般，光是要塞的拱门 足有吉恩的两倍那么高。当其他的国王走进的时候，他们观摩着那厚实的外墙以及坚固的建筑样式，点了点头表示赞赏 。而与此同时，灰鬃则哼了哼鼻子，前眉微皱，似乎是说他对其他国王的称赞不以为然。

　　他望向前方尚未完成的那些建筑，低声说道。“一座墙，一座塔，再加上唯一的一座堡垒。我们花了那么多钱所兴 建起来的就只有这些？”

　　“它很大。”索拉斯•托尔贝恩指出这一点。索托姆加德的领主还是一如既往的简明扼要，不想多说哪怕一个字。 “越大花钱越多。”

　　其他的几个国王似乎也在因为这巨大的开支而感到不平，都在嘟囔着什么。尤其是当他们想到这些巨大的开支是由 他们平均分担的时候，这种感觉更为明显。

　　一个有着高大而又修长身形的年轻人走到众人面前，“如果是你，你会花多少钱来确保安全？有价值的东西总是需 要付出一定代价的。”当其他人听到这句很有水平的警戒时，他们停止了自己的抱怨。作为暴风王国新近加冕的国王， 瓦里安一向很了解安全的重要性。在第一次兽人战争的年代，他的王国曾经在兽人的手下遭到了极大的破坏，甚至连暴 风王国主城的绝大部分都变成了废墟。

　　“的确如此——国王殿下，请问暴风王国的重建工作目前进展如何？”一个穿着绿色海军制服身材消瘦的人友善的 问道。

　　“进展相当顺利。谢谢你，海军上将。”瓦里安回复道。尽管戴林•普罗德摩尔是库尔提拉斯的首领，但他还是更 倾向于别人称呼他的海军军衔。“我对石匠工会的工作非常满意。我和我的人民对他们都心怀感谢。他们是非常专业的 工匠，那精湛的技艺完全可以和矮人们相媲美。暴风城修复工作的完成指日可待。”他向灰鬃笑了笑，说道，“我不得 不说我们所花的每一分铜币都物有所值。

其他的国王咯咯的笑了起来。托尔贝恩看到了那身形健硕，有着灰白与金黄参杂的头发以及蓝绿色眼睛的洛丹伦国 王泰瑞纳斯。两人对视之后，泰瑞纳斯点了点头。当年轻的瓦里安带领着他的人民从部落的侵略中逃离，前去寻求庇护 的时候，老国王资助了他，并且将他带回自己的家中，直到年少的王子能够回去继承他父亲的王座。现在，泰瑞纳斯和 他的老朋友托尔贝恩都为最后的结果感到很是欣慰。瓦里安是一个聪敏，富有个人魅力而又高贵的青年。尽管他还很年 轻，但是他那与生俱来的领导才能和外交手段早已折服了许多人。泰瑞纳斯甚至已经开始把他当作自己的儿子来对待。 这个年轻人能够掌控大局，并且将那些领主们的注意力从抱怨中转移开去。老国王为他的才干而感到一种如同父亲一般 的骄傲与自豪。

　　瓦里安继续说了下去，将他的声调略为升高。“事实上，我们那最能创造奇迹的工匠就在眼前。”暴风国王指向前 方一位正在和一些身上满是灰尘的工人谈话的健壮男子。他有着一头黑发，那深绿色的双眼仿佛在散发着光芒。他转向 众人，好像是听到了众人之间的对话一般。泰瑞纳斯知道那就是艾德温•范克里夫，石匠工会的领袖，同时也是暴风王 国的修缮以及此地守望堡的建设工作的总负责人。

　　瓦里安朝着他笑了笑，招手示意他过来。“范克里夫先生，我相信一切工作都在顺利进行之中。”

　　“的确如此。感谢您的关心，国王殿下。”范克里夫自信的回答道。他在外墙上使劲用拳头敲了敲，自豪的点头示 意。“陛下，我向您保证，这里的防御之完善足以抵挡住任何侵略者。”

　　“我相信你所说的，范克里夫。”暴风国王表示同意。“你已经尽全力做你所能做的了，那并不是一件易事。”

　　范克里夫点头以示感谢。与此同时，另外一个站在一幢未完成的建筑面前的工人叫他过去。“国王殿下，我得回去 继续工作了。”他向众领主深鞠一躬，然后转身朝着远处的工人走去。

　　众人继续前进。泰瑞纳斯低声对瓦里安说道，“干得漂亮。你这一下不但让再也灰鬃无可抱怨，还顺带着称赞了范 克里夫。”

　　年轻的国王笑着，轻声说道，“我只是实话实说罢了。而且在我这么说了之后，他肯定会更加刻苦工作的。至于灰 鬃么，他现在就只能抱怨没有其他人跟他一起嘟嘟囔囔了。”

　　“对于你的年龄来说，你已经很聪明了。”泰瑞纳斯大笑道。“或者你比所有人都聪明。”

　　当然了，瓦里安的辩驳以及间接的训诫并不能使灰鬃一直闭嘴。当他们穿过中间庭院的时候，吉尔尼拉斯的国王又 一次嘟囔起来，而后就在他厚实的黑色胡须之下逐渐变成了大声叫嚷。他勉强的承认道，“他们的确工作的很辛苦。” 他看向瓦里安，而后者微笑着作为回应。“但是为什么他们要建造这些？”他指着面前唯一那座完成了的要塞说道，然 后跟着大家一起穿过了门口的那道铁闸门，走上了楼梯，继续道，“为什么要费这么大劲，还花这么多钱来建造这样的 一座城堡啊？我们建守望堡只是为了看守远处黑暗之门的曾经所在，不是么？一座简单一些的要塞不就足够了吗？”

　　吉恩•灰鬃的声音还是那么的宏亮，以至于在他们还没有进入大会议厅之前，卡德加就已经听到了他的抱怨。达拉 然的大法师，虽然略显疲惫但仍和他的其他几个法师同伴交换了一个有着些许嘲讽的眼神。

　　“真难得灰鬃还是那个老样子。”肯瑞托的领导人安东尼达斯冷冷的说道。

　　“是啊，江山易改，本性难移。”卡德加抚摸着他那纯白的胡须，向大法师说道。他快速的转身面对来临的众国王 。他的朝气蓬勃与其苍老而又皱纹满布的面容是那么的不相符合。

　　“那么说，你是想知道你的钱都花在什么地方上了？”他向新来的众人说道，不卑不亢的点了点头以示欢迎。他对 待国王的态度和对别人别无二致。毕竟作为肯瑞托的一员，卡德加在他的领域也算是一个掌权之人。

　　“好吧，让我来告诉你们，而后你们就可以感谢我向你们解释。守望堡确实很大，因为这是必须的。有很多人会在 这里居住，这其中包括了我们从达拉然带来的法师们，以及那些派来驻守的士兵们。黑暗之门的废墟就在守望堡前方的 山谷中，那是部落来到我们世界唯一的路径。如果他们在任何时候回来，我们都可以有所准备。”

　　“这就是为什么那些战士需要在这里的原因了。”普罗德摩尔表示赞同。“但是这些法师们的职责是什么呢？毕竟 只需要一个法师就足够我们来监视整个局面，并且当有危险的时候及时通知你了。”

　　卡德加同意道，“如果那就是我们唯一所需要做的，确实如此。”他在房间中踱步，那稳健的步伐表明了他其实还 是一个年轻人的事实。其实卡德加只比瓦里安要大几岁而已，但是他却曾经因为麦迪文的魔法而被提前老化了，而那都 是在星界法师临死之前所发生的事情了。“但是在不久的将来，守望堡将不只是一个供我们看守黑暗之门的岗哨战。我 会慢慢告诉你这是为什么。德拉诺的生机由于某种奇异的能量而在逐渐的衰竭。当黑暗之门被麦迪文开启之后，我们的 世界也受到了同样的影响。在艾泽拉斯这一侧的黑暗之门使得其周围的土地变得生机不再，并且影响还在渐渐蔓延。当 我们将传送门摧毁的时候，我们还以为大地会自我恢复，但是它并没有。事实上，那诡异的腐败仍在不断继续扩张。”

　　那些国王眉头深皱，互相看着彼此。这对于他们来说都是一个坏消息。

“我们开始研究这里的情况，并且发现了一点。即使那道传送门已经被摧毁，但是在那里还存在着一个很小的位面 裂痕。”所有在场的领主都深吸一口气。

　　“那你们有没有找到一个能够停止腐败传播的途径呢？”普罗德摩尔问道。

　　“嗯，尽管那需要好几个法师合力才能达成目的。”他那布满了岁月的痕迹的脸上露出一丝忧虑。“很不幸的是， 我们无法修复那些已经遭到污染的大地。这里曾经被叫做黑色沼泽，而我们成功地使北部地区得以维持住其原状。有传 言说还有一些兽人藏在那里，但是我们并没有发现他们的踪迹。至于南部地区么，不知道是为什么，我们始终还是没有 办法挽救这片大陆。”他摇了摇头。“有些人开始把这里称为诅咒之地，现在看来这个名字似乎应验了。就我来说，我 不知道这片大陆能否再一次孕育生命。”

　　“不管怎么说，你还是成功的阻止了污染的传播，并且挽救了这个世界其他的土地。”瓦里安指出。“那已经是很 不可思议的了，毕竟那传播的速度还是很快的。”

　　卡德加头部微倾，向国王的称赞表示感谢。“我们所做的已经远远超越了我们曾经的期待，”他承认道。“尽管那 也许并不尽我所意。不过这里还是需要有至少一个法师分队长期驻守这里来守望这片大陆，以期我们的艾泽拉斯不再因 为这奇异的污染而受到伤害。同时，法师们也会监视着那道裂痕。总而言之，这就是为什么我们需要花这么多钱来建造 守望堡，并且将它建得这么大。”

　　“那道裂痕真的有可能再度开启么？”托尔贝恩问道，其他人则转向卡德加，很明显都在期待着他的答案，但是同 时也在为可能的答案而感到担忧。从他们的脸上，卡德加可以看出他们心中所想的一切。当想到八年之前黑暗之门开启 之后兽人对艾泽拉斯残忍的侵略，而现在他们有可能会再一次经历同样的事情的时候，所有人都感到分外的慌张。

　　卡德加刚想要回答，却被会议厅外一道尖厉的叫声打断了。他说道，“看来我们最后的一员刚刚骑着狮鹫，降落在 外墙那里了。”过了一阵，一个女人走了进来。她的美貌完全无法用语言来形容，身穿一套绿色和棕色相间的破旧的皮 甲，将她高而清瘦的身躯衬托得淋漓尽致。她那一头金发看起来甚是杂乱，被她随意的拂到了她那尖尖的长耳朵后面。 尽管她看起来是那么的优雅，但是在座的所有人都很清楚艾蕾莉亚•风行者实际上是一个让人望而生畏的游侠，侦察兵 ，战士以及野外生存专家，这里的许多人都曾经和她并肩作战过。因为她那锐利的双眼，快速的反应以及她的勇敢果断 ，她救过许多人一命。

她简短的说道，“卡德加。”她走向了他，两人身高如此相近以至于艾蕾莉亚可以直视面前的法师。

　　“艾蕾莉亚，”卡德加回答道。尽管只是叫了一声名字，但是那其中的怀旧之感却使得它听起来是那么的温暖，毕 竟这两个好朋友在不久之前还并肩作战过。但是他从她绿色的眼眸中看不到一丝的暖意，相反的，她的双眼就好象是由 石头所雕刻而出一般，毫无生气。艾蕾莉亚还是很谦逊的，但是她也仅此而已。卡德加在心中叹了一口气，向后走去， 穿过面前的入口示意她进去。

　　“最好是好消息，”她说着，走进了大厅向在座的众位国王简要的问了一声好。尽管她的身形是那么的高挑，她的 外貌是那么的年轻，但是她还是比面前的任何一个人类国王都要老上不少。这也使得她能够无视他们的王权，甚至对她 来说王权简直是一种嘲讽。“我还在追捕兽人。”

　　“你一直都在追捕他们，”卡德加反驳道，那语气听起来要比他所想的更为尖锐。“不过那也是我想要你来这里的 一部分原因。”

　　卡德加等着她以及其他的国王都把注意力集中到他的身上，而后说道。“艾蕾莉亚，正如我刚才所说，在黑暗之门 曾经矗立的地方存在着一个位面裂痕。最近从那里所散发出来的能量有着显著的增加。”

　　“那说明了什么？”灰鬃问道。“你是不是想告诉我们它在逐渐变得更加坚固？”

　　大法师点了点头。“是的。我们认为那道裂痕马上就会扩张。”

　　“是不是部落找到了什么能够恢复黑暗之门的方法？”泰瑞纳斯问道，他看起来和其他人一样的惊慌失措。
　
　　“也许是，也许不是。”卡德加回答道。“不过就算他们不能重建一个稳定的传送门，只要那道裂痕大到一定程度 ，那些兽人们就可以重返我们的世界。”

　　“我就知道这一定会发生的！！！”灰鬃几乎是叫了出来。“我就知道我们还会见到那些绿皮怪兽！”

　　在卡德加的身边，艾蕾莉亚的嘴唇微翘，她的双眸似乎在放着光芒——似乎她是在期待着什么。

“那将会是多久以后的事？”托尔贝恩问道。“会有多少兽人？”

　　“我们不知道会有多少，”卡德加摇摇头，回答道。“多久？很快。说不定就在这几天。”

　　泰瑞纳斯轻声问道，“你都需要什么？”

　　“我需要联盟的军队。”卡德加直截了当的说道。“我需要整个军队驻守在此，以防那道裂痕真的开始扩张。部落 很有可能会再一次从那山谷中奔涌而来。”突然，他笑了起来。“看来是洛萨之子再一次行动的时候了。”

　　洛萨之子，是那些经历过第二次兽人战争的老兵们给予自己的称谓。虽然他们赢得了战争，但是他们也付出了惨重 的代价：艾泽拉斯雄狮，安度因•洛萨在战争的最后牺牲了。当洛萨被兽人大酋长奥格瑞姆•毁灭之锤斩杀之时，卡德 加就在当场。而他的老友图拉扬则为洛萨报了仇。作为洛萨衣钵的继承人，图拉扬现在担任着联盟军队的总指挥官，继 承着他的遗产，而洛萨之子这一组织就此诞生。

　　“你对于这个裂痕很确信吧？”泰瑞纳斯小心的问着，很明显不想冒犯一位大法师。卡德加从不曾认为冒犯他会是 一个好主意，但是这一次，他并没有被冒犯到。

　　“我也曾希望我所知都是错的。能量等级很明确的一直在上升。再过不久，那能量就足以使那裂缝扩张，让兽人们 可以从德拉诺鱼贯而入，侵略我们的世界。”他突然感觉很累，好象跟大家说坏消息使得他精疲力竭。他又一次看向艾 蕾莉亚。后者似乎注意到了他的目光，抬头看了看，但是什么都没有说。

　　“我们不能冒险碰运气。”瓦里安指出。“要我说，我们现在就应当召集联盟军队，以备战争之需。”

　　“同意。”泰瑞纳斯说道，而其他人则点头赞同。

　　“我们需要联系图拉扬将军。”瓦里安继续说道。艾蕾莉亚的身躯突然轻轻动了动，脸上浮现出一种无法理解的感 情。卡德加看在眼里，双眼轻轻眯了一下。曾经，精灵游侠和人类圣骑士的关系不仅是战斗伙伴那么简单。卡德加一直 都认为，他们对对方都是那么的好。艾蕾莉亚的年长和睿智给图拉扬带来了勇气，而他的年轻以及率真则让疲于生活的 她获得了新生。但是后来发生了一些事情，而卡德加一直都不知道那是什么，而且他一直很谨慎，并没有开口去问这两 人。图拉扬和艾蕾莉亚两人之间突然出现了一道隔阂。在那时，卡德加曾为此而对两人感到遗憾。现在，他不知道这一 隔阂是否会带来麻烦。

似乎瓦里安并没有注意到艾蕾莉亚那微妙的变化，继续说道，“作为联盟军队指挥官，他应当负责召集士兵并且让 他们准备好迎接将来的战斗。现在，他在暴风城帮助我们修缮我们的防御工事，并且训练我们的士兵。”

　　卡德加突发灵感，想到了一个可以一石二鸟的方法。“艾蕾莉亚，你可以以最快的速度找到图拉扬。你去骑狮鹫赶 到暴风城，告诉他这里所发生的一切，并且告诉他我们需要立刻重新召集联盟的军队。”

　　精灵游侠盯着他，翠绿的双眸似乎在燃烧着怒火。“肯定还有别人能够轻松的完成这一任务。”她硬生生的说道。

　　但是卡德加摇了摇头，回道，“蛮锤矮人们信任你，并且他们也还有自己的安排要完成。”他叹了口气。“艾蕾莉 亚，求你了，为了我们大家。找到他，告诉他，然后把他带来。”

　　他想道：然后也许你们两个可以化解你们之间的矛盾……或者哪怕能够在一起工作……

　　艾蕾莉亚眼中的愤怒消失了，取而代之的是那毫无表情的面容。“我会如你所愿的。”她几乎是正式的说道。她再 也没说一个词，走出了众人的视线。

　　众人看着她走了开去。泰瑞纳斯说道，“卡德加是正确的。我们需要马上召集士兵和补给品。”其他几位国王点了 点头，就连灰鬃都安静的听从了他，很显然他脑中的所有想法都因为知道部落即将回归的消息而被一扫而空。众人走出 了会客厅的门，走向庭院，然后从他们不到一小时之前刚刚经过的那道高大的拱门处穿越而过。

　　卡德加看着众位国王离去，低声说道，“呵，去吧，让洛萨之子再次回归。我只希望这还不算太晚。”

TWO

"Look at this place!"

Genn Greymane, king of Gilneas, gestured at he
citadel towering over them, the same massive
structure whose front gates they were striding through as
he spoke. Though a large, burly man, Greymane was
dwarfed by the edifice they were entering, the arch of its
front gate more than twice his height. The other kings
nodded as they too passed through, admiring the thick
outer walls with their heavy block construction, but
Greymane snorted, and his frown showed he did not echo their approval.

"A wall, a tower, and a single keep," he rumbled
loudly, glaring at the half-completed buildings beyond.
"This is where our money's gone to?"

"It's big," Thoras Trollbane pointed out, the terse
Stromgarde ruler as usual wasting as few words as pos-]sible. "Big is expensive."

The other kings grumbled somewhat as well. They all
grieved at the costs involved. Especially since they, the Alliance leaders, were sharing the expenses equally.

"How great a price do you put on safety?" commented
the tall, slim young man near the front of the group.

"Nothing worth having comes cheaply." Several of the others ceased their grumbling at the subtle admonition.
Varian, the recently crowned young king of Stormwind,
had known safety, and been robbed of it. His realm had
suffered greatly at the hands of the orcs during the First
War. Much of the capital city in particular had been reduced to mere rubble.

"Indeed—how does the rebuilding go, Your Majesty?"
a whip-thin man in green naval garb asked politely.
"Very well, thank you, Admiral," Varian replied— though Daelin Proudmoore was ruler of Kul Tiras, he
preferred to use his naval title. "The Stonemasons' Guild
is doing an excellent job, and I and my people owe them
our gratitude. They're fine craftsmen, with skills to rival
those of the dwarves themselves, and the city is rising higher and higher every day." He grinned at Greymane.

"Worth every copper, I'd say."

The other kings chuckled, and one of them, tall and
broad with graying blond hair and blue-green eyes,
caught Trollbane's gaze and nodded approvingly.

Terenas, ruler of Lordaeron, had sponsored young Varian
when the prince and his people had sought refuge from
the Horde, and had taken the youth into his own home
until such time as Varian could be restored to his father's
throne. Now that time had come, and Terenas and his
old friend Trollbane were well pleased with the results.
Varian was a clever, charming, noble young man, a
natural leader and a gifted diplomat for one so young.
Terenas had grown to think of him almost as a son, and
he now took nearly a father's pride in admiration of the
way the youth had controlled the conversation and distracted the other rulers from their previous complaints.

"In fact," Varian continued, pitching his voice slightly
louder, "there's the miracle worker himself." The king
indicated a tall and powerfully built man speaking animatedly with some dusty-looking workmen. The man in
question had black hair and dark green eves that
sparkled as his head turned toward them, having clearly
overheard the words. Terenas recognized Edwin Van
Cleef, the head of the Stonemasons' Guild and the man
in charge of both Stormwind's restoration and the construction here at Nethergarde Keep.
Varian smiled and beckoned him over. "Master Van Cleef, I trust the work continues apace?"

"It does, Your Majesty, thank you," Van Cleef replied
confidently. He banged a heavy fist against the thick
outer wall and nodded proudly. "It'll hold against all comers, sire, I promise you that."
"I know it will. Master Van Cleef," Stormwind's king
agreed. "You've outdone yourself here, and that takes some doing."

Van Cleef nodded his thanks, then turned as another
man somewhere by one of the unfinished buildings called for him. "I'd best be back to work, Your Majesties."

He bowed to the assembled rulers, then turned and hurried off toward the shouts.

"Nicely handled," Terenas said softly to Varian as they
fell into pace together. "Defusing Greymane and flattering Van Cleef at the same time."

The younger king grinned. "It's an honest compliment,
and he'll work all the harder because of it," he pointed
out just as quietly, "and Greymane only complains to hear the sound of his own voice."

"You've grown very wise for your age," Terenas said,
laughing. "Or perhaps just wise in general."

Of course, Varian's hidden reprimand could not shut
Greymane up for long. As they crossed the wide courtyard Gilneas's king began grumbling again, and soon
those rumblings in his thick black beard formed words
once more. "I know they are working hard," he admitted
grudgingly, glaring at Varian, who grinned in reply, "but
why all these buildings?" He waved a large hand at the
single completed keep they were entering as they passed
beneath the portcullis and up the stairs. "Why go to so
much trouble—and cost—to create such a vast citadel? It
is only here to maintain watch over the valley where the
portal once stood, is it not? Why would a simple keep not have sufficed?"

Khadgar, archmage of Dalaran, exchanged tired but
still slightly amused glances with his fellow wizards as
Greymane's strong voice carried to them even before they entered the large meeting room.
"It is good to hear Greymane is his old self,"
Antonidas, leader of the Kirin Tor, commented dryly.
"Yes, some things never change," Khadgar replied,
stroking his full white beard. He turned, his youthful
quickness giving a seeming lie to his lined visage, to face
the kings. "You want to know what your money has
bought you, then?" he said to the newcomers, nodding a
brief greeting to them but otherwise treating them as
equals—for such they were, as Khadgar, a member of the Kirin Tor, was a ruler in his own right.

"Well, I'll tell you, and you can thank me. Nethergarde
Keep is large, yes. It has to be. Quite a few people will be
living here—the magi we brought here from Dalaran, as
well as the soldiers who watch for more mundane
threats. The valley below us was once the site of the Dark
Portal, the Horde's entrance into our world. If they ever return, we'll be ready. "

"That explains the warriors," Proudmoore agreed, "but
why these magi you spoke of? Surely a single mage would be enough to monitor the situation and alert you of any danger?"
"If that were all that was required, yes," Khadgar
agreed, pacing the room. His strides were that of the
young man he truly was. Khadgar was only a handful of
years older than Varian, but he had been aged prematurely by the magic of Medivh just before the Magus's
death. "But Nethergarde is quickly becoming more than
just a watch post. You can't possibly have missed the
reason for our concern as you rode up. Something drained the life from Draenor, from the very land itself.

When the Dark Portal was opened that life lessness
touched our world as well, killing the land around it and
spreading outward. When we destroyed the portal, we
thought the land would heal itself. It did not. In fact, the taint continued to spread."

The kings frowned and looked at one another. This was news to them all.
"We began to study the situation, and discovered that,
even with the portal gone, a small dimensional rift
remained." That brought gasps from the assembled rulers.

"Did you find a way to stop the taint from spreading?"
Proudmoore asked.
"We did, though it took several of us working together
to do so." A frown crossed his lined face. "Unfortunately,
we were unable to restore the land that had been
damaged. This area was once the Black Morass, and we
managed to protect the northern half and keep it in its
former state. There are rumors that some orcs are still
hiding out there, but we've not seen anything concrete.
But the southern half—for whatever reason, we could not breathe life back into it." He shook his head.
"Someone took to calling it the Blasted Lands, and now
the name has stuck. I doubt this land will ever be able to support life again."

"Still, you stopped the taint and saved the rest of the
world's soil," Varian pointed out. "That is incredible enough, given how rapidly the effect spread."

Khadgar inclined his head, acknowledging the praise.
"We have done more than I had dared hope," he
admitted, "though less than I might have liked. But a full
contingent of magi must remain here at all times, to
watch the area and make sure we lose no more of
Azeroth to this strange taint. The magi also monitor the
rift itself at the same time. And that, good majesties, is
why Nethergarde had to be so large, and is costing so much."

"Is there really any risk that die rift might reopen?"
Trollbane asked, and the others turned back to Khadgar,
clearly awaiting his answer but worried about what it
might be. He could read their thoughts on their faces; the
idea of reliving what had happened eight years before,
when the portal had opened and the orcs had come pouring through, unnerved them all.

Khadgar began to answer, but was interrupted by a
shrill caw from just outside the meeting hall, "I think the
final member has just arrived by gryphon and landed on
the wall walk," he said. The woman who entered the
meeting room a few moments later was tall and almost
unspeakably lovely. Worn-looking green and brown leather clung to her slim form as she strode toward them.

Her golden hair was tousled and she brushed it absently
back from long, pointed ears. Exquisite and delicate she
might seem, but everyone present knew well that Alleria
Windrunner was a formidable ranger, scout and fighter
and wilderness expert. Many of those present had fought
in battle alongside her—and owed their lives to her sharp eyes, quick reactions, and strong nerves.

"Khadgar," she said bluntly as she stepped up beside him, tall enough to almost look him eye to eye.
"Alleria," he replied. Affectionate nostalgia made the
single word warm. They had been comrades in arms not
so long ago, good friends fighting a good fight. But there
was no warmth in her green-eyed gaze, nor on a face
that, while beautiful, might have been carved from stone
for all the animation it displayed. Alleria was courteous,
but that was all. Inwardly, Khadgar sighed, stepping back through the door and gesturing for her to follow.

"This had better be good," she said as she entered the
room proper and nodded briefly to the various kings.
Despite her willowy build and youthful golden looks,
Alleria was easily older than any of the human rulers,
which made her immune to—and often mocking of—their majesty. "I was hunting orcs."

"You are always hunting orcs," Khadgar countered,
more sharply than he intended. "But that is part of why I wanted you here for this."

He waited until he had her full attention and that of
the various kings. "I was just explaining that we've
noticed a dimensional rift in the area where the Dark
Portal once stood, Alleria. And recently the energies emanating from it have increased dramatically."

"What does that mean?" Greymane demanded. "Are you trying to tell us it's getting stronger?"

The young-old archmage nodded. "Yes. We think the rift is about to expand."

"Has die Horde found some way to restore the portal?"
Terenas asked, just as shocked as the rest.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Khadgar answered. "But even
if they cannot create a stable portal again, once the rift
alone is large enough, the orcs will once more have access to our world."

"I knew this would happen!" Greymane all but
shouted. "I knew we hadn't seen the last of those green-skinned monsters!"
Beside him Alleria's lips curved, her eyes growing bright in—was that anticipation?
"How soon?" Trollbane asked. "And how many?"

"How many, we cannot say," Khadgar replied, shaking his head. "How soon? Very. As little as a few days, perhaps."

"What do you need?" Terenas asked softly.
"I need the Alliance army," Khadgar answered bluntly.
"I need the entire army here in case the rift does begin
widening. It's quite possible we could have a second Horde pouring out into that valley." He smiled suddenly.
"The Sons of Lothar must step forward once again."

The Sons of Lothar. That's what they had taken to calling themselves, the veterans of the Second War.

Victory had been bought, but at a dear cost—the death of
the Lion of Azeroth, Anduin Lothar, who had been the
man all were willing to follow. Khadgar had been there
when he fell, slain by the orc chieftain Orgrim Doomhammer. And he'd been there when his friend
Turalyon, now the general of the Alliance forces, had
avenged Lothar by capturing Doomhammer. Lothar's
protégé, coming into his own, carrying on a heroic
legacy; and thus in blood had been born the Sons of Lothar.

"You're sure about this rift?" Terenas asked carefully,
clearly reluctant to offend a wizard. Which, Khadgar
mused, was hardly ever a good idea. But in this case, he wasn't offended at all.

"I wish I weren't. The energy level is most definitely
rising. Soon that energy will be enough to widen the rift,
allowing the orcs to pour forth from Draenor onto our
world." He felt suddenly tired, as if sharing the bad news
had emptied him somehow. He glanced again at Alleria,
who noticed the gaze and lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"We cannot afford to take chances," Varian pointed
out. "I say we rally the Alliance army and make ready for war, just in case."

"Agreed," Terenas said, and the others nodded their approval.

"We'll need to contact General Turalyon," Varian continued.

Alleria stiffened slightly, a flicker of unreadable
emotion crossing her face, and Khadgar's eyes narrowed.
Once, the elven ranger and the human paladin had been more
than comrades in arms. They'd been good for each other,
Khadgar had always thought. Alleria's age and wisdom
strengthened Turalyon's spirit, and his youth and
innocence softened the somewhat jaded elf. But
something had happened. Khadgar had never known
what, and was discreet enough not to ask. An alarmingly
cold distance had sprung up between Turalyon and
Alleria. Khadgar had felt sorry for them at the time; now,
he wondered if this distance would cause problems.

Varian appeared not to have noticed the subtle change
in Alleria and continued, "As commander of the Alliance
army, it's his job to gather our soldiers and prepare them
for what lies ahead. He's in Stormwind now, helping us rebuild our defenses and train our men."

An idea occurred to Khadgar, one that might solve two
problems at once. "Alleria, you could reach Turalyon
more quickly than anyone else. Take the gryphon and
head to Stormwind. Tell him what's happened, and that we'll need to reassemble the Alliance army immediately."



The elven ranger glared at Khadgar, her green eyes
flashing fire. "Surely another could accomplish the trek as easily," she stated, her tone sharp.

But Khadgar shook his head. "The Wildhammers
know and trust you," he answered. "And these fellows have their own arrangements to make." He sighed.
"Please, Alleria. For all our sakes. Find him, tell him, and bring him here."

And maybe you two can settle your differences . . . or at least decide to work together, he thought.

Alleria's glare hardened into that implacable, expressionless mask. "I will do as you have requested," she said
almost formally. Without another word she turned and
stalked back across the hall and out the front doors.

"Khadgar's right." Terenas said as they watched her
walk away. "We'll each need to rally our troops and
gather supplies, and right away." The other kings
nodded. Even Greymane was quietly compliant—the
thought of the Horde returning had shocked any griping
clean out of him. Together they moved toward the doors,
heading back into the courtyard and from there toward
the massive front archway they had first passed under not an hour before.



"Aye, go." Khadgar whispered as he watched the kings
depart, "Go, and rouse the Sons of Lothar. I just pray it is not too late."

第三章

　　那把嗜血的战斧被他的主人挥舞着，发出一声尖利的呼啸，在阳光的照耀下散发着耀眼的光辉。它的驾驭者狂笑着 ，将他那印有黑色纹身的下颚张开到几乎不可能的宽度，那咆哮之声也正是他名字的由来。随着他的动作，那头黑色的 长发在他的脑后飘动着，他红色的双眼闪亮着，用战斧不断砍向面前那些他所想象出来的敌人。他用这种方法来磨练自 己，只有这样他在真正的战场上才能像切肉一样斩杀他的敌人。尽管只是在进行日常的演练，他那精湛的技艺和强大的 力量都已展露无疑。格罗姆•地狱咆哮听到有人在叫他的名字，哼了一声，转过身去，强迫自己不再沉浸于对血腥的渴 望中。

　　“格罗姆！”

　　格罗姆•地狱咆哮放下了他手中的血吼，尽管他刚才还在进行着剧烈的活动，但是现在他也只是在轻轻的喘着气。 他抬头望向前方，看到有人向他走来。虽然看起来很老，但他却能给人留下很深的印象。

　　“卡加斯，”他回道，等待着碎手氏族的首领走到他身边。他们紧握住对方的手——当然，是右手。这是因为在很 久以前，卡加斯的左手就已经被切断，换上了一把邪恶的镰刀刀刃。

　　“你好啊。”

　　“要我说，大家好，才是真的好啊。”年老的首领说道。越来越多的兽人朝这边走近，于是他点了点头，继续道， “言归正传。据我所知，耐奥祖给每个氏族都派去了一些使节。”格罗姆点点头，浅浅一笑，那些使节当中有一些就是 他受耐奥祖之邀而派出去的。


　　“他有所计划。”格罗姆把血吼搭到了他的肩膀上，然后两位首领转身走过山谷，从两个氏族的战士中间穿过，迈 步走向黑暗之门的废墟。这里到处都是怒目而视或者互相争吵的兽人，但还好至少没有人在打斗，至少是直到现在。“ 但是到底是什么计划呢？”

　　卡加斯回复道，“那并不重要。不管是什么都会比现在的情况要好。”他心不在焉的用指尖在他的刀锋上轻轻滑过 。“在过去的这两年里，我们啥都没干。啥都没干！这是为什么？就是因为联盟打败了我们？那又能如何？就是因为黑 暗之门被摧毁了？他们完全可以再建一个！我们必须要跟别人斗争，否则我们就只能干坐在这里，像腐肉一般腐化堕落 下去！”

格罗姆点了点头。卡加斯是一个纯粹的战争机器，他生来就是为了战斗和杀戮而存在的。格罗姆很欣赏他的这一点 ，就好像卡加斯所说，那是一个优点。兽人天生好战，并且他们一直在尽力磨炼自己的洞察力以及增强自己的战斗力， 因为如果不那样做的话兽人就会变得疲软。格罗姆要求自己的族人和其他氏族征战，以期能够锻炼他们。尽管战歌与碎 手之间尚没有过任何摩擦，但是他知道卡加斯的所作所为和他必然别无二致。有时候，兽人们还是会攻击一些巡逻及侦 查分队，当然那是在引起战争之前。

　　不管怎么说，他对于和自己的同胞作战并没有任何兴趣。当年，耐奥祖建立了部落并将所有的氏族联合，组成一个 强大的军队，而直到现在格罗姆一直都还认为兽人仍在结盟着。不管他的战歌勇士们是在同那些雷王，刃风抑或是赤行者 氏族的兽人们争斗时，他们实际上还是在屠杀自己的同类。当他在战斗中挥舞着血吼，随着它的尖啸声而攻击敌人的时 候，他仍然能感受到自己血液中那奔腾的嗜血的欲望，那野蛮的快感。但是，在那之后，他的内心却感到一阵空虚，以 及些许的不洁。

　　就在他们走向前方的废墟的时候，格罗姆心想：到底发生了什么？部落有什么地方出了问题？他们的人数之多，就 连平原上的野草，以及海洋中的水滴的数量都无可比拟！当他们行军之际，就连山峰都要为他们震耳欲聋的脚步声而颤 抖！如此强大的一支军队，又为什么会在联盟的面前溃败？

　　格罗姆确信，这一切都是古尔丹的错。在德拉诺的大路上，原先被作物以及植被覆盖的平原变得毫无生气，原先生 机勃勃的树木全部凋零，原先湛蓝的天空现在变得如血般鲜红；这一切都是因为那些术士们，是他们对力量无穷无尽的 渴望才造成了这一切。不止这些，他们毁灭了德拉诺，但是古尔丹才是这一切的幕后黑手。也正是因为他的错，部落才 没有能够战胜联盟，征服那一个叫做艾泽拉斯的世界。这都是因为那狡猾的术士说服了格罗姆在第一次战争中呆在德拉 诺，而不是冲向前线作战。

　　古尔丹曾经这样告诉他：“我们需要你呆在德拉诺。你和你的战歌勇士们是我们部落的精英，万一发生什么事，部 落需要你们作为预备队伍。并且部落也需要有人呆在德拉诺来维护我们的利益。我们需要一个强大的人，一个值得部落 信赖的人，比如你。”

　　于是，格罗姆就这么被古尔丹的几顶高帽子吹上了天，傻傻的上了他的当。他就这么眼睁睁的看着布莱克汉以及奥 格瑞姆•毁灭之锤带领着部落穿越了黑暗之门征战艾泽拉斯；他就这么眼睁睁的看着那些哨兵们带回来了各种消息，包 括最开始的成功以及后来的失败。

格罗姆深吸了一口气，低声抱怨着。他很确信，如果当时他在现场，他一定能够扭转乾坤！有了他的帮助，大酋长 毁灭之锤一定能够征服那座地处湖畔的人类城市，并且斩杀背叛部落的古尔丹以及他的那些术士同伙们。当他们占据了 洛丹伦之后，他们就可以从那里开始，逐步的征战整块大陆，直到再也没有一个人类能够和他们抗争。

　　格罗姆摇了摇头。过去了的就让它过去吧。布莱克汉已死，他的老友杜隆坦亦已死，毁灭之锤被抓，黑暗之门被摧 毁，古尔丹也已不在人世。目前的部落也只不过是一个往日荣耀的幻影罢了。

　　但是，也许有一些东西将要改变。

　　他和卡加斯已经来到了传送门前，可以清楚的看见那个等待着他们的人。尽管现在的耐奥祖头发鬓白，但是作为影 月的酋长，昔日部落的领导者，他看起来仍是一如既往的健壮。耐奥祖转身望向格罗姆。

　　当格罗姆看到老萨满的面容时，他被吓了一大跳。耐奥祖的脸颊，上唇，鼻子，眉脊以及前额都用涂满了白色颜料 ，如骨头般煞白。格罗姆意识到，那肯定是耐奥祖专门画上去的，他把自己的脸画成了一个骷髅头的样子。

　　耐奥祖大声说道，声音听起来还是如此的清晰而又洪亮。“格罗姆•地狱咆哮，卡加斯•刃拳，欢迎你们！”

　　卡加斯淡淡地说道，不想多说一个字。“你找我们有何贵干？”

　　萨满回答道，“我带来了新消息，以及一个计划。”

　　格罗姆鼻子哼了哼，“你都躲着我们两年了。你怎么可能会有什么消息？”他的声音中带着很明显的气恼以及质疑 。他指着耐奥祖如骨的面庞，说道，“你任由古尔丹排挤你，你拒绝从圣杯中喝下狂暴之血，然后你还像土拨鼠躲在地 洞里面一样藏了两年！现在你不再隐居，而是带着死亡之面来告诉我们你有一个新计划。不管你那些所谓的计划是什么 ，我都不想听。”

　　格罗姆能够从自己的声音中听出自己的悲痛。抛开古尔丹所造成的一切，也抛开他这些年对于他身边的顾问，萨满 和术士们的不信任，他还是希望耐奥祖还是那个格罗姆从小就铭记在心的萨满，那个强壮，严厉，而又充满智慧的兽人 ，那个将如散沙一般的各个氏族联合成一支强大部队的兽人。虽然他所说的话十分刻薄，但是他还是希望他所说的一切 都不是真的。

耐奥祖摸了摸他脸上的骷髅，深深的叹了一口气。“我一直都能够梦见死亡。我曾经在梦境中遇到过他，也和他交 谈过。我看到了我自己族人的死，我看到了那些我深爱的人的死。所有的这一切……我把自己弄成这副模样就是为了铭 记这一切。我本来还想继续躲起来，但是我现在明白了。我对我的人民有所亏欠，所以我理应让他们再一次团结起来。 ”

　　“就好象从前你领导我们时候一样？”卡加斯吼道。“把我们带向背叛？抑或是失败？你不是想要去死么？好，耐 奥祖，我告诉你，如果你真的想要领导我们，我一定会杀了你的！”他朝着老兽人挥舞着左臂上镶嵌着的刀刃。

　　耐奥祖刚想要回答他，却因为看到了两人身后的什么东西而停了下来。格罗姆转过身去，看到了一个庞大的身影朝 着他们走了过来，看他的身形应该是一个食人魔。

　　“登塔啊，有什么消息么？”耐奥祖叫道，等待着兽人走过来。“我让你去找到其他的氏族并且召集他们——就好 像我让你们俩去做的一样。”他提醒着格罗姆和卡加斯。“但是直到现在我只看到了影月，战歌以及碎手氏族集结与此 。其他人呢？”

　　“雷刃氏族说他们会前来此处。”格罗姆向他保证。“他们还有很长一段路要走，所以可能还要再等他们一两天。 ”他摇了摇头。“但是雷王和嘲颅氏族都没有听从。他们两族正打得不可开交。”


　　“这就是为什么我们需要有所行动！”耐奥祖吼道。“如果我们不做点什么，我们就只能在这里自相残杀！”他露 出自己的牙齿，面部已经有些扭曲。“我们为了联合部落而所做的这一切——我所做的这些——都将要变成无用功。看 看这些氏族从部落中分裂出去，然后在那里互相争斗。如果我们不尽快采取行动，我们就会回归传统，氏族之间只有在 互相征战或者是一年一度的聚会才能相逢。知道么！”

　　“那么在你躲起来的这两年中，你又能期待别的什么发生呢？”格罗姆谩骂道。“我们知道你因为爆炸而受了伤。 但是在你伤愈之后，你这挨千刀的就再也没有出现过！我们一直在等待你的指引，但是却一直没有等来。这样的话，我 们肯定得变回从前那样，与其它氏族打来打去了！为了在梦中见到那些无意义的死亡，你遗弃了我们所有人，这就是报 应！”

　　“我了解，”耐奥祖痛苦的轻声说道。格罗姆看着他脸上所显现出的悲痛和羞愧，原先到了嘴边的那些气话都被他 咽到了肚子里。

“刃风氏族会加入我们。”卡加斯说道，试图想要打破这寂静。“但是赤行者们拒绝了。他们说部落已成往事，现 在所有氏族只需要管好自己份内之事。”他骂道。“要不是因为你的旨意，我真恨不得把他们的酋长千刀万剐。”

　　“如果你那样做的话，你也逃不过一劫。”耐奥祖指出。“要不逃跑或者杀了他们整个氏族的兽人。 我并不想让你身处险境，或者失去他们，因为毕竟他们还是有可能被说服并收归于我们旗下的。”他双唇微噘。“不要 急，我们迟早会收拾他们的。”他看了看周围，眯起双眼，问道，“那其他人呢？嚼骨氏族呢？”

　　这一问题引得格罗姆开始痛骂起来，“我们送去使节寻找哈尔坎•裂颅者，”他简短的说道，“然后他把使节们肢 解，分好类送了回来！”

　　“嚼骨氏族的兽人们都十分的骁勇善战。”卡加斯摸着他的刀刃，谨慎的说道。“在战争中，他们将会是一个大麻 烦。”然后他摇了摇头。“但是自从传送门崩溃之后，他们变得越来越野蛮了。他们不能被信任，也不能被控制住。”

　　耐奥祖点头，向登塔问道，“那白爪氏族呢？”

　　食人魔眉头皱起，回复道，“绝大多数都死了。在有关古尔丹和他的术士的真相被曝光之前，大多数人都被其他的 氏族杀掉了。甚至在杜隆坦的流放以及死亡之后，白爪兽人们仍然对霜狼氏族抱有怜悯之心。这使得他们成为众矢之的 。”而后他摇了摇头，“至于那些存活下来的，他们也都被驱逐了。事实上，现在再也没有一个叫做白爪的氏族了。”

　　当提及杜隆坦的时候，耐奥祖因为愧疚而身子一颤。他曾经警告过霜狼氏族的首领，希望能够挽回他所造成的损失 ，但是最后他的所作所为还是没有起到任何的作用。古尔丹的暗影议会成员找到了杜隆坦并杀掉了他，耐奥祖所知的世 上最高贵的兽人之一。

　　但是后悔和自哀并不会起到任何的作用。他把注意力转回到登塔的话语上，而后开始生气。

“白爪是我们兽人当中历史最悠久也是最令我们自豪的氏族之一！现在白爪兽人们都得当无家可归的野蛮人了？难道我 们就任由兽人这么堕落下去么？不能！我们必须挽回部落，让兽人们再一次联合起来！只有这样，我们才能期待生存， 以及荣耀！”

　

　　登塔跪了下来，简单的说道，“你知道我生而为你服务，主人。”

　　格罗姆则看着面前的老兽人，眉头微皱，“耐奥祖，把你的这个计划告诉我们。”他大声说道，保证在场的所有人都 能够清楚的听到他所说的话。“告诉我们。如果它很合理，那么我们会选择跟随你的步伐。”

　　卡加斯脑袋微侧，说道。“我也是。”

　　耐奥祖严肃的看着面前的三人，然后点头道，“我们会等到雷刃和刃风氏族到达此地。然后我们会找到其他人，雷 王，嘲颅，赤行者以及嚼骨氏族。我们兽人必须联合起来。”

　　卡加斯问道，“那如果他们拒绝的话，怎么办？”

　　耐奥祖用他那毋庸置疑的语气回答道，“说服他们。”卡加斯大吼一声以示赞同，举起他那在阳光下闪闪发亮的刀 刃。耐奥祖转向战歌酋长，轻声说道，“格罗姆，当我们还在等待那两个氏族的同时，我会把我的计划告诉你，然后让 你去完成一项任务。”

　　格罗姆血红的眼睛散发着光芒，“请告诉我，还有为什么我要这么做。”

　　耐奥祖笑了笑。但是在那死亡的面罩之下，他的笑容看起来是那么的诡异。

　　“我需要你去寻找一些东西。”

THREE

The axe shrieked as it arced downward, catching the light and glinting brightly, thirsting for blood.
Its wielder laughed in a manic harmony, opening
his black-tattooed jaw almost impossibly wide in the
scream that had given him his name. Long black hair
whipped behind him as he moved, red eyes glowing,
slashing at the imaginary foe again and again, honing his
moves so that in a real battle, his enemy would be so
much raw meat. Grom Hellscream grunted and whirled
and turned, sheer power tempered by skill, until the
sound of his name being called pulled him from the red
haze that descended at such times, even in a mere exercise such as this.
"Grom!"

Grom Hellscream lowered Gorehowl, panting only
slightly from the vigorous exertion, and glanced up to see an older but imposing figure stomping toward him.
"Kargath," he replied, waiting until the Shattered
Hand chieftain had reached him. They clasped hands-right hands; Kargath's left hand had been severed long
ago and replaced with a wicked-looking scythe's blade.

"Well met."
"Well met to many, it seems," the older chieftain said,
nodding to where more orcs were gathering.
"Ner’zhul sent emissaries to every clan, or so I was
told." Grom nodded, his black-tattooed jaw setting into a
grim line. Some of those emissaries had been his, sent at the old shaman's request.

"He is planning something." Grom shouldered the
massive axe and together the two leaders turned and
walked across the valley, toward the ruins of the Dark
Portal, passing warriors from both clans. Glares and sharp
words were flying here and there, but at least no one was fighting. Yet. "But what?"

"It doesn't matter." Kargath replied. "Anything is
better than this!" He ran his fingers absently along his
scythe's edge. "These past two years we've sat and done
nothing. Nothing! And why? Because the Alliance
defeated us? So what? Because the portal was destroyed?
Surely they can craft another! There has to be someone
we can fight, else we'll sit and molder like so much rotten meat!"

Grom nodded. Kargath was a creature of combat, pure
and simple—he lived to fight and to kill. Grom could
appreciate that, and what Kargath said had merit. They
were a combative race, the orcs, and constant struggle
honed their wits and strengthened their limbs.
Without that they grew soft. He had kept his own
people sharp by warring against the other clans, and he
suspected Kargath had done the same, though their two
clans had not skirmished. Still, one could attack patrols
and scouting parties only so often before it led to true
war, and warring against his own kind did not interest
him. When Ner’zhul had formed the Horde, he had
united the clans into a single massive unit. And even
after all this time Grom still thought of them that way.
When his Warsong warriors fought the Thunderlords or
the Redwalkers or the Bladewinds, they were battling
their fellow warriors, orcs they should have been fighting
alongside instead of against. During combat he still felt
the same bloodlust, the same savage joy as Gorehowl
tore a shrieking path through his foes, but afterward he felt empty, hollow, and slightly unclean.

What had happened? he wondered as they approached
the ruins and the figure standing before them. Where had
the Horde gone wrong? They had outnumbered the blades of
grass that had once covered the plains and the drops of water
comprising the ocean! When they marched, the thunder of their
footsteps shattered mountains! How could such an army fail?

It was Gul'dan's fault. Grom was sure of it. The lifeless
plains that had once been covered in grain and grass, the
trees that had withered and blackened, the skies that had
grown dark and red as blood—all that had been caused
by the warlocks and their quest for powers never meant
for orcish hands. But it was more than that. They had
doomed Draenor, all of them, but Gul'dan had been
behind the warlocks' every move. And it was his fault
that the Horde had failed to conquer that other world
and claim it as their own. After all, the wily warlock had
convinced Grom to stay behind on Draenor during the
first battle, instead of taking his rightful place at the vanguard.

"We need you here," Gul'dan had claimed. "You and
your Warsong clan are some of our finest, and we need
to hold you in reserve, just in case. We also need someone to stay here on Draenor and protect our interests,
someone powerful, someone we can trust. Someone like you."

Grom had been a fool, letting the warlock's flattery
lure him from his path. He had watched as Blackhand
and Orgrim Doomhammer led the Horde through the
portal into that strange place called Azeroth. And he had
watched as reports came back, reports of their initial successes and then of their ultimate failures.
Grom growled softly beneath his breath. If only he had
been there! He could have turned that final battle
around, he was sure of it—with his help Doomhammer
could have conquered that human city by the lake and
still sent forces to crush the traitorous Gul'dan and his
cohorts. Then they could have claimed Lordaeron and
spread out from there, sweeping across the land until no one was left to stand against them.
Grom shook his head. The past was past. Blackhand
was dead, his old friend Durotan was dead,
Doomhammer was captured, the Dark Portal was destroyed,
Gul'dan was gone, and the Horde was a shadow of its former glory.
But perhaps some of that was about to change.

He and Kargath had reached the portal now, and he
could see the waiting figure clearly. Ner’zhul's hair was
completely gray now, but otherwise the Shadowmoon
chieftain and former Horde leader looked as powerful as ever. Then he turned in Grom's direction.

The Warsong clan leader growled and jerked in surprise as he got his first good look at the shaman's face.
White paint adorned Ner’zhul's checks, upper lip, nose,
brow, and forehead, turning them white as bone. And
that was clearly the intent, Grom realized. The old
shaman had masked his face to resemble a skull.

"Grom Hellscream and Kargath Bladefist!" Ner’zhul
called out, his voice still strong and clear. "Welcome!"
"Why have you summoned us?" Kargath said bluntly,
wasting no words.

"I have news," the shaman answered. "News, and a plan."

Grom snorted. "For two long years you have hidden
away from us. How can you have news?" he said, anger
and doubt in his voice. He gestured at Ner'zhul's painted
face. "You let Gul'dan supplant you, you refused to drink
from the chalice, and you sulk like a marmot in its
burrow. Now you announce you have a plan, and
emerge from your seclusion wearing the face of the
dead—I do not think I want to hear what sort of plan
that involves." He could hear the pain in his own voice.



Despite all that had happened with Gul'dan, despite his
distrust of advisers and shaman and warlocks alike these
past few years, he wanted Ner’zhul to still be the shaman
Grom remembered from his youth, the strong, stern,
wise orc who had forged the fractious clans into a single
fighting unit. Despite his scathing words, Grom wanted to be proven wrong.

Ner’zhul touched the white skull on his face and
sighed deeply. "Long have I dreamed of death. I have
seen him, spoken with him. I have seen the death of my
people, the death of all I have loved. And this—this
image I wear to honor that. I did not wish to come forth,
but I now believe that I owe it to my people to lead them once more."

"Lead as you did before?" Kargath cried. "Lead us to
betrayal? To defeat? I will send you to that death which
you are so enamored of with this very hand if you attempt to so lead us, Ner’zhul!" He brandished his scythehand at the shaman.

Ner’zhul began to reply but stopped as he spotted
something behind them. Turning, Grom saw a hulking
figure approaching, an ogre judging by the way it towered over the orcs it passed.




"What news, Dentarg?" Ner’zhul called out as his assistant crossed the clearing that separated the portal ruins
from the orcs milling about. "I sent you to locate the
other clans and summon them here—as I told you two to
do as well," he reminded Grom and Kargath.
"Yet I see only Shadowmoon, Warsong, and Shattered Hand in this valley. Where are the rest?"

"Lightning's Blade said they would attend," Grom
assured him. "They have a long way to travel, so it may
take them another day or two." He shook his head.
"Neither Thunderlord nor Laughing Skull listened,
however." He growled. "They were too busy slaughtering each other."

"This is precisely why we need to act!" Ner’zhul cried.
"We are killing ourselves and each other if we sit and do
nothing!" He bared his teeth in a grimace. "All the work
we did—all that I did—to forge the Horde is crumbling
away, the clans splintering off and fighting with one
another. If we do not act soon we will be reduced to the
old ways once more, with the clans meeting only in battle save the yearly gatherings—if that!"

"What did you expect to happen while you hid away
for two years?" Grom snapped. "We understand that you
were wounded by the explosion. But then, even after
your wounds had healed, you never came out. Long we
waited for your counsel, but it never came. Of course we
went our own ways! Of course we began fighting with
one another. You abandoned us so you could dream your dreams of death, Ner’zhul. And this is the result."

"I know," Ner’zhul said softly, in pain. Grom's further
angry words died on his lips in the face of that grief and shame.

"The Bladewind clan will join us," Kargath
continued, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "But
Redwalker refused. They said the Horde is nothing but a
memory now, and each clan must look out for itself
instead," he snarled, "I would have slaughtered their
chieftain then and there, if you had not ordered otherwise."

"You would have been killed in return," Ner’zhul
pointed out, "or you would have slaughtered the entire
clan making good your escape. I did not want to risk you,
or lose them when there was a chance they might be
persuaded." He pursed his lips. "We will deal with them
soon, however, never fear." He glanced around. "What of the others?" His eyes narrowed. "What of the Bonechewers?"



That brought a snarl to Grom's lips. "I sent emissaries
to Hurkan Skullsplinter," he said curtly. "He sent back assorted limbs."

"They would be a great asset in battle," Kargath
mused, idly stroking his scythe, "The Bonechewers are a
powerful force on the field." Then he shook his head.
"They have grown even wilder since the portal fell,
however. They cannot be controlled, or trusted."
Ner’zhul nodded. "What of the Whiteclaw clan?" he asked Dentarg.

The ogre frowned. "Dead, most of them," he replied.
"Mostly wiped out by other clans before the truth about
Gul'dan and his warlocks came to light. Even after
Durotan's exile and death, the Whiteclaws never hid
their sympathy for the Frostwolves, and it made them a
target. Those who survived are scattered." He shook his head. "In truth, it is a clan no more."

Ner’zhul felt a shiver of guilt at the mention of
Durotan. He had warned the now-dead leader of the
Frostwolves once, seeking to undo some of the damage
he had done, but in the end, it had been no use.
Gul'dan's Shadow Council had found Durotan, and slain one of the noblest orcs Ner’zhul had ever known.

But regret and self-pity would not serve. He focused again on Dentarg's words, and let himself grow angry.

"The Whiteclaw clan was one of our oldest and
proudest! Now they are little more than clan less savages? Is this what our race has fallen to? No more! We
must rebuild the Horde and renew the bond between all
orcs! Only as a united race can we have any hope of survival, of honor, and of glory!"
Dentarg dropped to his knees. "You know I live to serve you, master," he said simply.

Grom gazed at the elderly orc, his brow knitting. "Tell
us this plan of yours, Ner’zhul," he stated, making sure
his words carried to the orcs beyond the clearing. "Tell us—and if it is sound, we shall follow you."

Kargath inclined his head. "I cast my word with Hellscream's," he said.
Ner’zhul regarded the three of them solemnly for a
moment, then nodded. "We will wait until the Lightning's Blade and Bladewind clans arrive," Ner’zhul said.

"Then we will go to the others again, the Thunderlord
and the Laughing Skull and the Redwalker and even the Bonechewer clans. Our people must be united."
"What if they refuse still?" Kargath growled.




"Then we will persuade them," Ner’zhul replied, his
grim tone leaving no doubt as to his meaning. Kargath
roared his approval, raising his scythe high so it caught
the light. Ner’zhul turned to Grom. "And you, Grom," he
said softly. "While we wait for the other clans, I will tell you my plan, and set you to a task."
Grom's red eyes glittered. "Tell me what you would have me do, and why."

Ner’zhul smiled, the death mask on his face making it a rictus.
"There is something I need you to find."

第四章

　　“战歌的勇士们，干掉他们！”

　　格罗姆高举着他的血吼。在阳光的照耀下，血吼反射出刺眼的光亮。他向前一跃，用斧头挥舞出一道巨大的弧线。 血吼手柄附近的锋刃上镂空的几处小孔划过空气，发出尖利的呼啸之声，传遍了整个战场。在他的身后，他的战士们也 都在展现着他们高超的战斗技艺，各种各样的尖啸声，口哨声以及呐喊声形成了一曲真正的战歌，而这也正是他们氏族 名称的由来。有许多人甚至开始哼唱了起来，他们并不注重歌词，而更追求韵律的一致与高昂，那足以让人心跳暂停的 气势不仅能够鼓舞了他们的士气，还可以震慑住他们的敌人。

　　但是这一次，他们的敌人并没有被吓倒。这有一部分是因为他们当中的许多人不知道恐惧为何物。

　　第一个来到他攻击范围内的敌人口齿不清的怒吼着什么口号。血吼斩向了他的脖子，轻松而又平滑的切开了的他腱 ，血肉，乃至于骨骼。他的头掉了下来，嘴巴仍然维持着他刚才吼叫时的样子，他的嘴唇边流下的泡沫和血液混合在了 一起。尽管这兽人在他倒下之前还想要挥出他的那把战锤，但很显然那是无用功。那绿色的身躯倒了下来，血液飞溅到 格罗姆的脸上。对他来说，这只是一场温暖的血雨罢了。他狞笑着，伸出舌头舔了舔那些嘴唇上的敌人的血。现在那些 嚼骨兽人就又少了一个成员。

　　在他的周围，所有的战歌兽人们都在竭尽全力的屠杀嚼骨兽人。通常情况下，嚼骨兽人的强大的战意足以使任何的 敌人感到战栗和恐惧，但是格罗姆对此早有准备。

　　他警告过他的族人们，“他们就像野兽一般。他们很强壮，也很野蛮，并且他们不知道什么是疼痛。但是他们也没 有什么判断力，并且他们经常不懂得协调一致的重要性，甚至有时候完全不会考虑后果。他们只是出于本能的攻击敌人 。相比之下，你们要好上太多了。集中你们的注意力，看好你们的周边情况，跟兄弟们同心协力然后我们就可以像风吹 草地一般将他们一网打尽。”于是所有的战歌勇士们都开始欢呼。现在看样子他的族人都还能把他的话谨记在心，但是 他自己也不清楚他们何时会被自己血液中的嗜血与狂热所占据，让他们抛开一切理智和战略，如同现在的嚼骨兽人一般 只知道战斗。

　　在格罗姆的心中，他已经能够感觉到那种暖暖的爽快感。那种感觉让他心跳加速，浑身都充满了力量。当血吼又一 次把一个兽人从肩到臀直直切开的时候，格罗姆感觉他心中的那股快感和怒气几乎达到了满点。他已经几乎心智不再， 失去了所有的判断力。现在他只想要屈服于那股力量的驾驭，让自己沉醉在战斗的歌声中，在死亡，毁灭以及胜利的喜 悦当中迷失自己。

　　但是他不会。他不是别人，他是格罗姆•地狱咆哮，战歌氏族的酋长。他有着他的职责，而这一职责需要他有着平 静的心态去履行。

他眼前一花，注意到了前面的一些动静。前方有一个健壮的兽人将他的一个族人举起来，甩向前方聚集着的一群战 歌勇士们。然后，他抓住一个倒在地上的兽人，将他的一条胳膊扭断用来当作一把临时的，还在滴着血的“战锤”。这 就是格罗姆所寻找的人。战歌酋长想要拉近两人之间的距离，便开始砍向所有挡在路中间的嚼骨兽人，并且示意他的战 歌同胞们为他让开一条路。终于，他和那个兽人之间几乎可以面对面交谈了。

　　“哈尔坎！”他大叫道，挥舞着血吼来清出一片空地。血吼的破空之声响彻战场。“哈尔坎•裂颅者！”

“格罗姆！”嚼骨酋长回喊道，高举着他手中那仍在抽搐着的手臂。“看看吧，我手上就是你们的战歌兽人！不过嘛， 只有一部分就是了。”哈尔坎大笑道，口中唾沫星子飞溅着。

　　“哈尔坎，放弃吧！如果不投降的话我会杀光所有的嚼骨兽人的！”格罗姆要求道。

　　哈尔坎举起了他手中的断臂作为回应，而在他身边，许多嚼骨兽人都安静了下来，等待着看他们的首领有什么话要 说。他出乎意料的平静的说道，“莫非你真的以为我们怕死？”

　　“我知道你不怕。但是如果现在你有机会在艾泽拉斯大陆上尽情的屠杀人类的话，你又何必要浪费自己的青春，在 这里和我们自相残杀呢？”

　　裂颅者脑袋微侧，“艾泽拉斯？我说格罗姆啊，你难道不记得了么？黑暗之门已经被摧毁了啊。”他笑道，从那笑 容中可以看到他有着许多颗断牙。“哈，莫非是因为你一直没有机会踏足于艾泽拉斯，然后把你弄傻了？”

　　格罗姆的头仿佛被猛击了一般，他的眼前突然变得一片通红。他真恨不得自己能够将他的讥讽之意从他的脸上抹去 ，如果可能的话用血吼来抹的感觉会更好。但是他知道哈尔坎只是在刺激他而已。于是他便尽力压制住了自己那几将爆 发的满腔怒火。

　　他反驳道，“你还不是一样没机会。”格罗姆紧咬自己的牙齿，免得自己把那些话大声吼出来。“但是现在我们有 机会了。耐奥祖说他可以再次开启黑暗之门，而部落也能够回到那个世界，继续我们未竟的事业，征服艾泽拉斯。”

哈尔坎笑着，最开始还只是低沉的笑，而后来就转为了尖声大笑。“耐奥祖！那个该死的老萨满！是他把我们搞的 一团糟，然后他逃走躲了起来。现在他想让我们再一次听命于他？再一次？我们从中又能得到些什么？”

　　格罗姆回答道，“屠杀人类的机会——好多好多的人类，赢得荣耀的机会，以及征服那十分富饶的土地的机会。” 他指向周围。不像德拉诺的大部分区域，纳格兰还是一如既往的草木旺盛，也许这是因为那些好战的嚼骨兽人并没有因 为术士而遇到什么问题。尽管如此，格罗姆确信整个嚼骨氏族都和其他的兽人一样无时无刻不在期待着新的敌人。

　　“那么我们需要干什么？” 哈尔坎问道，他的手中仍然拿着那战歌兽人的断臂。格罗姆双眼略微眯了起来，他想 也许裂颅者终于从嗜血的控制中恢复了自己的理智。今天他已经失去了好几个很好的战士，而如果他能够拉拢裂颅者而 不危及其他的战歌族人的生命的话，那就太好了。他可不像眼见着自己的族人被撕成碎片而他自己却对此无能为力。

　　“两件事。首先，你和你的族人需要向耐奥祖许诺自己的忠心，听从他的指令，并且和其他的氏族们并肩作战，而 不是互相争斗。”

　　哈尔坎哼道，“如果你能给我们找到其他的敌人，我们就不会再管你们其他人。”他保证道。

　　“你们肯定会有足够的敌人的，到时候你们忙都忙不过来。”格罗姆向他保证道。他再一次捏紧了自己的战斧，因 为他并不认为哈尔坎会轻易接受这一要求。“耐奥祖需要一样东西。”然后他指了指。

　　哈尔坎向下看去，他看起来很是迷茫。但是当他意识到格罗姆所指的是那悬挂在他脖子上的骷髅时，他顿时皱起了 眉头。那是一颗兽人的头颅，由于长年累月暴露在空气中而变得很白，骨骼中间有着很深的圆凿。

　　嚼骨酋长说道，“不行。我不能把这个给他。”他把一只手放到了那缀饰上面，仿佛想要保护它。“这不是一般的 头颅，这可是古尔丹之颅。”

　　“你就真那么确定？”格罗姆回复道，希望能让对方心中也开始质疑。“我可是听说他死在了艾泽拉斯啊。”

　　哈尔坎回复道，“的确如此。”“据别人说，他在一座由他从海底升起的岛屿上，被恶魔撕了个粉碎。实际上，他 死于自己的骄傲自负和自己对力量的追求。”他大笑道。“但是至少与他同行的兽人术士当中有一个活了下来。他从那 座神庙当中逃了出来。在他逃跑的路上，他发现了古尔丹的遗体——只不过都被撕成了碎片罢了。”裂颅者耸耸肩，继 续道，“就算是死尸，那些残留物，尤其是他的头颅，仍具备着能量，或者至少这个术士这么以为。于是他就带着古尔 丹之颅回来了。”他大笑着，说道，“哈哈，最终古尔丹还是回到了德拉诺。

　　格罗姆问道，“那你是怎么得到它的？”

　　哈尔坎又一次耸了耸肩，说道，“有一个战士把它杀了然后把头颅据为己有。或者这之间还有别的战士干了同样的 事情，那并不重要。重要的是当我看到它的时候，我就知道它应该归我，而现在它就在我这里。”他笑着，说道，“还 有，我不会离开它。不为耐奥祖，也不为任何人。”

　　格罗姆点头道，“我能理解。”

　　他突然开始攻击，动作是那么的轻盈。在他向前一跃的同时，血吼已经切了过去。但是哈尔坎也是一个经验丰富的 战士，并且他现在很难得的思路异常清楚。他向旁边一侧，斧子的破空一击掠过了他的肩膀。他转了一下身，用那大得 惊人的拳头在格罗姆脸颊上打了一拳，让对方感到了一阵剧痛。哈尔坎拿起了他刚刚所杀死的一个兽人掉落的战锤，朝 着地狱咆哮挥舞过去。格罗姆闪到一旁，那把战锤和他的前胸只差分毫。格罗姆手握血吼再度出击，斧头砍伤了哈尔坎 右臂的上半部分，切开了他的臂肉。

　　格罗姆很清楚周边那些集结的兽人们的存在。他们都在焦急地等待着看谁才能赢得这场决斗。格罗姆知道自己不能 分心去想这场比武的结果，更不能去想自己会不会获得胜利，他所知道的只有专注于战斗。

　　哈尔坎是一个可敬的敌人。不论是他的壮硕还是他的敏捷，都和奥格瑞姆•毁灭之锤不相上下。他暗想，哈尔坎并 不是一个傻瓜，而是一个狡猾机智的战士，他甚至能够看穿对手下一步的动作。当裂颅者又挥出一锤并且紧紧跟进，而 后用双拳在格罗姆胸前狠命一击时，这一点得到了充分的证实。

　　但是现在的哈尔坎已不再清醒。格罗姆已经可以看到他的对手双眼上翻，唇边留着些许的白沫。嚼骨酋长的呼吸越 来越沉重，而他的攻击也更为有力，但也更不受控制。尽管格罗姆需要费很大的力，但是他还是可以很轻松的闪躲或格 档住对手那野蛮的攻势。格罗姆狞笑着，露出满口的牙齿，他感觉到自己内心的嗜血欲望再度升起，试图想要如同控制 哈尔坎一样控制住他。但是格罗姆不会允许这种情况发生。他才是自己的主人，不能任由嗜血驾驭自己。

　　现在就是终结一切的时机了。格罗姆躲闪过了哈尔坎的又一次攻击，深吸一口气，然后用自己的头使劲的撞向了对 方的脸上。

　　他把下巴张得异常的大，吼出一声震耳欲聋的怒号，相比之下哈尔坎的怒吼简直就有如男低音的陪衬一般。只见哈 尔坎捂住了他那已经开始流血的耳朵，跪倒在了地上。鲜血从他的鼻孔和眼睛中喷涌而出，而他张大的嘴巴也开始滴血 。格罗姆挥动着血吼，一道平滑的弧线就这么切掉了哈尔坎的脑袋，而他那传奇般的战斗怒吼也逐渐变成了胜利的笑声 。

　　哈尔坎的身躯，尤其是他的双臂，还在摆动着。那身躯突然停住了运动，好像在用别的感官来听什么东西一般，而 后直直的向前倒在了地上。他的身体倒在那里，轻轻的抽搐着。

　　格罗姆看着它，笑了笑，然后把他的身体踢翻。很幸运的是，他的战利品并没有受到任何的损失。他对着那头颅看 了很久，想到了古尔丹，又想到了耐奥祖，还想到了过去的这几年所发生的一切。然后他从自己的腰带上拉起了一个很 厚的布包，将它盖在了古尔丹之颅上，把那令人毛骨悚然的东西安全的收好。

　　在格罗姆离开之前，泰隆•血魔曾经警告过他不要和那头颅有任何直接的接触。尽管格罗姆不喜欢，也不信任这个 死亡骑士，但是他还是听从了他的警告。古尔丹生前已是如此的危险，因此格罗姆可以想象得到即便是他的遗物也会拥 有很强大的力量。

　　格罗姆站了起来，一手拿着血吼一手拿着布包。他看了看前方集结的兽人，大声问道，“现在谁来负责嚼骨兽人？ ”

　　有一个高大健硕的年轻兽人走了出来。他戴着一条由兽人背脊装饰成的腰带，以及一幅由食人魔背脊残余所凿出的 护腕，在他的肩膀上放着一把厚重的钉锤。他骄傲的说道，“我是塔伽•碎脊者，现在由我来带领嚼骨氏族。”在他看 向格罗姆之前，他注视着哈尔坎的尸体良久。

　　格罗姆指了指自己手上的包，问道，“我已经拿走了古尔丹之颅。塔伽•碎脊者，现在我问你：你是想要加入我们 呢，还是想要落得和哈尔坎一个下场？”

　　新任的酋长犹豫道，“格罗姆•地狱咆哮，在我回答你之前，我有一个问题要问你。你让我们追随耐奥祖，但是为 什么你要这么做？我记得你曾经说过这一切麻烦都是他一手造成的。”

　　格罗姆暗想道，看来这个野蛮人并没有他看起来那么傻，于是他决定告诉他答案。“的确，是由于他把控制权交给 了那个叛徒，并且任由古尔丹为所欲为而毫不干涉，才造成了如今的这些麻烦。”说着他指向了手中的头颅。“但是在 那之前，耐奥祖一直都是一个聪明人，并且他给氏族们提供了许多很好的建议，也是他首先建立了部落。”

　　他继续道，“正是由于他发誓一定会重新开启黑暗之门，我才选择了去跟随他。我本应当有机会涉足艾泽拉斯，杀 死那些人类，但是古尔丹阻止了我。而现在，我将会有这样的一个机会。”他大笑着，说道，“有人告诉耐奥祖古尔丹 之颅是重新开启黑暗之门的必备之物。从前拒绝了我的古尔丹，现在则成为了给予我这个机会的关键，那是多么的讽刺 啊。而这，就是为什么我选择了跟随耐奥祖。”

　　“现在，选择的权力在你的手上。重新加入部落，或者——”他再度高举血吼，在周围转了几转，发出刺耳的尖啸 ，仿佛是一曲不间断的鲜血与混乱的挽歌。“我们会把你们所有人都杀光，哪怕是那些还在襁褓当中的婴儿。现在，决 定吧。”他仰起了头，吼了一声，用那排山倒海的气势压倒了面前的酋长。在格罗姆身后，战歌的勇士们开始吟唱，与 此同时还在跺着脚或是挥舞着武器以加强声势，直到整片大地都在为之而晃动。

　　格罗姆舔了舔他的嘴唇，举起了手边的战斧，而后望着塔伽的眼睛，“你的选择是什么呢？”他吼道，“血吼想要 让战歌再一次鸣响。那么，它会品尝人类的鲜血，还是你们这些嚼骨兽人的呢？”

FOUR

"Warsong, attack!" Grom held Gorehowl high, letting the sunlight play along its blade.

Then he leaped forward, swinging the axe
in a great arc, the hollow space behind the haft shrieking
as the blade cut through the air. Behind him his warriors
waved and swirled and swung their own weapons,
creating the unsettling shrieks and whistles and whoops
for which the clan was named. Many began to sing as
well, chanting tunes that were less about the words than
about the rhythms, the pulse-pounding beats that fired
their blood and at the same time made their enemies quail.
Except that, this time, the enemy wasn't quailing— in part because many of them were too unaware to do so.

The first foe came within range, bellowing something
inarticulate. Gorehowl caught him in the neck, slicing
smoothly through flesh and bone and tendon. The head
flew off, mouth still open in a shriek, the foam at its lips
now joined with bloody spittle. The green body
collapsed, though it made a feeble attempt to swing its
hammer even as it fell. Blood spattered on Grom's face
like warm red rain. He grinned, his tongue snaking out to
lick it from his lips. One less Bonechewer to worry about.

All around him the Warsong warriors were carving
into the Bonechewer clan. Normally the Bonechewer
orcs were crazed enough to strike fear into any heart, but
Grom had prepared his warriors. "They are like wild
beasts," he had warned them. "They are savage and
strong and know no fear or pain. But they have no sense,
either, and they do not coordinate or even consider.

They simply attack on instinct. You are the better
fighters. Focus your minds, watch your flanks, work with
your brothers, and we will sweep through them like a
wind through the grass, laying waste to all before us." His
people had cheered, and so far it seemed they were
remembering his words. But he wondered how long they
could go before their own bloodlust took control,
pushing aside all rational thought and causing them to abandon strategy just as their Bonechewer cousins had.

He felt it himself, that sweet hot feeling that quickened
his pulse and made him thrum with energy. As
Gorehowl split a charging Bonechewer from shoulder to
hip, Grom felt the joy and rage swirling within him,
dulling his mind, charging his senses, threatening to
sweep him away on a tide of raw exultation. He wanted
to surrender himself, to give in to the song of combat, to
lose himself in the thrill of death and destruction and victory.

But he would not. He was Grom Hellscream, chieftain
of the Warsong. He had his duty. And he would require a clear head to fulfill it.
A flurry of activity caught his eye. A massive orc lifted
one of his warriors and hurled him bodily at a cluster of
Warsong, then grabbed one of the fallen and wrenched
an arm free to use as a gore-dripping club. This was the
one Grom sought. Swift as thought, he closed the
distance between them, cutting down any Bonechewer
in his way and shoving his own warriors aside as well. At
last he was facing the crazed orc with only a single bodylength between them.
"Hurkan!" he bellowed, swinging Gorehowl in front of
him both to clear a space and so its shrieking would cut
through the combat sounds all around them. "Hurkan Skullsplinter!"
"Grom!" the Bonechewer chieftain shouted back,
holding high the limb in his hands. It still spasmed slightly. "Look, I have one of your orcs! Part of him,
anyway!" Hurkan laughed uproariously, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Call off your warriors, Hurkan!" Grom demanded.
"Call them off or we will kill every last one of them!"
Hurkan raised the severed arm high in response, and
around him many of his warriors stilled to hear what
their leader had to say. "Do you think we fear death?"
Hurkan asked with surprising calm.

"I know you don't," Grom replied. "But why throw
your lives away here, fighting your own kind, when you
could instead spend them slaughtering humans on Azeroth?"

That made the Bonechewer chieftain tilt his head.
"Azeroth? The portal fell, Hellscream—or don't you remember?" He grinned, a nasty expression that revealed
his many broken teeth, "Not that you were ever allowed to set foot on that other world, of course."

Grom's head pounded and his vision turned red for a
moment. He desperately wanted to wipe that sneer off
Hurkan's face, preferably with Gorehowl's blade. But he
knew his fellow chieftain was deliberately goading him,
and used that knowledge to help resist the fury that so wanted to boil to the surface.

"You weren't either," he retorted, though he had to
grit his teeth not to shout the words or simply spit them.
"But now we will get our chance. Ner’zhul says he can
open the portal again. The Horde will return to that world and conquer it at last."

Hurkan laughed, a rough sound that started low and
rose to a shrill cackle. "Ner’zhul! That withered old
shaman! He gets us into this mess, then runs off and
hides—and now he wants us to dance at his command,
all over again? What do we gain from it all?"

"The chance to kill humans—many of them," Grom
answered. "The chance to win glory and honor. The
chance to claim new lands, lands still rich and fertile." He
gestured around them. Nagrand was still lush and green,
unlike most of Draenor, perhaps because the battle-crazed Bonechewer clan had not bothered much with
warlocks. Even so, Grom knew the Bonechewer clan was
as desperate for new foes to conquer as any orcs would be.

"What would we have to do?" Hurkan asked. He was
still holding the severed arm of one of Grom's warriors.
Grom narrowed his eyes. Perhaps this was a break of
sanity in the storm of madness that whirled around the
Bonechewer leader. He had lost a few good warriors
today, and if he could bring Hurkan in line without
losing more he would be well pleased. He would see no
more of his people ripped to pieces if he could help it.
"Two things. First, pledge yourself and your clan to
Ner’zhul," Grom replied. "Follow his orders, and fight alongside the other clans rather than against them."

Hurkan grunted, "Give us something else to fight and
we'll leave the rest of you alone," he promised.
"You'll have more than enough foes to keep you
busy," Grom assured him. He shifted his grip on his axe;
he didn't think the next request would be so willingly granted. "There is one other thing, Ner’zhul wants that."

And he pointed.
Hurkan looked down, puzzled, but his expression
changed to a frown when he realized Grom was indicating the skull hanging around his neck. An orc skull,
bleached from years of exposure. Deep gouges were visible in the bone.

The Bonechewer chieftain scowled. "No. He cannot
have this." He rested one hand protectively over the ornament. "It is not just any skull. It is Gul'dan's skull!"



"Are you so certain?" Grom replied, hoping to plant the seed of doubt. "I was told he died on Azeroth."

"He did." Hurkan said. "Torn apart by demons, they
say, on an island he raised from the sea itself. Killed by
his own power and pride." He guffawed. "But at least
one of the warlocks with him survived. He escaped the
temple they had found there. On his way out, he found
Gul'dan's remains—ripped to shreds, he said." The
Bonechewer leader shrugged. "Even dead they had
power, or so the warlock thought. Especially the head.
So he took it with him." He laughed. "Looks like Gul'dan got to return to Draenor after all!"

"How did you get it?" Grom asked.
Again Hurkan shrugged. "A warrior killed the warlock
and took it from him. I killed the warrior and claimed it
myself. Or perhaps there were others in between. No
matter. Once I saw it and learned whose skull it was, I
knew it must be mine. And it is." He grinned again. "And I will not part with it. Not for Ner’zhul, not for anyone."
Grom nodded. "I understand."

His attack was sudden and swift, Gorehowl already
slicing the air as he leaped forward. But Hurkan was an
experienced warrior and for once he was thinking
clearly—he dove to the side, the axe shrieking past his
shoulder, and then spun, his massive fist catching Grom
across the check. The blow sent a jolt of pain through
him, but Grom ignored it. Hurkan grabbed a warclub
dropped by one of the warriors he'd killed and swung it
toward Grom. Grom danced aside, the club narrowly
missing his chest, and lashed out again. Gorehowl caught Hurkan across the upper right arm, carving open the flesh.
Grom was vaguely aware of the gathered orcs
watching, waiting to see who won. He knew more than
just his own life hung upon the outcome of this battle,
but he could spare no more than a passing thought for such a thing if he were to be the victor.

Hurkan was proving to be a worthy foe. The big
Bonechewer chieftain was as large as Orgrim
Doomhammer had been and almost as fast. And when he
was thinking, Hurkan was no fool but a wily old warrior,
one who could read an opponent and anticipate his
moves. He proved that as he ducked another swing and
came up beneath it, slamming both hands into Grom's chest and sending him stumbling back several paces.

But the moment of clarity had passed. Already Grom
could see his foe's eyes beginning to roll back, and foam
flecking his lips. Hurkan's breathing was becoming
labored, his strikes more powerful but also less
controlled. Grom easily ducked or blocked the wild
swings, although his arms strained with the effort. Grom
bared his teeth in a savage grin, feeling the blood-lust rise
within him. It wanted to control him, as it controlled
Hurkan. But Grom would not let it. He was the master,
not it. It was time to end this. He ducked beneath
Hurkan's latest swing, filled his lungs, and thrust his head forward into the Bonechewer's face.

His black-tattooed jaw opened almost impossibly wide and a violent, gut-wrenching scream pierced the air.

Hurkan's own scream was a bass counterpoint as he
clapped huge hands to his bleeding ears and dropped to
his knees in agony. Blood spurted from his nose and eyes
and dripped from his open mouth. Grom's legendary war
cry mutated into a laugh of triumph as he swung
Gorehowl in a smooth arc, separating Hurkan's head from his massive shoulders.

The body continued to move, its arms flailing for a
moment. For a second it paused, as if listening with some
other senses, then pitched forward to the ground. It lay there, twitching slightly.




Grom stared at it, grinning, then kicked the body over.
Fortunately, the prize he had come for was undamaged.

He looked at the skull for a long moment, remembering
Gul'dan, remembering Ner’zhul. Remembering all that
had happened over the last few years. Then he pulled a
thick cloth bag from his belt and dropped it over
Gul'dan's skull, scooping the grisly item up safely. Teron
Gorefiend had spoken with Grom before he left, and the
death knight had warned Grom not to touch the skull
directly. While Grom disliked and distrusted the death
knight, an unnatural thing somehow returned from
death’s and wearing a human corpse for flesh, he did
heed the warning. Gul'dan had been dangerous enough
in life that Grom could easily imagine the warlock's remains still having power in death.

Straightening with Gorehowl in one hand and the bag in the other, Grom looked out over the assembled orcs.

"Who now speaks for the Bonechewer clan?" he demanded loudly.

A tall, powerfully built young orc pushed his way
forward. He wore a belt fashioned from orc spines and
bracers carved from the spine segments of an ogre. A
heavy spiked club rested across one shoulder. "I am
Tagar Spinebreaker," he announced proudly, though his
eyes shifted uneasily to Hurkan's body before returning to Grom. "I lead the Bonechewers now."
Grom gestured with the bag. "I have taken the skull.
Now I will ask you, Tagar Spinebreaker: Will you join with us, or will you join Hurkan?"
The new Bonechewer chieftain hesitated. "Before I
answer, I have a question for you, Grom Hellscream. You
ask us to follow Ner’zhul. Why have you chosen to do so? You once said he created all our troubles!"

So, the brute wasn't as stupid as he looked. Grom
decided he deserved an answer. "He did create all our
troubles," Grom replied, "by handing control to this
traitor"—he gestured with the bag—"and letting Gul'dan
do whatever he chose without obstruction. But before
that Ner’zhul was wise, and advised the clans well. And
he first forged the Horde, which is a great thing. I follow
him now because he has sworn to reopen the Dark
Portal. I should have been there before, slaughtering
humans on Azeroth, but Gul'dan prevented it. Now I will
have my chance." He laughed. "Ner’zhul has told me that
Gul'dan's skull is a necessary ingredient in the rite to
open the portal. Sweet it is to me that Gul'dan, who
denied me before, will now be the key to my opportunity. That, Bonechewer, is why I follow Ner’zhul. "

"Now—the choice is yours. Rejoin the Horde. Or"
—he raised Gorehowl again, and spun it so it sang, an
undulating dirge of blood and chaos—
"we slaughter you all, down to the last suckling babe.
Right now." He tilted his head back and roared, the
pounding overtaking him. Behind him, his warriors
started to chant, stomping their feet and swinging their
weapons to add to the rhythm, until the very plain shook with the sound.

Grom licked his tips and raised his axe, then met
Tagar's wide eyes. "Which will it be?" he growled.
"Gorehowl longs to shriek again. Shall it taste human flesh... or Bonechewer?"

第五章

　　“啥？”图拉扬,联盟军队的总指挥官，同时也是白银之手骑士团的一员，很迷惘的望着他面前坐着的那个矮小的人。

　　“鼠灾！”面前的侏儒叫道。

　　图拉扬慢慢的说道，“刚才你告诉我，你们的整个矿道地铁建设工作受到了野生动物的威胁的时候，我还以为是因 为你们挖掘到了地下湖，或者是有其他别的生物……”图拉扬把声音放低，“你刚才说的真的是‘老鼠’？”

　　“真的！”修补匠格尔宾•麦卡托克哆嗦了一下。他被指派来负责建设一套能够连接暴风城和铁炉堡的交通系统。

　　“那些祸害，真是有够恶心的！我们甚至还找到一些老鼠，足有这～么～大～”麦卡托克将他的双手展开至大约六 英寸宽。的确，对于侏儒们如此小的身材来说，那么大的老鼠是很成问题。但是，修补匠把联盟的最高指挥官叫来说是 有紧急情况要与他商讨，为的就是讨论老鼠的问题？

　　图拉扬始终还是不知道对于此事应当如何回应。那些侏儒们一向和矮人们关系良好，而麦卡托克就是得到了矮人国 王麦格尼•铜须的许可之后而在几年之前来到了暴风城。在图拉扬的心中，侏儒们都非常的充满好奇心，就好像麦卡托 克一样。他说话特别快，并且所用的那些专业术语都是图拉扬十分不熟悉的。修补匠站起来的时候高度甚至还不及图拉 扬的臀部，而他现在坐在那把大椅子上，显得自己是那么的瘦小，他的双眼则与面前的桌子处在同一高度。

　　而后，麦卡托克非常生气地吐了一口气，爬到了桌子上面，指着面前的蓝图。

　　“他们在那些样板里面肆意滋生，还到处乱咬那些配线，还有这里，这里，和这里。” 麦卡托克用他那小巧的手 指在蓝图上面点来点去。“我们没法把那些配线取出来，也不能修复它们并且保证我们不再失去哪怕一个工程师。我们 上一次送去的技师队伍……我不得不说，他们真的好惨。”他用那双大眼睛表达着事态的严峻，图拉扬则点了点头。

　　在第二次兽人战争结束之后，有人提出要建立一条地铁线路贯穿铁炉堡和暴风城之间，图拉扬认为能想出这个主意 的人真是个人才。尽管重建暴风城的工作一直都在进行着，但是进展十分缓慢。从铁炉堡到暴风城的路途漫长，并且当 中危机四伏。铜须国王就曾经为送给暴风王国的补给品没能及时到达而大发雷霆过。当时图拉扬对此感到很是无能为力 ，而现在每当麦卡托克前来向他汇报事情的进展或是出现的问题时，他还是会有同样的感觉。他是一个圣骑士，一个天 生的战士，后天训练而成的牧师。他对于那些简单的设计工作都知之甚少，更何况是如此复杂的地铁建设。而麦卡托克 说话又是这么的快，这就更让他感到为难了。

　　图拉扬曾经发现，即便那些侏儒们有些怪异，但是他们还是非常的聪明。他想起了两人之间的第一次对话。当时图 拉扬非常地相信他所提出的所谓的地铁会如他所说的一样有用。

　　图拉扬问，“它能有多安全？”

　　“呃……好吧，要知道，这可是科技的尖端，因此我们对它的安全性不能完全保证。”麦卡托克说道，摸着他的络 腮胡。“但是我敢跟你打赌，我们会完善它，使它的安全性最终将能够和我们最安全的发明相媲美。”

　　从他说话的口音中，图拉扬认为它并不会像麦卡托克所说的那么安全。不过，图拉扬毕竟不是一个建筑师，也不是 一个工程师。不管怎么说，事情的进展都还算顺利。

　　直到这一次的鼠灾。

　　尽管图拉扬并不明白为什么麦格尼•铜须并没有出面解决这个问题，但是他还是尽量以一种外交官的语气说道，“ 我明白，相比之下，那些老鼠们对于侏儒们要比对于我们人类看起来要更具有威胁性，而且我们也不能任由那些老鼠们 在那里肆虐。这样吧，我会派一些我的人和你一同回到铁炉堡。他们会，嗯……解决这些老鼠，并且帮你们进行修理工 作。”

　　麦卡托克的反应十分激动，好像图拉扬就是他的冬天爷爷一样。“谢谢你，谢谢你！这可真是太好了！马上我们就 可以恢复正常工作，然后去专心对付地下水的问题了。”侏儒从他的椅子上滑了下来，用他的一双小手抓住图拉扬的右 手，使劲地晃了晃。

　　“去跟阿拉米尔说吧，他会帮你安排的。”图拉扬说。阿拉米尔曾经是暴风要塞的守卫，而现在他则是图拉扬的助 手，帮他打理一切非军事事宜。



　　图拉扬看着他离开，然后继续开始处理信件。那么多的信件，都是各式各样的人对他有所请求。他用手将自己的金 色短发捋了捋，叹了口气。现在的他需要出去走一走散散心。

　　他走了出去，呼吸着那干净而又清晰的空气，尽管云层看起来很低。他走向河道，看了看他在水中的倒影。直到两 年之前，图拉扬才第一次和他的士兵们踏入暴风城，因此他并不知道暴风城曾经的辉煌和它被摧毁之后有着多么大的落 差。当时的景象甚是让人惊骇。那些著名的河道中都被石块，木材，泥土，甚至是人类的尸体堵塞住了。后来，那些死 者都被郑重地安葬，那些碎石也被清理一空，河道又得以再一次自由的流动，将城市的各个区域连接起来。图拉扬抬头 看了看那些白墙红顶，白色的石块由于昏暗的光线而发灰。矮人区居住着许多刻苦耐劳的铜须矮人。他们和麦卡托克一 起被派来这里，居住在大教堂旁边的区域。

　　空气中雷声响动。

　　图拉扬走向了大教堂，凝神望着眼前那壮丽的建筑。光明大教堂是暴风城中最先建立起来的建筑之一。在那次战争 中，兽人对它造成了极大的损坏，但是即便如此它仍为人们提供了庇护。兽人们并不知道在教堂下有着许多巨大的地下 室以及地下墓穴，而许多人就隐匿于此，躲过了兽人的杀戮与破坏。在暴风城最初的重建工作当中，它也是少数几个能 为难民提供休息处的建筑之一。直到现在，当人们生病或是受伤，抑或只是想要受到圣光的洗礼的时候，他们都会选择 前来此地。

　　就像现在的图拉扬一样。

　　“啊呀！”他向前绊了一脚，因为沉浸在自己的心绪中而没有注意到前面的两个孩子，直到他俩和图拉扬撞了个满 怀。

　　那男孩叫道，“先生，对不起！”旁边的小女孩则用她那双棕色的眼睛生气的看着那小男孩。图拉扬笑着，拍了拍 女孩的头发，而后转向小男孩。

　　“孩子，我看你筋骨奇佳，有朝一日一定能成为一个杰出的士兵。”他说道。

　　“啊，是啊，先生，我也希望如此。先生，等我长大到能够杀那些兽人的时候，您认为他们会不会都死了呢？”

　　图拉扬的笑容微微颤抖。他不想正面回答这个孩子的问题，于是说道，“我相信你一定可以报效联盟的。”

　　复仇。

　　正是因为心中的怒火和仇恨的驱使，图拉扬永远的失去了一些他所爱的人。他并不想让一个这么小的孩子过早的受 到种族间仇恨的影响。

　　图拉扬把手放在女孩的头上，轻轻吟唱着祝福，他的手边散发着明亮的光芒。在那一刻，小女孩被圣光之力完全笼 罩着。图拉扬抬起了他另外一只手，也祝福了旁边的男孩。两个孩子用一种充满崇敬的眼光看着他。

　　“愿圣光保佑你们。现在，你们俩最好赶快回家。马上要下雨了。”

　　小男孩点了点头，拉着他妹妹的手，说道，“谢谢你，圣骑士哥哥！”他俩朝着家跑去，他们的家就在不远处。图 拉扬意识到这两个小孩就住在大教堂旁边的那幢建筑里。孤儿院。

　　如此多的孤儿，如此多的家破人亡。

　　雷声又一次响起，而雨点也开始倾泻。图拉扬轻叹一声，用身后的斗篷将自己裹紧，然后从大教堂门前的楼梯处跑 了上去。尽管距离并不遥远，图拉扬还是被淋了一身。从建筑当中传来的薰香之气以及人们的浅吟低唱颂念赞歌的声音 传来，让图拉扬感到精神为之一振。他已经逐渐习惯于发号施令，在兽人以及自己的鲜血中浴血而战。现在对他来说， 回到教堂并回忆自己曾经那段担任牧师的时光实属难得。

　　他看着他的同胞们，其他的白银之手骑士团成员们在这里履行职务，而后笑了笑。大主教阿隆苏斯•法奥在三年之 前成立了这一组织，并且命令圣骑士们为社会服务，帮助那些饱受战争影响的人们。在他四处看去的时候，图拉扬碰巧 看到了他的老友乌瑟尔。乌瑟尔曾称自己为“光明使者”。通常当图拉扬看到身形魁梧的乌瑟尔的时候，后者都是身着 重甲，挥舞着他的武器并用圣光之力攻击着敌人，他那双海蓝色的双眼绽放着激情。但是现在，乌瑟尔则只穿着简单的 长袍，护理着一位看起来精疲力竭的妇女。他用一条湿布轻轻地擦着她的前额，另一只手则抱着什么东西。

　　当图拉扬走近的时候，他才看到乌瑟尔抱着的是一个小婴儿。婴儿那健康而又充满活力的哭声对于图拉扬来说，就 是一曲美妙的希望之歌。乌瑟尔把手放在那妇女身上，祝福了她和她的孩子，就好像刚才图拉扬对两个小孩所做的一样 。图拉扬意识到，尽管乌瑟尔对于在战场上借着圣光之力杀敌十分的熟门熟路，但是他对于在教堂中接生的工作也很能 担当。这就是圣骑士的两面性：他们既是战士，同时也是治疗者。

　　乌瑟尔笑了笑，站起来欢迎他的老朋友，用他那深沉而又沙哑的声音说道，“图拉扬，很高兴见到你。也该是你找 到来这里的时候了。”他调皮的拍了拍图拉扬。

　　图拉扬笑道，“你说对了，能回到这里真好。那些需要处理的事情越堆越多，但是我却没法把它们全部解决。比如 说鼠灾。”

　　“呃？”

　　“等会儿我再跟你说。现在嘛，我能够帮上你什么呢？”他想，这才是目前更为重要的，而不是躲在暴风要塞里面 处理那些琐事。

　　乌瑟尔看向乌瑟尔的身后，双眼微闭，说道，“看来你在这里也有一些事情需要处理。”

　　“哦？”图拉扬随意的问道，转过身去。

　　对他来说，这简直就如同见鬼一般。她在他面前站着，脸庞、头发以及衣服都被雨打湿，翠绿色的眼睛直直的望着 他。她那浑身湿透的模样，就和两年前的那一晚上，她找到他的那个晚上一样……

　　艾蕾莉亚•风行者的眼睛眯了起来，仿佛她也回忆起了那个晚上，并且感觉到这一回忆并不是那么的快乐。图拉扬 感到浑身冰冷刺骨，而那种感觉和他的湿衣服并没有关系。

　　她生硬的鞠了一躬，先是朝乌瑟尔，而后是他。“光明使者，将军。”

　　图拉扬明白了她的意图，也模仿了起来。“游侠。”他为他那沉着的口气儿感到了一丝惊异，因为刚才他还以为自 己的声音会因为感情的迸发而变得沙哑。

　　她说道，“最坏的消息。”她的眼神闪向图拉扬，而后又看着乌瑟尔。“再没有更糟的了。”

　　图拉扬感到他的脸部肌肉在抽搐，于是紧咬住自己的牙齿。“请说吧。”

　　精灵轻蔑的看了看周围，说道，“不知道我是不是来对了地方寻求帮助。我并没有想到将军，骑士，以及其他的战 士们还会在教堂里照顾小孩子。”

　　图拉扬接受了她话语中的气愤，因为只有那样才能够平息此时此刻他心中的苦恼。“艾蕾莉亚，不论有什么地方需 要我们，我们都会前来帮助的。我们所有人都是这样。我知道你大老远的跑到这里不是为了来侮辱我们的。说吧。”

　　艾蕾莉亚轻叹道，“不久之前，我见到了卡德加和几个联盟的领导者们，这其中也包括了你的国王。似乎在黑暗之 门的遗迹处尚留有一个位面裂痕。卡德加相信在不久之后，一些兽人——甚至有可能是又一个部落——将从那里回到艾 泽拉斯，于是他马上派我骑着狮鹫来通告你。”

　　现在两人的注意力都在她身上，静默的听着她把刚才所说的话又重复了一遍。在安度因•洛萨死了之后，图拉扬不 止一次的希望艾泽拉斯雄狮能够与他同在，包括他面对一个困难的抉择时，当战争临近时，抑或只是图拉扬想要找到一 个能够与他交谈的人的时候。在以前，洛萨总是能够针对事态发展，平静而又果断的迅速有所响应，然后其他人就会去 跟随着他的行动。后来，那些经历过多次战争的老兵们开始称呼自己为洛萨之子，而洛萨的上尉图拉扬发现自己并不习 惯那个说法，他感觉自己并不像是洛萨的儿子，尽管图拉扬愿意为洛萨未竟的事业而奋斗一生。当艾蕾莉亚说完了那些 话，然后很期待的望着他的时候，图拉扬仍然沉浸在自己的思绪之中。

　　“嗯？”她问道。

　　“蛮锤矮人们对此有何反应？库德兰是怎么想的？”

　　“我不晓得他知不知道这件事。”艾蕾莉亚承认道，金发的游侠感到了一丝困窘。

　　“什么？这么说你骑着他们的狮鹫飞了这么远的路来通知我，但却没有人去告诉蛮锤首领发生了什么？”

　　她又一次耸耸肩，而图拉扬则把已到了嘴边的咒骂硬生生的收了回去。在第二次兽人战争期间，联盟势力，包括人 类、精灵以及矮人们——包括铜须矮人以及他们的表亲蛮锤矮人们——并肩作战，携手抗敌。但是在这过去的几年当中 ，人类领主们好像对于他们的同盟们或多或少的有些疏远。虽然精灵们仍然协助人类抵御了守望堡，但是那更多则是出 于他们对于魔法的渴望，而不是想要帮助人类的心愿。在洛丹伦，铜须矮人们派遣了穆拉丁•铜须作为他们的使节，以 便保证能与泰瑞纳斯国王有着良好的双边关系。在暴风城当中，总是能给人们带来欢乐的麦卡托克和他的助手们也在协 助着暴风王国的重建。当图拉扬想到，麦卡托克和他的工程师们在为那些他们所并不认识的人们带来便捷，而他却为了 开销的巨大而觉得好笑的时候，他感到了一丝羞愧。

　　但是，尽管那些蛮锤矮人们是那么的忠诚而又骁勇善战，许多人类仍然认为这些狮鹫骑士们比那些野蛮人也好不到 哪去。

　　“你现在是想等着那些矮人们来告诉你怎么做呢？还是等着洛萨的鬼魂显灵呢？”

　　图拉扬眉头深皱。艾蕾莉亚双颊变得绯红，低下了头，因为她发现刚才自己说的实在有些过分。

　　图拉扬用一种坚信不疑的语气轻声说道，“蛮锤矮人永远都是我们的同盟，他们和其他人一样都是联盟的一员。我 希望他们能够尽快知道这一消息。”

　　艾蕾莉亚说道，“我们必须马上行动。那只狮鹫会载着你飞往洛丹伦，而我会自己前去。”

　　她并不想要与我一同骑着狮鹫过去。

　　图拉扬并没有马上回答。他看了看乌瑟尔，后者看起来有些生气。两人眼神相聚了一会儿，而后光明使者点了点头 ，继续照顾起了那年轻的母亲和她的孩子。

　　艾蕾莉亚说道，“你会带上白银之手的成员的，是吧？”她的口气是那么的敷衍，就好像她早已知道了答案一样。 但是图拉扬摇了摇头。艾蕾莉亚张大了嘴巴，问道，“什么？为什么不？”

　　“大主教希望他们呆在这里，或是洛丹伦，去帮助那些需要帮助的人们。”

　　“可是你问都没有问过他！”

　　“我不用问也知道他会怎么回答。别担心，如果情况真的十分紧急的话，他们会来的。但是他们同样也可以在其他 方面起作用。来吧，咱们两个应该谈一谈。”

　　“我们应当……”

　　“五分钟的时间并不能改变什么。”她眉头收紧。图拉扬可以看得出她在颤抖。一滴雨水从她湿漉漉的头发上滑了 下来，流过她的面庞，看上去就好像一滴眼泪。那时，图拉扬是那么的想把她紧紧抱住。这种寒冷，这种痛苦让她的话 语变得刻薄，她那可爱的面颊也因为仇恨而变得难看。他知道这是什么感觉，他也知道为什么她会如同这样子。

　　这种感觉就好像有一把刀刺在了他的心上。

　　他平静地说道，“我给你写了那么多封信，但是你却从来没有回过。”

　　她耸耸肩，用她的湿斗篷裹住了她娇小的身躯，尽管她现在更需要一件干一点的衣服。她说道，“我一直都在四处 巡逻。我所接到的最近的任务是在奥特兰克山脉之间巡逻。传闻说有一些兽人躲藏在那里的山峰中。”她无情的笑了笑 ，继续道，“我们找到了十个兽人。”

　　图拉扬并不需要问她和她的游侠们对那些兽人干了什么。他甚至在想她是不是还在收集着一些屠杀兽人的战利品。 他曾经见过她蹲伏在一个兽人的尸体的旁边冷笑，他也曾经为她在屠杀兽人中所获得的快感而感到震惊。

　　图拉扬镇定地说道，“艾蕾莉亚，我一直在给你写信但是你却从不回复。我知道你并不欠我什么，但是万一……你 出了些什么事，以后你就无法再和我一同工作了。我是你的指挥官，我……和联盟都不想看到你在战场上不听从命令。 ”他一直等到艾蕾莉亚抬头看着他。“对此你有问题么？”

　　“我并没有什么问题。”金发精灵尖刻的回答道，“要不是我和我的分队在奥特兰克搜寻那些兽人变节者的话，卡 德加也没法找到我。要不是他的信使说这事和兽人有关，我也不会同意和他在守望堡相见，我也不会同意听从他的请求 前来找你。而且，我们越快到达洛丹伦，我就能越早再回去消灭那些绿皮怪物，净化这片不洁的大地。”她的声音充满 了仇恨，她的眼睛中饱含着怒火。周围的一些人转而望向了他们这里。“我要见证他们的死亡，每一个兽人！哪怕这要 花上我一百年的时间！”

　　图拉扬感到不寒而栗，尽量把声音放低的说道，“艾蕾莉亚，这可是种族的灭绝。”

　　她脸上的笑容看起来是冷酷无情。“只有当被杀的是人的时候，你才能这么说。而我这样子做，只不过是在根除那 些讨厌鬼罢了。”他惊异的发现她对于自己的言词是那么的坚定不移。在她的心中，她并没有把兽人们当作那些有感知 的生灵，而只不过是一些可憎的怪兽，甚至是……鼠辈。

　　图拉扬知道他也杀过不少的兽人，而当时的他也是出于自己内心的那股愤怒，那股对那些兽人们所犯下的暴行而产 生的仇恨。但是……艾蕾莉亚并不想要维护正义，她并不想让那些兽人们为他们的所作所为而付出代价，她只想去伤害 他们。如果可能的话，她会不惜一切代价来根除整个兽人的种族。

　　他走上前去，伸出一只手想要抓住她，“我知道，你失去了那么多……”

　　艾蕾莉亚把图拉扬的手推开，“哈！一个人类跟我来谈论失去？你对它又能了解多少？人类的生命是那么的短暂， 你又如何知道什么才是真正的爱一个人！”

　　图拉扬感到他的脸上血色全无。有那么一瞬间，他甚至都不知道该作何反应。她望着他，呼吸的很快，看他是否还 会再继续下去。

　　他说道，“你能够活得久一点，没错。但那并不代表你就能比人类了解更多，相信我。”他尽量去挤出了一个笑容 ，但那却使得艾蕾莉亚的表情显得更加冷酷。

　　“这么说来，你要比我好，就是因为你只能活这么久？”她质疑着对方，打了一个响指。“或者说是因为你那亲爱 的圣光？”

　　“艾蕾莉亚，你知道，我也想要让正义得到伸张。但是你这并不是所谓的正义，你只是单纯的想要复仇罢了，看看 这种仇恨让你变成了什么样子。而且，圣光并不归属于我，它属于所有人。它有着治愈之力，它可以……”

　　“你竟然敢对我说教？”她警告着图拉扬，声音显得那么的无情。“你的所谓的圣光并没有阻止住那些兽人打开黑 暗之门来到了我们的世界，不是么？你的圣光也并没有能够让我惨遭蹂躏的家园复原，或者是让我的……”

　　她紧闭双唇。良久，图拉扬凝望着他，而后深深地叹了一口气。

　　他很正式的说道，“游侠，听我的命令。现在，你会和我一半的部队，以及我一同留在暴风城。把你的游侠部队也 召集过来。暴风城才刚刚站稳了脚跟，我不能让它变得毫无防备。”

　　艾蕾莉亚下巴收紧，问道，“这么说我们会呆在这里等待战争的到来，就像懦夫一样，阁下？！”

　　图拉扬没有理会她的讽刺，继续道，“我会请求援军前来。当他们来到这里的时候，我们就会离开。但是在那之前 ，我们要留在这里。”

　　她点了点头，说道，“我明白了，如果一座城是你自己的，你就会不惜一切代价来保护它。阁下，我现在能否离开 去召集我的游侠们呢？”

　　艾蕾莉亚故意要这么说来激怒图拉扬，而她做到了这一点。但是现在图拉扬更关心的是到底在艾蕾莉亚身上发生了 什么，以至于她会这么跟他说话。或者更准确地说，是她为什么要对自己这样做。她真的变了很多很多。图拉扬回忆到 了他们第一次相遇的情形。初见之下，艾蕾莉亚的优雅和美丽就征服了他，而后，他又为她那精湛的技艺而感到震惊， 以至于说话的时候都显得有些口吃。她带着一丝的自满，十分的享受这种感觉。

　　在两人逐渐了解了之后，图拉扬不再对她抱有那种敬畏之心，虽然这种想法在他心中从未完全消退过。而艾蕾莉亚 也开始逐渐对图拉扬尊重起来。她开始喜欢他，开始想要和他在战场上并肩作战，甚至，图拉扬曾深深相信过，想要和 他变得更加亲密无间。

　　但是现在她变了。现在，图拉扬唯一能做的就是为这些改变而感到难过和担忧。他不知道艾蕾莉亚对兽人的仇恨会 不会影响到她的判断力。以圣光之名，万一她因为自己的鲁莽而死在战场上……

　　图拉扬把思绪拉回，发现自己在下意识的望着艾蕾莉亚，并点了点头。他不知道如果此刻的自己开口的话他会说些 什么，艾蕾莉亚仅仅是为了表示尊重的把头偏了偏，而后走了出去。

　　图拉扬看着她离开，思考着自己所做的决定是否正确。如果是洛萨的话，他会怎么做呢？如果是他，他会在这里等 待援军的到来，还是冲向战场奋勇杀敌呢？他是在浪费时间，还是作出了一个聪明的决定呢？现在，仅仅派遣他的副官 达纳斯•托尔贝恩以及他一半的士兵们前往守望堡到底够不够呢？

　　他摇了摇头，强迫自己不再去想这些。现在并不是胡思乱想的时间，并且他有一种感觉，他刚才所做的是一个正确 的决定。现在他需要派遣一些使者，一个去找蛮锤矮人，一个去洛丹伦，好让那里的人们知道现在的局势。

　　他浅浅一笑，但却又显得有些悲哀。还有一个人。他要派人去找麦卡托克，告诉他一件很遗憾的事：那些原本要送 去作为矿道地铁灭鼠员的士兵们，最终还是没法去帮他了。

　　艾蕾莉亚并没有如她所说的回到暴风要塞。当她走出了光明大教堂之后，她就开始狂奔，穿过暴风城的街道，跑向 了那高大的城门。她的步伐是那么的迅捷而又悄无声息。路上的一些行人傻傻的看着她，不知道为什么她在这种雨天要 跑得这么快。她并没有理会那些行人的目光，而是径直穿过了城门跑向了前方的广阔森林。她一直跑，直到她看到了一 条小溪才停了下来。在那粗壮的树枝下，艾蕾莉亚一屁股坐在了那早已被雨打湿的土地上。

　　她感到很冷，身上的衣服也早已被雨浸湿，但她却并没有理会那种不适。

　　事情要比她所害怕的更为糟糕。

　　一个普普通通的人类竟然敢这样子不经思考就对她长篇大论？在她面前，图拉扬只不过是一个没有礼貌而又喧闹的 小孩罢了。尽管她是这么想的，但她还是知道那都是错的。

　　虽然和她比起来，图拉扬的确是小的可怜。但是在人类当中，他毕竟还是一个男人，一个和善，谨慎而又聪明的男 人。

　　而且曾有一刻，艾蕾莉亚认为自己爱着他。尽管现在看来那好像已经是很久以前的事了。

　　艾蕾莉亚低吼一声，将她那握紧的拳头放在胸口上，好像是在提醒它不要被自己的感情所软化。

　　她的指尖碰到了自己挂在脖子上那串制作精巧的银制项链，在项链上镶嵌着三颗宝石。那是她父母留给她的，是她 身上唯一的与那里的联系。那是一个美丽，静雅而又和谐的地方，那也是一个被兽人侵略的地方。

　　这里的树木和永歌森林里的树木完全不同。她回想起了那些有着金黄色叶子的老树，她也想起了他们曾经在那些树 枝上一同嬉戏的场景：她，她的姐妹们，以及……艾蕾莉亚紧闭双眼，低声说出了一个名字，“理拉斯……”

　　她最年轻的弟弟。她想起了她最后一次见到他时他的模样。他是那么的俊秀，开心的笑着，随着一个风笛手吹奏出 的轻快的笛声而翩翩起舞着。他是那么的年轻。他曾经也想成为一名游侠，就像他的姐姐们一样。但是现在，她完全心 寒了。艾蕾莉亚知道，她的弟弟只能永远的活在她的心中，成为那往日的回忆的一部分。

　　兽人们杀了他，他那充满希望的人生就这么被扼杀了，好像一道火焰被人生生浇灭一样。他们也杀了其他的许多许 多人，包括她的很多亲人，也包括她的一些朋友。她认识这些人很久了，久到尚在图拉扬出生之前就已经认识。

　　这些兽人们会为此付出代价。她的双手抓紧了她的项链。他们会遭受到折磨，就好像年轻的理拉斯，她的人民，她 的城市，甚至是她的国家所遭受的一样，而且这种折磨会比她所受的痛苦还要狠上千万倍。这种感觉一定相当的美妙， 就好像她曾经有一次在杀了一个兽人之后，用舌头去舔那留在她手上的血迹的感觉一样。那一次，图拉扬几乎把她当场 抓住。现在，艾蕾莉亚告诉自己，一定不能让他知道这件事。

　　他不能阻止她复仇。

　　他不能让她心软，如同上一次他对她冒险所做的事一样。

　　不论代价如何，艾蕾莉亚•风行者誓要报仇。

FIVE

"A what?" Turalyon, General of the Alliance
forces, paladin of the Silver Hand, stared in
utter bafflement at the tiny figure who sat before him.

"A rat problem!" the gnome exclaimed.
"When you said there was an issue with wildlife that
was threatening to derail the entire tram construction
project," Turalyon said slowly, "I assumed you had run
into difficulties with the subterranean lake, or perhaps
the creatures in . . ." Turalyon's voice trailed off. "You did say 'rat'?"
"Indeed!" Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque, head of the
project to construct a mechanical transportation system
that would eventually link Stormwind and Ironforge, shuddered.

"Horrible things, those vermin. Some bodies we've
found were this big!" Mekkatorque spread his hands
about six inches apart. Granted, on that tiny frame, that
was a substantial amount, but still . . . the engineer had
called an emergency session with the general of the Alliance over a rat problem?

Turalyon still wasn't quite sure what to think of the
small beings who were good friends with the dwarves. If
Mekkatorque, who had come to Stormwind a few years
ago with the full endorsement of the dwarven king
Magni Bronzebeard himself, was any indication, they
were a curious bunch. Mekkatorque talked fast and used
terms that Turalyon was utterly unfamiliar with, and
struck him as a jovial fellow. The gnome representative
didn't even reach Turalyon's hip when standing, and was
all but swallowed by the large chair in which he was now
ensconced. The table was level with his bright eyes, and
at one point, Mekkatorque let out an exasperated huff
and simply climbed atop it to point at the blueprints he had unfolded within two minutes of his arrival.

"They've completely infested the prototype, chewing
through the wiring here, here, and here," Mekkatorque
continued, stabbing a tiny finger down at the blueprints.
"We can't extract it or even get in to repair it without
losing more good people to those vile creatures. The last
team we sent in after it . . . well, it wasn't a pretty sight."

His large eyes looked solemn, Turalyon nodded. The idea
of a tram had struck him as brilliant when it was first
proposed shortly after the Second War. Progress on
rebuilding Stormwind was being made, but slowly—it
was a long and dangerous trek from Ironforge to
Stormwind, and King Bronzebeard had chafed at the
delay in getting supplies to his allies. Turalyon felt out of
his depth at the time, and still had that reaction every
time Mekkatorque came to him with updates or
problems. He was a paladin, a warrior by fate and a priest
by training. He knew little enough of simple construction, and this "tram" was quite beyond him.
Especially when Mekkatorque talked so fast.

Turalyon had discovered that gnomes were fiercely if
eccentrically intelligent, and he was willing to believe it if
this . . . contraption that Mekkatorque proposed did even
part of what he claimed it would do. He remembered their first conversation.
"How safe will it be?" he had asked.
"Er . . . well, we are on the cutting edge technologically with it, you must understand." Mekkatorque had
said, running a hand along his muttonchop whiskers.
"But I'm willing to bet it will eventually be as safe as the safest gnomish creation ever!"



Something in the sound of his voice had warned Turalyon that that might not be particularly safe at all. But
he wasn't a builder, or an engineer. Still, it was coming along.

Until this rat problem.
"I understand that rats are proportionately much
larger, and therefore much more threatening to your
people than to mine." Turalyon said as diplomatically as
he could, although he wondered why Bronzebeard
hadn't handled the problem on the Ironforge end. "And
we can't have them chewing through the wiring. I'll send
some of my men back to Ironforge with you. They'll, . . .
hunt the vermin down and help you effect repairs. "
Turalyon might have been Great father Winter himself the way Mekkatorque reacted. "Thank you, thank you!

This is excellent. It will be back on track in a jiffy. And
then we can finally tackle that pesky underwater
problem." The gnome slipped off the chair and reached
up a small hand to Turalyon, then pumped it vigorously.

"Go speak to Aramil," Turalyon said, referring to a
former guard at the keep who now served as Turalyon's
assistant in all things nonmilitary. "He'll take care of the arrangements."

Turalyon watched the gnome depart, and turned back
to his correspondence. Dozens of letters, from so many
people, all wanting something from him. He ran a hand
through his short blond hair and sighed. A walk would do him good.

The air was clean and clear as he stepped outside, although clouds lowered. He walked up to the canal,
gazing briefly at his reflection in the now-cleared water.
Turalyon had never been to Stormwind until the day he
and his men had entered the city two years ago, and so
he had not had the additional horror of knowing what
the city had been like before it fell. It was horrific enough
as it was. These famous canals had been clogged—with
stones and lumber, with dirt . . . with defiled corpses. The
dead had been respectfully buried, the rubble cleared.
Now the canals ran freely again, connecting the various
parts of the city. Turalyon lifted his gaze to the white stone, gray now in the dimming light, and the red roofs.
The Dwarven District housed many of Bronzebeard's
hardworking men, sent along with Mekkatorque, and nestled next to that area was the cathedral.

Thunder rumbled as he approached. He fixed his eyes
on the glorious building, one of the first to be completed
in its entirety. The orcs had damaged it badly, but even
then it was a place of safety—the enemy had not realized
that the cathedral had vast rooms and catacombs beneath
it. Dozens had huddled there, sheltered by its stone while
terror raged above them. It was one of the few buildings
large enough to house the refugees in the initial stages of
reconstruction, and even now, people flocked to it when
they were ill, or injured, or even just in need of a little reminder of the Light.
Like Turalyon.

"Oof!" He stumbled forward, so lost in thought that he
hadn't seen the pair of children until they'd slammed into him.
"Sorry, mister!" the boy cried. The girl gazed up at him
with solemn brown eyes. Turalyon smiled and patted her hair as he spoke to the boy.
"With an attack like that you'll make a fine soldier one
day," he said. "Oh yes, sir. I hope so, sir! You think all
the orcs will be dead before I'm old enough to kill them?"
Turalyon's smile faltered. "I'm sure you'll be able to serve the Alliance well," he said, evading the question.

Revenge. The fiery need and anger it kindled in the heart
had cost Turalyon someone he loved. He would say
nothing to foster racial hatred in a child. Keeping his
hand on the girl's head, he murmured a soft prayer.
Light glowed around his hand and for a brief moment,
the child was enveloped in radiance. Turalyon lifted his
other hand and blessed the boy as well. Awe shone in both pairs of eyes that regarded him.

"Light bless you both. Now, you two had best be getting home. Looks like rain."
The boy nodded and grabbed his sister's hand.
"Thanks, Mister Paladin!" The two ran toward their
home. It was not far; Turalyon realized they lived in the building adjacent to the cathedral. The orphanage.
So many orphans. So many lives lost.
Thunder rumbled again, and the heavens let loose.
Rain began pouring down in sheets. Turalyon sighed,
pulling his cape around himself and running lightly up
the steps to the cathedral, getting soaked even in that
short distance. The smell of incense and the soft, barely
audible sound of chanting coming from somewhere in
the building soothed him at once. He had become used to
giving orders, to fighting battles, to emerging from them
covered in his own blood or that of the orcs. It was good
to come back to the church, and to remember his origins as a simple priest.




A soft smile curved his lips as he beheld his brethren,
his fellow Knights of the Silver Hand, doing their duties
here as surely as they had on the battlefield. Archbishop
Alonsus Faol had created the order three years ago, and
it was by his decree that the paladins now served humbly
in the communities that had been so devastated by the
war. Even as he looked around, Turalyon saw his old
friend Uther, whom he himself had given the title
"Lightbringer." Turalyon was used to seeing the
powerfully built man in full armor, swinging his weapon,
his ocean-colored eyes afire with zeal as the Light came
to him in the form of powerful attacks. But Uther now
was clad in simple robes. He was attending to a woman
who looked exhausted and drained, gently wiping her
forehead with a damp cloth and cradling something in his free hand.

As Turalyon drew closer, he saw that the bundle Uther
held so gently was a newborn, its skin still mottled from
birth. The new mother smiled tiredly but happily and
reached for her child. Its lusty, healthy wail was the
sharp, sweet song of hope. Uther rested his hand on the
woman and blessed her and her child, as Turalyon had
done with the orphans earlier. Turalyon realized that
although Uther was obviously at home on the battlefield,
using the Light to take the lives of those who would slay
him and those he served, he was equally at home here in
the cathedral, bringing a new little life into the world.
Such was the dichotomy of paladins; they were warriors
and healers both. Uther glanced up and smiled, rising to greet his friend.

"Turalyon," he said in his deep, gruff voice. The two
paladins clasped hands. "Good to see you. About time
you found your way down here." Uther cuffed the younger man playfully.
"You're right," Turalyon agreed, chuckling. "It's good
to be here. It's too easy to get caught up in all the things that need to be done but can never quite be finished.

Like a rat problem."
"Eh?"
"I'll tell you later. For now, how can I help?" This was
what mattered, he thought. Not staying holed up in the keep pushing paper.
Uther's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked over Turalyon's shoulder. "I think you've got some of that unfinished business right here," he said.
"Oh?" Turalyon said casually, turning around.




It was like seeing a ghost, a moment wrenched out of
its proper place in space and time and incongruously
reenacted. She stood before him, face and hair and
clothing wet, emerald eyes fixed with his eyes. She had
gotten caught in the rain, looking almost as she had that
night nearly two years ago, coming to him now as she
had come to— Alleria Windrunner's eyes narrowed, as if she, too,
recalled that night, and found it an unpleasant memory.
Turalyon felt a chill sweep over him that had nothing to do with his wet clothing.

She bowed, stiffly, first to Uther, then to him.
"Lightbringer. General."
Ah. This was how it was to be played, then. "Ranger."
He was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. He had
half-expected it to crack with emotion. "What brings you here?"
"Tidings," she said, "of the worst sort." Her eyes
flickered to Turalyon's, then back to Uther's. "Little else would."

Turalyon felt a muscle twitch in his check and gritted his teeth. "Then pray deliver them."

The elf looked around, slightly contemptuously. "I
wonder if I have not come to the wrong place for aid. I
did not expect to find generals, knights, and holy warriors tending to babies in a church."

Turalyon welcomed the anger; it chased away the
heartsickness. "We serve where we are called, Alleria. All
of us. I feel certain you didn't come all the way here just to insult us. Speak."

Alleria sighed. "A short time ago, I met with Khadgar
and several of the Alliance leaders, including your own
king. It seems that there is a dimensional rift where the
Dark Portal once stood. Khadgar believes that very soon,
orcs—perhaps an entire second Horde—could come
through again. He sent me on gryphon back at once to inform you."

She had their attention now, and they listened in silence as she repeated what she had learned. Not for the first time since the Lion of Azeroth's death, Turalyon
wished Anduin Lothar were here. He often found himself
wishing that when faced with a difficult decision, or
impending combat, or simply the need to talk to
someone. Lothar would have responded instantly, calmly
but decisively, and others could not have helped but
follow. While the veterans of the war had begun calling
themselves the Sons of Lothar, Turalyon himself—
Lothar's lieutenant—was not comfortable with the term.

He did not feel like a son of the great man, although he
would defend Lothar's ideals to his last breath. He was
still thinking when Alleria finished talking and turned her eyes expectantly upon him.
"Well?" she demanded.
"What say the Wildhammers on all this? What does Kurdran think?"

"I doubt he knows," Alleria admitted, the blond ranger
having the grace to at least be embarrassed by that statement.
"What? You flew all this way to inform me—on one of
their gryphon’s, no less!—and no one told the Wildhammers' leader what was going on?"

She shrugged again, and Turalyon bit back a curse.
During the Second War the Alliance had all fought together, elves and humans and dwarves—both the Wildhammers and their Bronzebeard cousins—side by side.
But in the past year it seemed the human rulers had
been distancing themselves from their nonhuman allies.
The elves still participated in the defense of Nethergarde,
but that was as much from their fascination with all
magic as from any desire to help humans. The
Bronzebeard dwarves had an ambassador, Muradin
Bronzebeard, at Lordaeron, and so they maintained close
ties with King Terenas. And there was cheerful little Mekkatorque and his assistants here in Stormwind.
Turalyon felt the heat of shame rush through him at the
recollection of his amusement at the gnome's expense
earlier, when Mekkatorque and his people were
performing an invaluable service to strangers.
But for all the Wildhammers' loyalty and bravery and
skill, many humans seemed to think the gryphon riders little more than savages.
"Will you wait for the dwarves to give you instructions? Or perhaps Lothar's ghost?"

Turalyon frowned. Color rose in Alleria's checks and
she glanced down, realizing she had gone too far.
"The Wildhammers have been staunch allies," Turalyon said in a soft yet sure voice. "They are as much a
part of the Alliance as anyone. I will see to it that they are informed as soon as possible."
"We must go immediately," Alleria said. "The gryphon will bear you to Lordaeron. I will make my own way there."



She wouldn't even deign to ride with him, then, Turalyon didn't answer at once. He glanced at Uther, who
was bridling on his behalf. Their eyes met for a moment.
The bigger man nodded and turned back to the young mother and her child.

"You will bring the members of your order, yes?"
Alleria said, almost perfunctorily, as if she knew the answer already. When Turalyon shook his head, her jaw dropped. "What? Why not?"

"The Archbishop wishes them to stay here and in
Lordaeron. To tend to the people who need them,"

"You haven't even asked!"
"I know without asking. Don't worry. If the need is
great enough, they will come. But need can take many forms. Come. Let us talk for a bit,"
"We should—"
"Five minutes will change nothing." She frowned. He
realized she was shivering. A drop of rain slid from her
wet hair down her face, looking like a tear, but it was
nothing nearly so soft. At that instant, he wanted to pull
her into his arms so badly. This coldness, this acerbic
venom that poisoned her words and turned her lovely
face ugly with hatred—he knew what it was. And he knew why she carried it.
And the knowing was like a knife in his heart.

"I wrote. You never answered," he said quietly.
She shrugged, pulling her cloak about her slim frame
automatically, although what she needed was dry
clothing. "I have been traveling. On patrol. Our most
recent task was a patrol through the Alterac Mountains,"
Alleria said. "There were rumors of orcs hiding among
the peaks there." She allowed herself a grim smile. "We
found ten of them." Turalyon didn't have to ask what
she and her rangers had done with the discovered orcs.
He wondered if she'd started taking trophies. He'd seen
her once crouching over a body, a savage grin on her
face, and had been stunned by the glee she took in the killing.

"Alleria," he said quietly, "I've been writing you and
you've never answered. You owe me nothing. I understand that. But if . . . what happened between us means
you can no longer work with me, I need to know that
now. I'm your commander. I—the Alliance—can't afford
to find out on the battlefield that you're not listening, or
not obeying." He waited until she looked at him. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"There is no problem," the blond elf answered sharply.
"The Alliance wants every orc dead. So do I. We can work together on that."
"That's all we are to you now—a means to an end. A way to kill more orcs more quickly."

"What else is there?" she answered. "Khadgar only
found me because my band and I were hunting orc
renegades in Alterac. I agreed to meet with him at
Nethergarde because his messenger said it involved orcs,
and I agreed to bring his summons to you for the same
reason." She frowned. "And the sooner we reach
Lordaeron, the sooner I can seek out more of those
green-skinned abominations and cleanse this land of
their filth!" Her voice rose with passion and her eyes
flashed. Some heads turned in their direction. "I will see
them dead, every last one of them. Even if it takes me a hundred years!"
Turalyon felt a shiver run down his spine. "Alleria," he
began, pitching his voice low, "you're talking genocide."
The smile that curved her lips was a cruel one. "It is
only genocide when those being slain are people. This is nothing more than exterminating vermin."



He realized with a shock that she honestly believed her
words. She really didn't see the orcs as sentient people.
She saw them as abominations, as monsters, as . . . rats.
Turalyon knew he had slain his fair share of them—had
done so at times with great anger in his heart at what
they had done to his people. But this. . . Alleria didn't
want justice. She didn't want the orcs to pay for the
crimes they had committed, she wanted to hurt them. To exterminate an entire race, if she could.

He took a step toward her, reaching out a hand,
hoping to connect. "You've lost so much. I know that."
Alleria knocked his hand away. "Hah! A human speaks
of loss? What do you know of it? Your lives are so brief you never learn what it means to truly love someone!"

Turalyon felt the blood drain from his face. For a
moment he couldn't respond. She stared at him,
breathing quickly, daring him to speak.
"Just because you live longer doesn't mean you feel
more," he said. "Trust me on that one." He gave her a lopsided smile.
Her face only hardened the more.

"So, you are better than me because you live for this
long?" she challenged, snapping her fingers. "Or are you better than me because of your precious Light?"

"Alleria, I want to see justice done. You know that.
But you're not talking justice, you're talking vengeance.
And I see what it's doing to you. The Light isn't mine, it's everyone's. It's about healing. It's—"

"Don't you dare lecture me!" she warned, her voice
dropping to a steely hiss. "Your Holy Light didn't stop the
orcs from tearing open a way into our world, did it? The
Light can't restore my ravaged homeland, or give me back my—"
She closed her jaw with a snap. Turalyon stared at her for a long moment, then sighed deeply.
"Ranger," he said formally, "here are my orders. For
the moment, you will stay here in Stormwind, along
with half of my troops and myself. Send for your rangers,
have them gather here. The city has just started to get its
feet underneath it. I won't leave it unprotected."
Her jaw tightened. "So we're just going to wait out the war here, sir, like cowards, sir?"

Turalyon did not rise to the bait. "I will request reinforcements, and when they come, we'll leave. But until then, we stay here."
She nodded. "You'll protect a city when it's your own.
I see now. Permission to leave to gather my rangers, sir?"



Alleria's words were designed to get under his skin,
and they had. But Turalyon was more concerned about
what had happened to Alleria—or more correctly, what
she was doing to herself—to cause her to speak them.
She had changed so very, very much. Sadly he recalled
first their initial reactions to one another—he stam-mering, awestruck first by her grace and beauty and later
by her consummate skill, and she amused, intrigued,
slightly supercilious. He had lost some of his awe—not all
of it; he would never lose all of it, but some—and she
had grown to respect him. To like him. To seek out his
company, to want him by her side in battle and, he'd once believed, in a more intimate way.

But there seemed little of that woman left. And all he
could do was be saddened and worried by the changes,
and wonder if she'd let her hate for the orcs get in the
way of her judgment. By the Light—if she died because of
this recklessness of hers—
He realized he was staring, and nodded. He did not
trust himself to speak past the lump in his throat. Alleria
inclined her head, the barest gesture of required respect,
and strode past him.

Turalyon watched her go, wondering if he'd made the
right decision. What would Lothar have done? Would he have
waited until reinforcements came, or would he have charged
into battle? Was he wasting time or being smart? Was it
enough, to send his second-in-command Danath Trollbane and half his men to Nethergarde right now?
He shook his head, clearing it. He couldn't afford to
second-guess right now, and his decision felt like the
right one. He'd need to send some messengers. One to
the Wildhammers, letting them know the situation. One to Lordaeron.

And one, he thought with a small, sad little smile, to
Mekkatorque, to let him know that unfortunately, the men intended as rat catchers for the tram would not be coming after all.
Alleria did not head back to the keep, as she had said
she would. Instead, once she left the cathedral, she
started to run, her feet swift and almost completely silent
as they carried her along the streets toward the great
gates of the city. She ignored startled glances as she ran,
permitting the gawking stares to fuel her anger, and raced through the gates into the wooded area beyond.

She ran until she found a small stream and there,
beneath the boughs of the sheltering trees, she sank down on the sodden earth.


She was cold and soaked to the skin, but she ignored the discomfort.
It had gone worse than she had feared.
How was it that a mere human could rattle her so? He
was a child beside her, a rude, loud child who— even as
she thought the words, she knew that they were wrong.
Turalyon was shockingly young compared with her, but
he was reckoned a man among his own people, and he was kind and wise and smart.
And at one point, so long ago it seemed now, she had thought she loved him.
Alleria growled and put a clenched hand to her heart,
as if warning it not to soften. Her fingers touched the
wrought silver of a necklace that held three precious
stones. It had been given to her by her parents; it was a
link with a world that had once been. A world of grace and beauty and balance. A world the orcs had forever crippled.

The trees here were not those of the forests of
Eversong, those beautiful, golden-leafed patriarchs
whose branches had held her and her sisters and— She
squeezed her eyes shut, and whispered a name: "Lirath . . ."

Her youngest brother. She remembered him now the way he had looked the last time she had seen him.

Beautiful, laughing, dancing beneath the golden leaves as
a piper played a sprightly tune. Young, so young. He
wanted to be a ranger, like his sisters, but in this moment
she had frozen forever in her mind, Alleria watched him simply enjoy being alive.
The orcs had slaughtered him, snuffing out his bright life like a flame pinched between a cruel thumb and forefinger.
Had slaughtered so many, too many other kin— cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces. . . had slaughtered friends she had known longer than Turalyon had been alive—
And they would pay. Her hand tightened on the
necklace. They would suffer, as gentle young Lirath had.
As her people, her city, her land had. They would taste a
thousand fold the pain they had inflicted upon her. It
would be sweet—sweet as the blood she had once
tentatively licked from her hand after a kill. Turalyon
had almost caught her that time. Now, she told herself, he must not know.
He must not stop her.


He must not soften her heart, as he had come perilously close to doing once before.
Whatever the cost, Alleria Windrunner would have her revenge.

　　外面是瓢泼大雨，但是在兽栏当中却十分干燥，虽然还是有些水气蒙蒙。马匹以及皮革的气味充斥着潮湿的空气。 马儿们嘶叫着，不安的用蹄子扒着那被干草覆盖着的鹅卵石地。它们都是经过训练的战马，并且有很长的一段时间都没 有驰骋在战场上了。现在，它们就和达纳斯•托尔贝恩一样对于即将而来的出征感到一丝担忧。

　　相比之下，达纳斯的士兵们则都很跃跃欲试。

　　达纳斯的战马很快就被牵了出来放上了马鞍。他在士兵之间走动着，对那些尚在挣扎着想要蹬上马镫的士兵怒目而 视，吼道，“都把速度放快，我们现在可不是准备去郊游的。”

　　图拉扬让达纳斯挑选了暴风城内一半的驻军。他选择了那些骑兵们，因为达纳斯知道他们可以很快穿越一段很长的 距离并且有效的重新列队。他们需要尽快行动，但是他们也要保证那些马儿们不会因长途跋涉而精疲力竭。达纳斯并不 认为他们可以有机会停下来休息并重新组队。那些曾经与他共同征战的老兵们现在大都分散在各个人类王国之中，而时 间并不允许他去重新召集那些老兵。

　　“我们不会错过战斗的，是么，长官？”一个士兵笑道，他刚刚抓紧了自己跨下坐骑的缰绳。说实话，他看起来只 是一个大男孩，像这么年轻的男孩肯定不曾在第二次兽人战争中打过仗。为了弥补那些因为战死士兵所空缺出来的位置 ，暴风城在战后招募了不少士兵，而他应当就是其中之一。

　　达纳斯摇着他的光头，在他的银灰色的胡须上摸了摸，想要回想起那个男孩的名字。而后，他低声说道，“你以前 并没有亲身面对过兽人，是么？法罗？”

　　“没有，长官！”法罗回答道，他笑着，嘴巴咧得老大，可见他真的很是年轻。“但是我很期待着那一刻，长官！ ”

　　“我并不期待，”达纳斯回答道。他面前的士兵吃了一惊，凝视着他的长官。

　　“真的么？”男孩问道，他看到达纳斯脸上严肃的表情，说得支支吾吾的。“但是长官，为什么不呢？我们会把他 们打的落花流水的，不是么？我听说还留在艾泽拉斯的兽人已经不多了，而且他们还像野生动物一样藏在深山老林里！ ”

　　“那是那些在黑暗之门倒塌的时候没能逃回去的兽人。”达纳斯同意道，“但是那并不是我们所要面对的。他们认 为黑暗之门即将再度开启。你知道那代表着什么吗？”法罗咽了一口唾沫，摇了摇头。达纳斯把他的声音提高，以确保 在场的每一个士兵都能够听到他所说的话。“孩子，这代表着我们所面对的将不会只是一群乌合之众。我们将面对的是 部落，我们曾经见过的最强大的部队。并且实际上，他们从没有败过。”

　　“但是我们赢得了战争，长官！”另外一个士兵反对道。“我们征服了他们。”达纳斯想了起来，这个士兵叫做范 恩。

　　达纳斯同意道，“确实是这样的。但是那也只是因为他们当中的一部分人背叛了部落，并且我们将这些叛军在海上 歼灭掉了。我们在黑石山那里所面对的只是真正的部落的一部分，而即便如此，我们也并没有占到太多便宜。”他摇了 摇头，继续道，“ 就我们所知，在兽人的世界尚有至少一打的氏族在等待着来到我们的世界。”

　　他听到了士兵中传来阵阵的嘀咕声和喘气之声，于是大声宣布道，“这就对了，伙计们。我们很有可能战死沙场。 ”

　　“长官？为什么你要告诉我们这些？”法罗沉着的问道。

　　达纳斯回答道，“你们有权知道你们的敌人将会是什么。我不想让你们认为这是一场轻而易举的战斗，我也不想让 你们将大好机会拱手让出。我希望你们能够为一场艰苦的战争做好准备，时刻保持头脑清醒。”他的口音已经不再是在 劝诫士兵们，而是在命令他们。“如果你能够照着我所说的干，你们就更有可能活着回来。”突然，达纳斯咧着嘴笑了 起来，“这样，你们才有资格叫自己洛萨之子。”

　　他周围的士兵们都严肃的点了点头。他们是好人，尽管并不如他所期待的那样经验丰富。如果黑暗之门真的重新开 启，他一定会为那些死者而感到遗憾。但是他们都曾誓死效忠联盟，哪怕要搭上自己的性命也在所不辞。他只希望自己 的士兵们不会没有意义的白白丧生。尽管时间可贵，但达纳斯还是允许自己去看看那些士兵们。他想要记住每一个人的 脸，想要想起每个人的名字。达纳斯并没有子嗣，而这些归他指挥的士兵们在他看来就好像是他的孩子一般，虽然说他 们所有的人都属于洛萨之子。他因为这一想法而微微一笑。

　　“伙计们，上马！”

　　两分钟之后，他们策马疾驰在那鹅卵石街道上，而后奔出了暴风城的主城门。

Rain pounded down outside, but the stables were dry,
if steamy. The scent of horses and leather filled the moist
air. The beasts whickered, pawing at the hay-covered
cobblestones beneath their hooves as their riders saddled
them. They were trained warhorses, and had not seen
battle in some time. They seemed as anxious as Danath Trollbane was to depart.
Danath's men, though, were greener.
His own horse had been saddled and ready quickly,
and now he moved among his soldiers. "Make haste," he
glowered at one who was having trouble with the stirrups. "This is no pleasure outing!"

Turalyon had let him choose half among all the military left in Stormwind. He'd chosen cavalry units he
knew would be able to cross the miles quickly and form
ranks again soon after. They needed to move fast—but
they had to be careful not to wear out the horses. He
suspected they wouldn't have the luxury of a rest to
reorganize and regroup. But most of the men he'd fought
with were scattered now over the human territories, and there was no time to summon all the veterans home.
"We don't want to miss the fight, do we, sir?" a soldier
said with a grin as he grasped his mount's reins. He was
little more than a boy, really, too young to have fought
in the Second War—one of the many who had joined
after the war's end, to help fill out the ranks so badly decimated by the fighting.
Danath shook his bald head and ran a hand through
his silvering beard, trying to recall the boy's name. Farrol, that was it. "You've not faced orcs before, have you, Farrol?" he rumbled.
"No, sir!" Farrol replied with a wide grin that showed
how young he really was. "But I'm looking forward to it, sir!"
"I'm not." Danath replied, making the soldier gasp and stare.

"You're not?" the boy asked, his voice faltering a little
as he noted his commander's grim expression. "But why
not, sir? We're going to trample them, aren't we? I heard
that there weren't many orcs left anymore, and they're
hiding in the woods and the mountains like wild animals!"

"The ones who got left behind when the portal closed,
that's true," Danath agreed. "But that's not what we're
dealing with here. They think the Dark Portal's going to
reopen. Do you know what that means?" The soldier
gulped, and Danath raised his voice to make sure the
soldiers saddling their mounts around them could hear
him as well. "It means we won't be facing a ragtag group
of orc survivors, boy— we'll be facing the Horde, the
largest fighting force ever seen. And that force has never been defeated, not in truth."
"But we won the war, sir!" one of the other men— Vann, Danath recalled—protested. "We conquered them!"
"That we did," he agreed. "But only because some of
their own forces turned on them and we were able to
crush them at sea. What we fought at Blackrock was only
a portion of the true Horde, and even then it was a close
thing." He shook his head. "For all we know, there could
be as many as a dozen more clans back on the orcs'
world, just waiting to break through again." He heard the
muttering and gasping that swept through his men.
"That's right, lads," he announced loudly. "We could well be heading toward our deaths here."




"Sir? Why are you telling us this?" Farrol asked quietly.

"Because I don't believe in lying about our chances,"
his commander answered. "You've a right to know what
you'll be facing. And I don't want you going in thinking
this'll be easy. Expect hard fighting, and stay sharp," he
said, his tone shifting from advice to order. "Go in
expecting trouble, and you're more likely to survive." He
grinned suddenly. "And then you can call yourselves Sons of Lothar."

All around him men nodded, more sober now. These
were good men, if not as seasoned as he might wish. He
already regretted the deaths he knew would come if the
portal did indeed reopen. But they were sworn to defend
the Alliance, even at the cost of their own lives. He just
hoped they wouldn't be dying for nothing. Even though
precious time was ticking past, Danath permitted himself
a few moments to look at them, to memorize faces,
summon names to mind. He had no children of his own;
while they were under his command, he was father to
these boys. Even if they all were Sons of Lothar. The thought made him smile slightly.
"Mount up, lads!"


Two minutes later, they were galloping down the cobblestone streets of Stormwind and out the main gates.

　　“喂，你听到了么？”

　　兰德尔笑道，“威廉姆啊，你越来越神经质了。那只不过是风罢了。”他望向四周，看了看前方那被诅咒的大地， 打了一个冷颤。“这里并没有什么需要我们封锁的。”

　　威廉姆点了点头，但是他看起来还是有些不自在。“也许你是对的。”他承认道，用他戴着手套的手擦了擦自己的 脸。“我恨这一派遣。话说回来，我们守着这玩意儿到底是为了什么？那不是法师们应当做的么？”

　　两个士兵看了看他们的后方。如果他们眯起眼睛仔细看的话，他们就可以辨认出空气中的一点微光在前方的一堆碎 石之后闪现着。那一道扭曲很狭窄，约摸有一个人宽两个人高。他们曾被告知那道裂痕就是黑暗之门的残存物，而他们 的职责就是呆在这里守望着它。

　　“不晓得的说。”兰德尔回道，“如果说真有啥事发生的话，那些法师肯定会比我们先知道的。”他耸了耸肩，继 续道，“不管怎么说，这活还是很轻松的，而且再过一个小时我们就可以换班了。”

　　威廉姆刚想要说点别的，然后就停住了。他双眼睁大，低声道，“那里！你听见了么？”

　　“听见什……”

　　威廉姆疯了似的向他“嘘”了一声。他们就那么呆站了一会儿，尝试去听出点什么。而后，兰德尔听到了。它好像 是一声低沉的呻吟，而后又变成了尖利的呼啸声，好象是风吹过一片平原后，又刺穿了那平原周边的的山谷一般。他看 向那道裂痕，深吸了一口气，几乎把他手上的盾牌和长矛掉落在地上。那道裂痕扩张了！

　　“吹响警报！”他激动的告诉威廉姆，但是对方却由于恐惧而僵在原地，双目仍一动不动地望着前方。“威廉姆， 快去吹响警报！”

　　就在威廉姆匆忙赶去敲钟的时候，那裂痕又一次发出了光芒，这一次的更为明亮。各种颜色都在随着它那不断膨胀 的边界而散发出来。看起来它就要裂开，好像一张贪婪的大嘴想要得到食物一般，而黑暗则向前翻腾着。

　　黑暗扩张的极快。兰德尔眨了眨眼，但是还是看不到前方的裂痕抑或是碎石。威廉姆也从他的视线中消失了。尽管 此时此刻，兰德尔还可以听到他的朋友吹响号角来警告其他的守卫们。

　　兰德尔不断的转着身，试图想要看穿那突然笼罩大地的黑暗。他准备好自己手上的矛盾以备作战。是不是那里有什 么东西呢？还是这里？他竭尽全力去听。

　　那是什么声音？砰的一声，好象是有什么东西转动的声音，亦或是它掉落了？还是别的什么呢？

　　兰德尔很确定他现在很清楚的听到了那声音。他转向了那个他所推测的声源的方向，轻轻抬起自己的长矛。他只希 望那不是威廉姆。那听起来很像是脚步声。很沉重的脚步声，而且是很多人的步伐。

　　“停下！”兰德尔喊道，希望着他的声音没有在颤抖。“谁在那里？别躲着，站出来吧，以联盟之名！”

　　脚步声越来越近。他转着身，尽力想要找到它们的来源。那是从他身后传来的么？他的旁边？还是它的正前方？兰 德尔发现他脚下的土地也开始摇晃，于是轻轻转了个向，本能的举起了他的盾牌……

　　他大叫一声。不知道是什么东西狠狠的撞在了他的盾牌上，给他的胳膊也带来一阵冲击。

　　兰德尔强忍着剧痛，用他的长矛向前刺去，但却有什么东西抓住了他的武器的长柄，从他的手中把它强扭了下来。 黑暗之中，一张脸显现出来，离他只有几英寸远。那是一张宽大的脸庞，有着浅浅的眉毛和大大的鼻子，一对獠牙从他 的下唇中伸出。

　　他斜眼撇了一下兰德尔，而后兰德尔看到有一些别的身影从阴影中冲了出来……



　　其他的守卫听到了威廉姆的号角，聚集了起来。但是这已经太晚了，而他们的数量也不够多。黑暗笼罩了整个山谷 ，使他们看不到自己的敌人。就在人类们还在四处乱走的时候，兽人战士以及死亡骑士从那刚刚扩张的裂痕中倾巢而出 ，杀死了每一个他们能看到的人类。这简直就是单方面的屠杀。不到几分钟，人类防卫者们就已经死的死，伤的伤。于 是，兽人部落就这么控制了艾泽拉斯这一边的黑暗之门。

"Listen, do you hear that?"
Randal laughed. "You're getting jumpy, Willam," he
told his friend. "It's just the wind." He glanced around,
looking across the blasted landscape, and shivered.
"Nothing to block it out here."
Willam nodded but still seemed uneasy. "Maybe
you're right," he admitted, rubbing his face with one
gloved hand, "I hate this detail. Why've we got to guard
this thing, anyway? Isn't that what the magi are for?"
Both soldiers glanced behind them. If they squinted
they could make out a shimmer in the air, just beyond a
pile of old rubble. The distortion was narrow, perhaps the
width of a man but twice as tall. They had been told that
rift was all that remained of the Dark Portal, and that their task was to keep watch over it.

"Dunno," Randal replied. "You'd think if anything did
happen the magi'd know before we did." He shrugged.
"At least it's an easy job. And our shift's over in another hour."
Willam started to say something else, then stopped, his eyes wide. "There!" he whispered. "Hear that?"




"Hear wh—"
Willam shushed him frantically. They sat stone-still for
a moment, ears straining. And then Randal heard it. It
was like a low moan, then a high whistle, as if the wind
were sweeping across a wide plain before cutting through
the valley around them. His eyes went back to the rift—and he gasped, almost dropping his shield and spear. It was wider now!

"Sound the alarm!" he told Willam frantically, but his
friend was frozen in fear, eyes riveted on the sight before them. "Willam, sound the alarm."

As Willam hurried to obey, the rift shimmered again,
growing brighter, colors leaking out along its expanding
edges. It seemed to split open, like a mouth ravenous for
food, and shadows billowed forth. They spread rapidly,
and Randal blinked, unable to see the rift or the rubble
below it anymore. Even Willam had vanished, though he
could hear his friend blowing on the horn, alerting the other guards.
Randal swiveled this way and that, trying to peer
through the sudden darkness, his spear and shield at the
ready. Was there something there? Or there? He strained to listen.

Was that a sound? A thud, as if something had rolled over—or dropped? Was that another?
Yes, he was sure he'd heard something now. He
turned in the direction he thought it had come from,
raising his spear slightly and hoping it wasn't Willam.
Those definitely sounded like footsteps, heavy ones— and many of them.

"Hold!" Randal shouted, wishing his voice weren't
shaking, "Who goes there? Stand and identify yourself, in the name of the Alliance!"

The steps grew closer, and he spun, trying to pinpoint their source. Were they behind him? Off to his side?
Right in front of him? He turned slightly as the ground
shook beneath his feet, raising his shield instinctively— —and cried out as something heavy crushed it like
paper, the impact shattering his arm as well.
Blinking away the pain, Randal thrust his spear forward, but something caught the weapon's long haft and
wrenched it from his grip. A face appeared out of the
darkness, inches from his own—a wide, heavy face, with
a looming brow, squat nose, and two sharp tusks jutting up from the lower lip.


The horrifying face leered at Randal, and he had a
brief glimpse of something else rushing toward him from
the shadows, something wide and flat and curved. . . .

The other guards rallied, alerted by Willam's horn, but
it was too little too late. The darkness filled the valley,
preventing them from even seeing their foes, and while
the humans blundered about in confusion, orc warriors
and death knights poured out of the newly expanded rift,
crushing everyone in their path. It was more of a
slaughter than a true battle. Within minutes every
human defender was dead or dying, and the orcs controlled the Azeroth side of the Dark Portal.

第六章

　　耳语。
　　
　　轻声的细语，如果不仔细去听的话决对无法听到。鸟儿挥动翅膀的声音，抑或是一片树叶落到地上的声音……它们 听起来都要比耐奥祖耳中所回荡着的细语响亮一些。

　　但是耐奥祖还是听到了。

　　他把那头颅拿在手中，深深的望进那镂空的眼眶中，便听到了古尔丹的声音。对耐奥祖来说，那声音就仿佛有着生 命——阿谀奉承的腔调，为了满足对赞成的渴望，而去积极地回答着问题；同时它又隐含了极大的轻蔑之情以及那股对 力量的渴望。

　　尽管古尔丹已死，但他仍在期望着能向他生前所做过的那样，再一次让他的前任导师失去理智。但是，耐奥祖决不 会第二次被骗到。由于他过于轻信他人，耐奥祖在不经意之间背叛了他的人民，而古尔丹还因此便认为他将老萨满打击 得一败涂地。

　　“我的学徒啊，看看现在谁还活着掌握权力，而谁又死了，啊？”他向那头颅低语道。

　　突然，有一道光线撒进了耐奥祖的旅行帐篷。他眨了眨眼，停止了与手中头颅的对话。老萨满看到有一个壮硕的身 影，背着光站在帐篷门口。

　　“我们控制了黑暗之门！”格罗姆•地狱咆哮宣布道。

　　耐奥祖笑了笑。直到现在为止，一切的一切都在按计划进行。他随意的摸着那发黄的头骨，就如同一只宠物在讨好 他的动作一样。如果没错的话，他手中的古尔丹之颅将能够帮助他重新打开那道传送门。

　　耐奥祖招手示意格罗姆和他的同伴泰隆•血魔进来。他将这两人任命为他的副手：血魔负责监视所有的死亡骑士以 及食人魔，而格罗姆则负责将他的指令带往各个氏族。现在，部落已经重新联合了不少的氏族。雷王，嘲颅以及嚼骨氏 族都已经加入了他们，只有赤行者氏族——至少是他们氏族所剩下的那些兽人——还尚未加入。其他的所有氏族都再一 次的联合在他的领导之下，使得部落的实力和他们第一次入侵艾泽拉斯的时候近乎一样。近乎。

　　“对此我很高兴。”他说道，“而现在——你知道你接下来需要做什么。”

　　“哦，我知道。”血魔肯定地回道，“但是你确定单凭你自己就可以保持那道裂痕的状况么？”尽管有着古尔丹之 颅的援助以及提议——当然并不是所有的都是有价值，甚至是合理的——但耐奥祖还是在几个死亡骑士的合力帮助下才 得以充分的扩张那道裂痕。

　　自大！他不应该这么样跟你说话。从那头颅中再一次传来了细语之声。

　　不，他不应该。

　　“我自有分寸。”耐奥祖简短的回答道。在耐奥祖体内，他能感受到一股前所未有的强大能量。似乎从头颅当中吸 取能量的过程使得他身体中某一部分被唤醒了。那，是某种他以前从未意识到的东西，而且这种感觉……很好。“等黑 暗之门的框架重建完毕之后，它就不再需要我们的协助来运作了。现在，去履行你的职务吧，泰隆。”

　　从死亡骑士兜帽的阴影中，耐奥祖看到他的双眼微微闪动了一下。而后，血魔草草的点了点头，转身走出了帐篷， 他的斗篷在身后涌动着。

　　耐奥祖又转向了格罗姆，而后者也点了一下头。“耐奥祖，我准备好了。好得不能再好了。”

　　“很好……你越快出发，我们就可以越早达成我们的目标。”格罗姆举起他的战斧以致敬，而后跟着血魔走了出去 。

耐奥祖在黑暗之中徘徊了片刻，而后从他的帐篷中走了出去，看着两人走上了前面的台阶，穿越黑暗之门，到了另 外的那个世界，那个他自己从未亲身踏足过的世界。

　　他凝望着裂痕，用指尖轻轻的摸着古尔丹之颅那光滑的表面。

　　那么，你将再也不需要亲眼见到这个艾泽拉斯了。很快，那更为伟大的荣耀将归属于你！

　　是的，耐奥祖沉思道，很快。

　　“有什么消息么？”泰隆•血魔向贾兹•碎魂者问道。现在他们就站在艾泽拉斯的土地上。当位面裂痕被重新开启 的时候，贾兹作为先锋部队，带领着少数的死亡骑士来到了这里。现在，他负责这一边的黑暗之门的修缮工作；那些兽 人们提供人力资源，用那些四散的碎石来重建黑暗之门的框架；这些死亡骑士们则在竭尽全力让它成为一道更为物质化 的通道。运用他们的黑暗魔法，他们可以扩展并加固那道裂痕，以便让它得以更好的为部落所用。

　　“我们非常轻松的就杀了他们。”碎魂者大笑着回答道，“在黑暗中，他们根本不可能有机会赢。”他指了指身后 。尽管那里仍是一片黑暗，但血魔的感官还是告诉了他那道框架的存在。“我们的进展十分顺利，不出所料的话再过一 两天就可以完成框架。”

　　血魔轻哼一声，研究着兽人们的作品，一道斜坡上的简易的石制拱门。原来的黑暗之门就架设在那道斜坡上。当传 送门崩坏的时候，那拱门也随之倒下。现在，那些被强迫前来当苦工的兽人们已经清除了所有的遗迹，并忙于装配那些 从德拉诺运来的石块。这一框架主要是为了发挥其功能，而不是为了装饰，所以在它上面就只有一些匆忙雕刻上去的兽 人印记。不过对血魔来说，只要这拱门可以保证传送门的正常运作，他并不在意这些细枝末节。

　　“那些仍呆在这个世界的其他氏族们怎么样了？”血魔问道。

　　“当我们占据了这山谷之后，我们就通过梦境以及幻象来与他们联系。”碎魂者回答道。“不过嘛，他们要用多久 才能赶到这里，我就不知道了。”

　　结果，就在几个小时之后，血魔就听到了一些逐渐靠近的脚步声。他从他先前靠着的那块大石头上站了起来，注意 到黑暗之门已经近乎完工，而后停了下来。那死亡骑士们所制造的阴影还残留在此处，因为它可以防止人类们很快的进 行反击，并且让他们继续去猜测到底这阴影从何而来。但是对于兽人和死亡骑士们来说，他们的行动并没有受到太大的 影响，而那脚步声也渐渐变得更近了。

　　最终，一队兽人进入了他的视野。看样子他们都受了重伤，而且很是疲惫。这些兽人的数量绝对不超过四十人，但 是每个人都抓紧武器随时准备作战。他们的领队是一个年老的兽人，尽管经历了岁月的沧桑，但他依然十分的健硕，他 的脑袋则在不停的来回看去。当他们走得更近的时候，血魔认出了他，明白了为什么他要这样子移动他的头——那兽人 只有一只眼睛，而他的另一只眼上满是疤痕。血魔想起了一些有关于基尔罗格是如何失去他的那双眼睛的传闻，以及他 从中所得到的其他一些东西作为回报。

　　血魔走上前去，欢迎嘲颅氏族的酋长，“基尔罗格。”如果不提前警告基尔罗格就试图要接近他的话，那可不是个 好主意。

　　对方的头转来转去，直到他最后把视线锁定在了死亡骑士的身上，回了一声，“血魔。”他走了过去，抬手示意他 的战士们在他的身后散开站好。“我预见到了，你会在这里。”

　　泰隆点了点头。他看到基尔罗格看向他身后，凝望着那即将完工的黑暗之门。

　　嘲颅酋长轻声说道，“看来这是真的，传送门被你们修好了！”

　　血魔回答道，“的确如此。我们来自德拉诺，而你们也可以通过它回去。”

　　“那我们的大地有没有恢复生机呢？”

　　“德拉诺仍是一片将死之地，”血魔承认道。“但是耐奥祖有一个计划。”

　　听到这句话，基尔罗格眉头深皱，“耐奥祖？那个老不死的？他来掺和这些事情？我在梦中也见到了他，但我还以 为那只是往日的残影。”

　　“现在看来，应当说是我们未来的希望。”血魔回应道，“耐奥祖再一次掌权，并且重新联合了部落，现在所有德 拉诺大陆上的氏族们都归于他的旗下，”当然，血魔没有提及赤行者氏族，因为他们现在也只是在勉强维持着自己的生 计罢了。“而且他还重新开启了传送门。即便没法挽救我们的世界，至少他的计划还是能够让我们的人民得到救赎的。 ”

　　基尔罗格挠了挠他眼眶处的伤疤，问道，“这些都是他做的么？这个所谓的计划——你认为它很可靠？”

　　血魔点头。

　　“嗯，也许最终，他还是克服了那些由古尔丹造成的弱点以及疑虑。如果现在的他还和从前的耐奥祖一样的话，我 会很乐意去追随他的。”他摇了摇头，把声音尽量放低，“而且，说句实话，尽管艾泽拉斯要比我们的世界好很多，我 还是会很开心的抛弃这里回家的。我们在这里闷得太久了。”

　　血魔催促道，“那就回吧。耐奥祖和其他人还在黑暗之门的另外一端等待着你们。对于他们来说，你的经验以及智 慧都会对他们起很重要的作用的。不过你得先告诉我，其他那些还在艾泽拉斯大陆的兽人们怎么样了？”

　　基尔罗格说道，“除去霜狼氏族不谈——他们和其余人已经毫不相干了——现在只有其他两个氏族还没有被关押起 来：龙喉以及黑石氏族。龙喉兽人们还躲藏在一些深山之中，躲避着人类的追捕，并且他们仍然掌控着红龙们。一年之 前，他们还和黑石兽人结盟。雷德和麦姆两兄弟带领着黑石兽人，并且将黑石塔据为己有。”他耸耸肩，“如果是我的 话，我绝对不会在毁灭之锤被击败的地方建立自己的大本营，但是那两兄弟却从来都没有在乎过他。”

　　这并不是一个好消息。血魔问道，“你认为，他们会来到黑暗之门，并且回到德拉诺么？”

　　基尔罗格摇头道，“不可能。他们已经呆在这里乐不思蜀了。”

　　血魔眉头微皱，但还是点头道，“谢谢了，基尔罗格。现在你可以出发了。德拉诺在等待着你的回归。”

　　基尔罗格点头，转过身去，带领着他的战士们穿过营地，走向了黑暗之门。即便是在黑暗之中，传送们仍然在散发 着光辉。嘲颅酋长叫道，“向前，向前，向前！德拉诺，我们来啦！”他指向前方。一个战士毫不犹豫地走过了黑暗之 门，其他人跟在后面，基尔罗格则跟在队伍的最后。他回望一眼，看着前面的山谷，看着艾泽拉斯，举起了自己的武器 。

　　基尔罗格宣誓道，“我离开了，但是那只是为了重组……我还会回来的。我会让这个世界和它的人民体验到我的愤 怒。”然后，他也向前迈去，离开了艾泽拉斯。

　　格罗姆•地狱咆哮看着嘲颅兽人们穿越了黑暗之门，而后消失。他很高兴能看到基尔罗格还活着。在部落众酋长中 ，基尔罗格是最为精明的酋长之一，也是一个很高明的战略家。他很确信，基尔罗格的才干很快就会派上用场。

　　格罗姆转过身去，向身旁的一个兽人点了点头，示意他继续汇报。

　　“人类们也没有偷懒。他们在北边建立了一座要塞，守卫着这片区域唯一的出口。我们并没有其他路径可以选择。 ”

　　格罗姆咧嘴笑道，“好极了，那就是我们的目标。我们要占领那座要塞，而后我们就可以掌控这一谷地，不管那些 联盟军队们会用什么方法来对付我们都没关系。”他向那侦察兵点点头，“让其他人准备好，我们要立刻进军那里。”

　　那兽人点了点头。就在他将要转身离开的时候，格罗姆举起一只手让他安静下来。他停顿了一下，认真地听了起来 。听起来那好像是脚步声，但是要更快，更有力，也带有着一种奇怪的回声。应当是兽类的脚步，而不是人类的，而且 是那种身形更为沉重的兽类。他曾经听说过人类和他们奇异的坐骑——“马”，人类这么叫这种动物——并且他认为这 就是他所听到的声音的来源。

　　“人类来了！”他立刻叫了出来，高举血吼并在头上来回舞动着。“驱散那些阴影。”

　　他不知道那些死亡骑士们在那里，甚至也不知道是哪些死亡骑士在负责维持笼罩着这片谷地的阴影，但是他们还是 听到了格罗姆的命令。阴影逐渐褪去，光线则透过那些空隙渗了进来，照亮了整个山谷，直到最后格罗姆可以清晰地看 到整个谷地。黑暗之门就在那边，已经被完全修复好了。在北边，他看到了几座石塔，看来那应当就是他的侦察兵提及 的要塞所在。

　　但是现在，他看到一队军人策马前行，通过那条狭窄的小径，向他们冲来。他们坐骑的皮毛微微发亮，马鬃以及尾 巴随风飘逸着。他们的领队是一个胸前穿着金属重甲的男子。他护甲上画着成对的火焰图案以及金色描边，纹章的背景 则为深蓝色。他高举一把长剑过头，驱赶着他的马儿前行。看来，这就是他们的首领。

　　格罗姆咧嘴大笑，再一次举起了手中的血吼。在没有阴影的情况下，它的锋刃在阳光之下闪着银白色的光芒。他慢 慢的用血吼画出一条弧线，死亡的战歌再一次响起。格罗姆也笑得更加兴奋。几个人类因为那战斧的呼啸之声而被吓退 两步。

　　“为了部落！”他大叫着，向前冲去。他的勇士们则紧随其后。

　　人类们犹豫着。他们因为刚才褪去的阴影而分心，而后又因为那一大群突然冲向他们的兽人而感到诧异，兽人们以 及他们的武器所发出来的各种声音则使得人类们更为恐慌。对于站在最前面的人类来说，那一时半刻的犹豫也是十分致 命的。

　　格罗姆首先出击，血吼轻轻松松的把最前面的骑兵从一侧的肩膀切向了另一侧的臀部。尸体的上半部分从马上滑落 下来，而下半部分则倒向了另外一边。格罗姆却并没有看到这一切，因为他早已经冲向了其他的目标们。格罗姆华丽的 转身，斩断了他旁边两个战士的腿。

　　其他兽人们在马群之间移动着，伺机斩杀那些骑兵和他们的坐骑。越来越多的马匹以及联盟战士倒下了。尽管冲向 谷地的军队数量相当可观，但是还是比不上格罗姆所率领的一众氏族，更何况他们还奇袭了这些人类。

　　让格罗姆不得不承认的是，这些人类们的确很勇敢，而且其中一些还很有意识和技术。但是，他们并不如兽人一般 身体强壮，而且他感到去压制那些人类战士，并且将他们横胸切开是那么的容易，尽管他们身上还穿着那些由奇异的金 属铸成的铠甲。

　　一度，格罗姆完全受到了嗜血之欲的掌控，向周边疯狂的削、砍、斩去，只能感知到身旁那飞溅的血腥以及死者的 恶臭，还有伤者以及将死之人痛苦的尖叫声。疯狂的杀戮，而完全不用关心别的，抑或是感到内疚，这种感觉是那么的 完美啊！在血吼之下，没有一个兽人倒下，只有那些肉粉色皮肤的人类们，一个接一个的倒下。他们的恐惧以及嚎叫是 那么让人沉醉。

　　格罗姆的血液在血脉之中沸腾，他的视线之中出现了一些怪异的色斑，他开始大口吸气。尽管如此，他还是认为这 是他生命中最为充满活力的一刻。很好。这种感觉真的很好。有那么一刻，他暂停了战斗，望向了四周。双目所及之处 便是人类尸体，成百的尸体。他们仍未瞑目，面容因为恐惧而有些扭曲，血液仍然在流动……

　　格罗姆眉头皱起，他体内的杀戮欲逐渐退去。的确，这里有那么多的尸体，但是他刚才所注意到的那个人类，那个 身着金色胸甲的首领——他在哪里？

　　他低吼一声，摇着头让自己冷静下来，以便听从他作为一个战士的本能。他没有理睬其他兽人们的呐喊以及欢呼之 声。格罗姆跑向了谷底的边缘，停了下来认真听着。没有问题，他可以很清楚地听到马蹄声，而且它很快就变得非常模 糊。有人活了下来，并且知道要逃跑。

　　逃回那座要塞。

　　格罗姆回到了战场，他看到了血魔。战歌酋长抓住血魔的手臂，喊道，“他们之中有一个人逃了！我想应当是他们 的首领。他逃向了要塞。”

　　血魔点点头，回复道，“跟着他。”他大声喊着，以期盖过周边喧闹的声响。“不要让那些联盟军队在要塞之中闲 下来。我们要去寻找那些神器。大约过上几天我们就能回来。”

　　格罗姆点头承诺道，“不用担心，我会履行我的职责。你管好你自己的事就好。”

　　死亡骑士大笑着，转过身去，没有任何回复。他张开他戴着锁甲的双手，一道暗影箭射了出去，打倒了前面的两只 马匹以及它们的主人。格罗姆牙齿紧闭。说实在的，他并不喜欢血魔，还有其他的那些死亡骑士。他们曾经活过，而现 在又死而复生，寄宿在人类的躯体之中。这些诡异的生物又如何能被信任？但是耐奥祖对于血魔的计划很是满意，所以 格罗姆只能附和他们，别无选择。他只希望血魔是对的，而这些他们坚持着去搜寻的物品能够帮助耐奥祖去拯救他们的 人民。

　　同时，他还要去执行那些命令。“你们几个，留在这里。”他命令着自己的战歌勇士们，“其他的人，还有别的几 个氏族的人，跟我来。”他大笑着，高举血吼，“这里有一座要塞，等着我们去占领呢！

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."

Kilrogg scratched the scar tissue beneath his missing
eye. "He has done all this? This plan—you think it sound?"

Gorefiend nodded.
"Hmm. Perhaps he's finally shaken off the weakness
and doubt Gul'dan inflicted upon him, then. If he is
anything like the Ner’zhul of old, I would gladly follow
him." He shook his head and lowered his voice. "And, in
truth, I would happily forsake this world for our own,
even in its current state. We have been trapped here too long."

Gorefiend nodded. "Go then," he urged the Bleeding
Hollow chieftain. "Ner’zhul and the others await you
beyond the portal, and I know your experience and
wisdom would be of great value to them. But first tell me, what of the other orcs still here?"

"Aside from the Frostwolves, who will have nothing to
do with the rest of us, there arc only two other clans not
in captivity," Kilrogg said. "The Dragonmaw and the
Blackrock." He grimaced. "The Dragonmaw remain
hidden in the mountains somewhere, safe from human
eyes, and they still control the red dragons. They formed
an alliance with the Blackrock a year ago. Rend and
Maim Blackhand lead the Blackrock, and have claimed
Blackrock Spire as their own." He shrugged. "I'd not
want the site of Doomhammer's defeat as my base, but then the brothers never cared for him." This was not good news.
"Will they return to the portal, and to Draenor, do you think?" Gorefiend asked.
Kilrogg shook his head. "Nay, they seem content to remain on Azeroth," he replied. "I'd not expect them,"
Gorefiend scowled but nodded. "My thanks, Kilrogg.

Now go—Draenor awaits."
Kilrogg nodded and turned away, leading his warriors
up the ramp to the restored portal, which shimmered
even in the darkness. "Onward to Draenor!" he
bellowed, pointing, and the first warrior strode through the portal without hesitation, followed by the rest.
Kilrogg himself went last, then he glanced back at the valley and at Azeroth. He lifted his weapon.
"A warrior retreats . . . but only to regroup. I will
return," he vowed. "This world and its people will know my wrath." Then he too stepped through, and was gone.





Grom Hellscream watched the Bleeding Hollow warriors vanish through the portal. He was pleased to see
that Kilrogg still survived—the older chieftain had always
been one of the canniest of the Horde leaders, and one of
their finest tacticians. He was sure Kilrogg's expertise would prove valuable very soon.
Turning back to the orc who had just approached,
Grom nodded for the warrior to continue.

"The humans have not been idle. A large fortress
stands to the north," the scout reported. "It guards the pass out of this area. There is no other way past."
Grom grinned. "Perfect," he said slowly. "That's our
target, we take the fortress and we can hold this valley
indefinitely, no matter what this human Alliance throws
against us." He nodded to the scout. "Tell the others to prepare, we will march at once."

The scout nodded, but before he could move away
Grom held up a hand for silence. He paused, listening
closely. It sounded like footsteps, but faster, harder, and
with a strange echo. More like a beast than a man, but if
so it was a heavy beast, with solid hooves rather than soft
paws. He had heard about the humans and their strange
steeds—"horses," they were called—and guessed that was what he was hearing.

"Humans approach!" he shouted immediately, raising
Gorehowl and whipping it around overhead. "Dispel the darkness!"
He didn't know where the death knights were, or even
which ones had been maintaining the unnatural shadows
that covered the valley, but they heard him. The
darkness began to fade, light seeping through a wisp at a
time, color washing across the valley even as the dark ebbed away, until at last he could see the place clearly.

There stood the Dark Portal, fully restored. Up to the
north he spotted stone towers—the fortress his scout had
mentioned. But now, through the narrow pass from that
direction came a force of men, astride beasts with
gleaming hides and long flowing manes and tails. At the
front of the wave of warriors was a man who wore metal
across his chest, dark blue but with a pattern like
twinned flames outlined in gold. He waved a sword
overhead, driving his horse forward without pause. This,
then, was their leader.
Grom grinned and raised Gorehowl again. With the
darkness gone its blade shone silver in the daylight. He
swung it in a slow arc, his grin widening as the weapon
sang its war song of approaching death. Several of the humans faltered.
"For the Horde!" he shouted, and charged forward. His warriors were right behind him.
The humans hesitated, thrown off by the strange
darkness they'd just seen slip away, surprised to find a
mass of orcs now charging toward them, and terrified by
the shrieks and howls arising not just from the approaching green-skinned warriors but from their very
weapons. And for the first rank of humans, that hesitation proved deadly.

Grom struck first. Gorehowl slicing the leading rider
from shoulder to opposite hip. The top half of the corpse
slid from the horse even as the bottom half toppled the
other way. Grom never saw it fall; he was already on to
the next targets, spinning to remove the legs of two more warriors as he stepped between them.
The orcs strode between the beasts, slicing into steed
and rider alike, sending some horses careening back into
and even over many of the Alliance foot soldiers. The
force that had marched into the valley was sizeable but
nothing to compare with the clans Grom had brought
with him, and the orcs had surprise and focus on their side.

The humans fought bravely, Grom would grant them
that. And some showed skill at arms. But they lacked an
orc's size and strength, and he found it an easy matter to
overpower a human fighter and carve him open right
through the strange metal shirt they all wore. For a sweet
time he let the bloodlust take control, hacking and
slashing savagely about him, caring for nothing more
than the spatter of blood, the reek of death, and the cries
of the wounded and dying. How glorious to again kill
without concern or guilt! No fellow orcs fell beneath Gorehowl,
only the pink-skinned humans, one after another after another,
and their fear and screams were intoxicating.

His blood pounded in his veins, his vision had strange
spots of color around the edges, and he was gasping for
breath, but Grom had never felt more alive. Good. It was
good. There came a momentary lull in the fighting, and
he glanced around. Everywhere he looked he saw
human corpses. Dozens of them, their eyes staring, fear
twisting their features, blood still pumping from. . .
Grom frowned, the bloodlust starting to retreat. Yes,
dozens of corpses, but the human he had noted, the one with the golden chest plate—where was he?




He growled and shook his black head, forcing the
bloodlust back so he could listen to his warrior's instincts.
Ignoring the shouts and cheers of his warriors. Grom ran
toward the edge of the valley. Then he stopped and
listened. Yes, he could definitely hear hoof-beats, and
they were receding fast. Someone had survived, and had the sense to ride away.
Back toward the fortress.
Returning to the battlefield. Grom found Gorefiend.
Seizing his arm, Grom shouted, "One of them escaped!
Their leader, I think. He is headed for the fortress!"
Gorefiend nodded. "Follow him," he replied, yelling as
Grom had been to hear over the din, "and keep the
Alliance forces in that fortress busy, we need to get to the artifacts, we should be back in a matter of days."

Grom nodded. "You need not worry," he promised. "I will do my duty, see to it you do yours."

The death knight laughed and turned away without
further reply, dismissing the Warsong clan leader. He
extended his mailed hands, and a bolt of darkness exploded from them to flatten two horses and their riders.
Grom ground his teeth together. He disliked Gorefiend,
and all the death knights, in fact—they had already lived
their lives and had returned from death itself, trapped
now in human bodies. How could such unnatural creatures
be trusted? But Ner’zhul had approved Gorefiend's plan,
and so Grom had no choice but to go along with it. He
just hoped the death knight was right, and that these
strange items they were so doggedly hunting really would allow Ner’zhul to save their people.

In the meantime, he had orders he was only too happy
to obey. "A handful of you, stay here," he instructed his
warriors. "The rest of you, and the other clans, come
with me." He grinned and raised Gorehowl high. "We have a fortress to take!"

第七章

　　穆拉丁•铜须，矮人国王麦格尼•铜须之胞弟，派往人类王国洛丹伦之使者，正奔走在皇宫的走廊之中。他自言自语 道，“这鬼地方真是曲里拐弯的，一个弯之后又一个，又一个，都多少个转角了……”

　　如果记得没错的话，那道通向国王的私人房间以及露台的旋转楼梯就在附近。他突然想起来，如果他穿过前方的军 械库，他就——

　　“哦嘿！”

　　尽管穆拉丁意识到那只是一个孩童的叫声，但他还是被吓了一跳。他向前看去，发现年轻的阿尔萨斯正站在一套放 在基座上的护甲前。在穆拉丁那层深厚浓密的胡须之下，他的笑容仍是隐约可见。洛丹伦的王子现在约摸十二岁，却已 可算是一个英俊的小伙子了。他一头金发，脸上总是带着微笑，面色十分红润。不过，在那一刻，阿尔萨斯的表情看上 去却十分严肃，用手中的木剑指着那套盔甲的喉咙处。

　　王子喊道，“可恶的兽人，你以为你可以过得了我这一关么？这一次我大人有大量，放过你。现在滚吧，永远不要 回来！”

　　尽管穆拉丁已经很是饥饿，而且他已经迟到了，但他仍在看着王子的言行，开心的笑着。他们不就是为了这些而战 的么？他、麦格尼以及他们的兄弟布莱恩，已故的洛萨爵士，以及年轻的图拉扬——他们曾经携手作战，在二次战争最 后的阶段里将铁炉堡从兽人手中挽救回来。在那以后，穆拉丁和布莱恩随着人类来到了黑暗之门，满意的观赏着它最终 的陨落。保证那些孩子们的安全，为他们换得一个更好的未来。

　　阿尔萨斯站直腰板，说道，“什么？你不会撤退？我给过你一次机会，但你没有珍惜。现在，开打吧。”

　　年轻的王子很聪明，知道自己不应当真的对那些古旧的护甲攻击，因为那只会让他的父王不满。于是他把自己的假 想敌摆在了几步之外，大吼一声，向那边冲了过去。

　　穆拉丁笑不起来了。这算什么啊？究竟是谁在教他应当这样做的？看看他怎么佯装格档的，那么远离目标而又毫无 控制！而他抓——啊呀，不对不对，全部都不对。在阿尔萨斯一道强而有力的挥击之后，穆拉丁的眉头皱得更紧了。阿 尔萨斯没有抓紧他手中的木剑，于是它飞了出去，穿过整个房间，最终落在地上发出了很大的声响。

　　阿尔萨斯大吸一口气，向四周望去，试图要知道那声响有没有吸引什么人的注意。当他双眼穆拉丁的目光相对时， 他的面颊变得通红。

　　“嗯……大使……我只是……”

　　穆拉丁轻轻咳嗽一声，看上去就和阿尔萨斯一样的尴尬。“我在找你老爸，孩子。你能给我指一下路么？这可恶的 地方可真难走。”

　　阿尔萨斯指向了他左手边的一座楼梯。穆拉丁点点头，快步走上了那旋转着的台阶，想要尽快的离开那里。

　　当他到达的时候，他听到了索拉斯•托尔贝恩那粗壮的声音——他暗想，对他来说，那再正常不过了。

　　“交易？和你们？你们这些部落的狗腿子们，活该你们被骂娘！”

　　这是怎么了？穆拉丁冲向那露台，以为自己会看到……好吧，他也并不确信自己会看到什么，但是再怎么说他也不 会想到自己会看到这样的一个矮小的绿皮生物。他的双耳好像蝙蝠耳朵一样，双眼中充满了焦虑一样张得大大的，头上 则是光秃秃的一片。他穿着亚麻材质的衬衣和长裤，外面套着一件小马夹。他还戴着一幅单片眼镜，只不过现在那被链 子挂着的眼镜正在他的胸前晃来晃去。

　　那绿皮生物深吸一口气，紧张而又尖声叫道，“不！不不不！”他的双手发了疯似的乱摆着。泰瑞纳斯以及托尔贝 恩正坐在一张桌子前面，而他则只略高于那张桌子。那生物笨拙的摸索他的单片眼镜，说道，“你完全弄错了！事情根 本不是你所想象的那样的！”

　　“真的么，克瑞斯？”泰瑞纳斯和善的说道。穆拉丁可以听得出来，虽然托尔贝恩很是亢奋，但是这里并没有什么 真正的威胁。国王拿了一片面包，开始往上面涂抹黄油。

　　“当然！”克瑞斯大声说道，看上去似乎刚才的对话冒犯了他。“好吧，的确是的。曾经，一个王子，交易过。是 的，他这么做了。”他轻轻咳了一声，继续道，“ 他和部落结盟。但是，只是那个白痴的王子！在二战之后，他恢复 了理智！其他的地精们认为应当保持中立。更好，你们好，我们好，大家都好！自由贸易兴旺，我们都获益！”

　　穆拉丁眉头微皱，他知道自己面前的生物是什么了——一个地精。“泰瑞纳斯啊，为什么在我们的早餐桌旁边会有 这么一个绿皮的财迷呢？”穆拉丁问道。

　　国王还没有来得及回答，那地精就先发话了，“克瑞斯•维克里斯，很高兴见到你。我看得出你是一个矮人。”

　　托尔贝恩低声说道，“你还真有观察力。”

　　“也许你们矮人会想要和我们签订一个自由贸易协议！这两个人类看起来对它并不怎么感兴趣。我想说的是——想 想吧！”克瑞斯讨好的笑道，但他的尖牙却让这一笑容变得很是怪异。“你们喜欢去挖矿，而我们喜欢去砍树！这简直 就是一个完美的生意关系！我们的切割机可以砍伐——”

　　“谢谢了，克瑞斯，不用多说了。”泰瑞纳斯打断了他。“现在，我们的穆拉丁大使来了，所以我们就该讨论正事 了。这个下午我会跟你再去详谈，并且看看你所给我说过的那些文件。”

　　“什么？”穆拉丁朝着泰瑞纳斯吼道，“这家伙可是在和两个阵营都在做生意啊，泰瑞纳斯。我宁可去相信一只— —喂！”

　　克瑞斯停了下来，手上的杏子烤饼即将被他放入嘴中，于是他只得无力的笑了笑。穆拉丁怒视着他。在穆拉丁来到 这里的一个月之内，所有的宫廷大厨们都已经熟知了他，而他还特地的与那些糕饼师傅们达成了良好的友谊关系。他所 做的这些为他带来了无数美味诱人的美食，就比如那些杏子。而现在，这个地精却要吃掉他的糕饼！

　　穆拉丁说道，“泰瑞纳斯国王让你离开。”克瑞斯点点头，他的单片眼镜又一次掉了下去。他把那烤饼扔进了他的 嘴里，深鞠一躬，急匆匆的转身离开。

　　“真是个寄生虫。”穆拉丁抱怨道。

　　泰瑞纳斯说道，“但是他很有趣，而且他所提出的那些方案确实很有价值。不过，我的大使啊，既然现在你来了， 我们就应该讨论一些更为严肃的东西了。比如培瑞诺德国王的问题。”

　　“靠，国王！说这个词可真别扭。他根本不配！”托尔贝恩喊道，右拳砰的一声砸在桌子上，让桌上的那些杯子、 碟子以及酒壶都被震得跳了起来。“他背叛了我们所有人，差一点就把我们都毁了，而这就是他所得到的？” 他满脸 怒容，继续道，“如果不能对他处以死刑，至少也应该把他关到监狱里面！”

　　穆拉丁说道，“啊哈，如果是我的话，我可不会把叛徒关到那些有栅栏的铁笼里。”他说话时从不委婉，而是心中 有什么就说什么，并且从不担心他所说的话是否会冒犯到其他的人。穆拉丁知道，尽管一些联盟的领主们认为他的这一 特点很是让人反感，但是对于泰瑞纳斯和他的老友托尔贝恩来说，这一点总是让他们感到振作。

　　从三人所处的那露台中，他们可以俯视城市前方的那座大湖。那里的景色十分的迷人，但也正是那里才间接促成了 此次的对话。奥格瑞姆•毁灭之锤就是通过前方那同样的山峰，才得以带领他的部落来到这里——这也多亏了奥特兰克领 主艾登•培瑞诺德的背叛。在战争之后，泰瑞纳斯带领着联盟士兵进入奥特兰克，以军事法律的名义将培瑞诺德监禁起来 。但是，这个和托尔贝恩有着多年恩怨的人仅仅是被泰瑞纳斯软禁在他的宫殿中，和他的家人一同被监视着。自那以后 ，就再也没有其他的任何行动了。

　　托尔贝恩和其他很多人一样，对此很是不满。作为和培瑞诺德相隔最近的邻居，他在很长一段时间中都被迫去忍受 奥特兰克国王那些多端的诡计。要不是托尔贝恩思维敏锐，行动迅速，将那些山脊通道封住，并阻拦了部落的一部分生 力军，整个部落一定会如一道绿色的洪流一般穿过平原，越过那片湖，最终涌向洛丹伦王都，并使整个城市沦陷。

　　“我同意，即便受到更严厉的惩罚，对他来说那也是应当的。”泰瑞纳斯谨慎的说道，尝试着让他的老友平静下来 。穆拉丁则伸手拿了一个烤饼以及一个煮熟的鸡蛋。

　　泰瑞纳斯继续道，“但是他是，或者说至少他曾经是，奥特兰克的国王。我们不能就这么简简单单的把他流放，亦 或是把他关入监狱。如果我们这么做了，其他的联盟君主们肯定会有所担心，担心当他们跟我们有所异议的时候，他们 也会遭到同样的待遇。”

　　“我们会的，如果他们就像培瑞诺德一样背叛我们！”托尔贝恩反驳道，但是他很快就冷静了下来。穆拉丁知道， 托尔贝恩并不傻，他刚才的言行只是出于一时脑热罢了。

　　“啊呀，这问题可真够复杂的。”穆拉丁说道，决定要为自己再拿一块烤饼。“你不能就这么把他扔下悬崖。这会 让你损失你在他人心中的威信。但是你也不能就这么不管他了。”

　　“我们需要强制他退位。”泰瑞纳斯又一次提出这一观点——这并不是他们几人第一次进行类似的交谈。“在那之 后，我们就可以去审问他，然后把他作为一个普普通通的联盟贵族，对他施以死刑。”他捏了捏自己的胡须，继续道， “但是问题是，他拒绝退位。”

　　托尔贝恩轻哼一声，“当然了！他知道退位就意味着自己的死亡！但是我们必须要做点什么，尽快。现在的他太自 由了，那很有可能会造成新的麻烦。”

　　泰瑞纳斯点头同意道，“的确如此。我们必须对奥特兰克有所行动，尤其是对于那些新近萌生的问题。”他叹了口 气。“最终我们所需要的就将是打上一仗，并且同时担心是否会有新的背叛者。”

　　“那么那个小子呢？”穆拉丁问道，他从他那浓茂的胡须中轻轻拂去了几片面包屑。“难道他不会去争那王座么？ ”

　　“你说的是阿里登？”托尔贝恩哼了一声，回道，“跟他的老爸一个货色。”

　　“对我来说，我并不太在意他。”泰瑞纳斯承认道，“他只是一个从小就被宠坏了的孩子，他不知道何谓吃苦受罪 ，也不知道何谓面对危难，说不定他甚至还不知道如何去当一个领袖。退一步说，我们又凭什么去阻止他呢？他是艾登 的子嗣，奥特兰克的王储。如果他的父王退位，他肯定就会即位称王的。”

　　“没有人能证明他知道他父亲的背叛行径。”托尔贝恩勉强的说，“我不是想说对此事的无知要比被玩阴的要好， 只是至少那对他还是有好处的。”

SEVEN

Muradin Bronzebeard, brother to King Magni
and ambassador to the human realm of
Lordaeron, hurried along the corridors of
the royal palace. "All these twists an' turns an' nooks and
crannies," the dwarf muttered to himself. If he
remembered correctly, the spiral staircase that would
take him up to the king's private apartments and balconies was around here somewhere. He seemed to recall
that if he ducked through this armory hall, he'd—
"Hoy!"
Muradin jumped slightly even as he realized the voice
belonged to a child. His grin was hidden by his thick,
bushy beard as he peered around a corner to see young
Arthas standing in front of a suit of armor on a small
pedestal. The prince was all of twelve now, a right
bonnie young lad, all smiles and golden curls and rosy
checks. At the moment, though. Prince Arthas looked
very serious and had a wooden sword pointed at the throat of a suit of armor.


"Think you to pass here, vile orc?" Arthas cried. "You
are in Alliance lands! I will show you mercy this once.
Begone and never return!"
Although Muradin was hungry, and although he was
late, he found himself watching, smiling. This was what
they'd all fought for, was it not? He and Magni and their
brother Brann, and the humans Lothar, rest his soul, and
young Turalyon—they'd fought together against the orcs
to save Ironforge toward the end of the Second War. And
then Muradin and Brann had gone with the humans to the Dark Portal, to watch its destruction with satisfaction.
Keeping the wee ones safe. Buying a future for all of them.

Arthas stiffened, "What? You will not depart? I have given you a chance, but now, we fight!"

With a fierce cry, the young prince charged. He was
wise enough not to actually attack the ancient suit of
armor, which would no doubt incur his father's disapproval, but set to his imaginary foe with vigor a few
paces away. Muradin's grin faded. What was this? Who in
the world had been teaching this boy? Look how wide and
uncontrolled that pretend parry was! And the grip—ach,
wrong, all wrong. He frowned terribly as after a
particularly energetic swing, Arthas lost his grip on the wooden sword and it flew across the room to clatter loudly on the floor.

Arthas gasped and looked around, to see if the sound
had drawn attention. His checks turned bright pink as he met Muradin's gaze.
"Urn . . . Ambassador . . . I was just. . ."
Muradin coughed, as embarrassed for the boy as
Arthas himself was. "I'm lookin' fer yer father, boy. Can
ye direct me? This infernal place has too many turns."
Arthas pointed to a stairway on his left. Muradin
nodded and hurried up the twisting steps, anxious to be away from the scene.

He arrived just in time to hear Thoras Trollbane bellowing—which, he mused, was hardly anything new.
"Trade? With you? You're double damned, no-good Horde sympathizers!"
What was going on? Muradin burst onto the balcony,
expecting to see . . . well, he wasn't sure what, but it
certainly wasn't a small green being with large, bat-like
ears and eyes that were currently wide with apprehension. He was completely bald and wore trousers, a
crisp shirt and waistcoat, and a monocle that had popped out and was now swinging wildly from a chain attached to his person.

"No, no no no!" the green creature gasped in a
strained, shrieking voice, waving his hands frantically. He
stood about eye level with the breakfast table at which
Trollbane and King Terenas were seated and fumbled
with the monocle. "You've got me all wrong! It's not like that at all!"
"Isn't it, Krix?" The mildness with which Terenas
uttered the words told Muradin that nothing of real
threat was going on. The king reached for a piece of bread and began to butter it.

"No!" Krix exclaimed, looking offended. "Well. One
trade prince, yes. Did. That." He coughed slightly. "Allied
with the Horde. But! Only one very foolish prince, and
even he came to his senses after the Second War. But the
rest of the goblins have come to realize that it's much
better to remain neutral. Much better, for you, for us, for everyone! Free trade thrives that way and we all benefit!"

Muradin scowled. He knew what manner of creature
he was facing now—a goblin. "What's this wee green
money grubber doing at our breakfast table, Terenas?"
Muradin asked, shouldering past the creature.

Before the king could answer, the goblin burst out,
"Krix Wiklish, pleasure to meet you. I see you're a dwarf!"

"Brilliant observation," Trollbane growled.
"Perhaps your people would like to enter a trade
agreement! These two humans don't seem so keen on it.

I mean—think about it!" Krix smiled ingratiatingly, the
effect marred only by the sharpness of his teeth. "You
like to mine—why, we like to tear down trees! It's a
perfect business relationship! Our shredders can clear land—"
"Thank you, Krix, that will be enough," Terenas interrupted. "Now that Ambassador Muradin has arrived,
we have business to attend to. I'll talk again with you later this afternoon and look at the papers you promised me."

"What?" Muradin scowled at Terenas. "This wee
bugger does deals with both sides, Terenas. I'd sooner trust a—hey!"

Krix froze, the apricot scone he had snagged halfway
to his mouth. He smiled weakly. Muradin glared. Within
a month of his arrival the dwarf had been on a first-name basis with every one of the palace chefs, and he
had gone to extra efforts to secure the friendship of the
pastry chefs. Such overtures were now bearing sweet,
delicious fruit, if the scones were any indication. And now this goblin was about to devour his pastries!

"King Terenas asked ye tac leave," he said. Krix nodded. The monocle fell out again. He popped the scone into his mouth, bowed low, and scurried off.
"Ruddy parasite, that one is," growled Muradin.
"But amusing," Terenas said. "And his ideas do have
merit. But now that you are here. Ambassador, I fear we
must talk of less amusing things. Such as the situation with King Perenolde."

"King! Bah. The word sits ill in my mouth. It's an
outrage!" Trollbane cried. He slammed a fist down on the
tabic, making cups and flagons and plates jump. "He
betrays us all, damn near destroys us, and this is all he
gets?" His long face set in a deep scowl. "I say prison, if not outright execution!"

"Aye, I'd not be keepin' traitors in gilded cages me
self," said Muradin. He did not mince words; he said
what was on his mind outright and didn't worry about
whom it might offend. Muradin knew that some of the
Alliance rulers found that combination distressing, but he
also knew that both Terenas and his old friend Trollbane found it refreshing.

The three sat at a small table on one of the palace's
higher balconies that overlooked the lake just beyond the
city, with the mountains forming a backdrop beyond. It
was a stunning view, but it also served to ground their
discussion, for it was through those same mountains that
Orgrim Doomhammer had led his Horde, thanks to the
treachery of Alterac's ruler, Aiden Perenolde. After the
war Terenas had led Alliance troops into Alterac,
declaring martial law and taking Perenolde, the fellow
Trollbane had been ranting against, into custody. But
Terenas had simply placed the former king under house
arrest, confining him to his palace and the rest of his
family to close watch. Nothing more had been done with them since then.

Trollbane, for one, was not satisfied. As Perenolde's
closest neighbor, he had long been forced to weather the
Alterac king's wily schemes, and it had only been
Trollbane's quick thinking and equally quick action that
had scaled the mountain passes and cut off a portion of
the orcish Horde. Otherwise the entire force would have
flowed down onto the plains and across the lake toward
Capital City itself, and most likely the city would have fallen.

"I agree, he deserves a far worse fate," Terenas said
carefully, clearly trying to soothe his friend's temper,
Muradin reached for a scone and a hard-boiled egg. "But
he is, or at least was, a sovereign king," Terenas
continued. "We cannot simply exile him, or imprison
him—not without making every other king worry that
we will do the same to them if they disagree with us on anything."

"We will, if they turn traitor like he did!" Trollbane
argued, but he soon settled down. He was far from stupid, Muradin knew; that gruff exterior hid a sharp mind.
"Aye, it's a tricky issue," Muradin said, deciding to
help himself to another pastry. "Ye canna be dropping
him off a cliff, for it'll lose ye the trust of yer other
fellows, but ye canna leave him to get away with it, either."

"We need to force him to abdicate," Terenas pointed
out yet again—this was not the first time they'd had this
discussion. "Once he's no longer king, we can try him
and execute him as just another Alliance noble." He tugged at his beard. "The problem is, he's refusing."

Trollbane snorted. "Of course he is! He knows that
means his death! But we have to do something, and
soon. Right now he's got too much freedom, and that's bound to cause trouble."

Terenas nodded. "It has certainly sat for too long," he
agreed. "Something must be done about Alterac, especially with these new problems brewing." He sighed.

"The last thing we need is to fight another war while worrying about betrayal again."
"And what of the lad?" Muradin asked, flicking a stray
crumb from his majestic bronze beard, "Will he no be tryin' for the throne?"
"Aliden, you mean?" Trollbane replied. He snorted.
"Cut from the same cloth as his father."

"I don't care for young Aliden much myself," Terenas
admitted. "He was far too pampered as a youth— he has
never known hardship or travail, and has never faced
danger. I fear he has no leadership skills, either. Yet what
grounds have we to deny him the throne? He is Aiden's
heir. Alterac's crown prince—if his father does abdicate,
the crown falls to him."
"There's no proof he knew of his father's treachery,"
Trollbane said grudgingly. "Not that being ignorant is
much better than being underhanded, but at least he has that in his favor."

Just then a servant appeared at the door. Muradin
frowned, fearing that the pesky goblin wanted to talk to
them. Instead, the servant had good news. "Lord Daval
Prestor wishes an audience, Your Majesty," he told Terenas.
"Ah, send him up, by all means, Lavin," Terenas said.
He turned to Trollbane and Muradin. "Have you both met Lord Prestor?"

"Aye, and it's a fine man he is," Muradin replied. "And
much to his credit that he's survived as well as he has.
with all he's faced." Trollbane nodded his agreement.
Lord Prestor had been dealt a harsh hand by fate, Muradin reflected as he bit into the egg. He'd never heard of
the man until recently, of course—he didn't much follow
all the twists and turns of human nobility—but from
what he'd been told, Prestor had been ruler of a tiny domain deep in the mountains of Lordaeron. He could trace
his ancestry back to the royal house of Alterac and was a
distant cousin of Perenolde's. Prestor's entire realm had
fallen to a dragon attack during the Second War, and he
and a handful of close family alone had escaped. The first
anyone had heard of the man or his realm had been a
shocking introduction—Prestor had staggered all the way
to Capital City without servants or guards, indeed with
little more than the clothes on his back and his good
name. His lineage had earned him admittance into the
noble circles and his engaging personality had won him
friends, the three at the tabic among them. It had been
Prestor's suggestion to pass martial law in Alterac, and
not only Terenas but the rest of the Alliance had agreed at once that it was a fine albeit temporary solution.

　就在那时，一个仆从出现在门口。穆拉丁皱着眉头，害怕是那个烦人的地精还想要跟他们商讨贸易。但是并不是。 那仆从带来的是好消息，“国王殿下，达瓦尔•普瑞斯托领主求见。”

　　“啊，拉文，把他带上来吧。”泰瑞纳斯说道，而后转向托尔贝恩和穆拉丁。“你们有没有见过普瑞斯托领主？”

　　穆拉丁回道，“嗯，他确实是一个好人。值得赞扬的是，在他经历了那么多之后，他还能坚强的活下来。”托尔贝 恩点头赞同。

　　穆拉丁咬了一口鸡蛋，回忆起这个人。普瑞斯托领主可说是一个被命运捉弄的人。直到最近，穆拉丁才听说过他— —当然，穆拉丁对于人类那复杂的贵族关系并不甚了解。根据别人所说，普瑞斯托曾经是洛丹伦附近的深山之中一个小 型王国的领主。他的先祖可以追溯到奥特兰克的皇族，并且他还是培瑞诺德的一个远房表亲。在第二次战争中，普瑞斯 托的整个王国因为一只巨龙的攻击而全部沦陷，只有他和他的一些近亲逃了出来。在没有仆从和卫兵的帮助之下，普瑞 斯托艰难的来到了洛丹伦王都，只随身带着几件破旧的衣服以及他的名望。他的皇家血统让他进入了洛丹伦的贵族圈， 而他的个人魅力则让他结交了许多的好朋友，包括了在桌边围坐着的这三人。正是普瑞斯托的建议，军事法才在奥特兰 克得到通过。不论是泰瑞纳斯还是其它的联盟领主们都一致认为这是一个很好的解决办法，尽管它只是暂时的。

　　片刻之后，众人刚才讨论过的那个男子走上了露台，向大家得体的鞠了一个深躬。在早晨那温暖明快的日光的照耀 下，他的一头黑色卷发似乎发着淡蓝色的光。“国王殿下，”普瑞斯托低声说道，他那男中音一般的声音很轻松的传到 众人耳中。“还有尊贵的大使。真高兴又一次见到你们。”

　　“的确如此。”泰瑞纳斯心情愉悦的说道，“坐过来吧。你想不想要喝一点茶呢？”

　　“今天的杏子饼真是好吃极了。”穆拉丁向他提出。矮人正在大口的咀嚼着那些烤饼，却一不小心的喷出了一些残 渣，于是他赶紧用手遮住自己的嘴。和普瑞斯托一如既往的爱干净比起来，穆拉丁感觉自己很是无礼。

　　“非常感谢各位。”普瑞斯托用他随身携带的手帕擦了擦前面的座位，而后优雅的坐了下来，给自己倒了一杯茶。 穆拉丁给他递过去那盘烤饼，但是他笑了笑，举起自己的手礼貌的拒绝了矮人。他的手指甲被精心修剪过，而他的手上 也是毫无茧子。“希望我没有打扰到众位？”

　　“一点也不，一点也不。”泰瑞纳斯保证道，“事实上，你来得可正是时候。我们刚才在讨论有关奥特兰克的问题 。”

　　“啊是的，当然了。”普瑞斯托很享受的呷了一口茶。“我相信你们都听说过年轻的艾思登？”当他看到众人茫然 的表情时，他感到一丝惊讶。“他是培瑞诺德领主的一个侄子，一个毛头小子。”

　　“噢，是了。那个逃到了吉尔尼斯的家伙，是么？”托尔贝恩问道。

　　“是的。就在你们在奥特兰克通过了军事法不久之后他就逃了。有传闻说他是想要从那里得到一些支持，用以帮助 他得到王位。”

　　“灰鬃曾经提到过此事，”泰瑞纳斯想起来，“但是他自己从来没有见过那个孩子，抑或是他的随从。”

　　普瑞斯托摇了摇头，说道，“灰鬃可真够高尚的，他居然没有利用此人来从中牟利。他所需要做的就是扶持年轻的 艾思登称王，而后吉尔尼斯就可以从奥特兰克那丰厚的财富中捞上一大把，当然了，还有通过奥特兰克众多山脊通道的 许可。”

　　穆拉丁抓了抓他的胡须，“呵，这可真有诱惑力。”

　　泰瑞纳斯和托尔贝恩交换了一下眼神。灰鬃这个老狐狸是不可能错失如此良机的，但是他却声称自己没有见过那个 男孩。他在撒谎？抑或是他还在玩别的阴谋？

　　“你认为我们应该对奥特兰克做些什么呢？泰瑞纳斯向普瑞斯托问道。

　　“国王殿下，为什么您要问我呢？”

　　“当局者迷，旁观者清。我们认为你的观点会很有价值。”

　　普瑞斯托微微脸红，说道，“真的么？您这么看中我，谢谢您。好吧……我认为，国王殿下，您应该将奥特兰克据 为己有。毕竟，您是联盟的首领，而且在上一次战争中您的国家为此付出了惨痛的代价。我确信您需要得到一些东西， 来回报您所付出的一切。”

　　泰瑞纳斯咯咯笑道，“不，谢谢你。”他举起一只手，佯装自己很是惊异。“光是洛丹伦的事务就够我忙得了，我 可不想再去占领另外的一个王国，让自己做双倍的工作。”穆拉丁知道泰瑞纳斯国王也曾经考虑过这一想法，毕竟它从 某些角度来说还是有好处的。但是它所带来的那些麻烦，尤其是来自于其他的几位君主那里的麻烦，将会远远超过那些 利益，至少泰瑞纳斯是这么认为的。

　　“那您呢，国王殿下？”普瑞斯托转向斯托姆加德之王，建议道，“您快速的行动制止了培瑞诺德的背叛。我很清 楚您的很多士兵都因为防卫那些山路而死在了兽人的手下。”年轻的贵族脸上显露出一丝痛苦，而其他的三人则都向后 微微一缩。他们都知道普瑞斯托现在心里联想到了什么，也许这就是为什么他会对自己这么的小心谨慎。穆拉丁暗想， 如果自己也曾经从一座被龙火摧毁的城中被迫逃离，穿着破旧的衣服走上那么久，也许他现在也能够像普瑞斯托一样受 人钦佩。

　　托尔贝恩眉头微皱，深思着。在他还没有来得及说话之前，泰瑞纳斯就已经开口了，“不管是索拉斯还是我，都不 会去占领奥特兰克。这并不是一个简单的一个国家侵略另外一个国家的问题。我们都是联盟的一部分，我们必须齐心协 力保护我们的世界，我们的土地。正是因为联盟上下一心，我们才能够打败部落，赢得战争。所以说，战争的战利品， 包括奥特兰克，也应当归属于整个联盟。”他摇了摇自己的头，“如果我们当中的任何一人想要并吞奥特兰克，其他领 主就会认为自己被轻视了。”

　　穆拉丁同意道，“是的，这一问题必须得要让所有人表决，或者压根儿就不要考虑它。”他微微一笑，“不管怎么 说，给大家提一个建议还是能让问题变得轻松一些的。”

　　普瑞斯托点点头，放下了手中的茶杯，“如果我刚才的话不合时宜，抑或是冒犯到了你们，我在此表示我的歉意。 ”他轻笑道，“看来不管是智慧还是外交手段，我和你们的水平都差得很远。”

　　泰瑞纳斯轻轻挥手，说道，“亲爱的普瑞斯托，你并没有冒犯到我们。我问你是否有什么看法，你说了出来。我们 三人聚集于此的原因之一就是想要讨论这一问题，希望能够找到什么方法来满足每一个牵连到的人，并且保证奥特兰克 的安全与正常运作。”他笑道，“我们的朋友穆拉丁很正确——如果我们能够给联盟一个好的计划，那将会省下很多时 间和不必要的争论。”

　　“当然了。我只希望我小小的贡献能够起到一定的作用。”普瑞斯托站了起来，深深地鞠躬，“现在如果可以的话 ，我会离开此处，让您三位在此商讨这一问题，因为我认为这远超出了我的能力范围。”他等待着泰瑞纳斯点头同意， 而后向众人优雅一笑，离开了露台。

　　托尔贝恩看着年轻的领主离开，皱着眉头。“普瑞斯托有些天真，但是他的确说出了一个重点。也许奥特兰克应当 赔偿。”

　　“用什么呢？”穆拉丁嘲弄道，“奥特兰克就和你我一样，几乎身无分文。同时，这听起来和复仇没什么区别。”

　　泰瑞纳斯指出，“我们大部分的钱财都用于战后重建工作了。等我们掌控了奥特兰克，我们就将他们的财富划归给 联盟。”

　　“嗯，而且那些兽人收容所也不便宜呢。”穆拉丁补充道，“等把这些钱都用于它们以及修复，还有那个黑暗之门 旁边的承包，哪还有钱用来赔偿？”

　　托尔贝恩叹道，“你很正确。不管怎么说，我只是认为他们应该付出代价，毕竟奥特兰克的背叛造成了这么多的伤 亡。”

　　“培瑞诺德的背叛。”泰瑞纳斯指正道，“我们必须记住这一点。几乎没有几个奥特兰克公民知道他们国王的背叛 行为。培瑞诺德只是让他们远离几个山道，并且让兽人们顺利通过了那些小径。这才是问题，而不是整个奥特兰克帮助 了部落的问题。”

　　“的确如此。”托尔贝恩同意道，“在过去的很多年中，我认识了很多来自奥特兰克的人，他们都是好人，不像他 们狡猾的国王。”他摇了摇头，喝干了手中的酒壶，用手背擦了擦自己的胡子。“我会再去想想别的方法的。”他保证 道。

　　“我们都会的。”穆拉丁向他保证道。在三人站起来的时候，穆拉丁伸手拿起了桌子上的最后一块烤饼。“别担心 ，我们会找到解决办法的。”

　　“我很确信这一点。”泰瑞纳斯同意道。“我只希望我们能够在被迫去面对其他更紧迫的问题之前就把它解决。” 他的两个同伴都知道他所指的是什么。就在几天前，他们收到了来自卡德加的警告，现在他们则等待着图拉扬的消息。 如果部落真的卷土重来，如果黑暗之门真的再度开启，有关奥特兰克的一切问题就会留待日后商榷。只要培瑞诺德还被 软禁，而奥特兰克仍归于联盟控制，他们仍可以在以后考虑这些问题——前提是他们能够活下来去考虑。

　　穆拉丁郁闷的想着年轻的阿尔萨斯挥舞着木剑砍向那套护甲的情形。他只希望年轻的王子不会很快就品尝到战争的 滋味。

The man in question stepped onto the balcony a
moment later and executed a graceful and deep bow, his
black curls gleaming almost blue in the warm early light.
"Your Majesties," Prestor murmured, his rich baritone
carrying easily across the small space. "And noble Ambassador. How good to see you all again."

"Indeed it is," said Terenas jovially. "Sit and join us.
Would you care for some tea?"
"The apricot scones are particularly fine today,"
Muradin offered, covering his mouth with his hand as he
inadvertently sprayed some crumbs. Something about
Prestor's characteristic tidiness always made the dwarf feel a bit. . . rustic.


"Many thanks, my lords," Prestor seated himself
gracefully, though not before using his napkin to quickly
dust off his scat, and poured a cup of tea. Muradin
offered him the plate of scones, but Prestor smiled,
holding up a manicured, uncallused hand in polite refusal. "I hope I am not intruding?"
"Not at all, not at all," Terenas assured him. "In fact,
your timing is excellent. We were just discussing the matter of Alterac."

"Ah yes, of course," Prestor took an appreciative sip of
tea. "No doubt you have heard about young Isiden?" He
seemed surprised at the blank looks he received in
response. "One of Lord Perenolde's nephews, he is more than a youth still."
"Ah, yes. Ran off to Gilneas, didn't he?" Trollbane asked.
"Indeed he did, shortly before you _declared martial
law throughout Alterac. Rumors say he is hoping to rally
support there for his own bid for the throne."

"Greymane mentioned something of that," Terenas
recalled. "But he has not met with the boy, or encouraged his suit in any way."

Prestor shook his head. "He is noble indeed. King
Greymane," he mused softly, "to overlook something
which could so easily work to his benefit. All he would
need to do is back Isiden for the throne and Gilneas
would gain a direct stake in Alterac's welfare—and no
doubt favored status through the kingdom's many mountain passes."

Muradin scratched at his beard. "Aye, that'd be a hard one ta pass up," he agreed.
Terenas and Trollbane exchanged glances. Greymane
was canny enough not to miss such an opportunity. Yet
he claimed he'd not spoken with the boy. Had he lied? Or was he playing a more subtle game?
"What do you think should be done with Alterac?"
Terenas asked Prestor.
"Why do you ask me, sire?"
"An outsider's perspective is useful, and we value your opinion."
Prestor colored slightly. "Truly? You honor me, thank
you. Well. . . I think you should claim it for your own,
Your Majesty. You are the leader of the Alliance, after all,
and took the brunt of the costs for the last war. Surely you are due a reward for all your efforts?"

Terenas chuckled. "No thank you," he said, holding up
a hand in mock horror. "I have more than enough to
handle here in Lordaeron—I've no desire to double my troubles by taking on a second kingdom!"
Muradin knew he had considered the idea, of course,
and from some vantages it held merit. But the troubles it
would cause, not least of them among his fellow rulers,
would far outweigh the benefits, at least to Terenas's mind.
"How about you then, Your Majesty?" Prestor suggested, turning to the Stromgarde king. "Your quick action stopped Perenolde's treachery I well know you lost
many men defending those mountain passes from the
orcs." A shadow of pain flickered across the young
noble's face, and all three of his companions winced
slightly knowing exactly where his thoughts had led him.
Maybe that was why he was so meticulous about his
person. If he'd been forced to flee a city that had been
destroyed by dragonfire, walking for ages in the same
filthy clothes. Muradin mused, maybe he'd be a bit of a dandy now too.

Trollbane frowned thoughtfully, but before he could
speak, Terenas interjected gently, "Neither Thoras nor I
could claim Alterac. It is not simply a matter of one
kingdom invading another. We are all part of the Alliance, and must all work together to protect our world
and our lands. The Alliance as a whole defeated the
Horde and won the war. That means any spoils of war,
including Alterac, must fall to the Alliance as well." He
shook his head. "If any one of us tried to annex Alterac,
the other Alliance rulers would feel slighted, and rightly so."

"Aye," Muradin agreed. "It must be decided by all, or
not at all." He grinned. "Though presentin' a fine idea to the rest could case the matter somewhat."
Prestor nodded and set down his cup. "My apologies if
I spoke out of turn," he said, "or if I offended you in any
way." He offered them a small smile. "I can see, I still
have much to learn before I can hope to match your wisdom or diplomacy."

Terenas waved the apology aside. "No harm done, dear
boy I asked for your opinion and you gave it. Part of the
reason we three were meeting here was to discuss this
very matter, in the hopes of finding some way to satisfy
everyone involved and still keep Alterac safe and active."
He smiled. "Our friend Muradin is right— if we can
present a good plan to the rest of the Alliance, it could save much time and argument."


"Of course. I only hope my small contribution has
been in some way helpful." Prestor stood and bowed
deeply. "Now if you will excuse me, I will leave you to
these weighty deliberations, which I fear are far beyond
my own ability." He waited for Terenas's nod of permission, then graced them all with a smile and exited the balcony.
Trollbane watched the young lord go, frowning.
"Prestor may be naive," he said, "but he has a point.
Maybe Alterac should pay reparations."
"With what?" Muradin scoffed. "They're bled dry, just
like all of us. Besides, that sounds too much like blood money, which is the same as saying vengeance."
"Most of our money is going toward rebuilding,"
Terenas pointed out. "We added Alterac's treasuries to the Alliance's once we took control of the kingdom."

"Aye, and the orc internment camps are no cheap
either," Muradin added. "With all the money goin' ta
those and ta repairs, and ta thai fine new fortress by the portal, what's left for reparations?"
Trollbane sighed. "You're right. I just feel they should pay, somehow. Alterac's betrayal cost so many lives."

"Perenolde's betrayal," Terenas corrected gently but
firmly. "We must remember that. Very few of Alterac's
citizens even knew of their king's treachery—Perenolde
simply ordered them away from certain passes and made
those trails accessible to the Horde. It was less a question
of Alterac helping the Horde than of its king granting the
orcs free passage and keeping his own citizens out of the way."

"True enough," Trollbane agreed. "I've known many
from Alterac over the years, and most are fine folk, not
like their snake of a king." He shook his head, drained his
flagon, and wiped his beard and mustache with the back
of his hand. "I'll give the matter more thought," he promised.
"As will we all," Muradin assured him, snatching up
one last scone as they rose from their scats. "Dinna worry—we'll find a solution yet."

"I'm sure we will," Terenas agreed. "I just hope we can
do so before we're forced to set the matter aside for more
pressing issues." His two companions knew what he
meant. They had received Khadgar's warning only a few
days before, and now were waiting on word from
Turalyon. If the Horde did attack again, if the portal did
reopen, all questions about Alterac would quickly
become moot. As long as Perenolde was under house
arrest and the kingdom under Alliance control, they
could worry about other details later—if they survived.
Muradin thought somberly of young Arthas ―winging
away at a suit of armor, and hoped that the prince would not get a taste of war just yet.

第八章

　　今夜，暴风城上空的云层显得格外的低，触碰着城市中众多塔楼的顶尖。一阵冷风吹来，驻守在暴风要塞之外的守 卫们披着斗篷，挤成一团，打着冷颤；而在要塞之内，他们的总指挥官图拉扬以及他的智囊们却仍未休息。他们呆在一 间房间内，也就是现在的联盟指挥所，研究着艾泽拉斯的地图。谁都可以看得出来他们的总指挥和陪伴着他的女精灵之 间紧张的局势。尽管那些守卫们被允许留在这里，但是他们还是感觉很不自然。

　　守卫们因为寒冷而不停的颤抖着，但是他们却并没有注意到有一阵诡异的阴风，飘过暴风城的街道，从暴风要塞的 正门鱼贯而入，向上穿过宽阔的要塞走廊，而后转向左去。那阵风旋转着，通过了另外一个走道，最后进入了一座小小 的露天庭院。

　　有一对守卫相对而立，守卫着皇家图书馆的入口。当他们感到那股冷冽的气流时，他们也不禁打了个寒颤。两人发 现周围似乎变得更加阴暗，于是眯起眼睛看了起来。

　　突然，一阵强风卷起，吹散了那阴影，显现出了几个站立着的身影。其中的四个看起来应该是人类，至少从身形上 来看。他们都穿着带有宽大兜帽的斗篷，四肢和躯干则由某种奇异的东西包裹起来，而他们的双眼居然闪耀着火红色的 光芒。至于最后一个身形，他要比其他四人都高上许多，而且即使在这近似完全黑暗的环境中还是可以看得出他的皮肤 是亮绿色的。

　　其中的一个守卫抽出他的剑，同时试图想要叫喊出来警告有人入侵。他失败了。那个兽人走向前来，同时手中的巨 斧向前挥舞着，而那个可怜的守卫就此变成了两截。他的同伴举起了自己的盾牌，格挡住了一次来自于那些有着怪异装 束的入侵者的攻击，同时用他手中的矛刺了过去，但他所做的也只是无用功罢了。另外的一人抓住了矛柄，将它从中切 断，而后轻盈的转身，越过盾牌的上沿，用刚切断的矛滑过了守卫的脖子。第二个守卫无声的倒下，他的头和身子几乎 分了家。众人跨过了那两个还在微微抽搐着的尸体，推开了前面的门，进入了皇家图书馆。

　　血魔指示道，“我们动作要快，并且绝对不能被发现。”他的死亡骑士们，以及帕加斯•裂喉者，也就是刚才那个 迅速解决掉第一个守卫的兽人，点了点头。血魔知道那些血窟兽人们要比其他的任何人都要了解艾泽拉斯，而且对于血 魔来说，这个帕加斯在闲置着的兽人当中算是较为聪明和沉着的一个，于是他便指派了此人来执行任务。

　　五人众分散开来，在图书馆中搜寻着他们的战利品。大约几分钟之后，帕加斯低声咒骂道，“它不在这里！”

　　“什么？你确定么？”血魔走了过来，看到他站在一个空的玻璃箱旁边。

　　作为回应，帕加斯指了指那个玻璃箱。箱子中的一个角落处放置着一张小小的棕褐色卡片。血魔拥有他宿主的回忆 和技艺，于是在凝神片刻之后他理解了卡片上的说明：麦迪文之书。未经国王或联盟指挥官许可者不得擅自开启。

　　“它曾经在这里，”血魔暗想道，看着那箱中的天鹅绒衬里，那里很明显曾经放置过某种很大、很厚的长方形物体 。“但是它现在在哪里？”

　　“这里，”一个死亡骑士轻声说道。血魔赶忙走向他，帕加斯和另外两个死亡骑士紧随其后。“看来还有别的人跟 我们的想法一样。”他指向一个小书房，以及其内的尸体。那尸体穿着联盟守卫的护甲，一把匕首插在他的脖子上，只 露出其刀把。

　　“奥特兰克，”帕加斯看着地上的死者，低声道，“这里，是他们的徽记。”帕加斯指着刀把上的记号，说道，“ 那是奥特兰克的纹章。”

　　血魔的宿主之躯的记忆肯定了这一点， “所以说是奥特兰克拿走了麦迪文之书。” 他暗想道，尽管培瑞诺德领主 在上一次战争中当了次叛徒，但是他仍然是奥特兰克之王，至少现在还是。对于联盟来说，那本书也是至关重要的。奥 特兰克完全可以用它来作为讨价还价的筹码，没错，这很说得过来。

　　“但是为什么他要留下这么一个明显的线索呢？”他大声质疑道，“这个刺客可真够粗心的。”

　　“也许他是想要传达一个信息，”帕加斯说道，“奥特兰克想要告知联盟，它和它的国王还在这场游戏之中。或者 ，”他大笑着，露出自己的獠牙，“也许他真的就只是一个粗心的刺客。”

　　血魔说道，“好吧，可是我们不应该也跟他一样粗心。我们需要这本书，所以我们必须要去奥特兰克。把那柄匕首 拿走，我不希望联盟跟我们有相同的线索。这个尸体还没有腐烂，就让那些守卫们在明天看到这三人的时候，认为他们 都是死于同一个人之手好了。”

　　帕加斯遵从的蹲下，拔起了那把匕首，“现在我们前往奥特兰克？”

　　“是的……但是现在还不行。我们需要尽可能地按照原计划行事。现在我们还是要先去黑石山。我们需要雷德和麦 姆两兄弟，以及他们控制的红龙。”

　　帕加斯点头指出，“黑石山刚好是我们去奥特兰克的必经之地。”

　　“正是。”血魔笑道，“再加上红龙在手，我们不出几个小时就可以打一个来回，并且还能在预计的时间之前赶回 黑暗之门。”他点点头继续道，“但是首先，我们必须要尽快离开这里，就如同我们来到这里时一样不留痕迹。”他招 手示意众人过来。

　　阴影再次笼罩，图书馆内的温度骤降。片刻之后，又一道冷风滑过了门口，越过了那冰冷的尸体以及周边的一摊摊 血迹，离开了要塞，最终消失在夜色里。

EIGHT

Clouds hung low over Stormwind, brushing the
tips of the city's many towers. A chill wind
tugged at the guards' cloaks as they huddled at
their posts outside Stormwind Keep, shivering. Inside,
their commander Turalyon and his advisers were still
awake, poring over maps in one of the armories in the
keep, now the Alliance command post. The guards had
nodded to the beautiful elf who had accompanied their
commander and was currently in the room with the
other strategists, though anyone with eyes could see the
tension between the two.

They shivered, but paid no real heed to a particularly
cold breeze that wafted through the city, danced in
through the keeps gate doors, and then drifted up the
wide central hallway and veered to the left. Up it swirled,
through another corridor and across a small courtyard
open to the cloudy night sky.
A pair of guards stood to either side of the entrance to
the royal library. They shivered as they felt the breeze
brush up against them, and squinted as the shadows
around them seemed to deepen.

Suddenly a stronger wind sprang up, whisking the
shadows away and revealing several figures in their
stead. Four of them seemed to be human, at least in size;
they all wore heavy hooded cloaks and strange
wrappings around limbs and torso, but their eyes glowed
a fiery red. The last figure, however, towered over them,
and even in the near-dark his skin gleamed green.

One of the guards inhaled to cry out an alarm as he
drew his sword. He never got the chance. The orc
stepped forward, already swinging a massive axe. The
guard fell in two pieces. His companion was able to raise
his shield and block a blow from one of the strange
wrapped figures and thrust with his spear. To no avail;
another of the intruders caught the spear haft and
chopped it in half, then spun and delivered a sweeping
blow to the guard's neck just above the shield's edge. The
man fell without a sound, his head nearly severed, and
the figures stepped over the two twitching corpses,
pushed the doors open, and entered the royal library.

"Be quick," Gorefiend instructed. "We must not be
discovered." His death knights nodded, as did Pargath
Throatsplitter, the orc who had so quickly dispatched the
first guard. Gorefiend had wanted a Bleeding Hollow
warrior with him, since they knew this world better than
any other Horde member, and Pargath had impressed
him as one of the smarter and quieter warriors available.
All five of them spread out, combing the library for
their prize. After several minutes, Pargath cursed. "It's
not here!" he whispered.

"What?" Gorefiend joined the warrior next to an empty glass case. "Are you sure?"
In response Pargath gestured at the case, and at a small
tan card stuck in one corner. Gorefiend had access to his
host body's memories and skills, and after a second of
concentration he could make out the writing: Book of
Medivh. Not to be opened without express permission from the
king or from the Alliance commander.

"It was here," Gorefiend mused, studying the case's
deep velvet interior, which had clearly been weighed
down by something large, heavy, and rectangular. "But where is it now?"

"Over here," one of his death knights called softly, and
Gorefiend hurried toward him, Pargath and the other
two death knights right behind him. "It looks as though
someone else was thinking along the same lines we
were." The death knight pointed at a small reading
alcove—and the body within it. The corpse wore the
armor of an Alliance guard, a dagger hilt protruding from
the narrow space between the helm and breastplate.

"Alterac," Pargath whispered, staring down at the dead
man. "That insignia, there." Pargath pointed to the
markings on the dagger hilt. "That's the Alterac crest."
Gorefiend's own host memories confirmed it. "So
Alterac has the book," he mused. Despite his betrayal
during the previous war, Lord Perenolde still ruled
Alterac, at least for now. And the book was valuable to
the Alliance—Alterac could use it as a bargaining chip.
Yes, it did make sense.

"But why leave behind such an obvious clue?" he
wondered aloud. "That's a careless assassin."
"Perhaps he was sending a message," Pargath suggested. "Showing the Alliance that Alterac and its king
are still in the game. Or," and he grinned, his tusks
showing, "maybe he was just a careless assassin."

"Well, we shall not be so careless," Gorefiend said.
"We need this book—-and so we must go to Alterac.
Take the dagger—I'd just as soon the Alliance didn't have
the same clue we did. The corpse is fresh—let the guards
think all three were slain by the same hand, when they come across them on the morrow."
Pargath obediently knelt and tugged free the deadly weapon. "To Alterac then?"

"Yes,. . . but not just yet, we need to keep to our
original plan as much as possible. We're still going to
Blackrock Mountain, we need Rend, Maim, and the red dragons they control."

Pargath nodded. "Blackrock is on the way to Alterac," he pointed out.

"Exactly." Gorefiend grinned. "And with a red dragon
at our disposal we could be there and back in hours, and
still return to the portal ahead of schedule." He nodded.
"But first we must leave here as quietly as we came." He
beckoned them to him. The shadows crept closer, the
temperature in the library dropping. A moment later, a
chill wind slipped through the doors, past the cooling
bodies and the pools of blood around them, back down
the corridor, and out of the keep, where it quickly escaped into the night.

　　一天之后，泰隆•血魔和他的小分队来到了黑石山。在联络了贾兹•碎魂者之后，碎魂者派遣了雷王氏族的芬瑞斯 •狼友和嚼骨氏族的塔伽•碎脊者，以及其他的几个较强的战士前来协助血魔。他们按照指示与血魔在黑石山下见面。 对于血魔来说，这是他能召集的最大的，同时也不会引起联盟注意的队伍。当然了，他希望这足以引起黑手两兄弟的注意。


　　他们公然的爬上黑石山，使得那些站岗的兽人们能够清晰的看到他们。血魔不希望给别人留下一个错误的印象，认 为他们是妄图前来挑衅或是潜入的。最终，他们登上了山顶，那里满是裂开的岩石，从中流出灼热的熔岩，顺着那浑然 天成的沟槽留下，形成一道炽热的红色河流。就在此处，一块巨石矗立在山巅之旁，它通体由采自此山的黑石雕刻而成 。血魔嘴角弯下，露出一幅不悦的表情。这里曾经是奥格瑞姆• 毁灭之锤建立他的大本营的地方，也是部落酋长向集 结于此的众部族介绍血魔和其他的死亡骑士的地方。而就在下方山脚处的山谷中，毁灭之锤和联盟首领洛萨决斗，并且 战胜了他，但随后却被洛萨的副官图拉扬击败。失败与胜利的影像萦绕于此。但是，血魔并没有花太多的时间去回忆过去。他还要去想想当下，想想自己下一步的行动。

　　他向自己的小队做了一个手势，在一个入口处停了下来。果然，片刻之后，四个强壮高大的武装守卫走了出来，一 个个跃跃欲试想要干上一架。

　　“我们来此是为了跟黑手两兄弟协商。告诉他们泰隆•血魔给他们带来了好消息，以及一个提议。”他走向前去， 褪去了自己的兜帽，几个守卫面色微微发白。其中一个人向另外一个人低声耳语，而后者听完之后，鞠了一躬，退回了 黑暗之中。过了一会儿，他再次出现，走向指挥官。指挥官听完他的话之后，转向了血魔一众。

　　“别轻举妄动。”他警告道，亲自带着众人走进了要塞。众人逐渐走进了山脉的中心地带，而血魔则将路上所见尽 收眼底，很明显这一要塞一直在被不断使用着。当其他的一些兽人经过他们的时候，这些兽人全都停了下来仔细打量着众人。虽然在黑石塔中看到一个死亡骑士让他们深为惊讶，但是并没有一个人敢说什么。

　　最终，众人来到了一个巨大的房间。血魔想了起来，这就是曾经属于毁灭之锤的王座，也是他的军委会所在。现在 那个坐在黑色王座中的身影要比奥格瑞姆略矮，看起来也更为野蛮。此人容貌宽大，棕色的胡须显得十分蓬乱。他的头 发、鼻子、耳朵、额头、护甲，甚至是他那把锋利的大剑上，都装饰着大量的勋章以及骨头。

　　血魔在大剑的攻击范围之外停了下来，说道，“雷德。”

　　“血魔，”雷德•黑手，黑石氏族的副酋长回道。他脸上的笑容使他原本就不怎么好看的面容显得更加得丑陋。他 换了一个坐姿，将一条腿翘到了王座的扶手上。“很好，很好，很好啊，哪阵风把你给吹来啦，死人？”

　　“是呵，”这声音的音调是如此的高。血魔看向了蜷在王座前的地上的麦姆。雷德的弟弟整半隐在阴影之中。“你 跑了大老远的来看我哥俩，还真是勇气十足啊。”

　　“黑暗之门已经被修复了。”血魔开始道，但是雷德轻哼一声。

　　黑石首领回答道，“我在梦境中看到了它。我知道这肯定是你们这些术士们干的好事。”他眉头深皱，问道，“但 那又怎样？”

　　血魔皱起了眉头。他和黑手兄弟的交谈并不如想象中的那么顺利。“现在，耐奥祖领导着部落。我来此是为了要请 你们再度回归部落，你们和整个黑石氏族。我们也需要龙喉氏族，以及他们所驾驭的红龙军团。”

　　雷德看了看麦姆，而后两兄弟同时大笑起来。“在平安无事的过了两年之后，你再一次回到了这里，进入了我的要 塞，还只带着这么几个小战士。即便如此，你还想要我很高兴的跪拜在那个老不死的萨满膝下？而且不光是我的战士们 ，我还得要把我的红龙也上缴给他？”他再一次笑了起来，尽管他的眼中充满了怒火。“你他妈在搞笑！”

　　血魔坚持道，“你必须这样。我们需要你的力量，以及你的红龙，来实现我们的计划。”

　　“你们的计划跟我没关系。”雷德冷冷的答道，并站了起来。血魔意识到，尽管雷德• 黑手还是有些孩子气，但 他毕竟还是一个很有威胁的兽人。“那是你们的问题，不是我的。我才不管死耐奥祖现在有什么狗屁计划。当我们与联 盟抗争的时候他在哪里？我在这里。当毁灭之锤失败的时候他在哪里？我在这里！”

　　“我也是，”麦姆附和道。

　　“当黑暗之门被毁，我们被困在这里的时候，他又在哪里？当我们在两年的逃亡中，寻找那些存活下来的兽人，逐 渐恢复我们的战斗力的时候，他又在哪里？我告诉你：他就在德拉诺舒舒服服的呆着，任由我们受难而不管不顾！”雷 德抓起他的大剑，向王座猛力砍去，斩开了黑石所制的扶手。麦姆跳了起来，疯狂的大笑着。

　　“但是我在那里！是我把这些兽人们聚集起来的！我重建了部落，不是在德拉诺，而是在这里，在艾泽拉斯，就在 人类的眼皮底下！现在，我就是酋长，我不允许那个废物一般的老萨满就这么夺走我的酋长之位！”

　　血魔恨不得把他捏得粉碎，但是最终还是压住了自己的这个念头。他咬着牙说道，“算我求你了，真的。我希望你 能再考虑一下。如果没有你的帮助，耐奥祖就会……”

　　“失败。”雷德直白的接道。麦姆看上去还是那么的开心。“他没有亲身体验过战争的残酷。他不知道什么是战术 ，他不知道什么叫作战，他也不知道怎么样当一个领导者。联盟会轻轻松松的打败他的所谓的部落，然后……”他笑着 ，继续道，“我就可以从中获益了。我们会召集所有的幸存者加入我们，麦姆和我，就好像我们自上一次战争结束之后 一直所做的一样。”

　　麦姆蹑手蹑脚的走了过来。雷德把他的手放在了他弟弟的头上，就好像对待一条宠物狗一样。“有着部落，真正的 部落，以及红龙的帮助和我的指挥，我们将会席卷整个艾泽拉斯。”雷德看着血魔，大笑道，“在那之后，死人，你就 将为我服务。”

　　血魔身后的塔伽直起身板，大声喊道，“你这个胆小鬼！叛徒！走狗！我要把你们这些杂碎剁成真的杂碎，然后坐 上你的王座！这样，你的人民就会听从我的指令，让他们再一次在部落中占有一席之地！”

　　“哦，是么？”雷德懒洋洋的挑衅道。“你要不要现在就上呢？”他笑得更加得厉害了。

　　血魔转过身去，将一只手放在塔伽的肩膀上。

　　“他的身边有守卫……而且是很多的守卫。”他轻声警告着嚼骨氏族的酋长。“如果你上前攻击他，那些人就会群 起而攻，这样我们就会少一个酋长的。”他摇了摇头，“现在不是时候。”

　　塔伽抱怨着，但是还是向后退了一步。雷德看起来很是失望。

　　“最会再问你一次——你是否加入我们？”血魔低声问道。

　　“哦，等等，让我考虑一下……不。”雷德最终回嘴道，得意地笑着。麦姆听完之后也咯咯笑了起来。

　　“很好。”血魔鞠了一躬。“既然如此，我没话可说了。”

　　雷德笑道，“去吧。我等不及要听你们失败的消息了。”黑手两兄弟再一次笑了起来，回声荡漾在回廊之中。血魔 带领着他的小队垂头丧气地走出了要塞，回到了黑石塔下。

A day later, Gorefiend and his band reached Blackrock
Mountain. Their small group had grown. He had contacted Gaz Soulripper, and his fellow death knight had
sent Fenris Wolfbrother of the Thunderlord clan, Tagar
Spinebreaker of the Bonechewer clan, and several of
each's finest warriors. The orcs had met up with
Gorefiend and the others at the base of the mountain
range as commanded. Their expanded group was as large
a force as Gorefiend felt they could assemble without
being spotted by the Alliance; he hoped it was large
enough to get the attention of the sons of Blackhand.

They climbed openly up the mountain, making sure the
orc sentries hidden nearby could see them clearly.
Gorefiend did not want even the suggestion that they
might be attacking or sneaking in. Finally they reached
the top, where rocks had split open and magma flowed
through natural channels like a glowing red river beneath graceful bridges. A massive stone keep stood
against the spire itself, carved from the same glossy black
rock which gave this place its name, and Gorefiend's lips
curled in wry memory. This had been where
Doomhammer had established his base, and where the
Horde warchief had introduced Gorefiend and the other
death knights to the assembled clans. And it was below
here, in the valley at the mountain's feet, where
Doomhammer had fought the Alliance leader Lothar and
won, only to then be bested by Lothar's second,
Turalyon. Defeat and victories both had their ghosts here.

He did not waste much time recollecting; he had the
present to think of, and his own advancement.
With a gesture he instructed his group to halt at the
entrance. Sure enough, a moment later four armed
guards, large and powerful, appeared, looking more than eager to strike.

"We come to speak with the sons of Blackhand. Tell
them Teron Gorefiend has news and a proposal for
them." He stepped forward and let the hood fall from his
face. The guards paled slightly. One of them whispered
something to another. The second orc listened, bowed,
and disappeared into the darkness. He returned a few
moments later. The commander listened, then turned to Gorefiend and his group.

"Stay close," he warned, and led them into the keep
himself. Gorefiend followed as they went ever deeper
into the heart of the mountain, his glowing red eyes
taking everything in. The keep was clearly in heavy use,
and they saw several other orcs marching past here or
there. All stopped to study them as they passed, obviously surprised to see a death knight here on Blackrock
Spire, but none of them dared say anything.

Finally they reached the wide chamber Gorefiend
remembered as Doomhammer's throne room and war
council. The figure who now lounged in the heavy black
chair carved from the mountain rock was shorter than
Doomhammer, more brutish in appearance, with heavier
features and an unkempt mane of brown hair. Medals
and bones dangled from his hair, nose, ears, and brow,
and his armor was heavily adorned, as was his massive,
razor-sharp sword.
"Rend," Gorefiend said as he stopped just beyond the sword's reach.

"Gorefiend," Rend Blackhand, co-chieftain of the
Blackrock clan, replied. His ugly face split in a grin that
made him look even uglier. He shifted his position,
flinging a leg over the arm of the throne. "Well, well,
well. What brings you here, dead man?"
"Yeah," came a higher-pitched voice. Gorefiends eyes
shifted to where Rend's brother. Maim, crouched beside
and just a little behind the throne, half-hidden in the
shadows. "You got some nerve coming all the way in to see us."

"The Dark Portal has been restored," Gorefiend began, but Rend waved that away with a snort.




"I saw it in my dreams," the orc leader replied. "I knew
it had to be one of you warlocks causing it." A frown crossed his broad face. "What about it?"

Gorefiend frowned. This conversation was not going as
he'd hoped. "Ner’zhul leads the Horde now," he said. "I
have been sent to bring you back into the fold, you and
your Blackrock clan. We need the Dragonmaw clan as
well, and the red dragons they command." Rend glanced over at Maim, and the two brothers laughed together.

"After two years where nothing happens, you come
marching back up here, into my keep, a handful of fresh
warriors trotting behind you, and you expect me to get
all excited about kneeling before a withered old shaman?
And by the way, I should also hand over not only my
own warriors but my dragons as well?" He laughed
again, though his eyes blazed with fury. "Not damn likely!"

"You must," Gorefiend insisted. "We need your
strength, and your dragons, to carry out our plan!"
"I don't care what you need," Rend replied coldly. He
rose, and Gorefiend realized that despite his childish attitude. Rend Blackhand was very dangerous. "That's your
problem, not mine, I don't give a damn about whatever
old Ner’zhul might be planning. Where was he when we
fought the Alliance? I was here. Where was he when Doomhammer fell? I was here!"

"Me too," echoed Maim.
"Where was he when the portal was destroyed and we
got stuck here?" Rend continued. "Where was he when
we were hunted for two long years, and slowly rebuilt
our forces with whatever orcs had survived and could
make their way to us? I'll tell you where—he was safe
and snug on Draenor, not lifting a finger to help!" Rend
snatched up his sword and slammed it down on the
throne's arm so hard the stone splintered. Maim jumped,
then laughed with an echo of mania in his voice.
"But I was here! I pulled these orcs back together! I
rebuilt the Horde, not over on Draenor but here on
Azeroth, right beneath the Alliance's nose! I am warchief
now, and no used-up old shaman is going to take that away from me!"

Gorefiend longed to smear the boy into paste, but refrained. "Please," he said through clenched teeth.
"Please, I ask you to reconsider. Without your aid,
Nerzhul will—"
"—fail," Rend finished bluntly. Maim looked gleeful.
"He's got no experience with real war. He's got no head
for tactics, no understanding of combat, and no real
leadership skills. The Alliance will crush his little pretend
Horde, and then"—he grinned—"I will pick up the
pieces. We will gather all the survivors to us. Maim and I,
just as we have been doing all along, since the last war ended."

Maim crept closer, and Rend let his hand fall on his
brother's head as he might a pet dog's. "And with the
Horde, the real Horde, even larger, and with the dragons
at our side and me in command, we're going to sweep
across the face of Azeroth." Rend grinned directly at Gorefiend. "And then, dead man, you'll serve me."

Behind Gorefiend, Tagar stiffened. "You coward!" he
howled at Rend. "Traitorous dog, I'll cut you down like
the cur you are, and take your throne for myself! Then
your people will follow my orders and take their place in the Horde once more!"
"Oh yeah?" Rend replied lazily. "You want to attack me now?"

His grin widened, and Gorefiend turned to rest a hand
on Tagar's shoulder. "He has guards nearby—many of
them," he warned the Bonechewer chieftain quietly "If
you attack him they'll kill you, and then we're short one
chieftain." He shook his head. "Now is not the time."
Tagar grumbled but stepped back a pace. Rend looked disappointed.
"One final time—will you join us?" Gorefiend asked Rend softly.

"Oh, wait, let me think—no," Rend retorted, smirking.
Maim chuckled.
"Very well." Gorefiend bowed. "Then there is nothing more to say."

Rend laughed. "Go on," he instructed. "I can't wait to
get news of your gory destruction." He and his brother
laughed again, and the sound echoed through the
chamber and into the halls and corridors beyond as
Gorefiend led his dispirited group out of the keep and back down from the spire itself.

　　太阳早已西斜，黄昏逐渐消退，取而代之的是名副其实的黑暗。血魔凝望着面前舞动着的橙黄色营火。这一切和计 划所想的并不相同。血魔陷入了沉思，想着自己的下一步行动。其它人都很聪明的保持着沉默，唯一能听见的就是火焰 发出的噼啪之声以及其它人偶尔的低声交谈。突然，黑暗中传来了一阵响动。所有人都跳了起来，其紧张气氛如同紧绷 的弓弦。

　　“人类！杀了他们！”那个被派去守夜的兽人喊道。死亡骑士们呆着不动，而其它兽人们则大吼着，为自己能够有 够找到东西来发泄自己的郁闷而感到高兴。血魔已经可以看到那个人类了。他大摇大摆的走向兽人们的营地。塔伽冲向 他，砸下手中的棍棒，其力量之大足以敲碎人类那脆弱的头骨。

　　但是接下来发生的一切让所有人都目瞪口呆。血魔眼睁睁的看着那个人类随手将塔伽的大棍抓住，毫不费力的将它 夺了过来。塔伽瞠目结舌的望着他，而片刻之后他和其它人便准备再一次出击。

　　那人类喊道，“站住！”

　　即使是血魔也不知道自己是否敢于违抗此人所说的话，这就是那一个简单的词的力量。这个人是谁？血魔好奇而又 关注的看着他走进了火光照耀的范围之内。他有着光亮的黑发，健壮高大的身材，再加上他棱角分明而又不失雅致的面 容，泰隆想道，对于一个人类来说，他可称得上是十分英俊的。他身上穿着裁制考究的衣服，身侧挂着一把完好无损的 ，点缀着宝石的长剑，他的脸则因轻蔑而略为扭曲。这个人在他的袖子上轻拂着，似乎想要擦掉什么东西。

　　“我知道你们恨不得再一次攻击我。但是要知道，你们今天晚上已经玷污了我的衣服，我可不想让你们的血再留在 我的衣服上。”他笑着，露出一口洁白的牙齿，但是那笑容看上去却是那么的充满威胁。“你看，我并不像我看上去的 那样。”在他的身后，他的影子闪动着，尔后突然产生了变化，不论是大小还是形状都变得十分可怖，那硕大的翅膀的 影子笼罩着众人。

　　血魔问道，“你是谁？”

　　“我曾经有过许多的名字，”他的笑容变得更大了，“而其中的一个么……是死亡之翼。”

　　死亡之翼！血魔感到眼前一阵眩晕。尽管它听起来很奇怪，但是血魔并没有质疑他。他已经感觉到了死亡之翼那无 穷力量之中的零星一点。血魔曾经听说过这条强大的黑龙，也许亦是艾泽拉斯大陆上最强大的生物。在战争之中，兽人 们曾经多次见过黑龙。血魔曾经想过，为什么龙喉氏族没有去捕获他们，而抓了那些难以驾驭的红龙。他认为这要么是 因为想要瞄准它们很难，要么就是因为这样做会引起死亡之翼的愤怒。

　　血魔尝试着说点什么，但是他失败了。在那一刻，他是那么的震惊，也是那么的惧怕。他再试了一次，“你…你想 从我们这里得到什么？”

　　死亡之翼轻快的挥了挥他戴着戒指的手，带有一丝轻蔑的回道，“平静下来，我不是为了杀你们而来的，要不然你 们早都成灰了。”霎时间，他的双眼发着光，显示着他人类的外表之下那无尽的狂热。“相反地，我一直在观察你们， 并且我很喜欢我所看到的。”他展开一块方巾，放在了旁边的一块岩石上，尔后在火堆旁坐了下来，并示意其它人也一 起坐下来。其它人顺从的坐了下来。“我很欣赏你们的力量和凝聚力。”他朝众人笑了笑，“我很希望能够看看那个养 育着你们这些骁勇而又坚定的人民的世界。”

　　血魔打量着这个不请自来的客人。死亡之翼是在要求要去德拉诺么？为什么？

　　死亡之翼转过去和血魔对视，就好像读懂了他心中所想似的点了点头。他深邃的黑色双瞳隐匿在兜帽之下，蕴涵的 力量也被收了起来，在那一刻他看起来就好像只是一个很自信的人类。“我知道你和那个叫做雷德•黑手的兽人的会见。 ”死亡之翼轻声说道，“他们两兄弟都是傻子。但是如果他们没有能力他们也不会这样。而且，我知道，你很想要得到 龙喉氏族们所……奴役的红龙们。”当他提到“奴役”两字时，他的嘴角微微上扬，好像这一想法让他感到愉悦。“对我来说，它们也只是次等野兽。我不知道你为什么会为它们而自找麻烦。”

　　血魔不是很清楚自己应当如何回答，他小心翼翼的说道，“龙类是强大的生物。”

　　“我们的确很强大。你不是想要盟军么？如果是的话，那么我可以提供给你。我的子孙将帮助你，并且是出于自愿 ，而不是被迫的。”

　　有一个兽人犹豫着，最后将一杯麦芽啤酒递给了死亡之翼，很明显是想要取悦他们的来客。黑龙可怖的皱着眉头， 瞪着那个兽人。“把那破东西拿开！”那兽人受了惊吓，向后退去。死亡之翼让自己平静下来，转向血魔，用他那双蕴含狂热的双眼看着死亡骑士，“刚才我说到哪里了？啊，没错，我会让我的孩子们帮助你们。作为回报，我要求一条穿 越黑暗之门的安全通道，并且我需要你们帮我将一些货物运过去。”

　　塔伽喊道，“你想要去德拉诺？为什么？”

　　死亡之翼脸上的笑容让嚼骨酋长把那些已到嘴边的话都咽了下去。“我有我自己的计划，兽人。”化身人形的黑龙 静静地说，声音低得几不可闻。“但是不用担心，我是不会影响你们的计划的。”

　　血魔考虑着这一提议。他需要龙类来使他们的计划顺利实施，不管它们是什么颜色的。如果他和黑龙定下协议，他 就不需要再去跟雷德打交道，当然如果有机会的话，他会让那个自以为是的酋长尝尝他的厉害。他并不知道死亡之翼这 么做是为了什么，但是只要他不会影响到兽人们的计划照常进行，他并不认为接受黑龙的契约有什么坏处。

　　“很好，死亡之翼。”他最终说道。

　　“死亡之翼大人。”黑龙笑着，但是没有一丝开玩笑的意思，从他说话的口气血魔也可以听得出来黑龙也是有限度 的。“我们应当注重礼节，不是么？”

　　血魔低下头，“当然了，死亡之翼大人，我同意。我们会给予你的……人民和货物一条安全通道。但是首先，我需 要去北方完成一项任务。我需要取得一些我们所需的物品。”

　　“很好。”死亡之翼同意道，高雅的站了起来。“我会跟我的孩子们取得联系，告知他们这一契约。当我回来之后， 我会帮助你们完成任务。”他拍了拍手上的尘土，尽管他并没有碰过什么东西。黑龙走进了阴影之中，没有多说一句话 。

　　过了一阵，等血魔确定黑龙已经离开，并且不会再从黑暗之中突然窜出来之后，他说道，“好了。现在大家收拾一 下，我们需要行动了，时间紧迫。”其它人赶忙动了起来。所有的人看起来都更想要把注意力集中在收营上，而不是那 个刚才前来跟他们结盟的怪人。

　　血魔只希望死亡之翼真的是他们的盟友——如果不是的话，那他们也不能做什么。

The sun had already set and the sky was fading from
dusk to true dark Gorefiend glared at the dancing orange
and yellow campfire. Things had not gone according to
plan, and he was deep in thought, pondering his next
move. The others were wisely silent, and the only sound
was the crackle of the flames and the occasional soft
grunt of quiet conversation. A sudden noise in the
darkness made them all leap to their feet, the tension strung taut as a bow.

"Human! Kill him!" came the cry from the orc sent to
keep watch. The death knights stayed silent, but the orcs
roared, happy to have a target for their frustration.
Gorefiend could see the human now, wandering boldly
up to their very encampment, Tagar charged him,
bringing down his club in a blow that would crush the human's fragile skull.

What happened next stunned them all. Gorefiend
watched as the human reached upward, almost languidly, caught the club, and twisted it from the orc's
grasp. Tagar gaped at him, then he and the others prepared to lunge again.
The human cried, "Hold!"

Even Gorefiend doubted he could move against the
human, such was the power in that single word. Who was
this man? Gorefiend watched, curious and not a little
concerned, as the human entered the ring of firelight. He
would be handsome among his people. Gorefiend
thought; tall and well-built for a human, with lustrous
black hair and strong yet elegant features. Fine clothing
draped his frame and an untouched jeweled sword hung
at his side. He grimaced slightly and brushed something from his sleeve.

"I know you'd like nothing better than to attack me
again, but you've sullied my clothing enough for one
night. I don't fancy getting your blood on it." He smiled,
a slow, dangerous smile that revealed perfect teeth. "I'm
not quite what I seem, you see." His shadow flickered
behind him, then suddenly seemed to rise up, growing
monstrous in size and shape, great shadow-wings
spreading all around them,

"Who are you?" Gorefiend demanded.
"I've been known by many names." The grin widened, "One of them . . . is Deathwing,"

Deathwing! Gorefiend's mind reeled. He didn't question
the statement, bizarre as it sounded; he'd already felt the
faintest hint of Deathwing's power. Gorefiend had heard
of the mighty black dragon, perhaps the single most
powerful creature on Azeroth. They had seen black
dragons a few times during the war, and Gorefiend had
always wondered why the Dragonmaw clan hadn't
captured them instead of the reluctant red dragons. He
had suspected they were either too difficult a target or that doing so would awaken Deathwing's wrath.





Gorefiend tried to speak, but could not, so stunned
and horrified was he. He tried again. "Wh-what do you want with us?"

Deathwing waved a beringed hand airily. "Calm
yourself," he replied, slightly contemptuously. "I have
not come to slay you, else you would be mere ash already." His eyes glowed from within for an instant,
hinting at the vast fires that lurked beneath that human
facade. "Quite the contrary. I have been watching you,
and I like what I see." He spread a kerchief on a nearby
rock, then settled himself beside the fire and motioned
for them to do the same. They obeyed, slowly. "You have
great strength and impressive focus." He grinned at them.

"I would very much like to behold the world that gave rise to such a fierce and determined people."

Gorefiend studied their uninvited guest. Was Deathwing asking to visit Draenor? Why?

As if reading his mind, Deathwing turned to meet
Gorefiend's gaze, and nodded. His dark eyes were
hooded, the power within banked, and for the moment
he seemed merely a self-assured human. "I know of your meeting with the one called Rend Blackhand,"
Deathwing said softly. "Idiots, he and his brother both.



But not without their own power. And I know you
desired the red dragons the Dragonmaw clan has . . .
enslaved." The corners of his mouth turned up at that
last word, as if the very idea delighted him. "Substandard
beasts, in my opinion. I don't know why you're bothering with them."

Gorefiend wasn't sure how to respond. "Dragons are powerful beings," he began cautiously.
"Indeed we are. You wish for allies? Then I have an
offer for you. My mighty children shall lend you their aid, and willingly rather than under duress."

One of the orcs, obviously anxious to please the unexpected guest, hesitantly offered Deathwing a mug of
ale. The great creature frowned terribly, glaring at the
orc. "Take that putrid stuff away!" Cowed, the orc retreated. Deathwing composed himself, turning his banked-fire eyes to Gorefiend.
"Where was I? Oh yes. I will lend you the aid of my
children. In return, I demand safe passage through the
Dark Portal, and aid in transporting some cargo through there as well."
"You want to go to Draenor?" Tagar burst out. "Why?"

The smile Deathwing turned upon the Bonechewer
chieftain froze any further interruptions in the orc's throat.
"My plans are my own, orc," the dragon-man said
quietly, his voice almost a hiss, "But don't worry. It will not hinder your own plotting."

Gorefiend considered the offer. He needed dragons,
whatever their color, for their plan to work. If he accepted the bargain, he would not need to deal with Rend
again after all, though he might pound some humility
into the self-styled warchief later if he had the chance.
He didn't know what Deathwing was up to, but as long
as it didn't interrupt their own plans he didn't see a problem with granting the dragon's request.

"Very well, Deathwing," he said finally, "Lord
Deathwing." He smiled without humor, and there was an
edge to his voice. "Let's observe the proprieties, shall we?"
Gorefiend inclined his head. "Of course, Lord
Deathwing, I agree. We will give your—people and cargo
safe passage. But first I have a mission to accomplish in the north. I need to retrieve some cargo of my own."



"Very well," Deathwing agreed. He rose gracefully to
his feet. "I will speak to my children and inform them of
this bargain. When I return, I shall help expedite this task
of yours." He dusted his hands off, although he had
touched nothing, and without another word he strode into the shadows.

"Right," Gorefiend said after a moment, when he was
sure the dragon was gone and not about to leap out at
them from the darkness. "Let's pack up. We need to get
moving, and we don't have much time." The others
hastened to obey, all of them clearly happy to focus their
attention upon breaking camp rather than on the strange
figure who had just allied himself with them. Gorefiend
just hoped Deathwing really was an ally—if he proved otherwise, there was nothing they could do to stop him.

　　一男一女两个身影，在兽人营地不远处，等待着死亡之翼的到来。当黑龙走近时，他们转身过去。那男子身形魁梧 ，留着黑色的胡子以及整齐的髭须。那女子则身形娇小，肤色皎白，一头长发十分的柔顺。两人都有着光亮平滑的黑色 头发，以及类似于人类形态下的死亡之翼的面貌。

　　“父亲，有何消息？”那女子问道，她的声音就好像是滑落的丝绸一般柔和。

　　“他们同意了，就跟我所预期的一模一样，奥尼克希娅。”死亡之翼回答道。他抚摸着她女儿的面颊，而奥尼克西 娅则将她的脸靠在父亲的手中，朝他笑着。“很快之后，我们就将会有两个世界任我们摆布了，而不仅是一个艾泽拉斯 。”他亲了亲她白皙的额头，而后转向她的哥哥。“在我离开的这段时间当中，我尚有另外一个任务给你。”

　　男子回道，“说罢，父亲。我会完成它的。”

　　死亡之翼笑道，“还有一些兽人残留在黑石塔中。他们和他们的同类断绝了关系，并且拒绝再次加入部落。现在该 是解决他们的时候了。”他拍着儿子的肩膀，更加狂热的笑着，“当我回来之后，耐法利安，我想要这个雷德•黑手。你 们两个要掌控这座山，以及居住在其中的兽人们。他们会成为我们的仆人的。”

　　耐法利安露齿大笑着，看起来跟他父亲的表情如出一辙，他保证道，“这个简单。我们会处理好那些兽人和这座要 塞，等待着您的归来。”

　　死亡之翼看着他的孩子们，而后点头道，“好极了。现在我必须回去找我们的新盟友，并且帮助他们完成那些微不 足道的任务，只有这样他们才可以更快地为我所用。”

　　他们的父亲按原路返回。奥尼克西娅野蛮的笑着，露出她的牙齿，“好吧，哥哥，我们要不要去看看我们的新家和 新奴隶呢？”

　　“当然了，妹妹。”耐法利安笑着回答道。“我想，我们可以好好活动活动筋骨了。”他抬起他的右手，而奥尼克 西娅用她那双精巧、白皙的小手围绕着他的二头肌，之后两人一同消失在了阴影之中。

　　转瞬之后，巨大的龙翼开始扇动，融入了晚间微风的响动声中。

Two figures, male and female, turned at Deathwing's
approach as they waited, not far from the orc's encampment. The man was powerfully made and wore a
short dark beard and neat mustache, while the woman
was petite and had pale skin and long flowing straight
hair. Both had glossy black hair and features similar to
those Deathwing sported in his human guise.




"What news. Father?" the woman asked, her voice like silk over iron.
"They have agreed, as I knew they would, Onyxia,"
Deathwing replied. He stroked his daughter's check and
she leaned her face into his hand, smiling up at him.
"Soon we shall have two worlds at our disposal instead of
one." He kissed her pale brow, then turned to her
brother. "But I have another task for you while I am gone."

"Name it, Father," the man replied, "and it shall be done."

Deathwing smiled. "There are still orcs within
Blackrock Spire. They have severed this with their kin,
and refuse to rejoin the Horde. That leaves them ripe for
the plucking." His smile widened as he reached out to
clasp his son by the shoulder. "When I return, Nefarian. I
want this Rend Blackhand. You two will take control of
the mountain and the orcs living in it. They will become our servants."

Nefarian grinned, his expression a mirror of his father's. "Little could be easier. We'll have the orcs and
their mountain fortress waiting for you," he promised.



"Excellent." Deathwing regarded his children for a
moment, then nodded. "Now I must return to our new
allies, and aid them in their little tasks, that they may the more quickly turn to mine."

As their father returned the way he had come, Onyxia
bared her teeth in a feral smile. "Well, brother, shall we
go see to our new home and our new subjects?"

"Indeed we shall, sister," Nefarian replied with a laugh.
"Good sport ahead, I think." He offered his arm, which
she accepted, curling delicate, pale fingers around his
powerful bicep, and together they vanished into the shadows.

A heartbeat later, the sound of great wings flapping overhead blended into the evening breeze.

第九章

　　“快点！妈的，快点！”

　　达纳斯猛力抽动着缰绳。他的战马嘶叫着表示抗议，它的嘴中甚至还流着白沫，但是还是遵从了主人的意愿。

　　达纳斯没有听到那奔驰着越来越快的马蹄与硬实的地面接触所发出的响声。在他的耳朵中回荡着的是那粗陋的武器 相交发出的声音，兽人们充满了野性的怒吼与号叫，以及他的士兵倒下时发出的哀号。

　　当时，那片黑暗突然退去，等待着他们的兽人将达纳斯和他的将士们引入了这个圈套，并且奇袭了他们。他们毫无 时间制定战术，只得在没有半点准备的情况下去应战。在那波绿色的狂潮向他们涌来的时候，许多人甚至都没有机会挥 舞自己的武器就被屠杀了。

　　达纳斯紧闭双眼，但在他的脑海中仍然萦绕着他们倒下的场景，不论是战马还是战士，都在那场残忍而又野蛮的屠 杀之中死去。他曾看到法罗被一个巨大的兽人撞下了他的坐骑，而当时他正想要喊出声来警告他。达纳斯并没有看到法 罗死去，但是他听到了法罗痛苦的尖叫，他相信在他的余生之中他绝不会忘记那声音。法罗的内心充满了对战斗和荣耀 的渴望，年轻的孩子曾经还想要亲手杀死一个兽人，但是当时的他甚至连挥出自己武器的机会都没有。

　　在那一瞬间，达纳斯心中产生了一个让他很是反感的念头，他们输了。

　　他的士兵们也意识到了这一点，并且他们知道应该做些什么。

　　“长官！回守望堡！”在和一个手持巨锤的高大兽人对抗的同时，范恩还在向达纳斯催促着。“告诉他们这里的情 况！我们会掩护你的！”

　　其他的士兵们也都异口同声的表示同意。达纳斯犹豫了，他不知道自己应该怎么办。留在这里和他们并肩作战；或 者是逃回去，以期挽救他们？

　　“快去！”范恩将头转向他的长官，大声地喊道。“为了洛萨之——”

　　就因为这一刹那的分神，那兽人便挥下他的巨锤，打出了致命的一击。在看到范恩倒下之前，达纳斯将他的战马转 了个方向，用马刺踢着他的坐骑，疯了一般的朝它大吼着。马儿疾驰而去，带着他离开了这血腥之地，朝着守望堡前进 。他离开了法罗，离开了范恩，以及其他的士兵们。是他将大家带向了死亡。

　　达纳斯紧咬着自己的嘴唇，嘴角流着鲜血。不管怎么说，他们是对的，总得有人去警示守望堡，而他的威望可以保 证有人会去听他的话。同时，达纳斯的作战经验以及领导才能，也是他们所不可或缺的。

　　但是，以圣光之名，达纳斯这一生之中还没有做过什么事情，要比抛弃他的士兵不管不顾更难决择。他轻声骂了一 句，摇摇头赶走自己的思绪，又一次朝马儿喊了起来。

　　在这片毫无生气的大地上，道路蜿蜒着，红色的尘土在马蹄之后飞扬。达纳斯抬头望着守望堡那巨大的石墙。壁垒 上站岗的守卫们看到了他，有人则指向达纳斯，向他人警示着他的到来。

　　“开门！”达纳斯尽全力大喊着，高举手中的盾牌好让守卫们看到上面纹饰的联盟徽记。“开门！”

　　沉重的铁制木门缓缓地打开。达纳斯没有减速，径直从那缝隙中穿了进去。而后，他从马背上滑了下来，喘着粗气 ，朝最近的一个士兵问道，“谁是负责的？”

　　“请问阁下贵姓？所来为何事？”

　　“我没时间跟你来这套。”达纳斯喊道，他抓着那士兵胸甲的领口将他拉近。“谁是负责的？”

　　“我是。”从他的身后传来回答。达纳斯放开了那个士兵，转过身去，看到一个肩膀很宽的男子。他穿着紫色的长 袍，标志着他达拉然法师的身份。他有着一头长长的白发，胡须也是相配的白色，但是和他那皱纹满布的脸相比，他的 眼神却显得年轻而机警。

　　“达纳斯•托尔贝恩，是么？”那法师问道。“我还以为你和图拉扬在一起。”

　　达纳斯点点头，肯定了卡德加的陈述，同时也向他表示致意。他大口吸着气，说道，“关闭城门，让士兵们准备战 斗！部落来了！”

　　卡德加双眼睁大，但是他并没有争论什么。他做了一个手势，而士兵们则赶忙去遵循他无声的指令。大门被关上了 ，有人前去引走达纳斯那可怜的坐骑，有人则向达纳斯递过来一个水袋。

　　“图拉扬派我带着暴风城一半的士兵来到这里。”达纳斯大口喝着那袋温水，向那个拿来水袋的人草草点头以致谢 。“当我们收到他的消息时，我们就出发了。他说他会和其他人一起随后赶到。”他摇着头，擦了擦自己的嘴巴。“我 们太迟了。那些兽人们已经重建了黑暗之门，而他们就在那里等着我们。我的孩子们……他们根本没有获胜的希望。”

　　卡德加点点头，他的眼神是那么的忧郁。“对于他们的死，我感到很抱歉。但是你的警告给我们足够的时间来备战 。如果部落计划再一次入侵艾泽拉斯的话，他们得先过我们这一关。守望堡就是为此而建的，他们决不会轻易就占领这 座城堡。”

　　“你如何保卫它呢？”很明显达纳斯已经恢复了过来，此刻他正在四处张望着。“似乎这里的士兵并不多，而且我 也没有在外墙上看到投石机或者是其他的攻城武器。”

　　卡德加同意道，“的确，我们没有太多的士兵。但是那并不代表我们毫无抵抗，抑或是武器。你等着瞧吧。”

　　“我想我会的。”达纳斯露齿笑道。“而且等兽人们来的时候，我会在这里等着他们的。”

NINE

Faster! Faster, damn you!" Danath lashed the reins
against his steed's neck. His horse whickered in
protest, its mouth flecked with foam, but obeyed.
Danath didn't hear the sound of the horse's increasingly
rapid hoofbeats on hard-packed earth. He heard only the
sound of primitive weapons striking home, the grunts
and howls of savagery, the cries of his men as they fell,
taken by surprise at that strange darkness that had
abruptly dropped to reveal the orcs waiting for them.
They'd been led right into a trap. There was no time to
strategize, no time to do anything but fight, and too
many were so taken aback they didn't even have time to swing before the green tide had washed over them.

Danath closed his eyes, but he still saw them fall.
Horses and men both, going down beneath the onslaught
that was as efficient as it was brutal and barbaric.
He'd been looking right at Farrol, about to cry out a
warning, when a huge orc had literally barreled into the
boy's horse and unseated him. The boy went down at
once. Danath didn't see Farrol die, but he thought he'd
hear his screams for the rest of his life. Farrol, all afire
with a desire for battle and glory, wanting to go kill his
first orc. He hadn't even had a chance to strike a blow.
Danath had realized at once, sickened, that they would fail.
His men had seen it too. And they'd known what must be done.

"Commander! Get to the fortress!" Vann had urged
him, even as he struggled with a much larger opponent
wielding a club. "Tell them! We'll cover you!"
Other soldiers had added their voices in monosyllables.
agreeing. Danath hesitated, feeling ripped in two. Stay
here and fight with his men, or flee to perhaps save them?

"Go!" Vann cried, turning his head to shout at his
commander. Their eyes met. "For the Sons of Lo—"
The orc had struck in that second of inattention, his
club descending with deadly force. Danath had wheeled
his horse around before Vann fell, and had spurred it on,
screaming insanely at the beast, galloping away from the
carnage and toward the fortress. Away from Farrol, and Vann, and all the others he had led here to their deaths.

Danath bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

They'd been right, of course. Someone had to warn
Nethergarde, and he had the authority and familial
connections to make himself heard. His experience and leadership skills, too, could not afford to be lost.

But by the Light, he'd never done anything harder in
his life than leave his men behind. He cursed softly,
shook his head to clear it, and yelled at the horse again.
The trail twisted and turned in the life-drained land.
Red dust rose beneath his horse's hooves. Danath clung
like a burr and glanced up at one point to see the vast
stone walls of Nethergarde Keep. Already he could see
guards atop its parapets, pointing down at him and no doubt alerting others to his approach.
"Open the gates!" he shouted as loud as he could,
holding his shield high before him so they could see the
Alliance symbol emblazoned there. "Open the gates!"

The heavy timber and iron gates slowly parted, and he
galloped on through without slowing. Once inside
Danath slipped from his saddle and turned to the nearest
soldier. "Who's in charge here?" he demanded, realizing he was gasping for breath.
"Sir, state your name and business, please," the soldier replied.

"I don't have time for this," Danath growled, grabbing
the soldier by his breastplate collar and drawing him close. "Who's in charge?"

"I am," a voice said from behind him, Danath released
the soldier and spun around, to find himself facing a tall,
broad-shouldered man in the violet robes that marked
him as one of the Dalaran wizards. The man had long
white hair and a matching beard, but behind the lines on
his face his eyes were young and alert.
"Danath Trollbane, isn't it?" the mage asked. "I thought you were with Turalyon?"

Danath nodded, both in confirmation of the man's
statement and in recognition of Khadgar's identity, and
sucked in air to speak, "Close the gate and arm your men! The Horde is here!"

Khadgar's eyes widened, but he did not argue. He
signaled with his hand and men rushed to obey his silent
commands. The gate was closed as someone came to take
Danath's poor overworked mount and another
approached with a waterskin. "What's happened?"
"Turalyon sent me with half the men we had at
Stormwind." Danath gulped down water, warm but wet,
and nodded cursory thanks to the man who'd brought it to him. "We left as soon as he received your message.

He'll follow with the rest." He shook his head, wiping his
mouth. "We were too late. The orcs have already rebuilt
the portal, and they were waiting for us there. My boys . . . never stood a chance."
Khadgar nodded, his eyes somber. "I am sorry for their
loss, but your warning gives us time to prepare. If the
Horde plans to invade Azeroth again they will have to get
past us first. And Nethergarde was built for this. They will not find this keep so easily taken."

"How will you defend it?" Danath asked, sufficiently
recovered from his ride to glance around. "Doesn't look
like you have that many soldiers, and I don't see any
ballistae or other siege engines along the walls."
"We do not have many soldiers, it is true," Khadgar
agreed. "But that does not mean we are without defenses, or weapons. You will see."

"I suppose I will." Danath bared his teeth in a smile.
"And when they come. I will be waiting."

　一个小时之后，兽人们来了。

　　他们就好像狭窄的水道中流过的水一样充斥着道路，互相推挤着对方，都想要早一点到达前方的城堡。达纳斯和卡 德加站在城墙较高的一处，俯视着下面的情景。

　　“操，至少有几百个兽人。”达纳斯低语道，看着部落几乎完全占据了城堡前方的平原，手持武器向前进发。在之 前的战斗之中，他并没有好好的观察部落的数量。

　　“是的。”卡德加说道，人老心不老的大法师看起来并不是很在意。“不过没有在第二次战争中的多。要么是他们 在那些战斗中损失了太多的兽人，要么这只是兽人部落中的一部分。”他耸了耸肩。“那并不重要。不管他们想要怎么 上，我们都会给他们点颜色的。你不是想了解我们的城防么？看好了。”

　　他指向周围，达纳斯看到了在墙上布满了各式各样的光点。许多男子和女子站在那里，身着和卡德加相似的紫色长 袍。大法师向他们点头，而其他的法师一致的举起了他们的手。达纳斯感到自己的头发都耸立起来，还听到了一声很轻 微的嗡嗡声。而后，闪电从空中成曲线划过，击中了第一波兽人，并将后面的不少兽人冲散开去。

　　“很好，很强大。”达纳斯承认道，他的耳中仍然回荡着雷击的响声。“但是他们能这样子做多少次？”

　　卡德加笑了，“我猜我们很快就会知道了。”

The orcs arrived an hour later.
They swept up the path, filling the trail like water
roiling down a narrow chute, elbowing each other aside in their haste to reach the keep's sturdy outer walls.



Danath and Khadgar stood upon one of the taller parapets, watching the scene below.

"Damn . . . there are hundreds of them," Danath
whispered, watching the Horde literally fill the plain
before the keep and advance in a great sheet of flesh and
weaponry. In the thick of the battle, he had not been
able to notice the sheer numbers.
"Indeed," Khadgar said. The young-old mage did not
seem concerned. "Not as many as during the Second
War, though—either they lost much of their strength in
those battles or they are withholding part of their full
force now." He shrugged. "Not that it matters, we will
deal with whatever they throw at us. You inquired about the keep's defenses? Watch."

He pointed, and Danath made out splashes of color all
along the walls. Men and women stood there, clad in
violet robes much like Khadgar's own. The archmage
nodded then, and all the magi raised their hands as one.
Danath felt his hair stand on end, and heard a faint hum.
Then lightning arced down, destroying the first wave of
orcs and scattering many of those behind them.
"Impressive," Danath acknowledged, his ears ringing
from the accompanying thunderclap. "But how many times can they do that?"




Khadgar smiled. "I expect we're about to find out."

图拉扬俯在他的马背上，试图让它尽可能跑得再快一点。尽管他知道等待艾蕾莉亚的游侠们前来援助的主意很明智 ，但是他心中总是有什么东西在告诉他，等这些游侠来的时候可能就太迟了——守望堡那边已经发生了什么。他不知道 这是士兵的本能，抑或是他自己的不安全感。不管怎么说，那个平常善待野兽的圣骑士，现在正在不断地踢着他胯下的 马儿。

　　在他的旁边是他的士兵，艾蕾莉亚以及她的游侠。她看到了图拉扬在不停的用马刺踢他的坐骑，便向他投来了好奇 的一瞥，但是却什么都没有说。他看向她，想要解释些什么，但是最后他说出来的还是“有什么事情已经发生了。”

　　艾蕾莉亚刚想要讽刺图拉扬一番，但是当看到他的表情时，她闭上了嘴。相反的，她仅仅点了点头，俯身向她的马 低语着。他意识到，艾蕾莉亚还相信着他，而就在那一刻，他心中的不安与恐惧都被那温暖的感觉冲淡了。

　　似乎这一旅程永不会终结。军队穿越了闪金镇周边的草地以及起伏的小丘，经过了夜色小镇，通过了那恰如其名的 逆风小径——那旁边就是麦迪文曾经居住过的卡拉赞——来到了泥泞而又气味恶心的悲伤沼泽。但是现在，地貌开始改 变。当图拉扬发现了这一点的时候，他的心中为之一颤。尽管周边的植被都已经开始腐烂，并且散发出恶臭，但它们至 少还有着生命的迹象。在他们脚下的土地则开始变成干涸的红色，几乎和沙漠一样。

　　艾蕾莉亚皱起了眉头，为了不被马蹄之声掩盖而大声说道，“这种感觉……很不好。” 图拉扬点点头，感觉自己 几乎不能呼吸。众人继续前行，穿过那荒芜的地形，爬上了一个小山丘。在那里，守望堡就有如一座白色的山峰，高耸 在血红的土地之上。他收紧缰绳将马儿停住，尽力去看向前方的情况，低语道，“有点不对劲。”

　　艾蕾莉亚抬起手挡住了本该照在她眼睛上的日光。她比他的视野要好得很多，所以当她深吸一口气的时候，图拉扬 意识到他说对了。

　　“它在遭受攻击！”艾蕾莉亚大叫道。“部落——图拉扬——就好像再次看到了第二次战争中的部落！肯定至少 有数百人！”在她的语气中掺杂着恐惧以及兴奋，而她的面容也因为仇恨和愤怒而变得扭曲。他想起了当她抵达暴风城 时两人之间的对话，很明显对于艾蕾莉亚来说，她终于有机会去消除这些“败类”。他并不想要看到她对杀戮如此渴望 ，他也害怕这种渴望会让她变得鲁莽。

　　图拉扬的司令官们走了过来，于是他对众人说道，“我们就在他们不远处。我们会从敌人后翼展开攻击，将他们夹 在我们和守望堡之间。等他们战胜了他们，我们就可以进入城堡并加固它的防御工事，以备兽人再度攻来。上吧。”

所有人跑向了最后一道坡，就在他们即将爬上顶的时候，图拉扬再一次叫大家停了下来。在他们前面的是那条小径的最 后一个上坡，再往上走一点就是一片宽敞的高原。从那里，他们可以看到这里的全貌。

　　兽人，成百上千的兽人，都在猛击着守望堡的外墙，尽管直到现在，它仍在轻松的承受着他们的攻击。到处都是倒 下的兽人的尸体，图拉扬至少看到了一个一箭穿喉的兽人，以及其它几个被烤焦的尸体，但是还有一些看起来并未受伤 。他向上看去，注意到了那些站立在城堡壁垒上的一众紫袍法师们。图拉扬明白了，尽管局势十分危急，但他仍然轻轻 地笑了出来。

　　“我们需要采取攻击，必须赶在他们发现我们之前。召集士兵，等待我的冲锋口号。” 他的指挥官们，包括艾蕾 莉亚，点了点头，走向了他们自己的单位并安静的传达着命令。士兵们束紧腰带，放低了自己的盾牌和面盔，拔出了自 己的武器，军队开始向前进发。图拉扬以及其它人缓慢的向前朝着高原移动着，马蹄的声音也被尘土掩盖住了。感谢圣 光，这些兽人光顾着大声叫喊，或是闷哼了，没有人注意到他们的到来。

　　就是现在。他们已经潜行至此。图拉扬深呼一口气，高举他手中的战锤过头。

　　“洛萨之子！”他大声喊道，光明之力帮助他将他的声音传入了他麾下的每一个士兵的耳中。“为了联盟，为了圣 光！”

　　在他的身后，士兵们也跟着大声叫着自己特殊的战斗怒吼。图拉扬将战锤向下挥去，再向前推开，于是冲锋正式开 始了。

　一些处在尾翼的兽人们听到了他的叫喊，转过身去，却很不幸的被不断涌现的马蹄踩成了肉酱。其他人也被出其不 意的将了一军，很多人甚至都没有看到从他们身后出现的威胁就被杀掉了。图拉扬以及他的士兵们向前冲去，用大剑、 斧头和锤子杀出了一条血路，而守望堡中的守兵们开始了欢呼。艾蕾莉亚和她的游侠们左右开弓，以非人的速度，取箭 、搭箭、瞄准、射出，一系列动作一气呵成，百发百中，而他们的马匹也在不停的向前移动着。令人惊讶的是，联盟的 援军仅用了很短的时间就杀到了守望堡那庞大的前门处。当图拉扬接近时，里面的守兵打开了大门。他顿了顿，朝后方 的战场看去，和艾蕾莉亚的眼光相遇。图拉扬指了指大门，后者则皱起了眉头。她和他一样，并不想要离开战场，但是 他们都是自己单位的领导者，她和他也都知道，他们应该尽可能早的进入守望堡，和城堡的指挥官谈话。

　　最终，艾蕾莉亚点了点头。图拉扬踢了胯下的坐骑一脚，撞倒了一个试图跟着他的兽人，冲进了那道狭窄的缝隙。 艾蕾莉亚就在他的身边，两人的距离是那么的近，她的胳膊甚至碰到了他的。之后，他们身后的大门被再一次关闭。

　　“呵，很好，艾蕾莉亚，你很及时的把图拉扬带来了。”图拉扬转向说话人，笑了。他和卡德加草草的拥抱了一下 。两人曾经在第二次战争中并肩合作过，在这些时日之后，图拉扬越发的想念这个令他喜欢和尊敬的朋友。他只希望两 人不会在这种情况之下重逢。艾蕾莉亚微微点头。

　　“我尽可能快地赶了过来。”图拉扬说道。他看到了另外一个老友，宽慰的笑着，向他的副手问好。“达纳斯，很 高兴看到你没有受伤。”图拉扬向周围看了看。“但是……你的士兵呢？”

　　“死了。”达纳斯简短的回答道。

　　“以圣光之名……所有的人么？”图拉扬低语着，毕竟达纳斯可是带走了暴风城整整一半的士兵。当达纳斯听到这 句话时，他咬紧了牙关。

　　“等我们到达山谷的时候，那些兽人们已经为我们设计好了一个很好的圈套。在我的孩子们还没能反应之前，他们 就都被兽人们屠杀了。”尽管达纳斯的声音很低，但还是颤抖着。“我的孩子们，”他这么叫他的士兵。图拉扬知道达 纳斯是在为他们的死而自责。“他们牺牲了自己，好让我回到守望堡，向卡德加知会部落的到来。”

　　“他们做得很对，你也是。”图拉扬向他的朋友兼副手保证道。“尽管失去你手下的士兵们的确是很糟糕的一件事 ，但是通知守望堡才是第一优先的。”他皱起了眉头。“卡德加，我们需要找出他们攻击的原因。”

　　“很明显，他们想要通过这里，去入侵艾泽拉斯的其他地区。”卡德加回道，但是图拉扬摇了摇他的头。

　　“不，那不合情理。想一想。他们的人数并不足以占领这一要塞，而且他们肯定也知道这一点。我敢跟你打赌，这 绝对不是整个部落的实力，不可能。那么其他的兽人们在哪里？为什么他们只动用一部分军队来进攻？”

　　卡德加眉头皱起，“你说得很对。”

　　“有一个办法。”达纳斯唐突的说道。“给我带一个兽人过来。相信我，我会让他讲出我们想知道的东西。”他说 那话的口气以及他的表情让图拉扬感到害怕。在达纳斯的脸上，图拉扬仿佛看到了和艾蕾莉亚如出一辙的对兽人的仇恨 。由于兽人们的暴行，由于他们对于这个世界造成的伤害，图拉扬不得不为达纳斯•托尔贝恩将要亲自闻讯的那个俘虏 感到一丝同情。他只希望那个兽人会尽快坦白，为了那兽人的好，也为了他们的好。

　　众人等待着他的批准。图拉扬勉强的点了点头，转向艾蕾莉亚。在他还没有开口说话之前，精灵游侠就已经跑到了 一座塔楼之前，渴望着做点什么，不论它是什么。她企盼着命令，等待着回复，而后残忍的笑了起来。

　　“这不会用太久。”她说道。图拉扬曾想让他下来。但是她留在原地，将一支箭搭在了她那优雅的长弓上，瞄准一 个兽人，在那个有利位置加入了战斗。

　　精灵是对的。不出三分钟之内，外面就有人喊道，“我们抓到了一个！”

　　那厚实的大门再一次打开了。两个图拉扬的士兵骑马而入，在两人之间半拖着一个昏迷不醒的兽人。两人将那躯体 扔在了总指挥面前的地上。他那绿色的光头被鲜血覆盖，他的双目紧闭，尽管撞到了地面，但是他仍是一动不动的。

　　“一个兽人，还是活着的，长官！”一人汇报道。“他的头上受到了重击，不过他可以活下来，至少还能活一段时 间。”图拉扬点点头，解散了面前的两人。两个士兵敬了个军礼，而后掉转马头，再一次策马冲入了战阵。

　　“让我们看看我们能弄到些什么。”达纳斯嘀咕着。他用厚重的绳索将兽人的手脚绑了起来，而后在他的脸上使劲 泼水。那兽人打了个颤，醒了过来，面部表情很是痛苦。他皱起了眉头，当他意识到了身上的束缚时，他开始大声吼叫 。

　　“你们为什么要在此时此刻攻击我们？”达纳斯靠向兽人，问道。“为什么在你们人员不齐时就攻击守望堡？”

　　“让俺告诉你啥叫力量！”那兽人战士怒号着，试图要挣脱身上的绳索，但是其他人很快将他按倒在地。

　　“我认为你并不明白现在的局势。”达纳斯缓缓说着，将他的匕首抽出，在兽人的面前随意的晃动着。“我问你问 题，而你最好给我回答。为什么现在就攻击守望堡？为什么不等全部的部落都到齐了再攻？”

　　血液和唾液的混合物溅在达纳斯的脸上。由于受到惊吓，他向后一条，而后慢慢的将脸上的唾沫擦去。“我懒得跟 你再这么玩下去了。”他大吼道，抓着匕首朝前挺去。

　　“慢着！”图拉扬命令道。他并不赞成折磨俘虏，而且他开始认为，即便他允许达纳斯继续下去，那个兽人也不会 说什么有用的东西，毕竟兽人们很能忍受疼痛。更有可能的是，那个兽人再说出任何东西之前就有可能这么昏死过去。 “也许还有别的方法来让他开口。”

　　达纳斯停住了他的双手。他感到艾蕾莉亚那充满愤怒的眼神，仿佛她想要尽快看到这兽人受到伤害。但是那并不能 解决问题。

　　图拉扬闭上双眼，呼吸放慢，气运丹田，这样不论他的脑中或心中有何波荡起伏，他都能保持宁静。在那片平静之 地，他向圣光请求着帮助。圣光回应了他，而他感到了自己皮肤上有一种微微发麻的感觉。圣光赐予了他力量，以及它 那不可名状的仁慈。图拉扬听到了他的朋友们喘气的声音，以及眼前的俘虏恐慌的尖叫。他深吸一口气，张开了他的眼 睛，看着拿到熟悉的光亮在他的手中闪动。达纳斯和卡德加凝望着他，眼神中充满了震惊。对于那个兽人来说，他已经 蜷成了一团绿球，在地上间接的抽泣着。当图拉扬开口说话的时候，他的声音是那么的镇定和受克制。在这里，仇恨或 是怒火都无处可从，至少不是在一个全身笼罩在圣光之中的人面前。

　　“现在，以圣光之名，你要真诚的回答我们的问题，”图拉扬吟唱着，将他的手掌放在那兽人的前额之上。一道突 然而又耀眼的圣光闪现。他仿佛看到了兽人身上迸发着火花。那兽人尖叫着。当图拉扬将手掌挪开时，那里留下了一道 黑色的手印，就好像是被人灼伤一般。兽人颤抖的匍匐在地，流着泪水。图拉扬希望他没有将兽人弄得不省人事。

　　“为什么要攻击？”他再一次问道。

　　“为了……为了分散你们的注意力。”那兽人呜咽着。“不让你们发现偷窃。”在那之前，这兽人倔强的保持着沉 默，但是现在他似乎唯恐不能说得再快一点。“耐奥祖需要一些东西。神物。他命令我们，攻击城堡，联盟在这里忙活 ，看不到别的。”

　　卡德加捋着他白色的胡须。他比达纳斯恢复的要快一些，而后者现在仍在凝望着那年轻的圣骑士。图拉扬抬头看了 看艾蕾莉亚，发现她也在用一种不可置信的眼神看着他。当两人目光相遇时，她微微脸红，向他处看去。

　　“一个简单的计划，但是简单的计划通常也是最好的。”卡德加提出。“但是，是什么神器呢？而且为什么他要从 我们的世界找这种东西，而不是在他自己的世界呢？”

　　兽人颤抖着，摇了摇头。“他不知道，”图拉扬说道。“如果他知道的话，他会告诉我们的。”有了圣光的印记， 兽人决不会撒谎。

大门略微张开，刚好够两个精灵挤进来，而后它再一起被关了起来。两人走向图拉扬，他抬头望去，双眼微眯，发现两 人看起来都很是疲惫。“有什么消息么？”

　　“来自暴风城，阁下。”一个精灵回道。“有人闯入了皇家图书馆。守卫们发现了在图书馆外看守的两人以及馆中 的一人的尸体。似乎是死于兽人的战斧，阁下。”

　　“兽人？在皇家图书馆？”图拉扬转而望向卡德加，而后看向那兽人。兽人畏缩着。“神物……”他低语着，试图 想要把这些线索联系起来。

　　“完美的声东击西。”卡德加不得不承认。“妈的。我说过的么，简单的计划才比较有效果。我们忙着在这里跟兽 人打架，而他们则带走了……”他转向了前来的精灵。“他们有没有盗走什么东西？”

　　现在那两个精灵看起来更加的不快。“很不幸的，你说对了，法师大人。有一样东西失踪了。”

　　“那是什么？”图拉扬问道。

　　精灵清了清他的喉咙，“呃……麦迪文之书。”

　　“以圣光之名。”图拉扬低语道，感觉自己的胃部开始轻微抽搐。麦迪文之书？世界上最伟大的法师，那个曾经帮 助兽人们开启了最初的黑暗之门的人，他的法术书？那本书里面有着所有的法师们都觊觎的秘密，而它现在落入了兽人 之手？

　　在他身边的卡德加看上去也吃了一惊。“图拉扬……我需要那本书！我需要它来关闭黑暗之门！”

　　“什么？”图拉扬喊道。

　　“麦迪文和古尔丹创造了黑暗之门。那本法术书可以告诉我如何去关闭它！但是——如果兽人们拥有了它，他们就 可以用它来对抗我们。这不好，很不好。”

　　图拉扬摇了摇头，再一次尽力使自己内心保持镇定。“我明白。但是这还不是我们现在应该担心的。外面有许多的 兽人，不管他们是不是在扰乱我们，这对我们都是一个很大的威胁。我们的工作是保卫这座堡垒，防止他们从这里蔓延 到整个艾泽拉斯。等我们解决了他们之后，我们……好吧，我们就出发。”

　　他看向他的朋友们，他们慢慢的点了点头。他看向艾蕾莉亚，在她那翠绿的眼睛中看到了一丝赞成的眼神。而后她 再一次举起了自己手中的弓箭开始射击。

　　“你很对，将军。”卡德加说道，低下了他的头。“我们需要保卫守望堡。如果我们活不下来，我们就不能去料理 其他的事情。”

　　图拉扬笑了，带着沉重而又担忧的心情。他再一次骑上了自己的坐骑，冲回了战争的漩涡之中。

Turalyon crouched low over his horse, urging it on to
greater speed. Even though he knew that waiting for reinforcements in the form of Alleria's rangers had been
wise, something inside him insisted that they might be
too late—that something was already happening at
Nethergarde. He wasn't sure if it was a soldier's instinct
or his own insecurities, but the paladin, normally gentle
with beasts, kicked his horse again and again.
Beside him rode his men, Alleria, and her rangers.
Alleria threw him a curious look, noting his spurring of
the mount, but stayed silent. He glanced over at her,
wanting to explain somehow, but all that came out was "Something's happening already."

She opened her mouth for a quip, but closed it when
she saw the look on his face. Instead, she simply nodded,
and bent over to whisper in her horse's ear. He realized
she believed him, and for a moment, the worry and fear abated before a quick warmth.

The ride seemed to take forever. Through the meadows and rolling hills of Goldshire and the little town of
Darkshire, through the gray land that was aptly named
Deadwind Pass, near where Medivh had lived in
Karazhan, into the muddy, malodorous Swamp of Sorrows. But now the land was changing, and Turalyon felt
a lurch inside him as he noticed it. The foliage, though
decomposing and unpleasant-smelling, was at least a sign
of life. The ground beneath them was starting to turn red and dry, almost desertlike.
Alleria frowned. "It . . . feels dead." she said, shouting
to be heard over the thunder of horses' hooves. Turalyon
nodded, unable to spare breath. They pressed on through
the bare landscape, cresting a small hill. There, rising like
a white peak above the blood-red surroundings, was the
keep. He drew his horse to a halt, straining to see what it was that nagged at his mind, and murmured.

"Something's wrong."
Alleria shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun. She
could see better than he, and when she gasped. Turalyon knew he'd been right.

"It's under attack!" she cried. "The Horde—
Turalyon—it's like seeing the force from the Second War
all over again! There must be hundreds of them!" The
tone in her voice was half horror and half glee, and the
cold-hot smile of hate and rage had twisted her face
again. He recalled their conversation upon her arrival in
Stormwind. It certainly looked like Alleria was going to
get the chance to exterminate a lot of "vermin." He hated
to see her so hungry for death—and feared about that hunger might make her reckless.

"We're almost upon them," he said, to her and to his
commanders, who had drawn up beside him. "We'll
strike from behind, pinning the orcs between
Nethergarde and us. Once we've defeated them we'll
enter the citadel and fortify its defenses in case they attack again. Let’s go."

They raced toward the last rise. Right before they
crested it, Turalyon again called a halt. Just beyond them
the trail climbed a final time, past boulders and up a short incline, and then the plateau opened before them.
From here, they could see it all.

Orcs, hundreds of them, were battering at
Nethergarde's walls, though the keep thus far seemed to
be weathering the attack with ease. Here and there were
orc bodies. Turalyon saw at least one with an arrow
through its neck; several others were badly charred, but
some corpses seemed unharmed. He glanced up, spying
the violet-robed figures upon the fortress's parapets, and
despite the direness of the situation, he smiled slightly as he understood.

"We need to strike before they realize we're here.
Rally the men and charge upon my command." His
commanders, including Alleria, nodded and moved off to
their own units, passing orders quietly. Weapons were
drawn, straps were tightened, shields and visors were
lowered, and the army advanced. Turalyon and the
others crept forward, covering the last distance before the
plateau, their horses' feet muffled by the dust; thank the
Light, the orcs were too busy shouting and cursing and grunting to hear their approach.
It was time. They had gotten as far as stealth would
take them. Turalyon took a deep breath and raised his hammer high over his head.
"Sons of Lothar!" he shouted, the power of the Holy
Light magnifying his voice so it carried to everyone under his command. "For the Alliance—for the Light."

His soldiers roared behind him, and several hundred
throats uttered their own battle cries. Turalyon swung
the hammer down and forward, and the charge began.
Some of the rearmost orcs heard his shout and turned,
only to be trampled by the surging horses. Others were
taken unawares, slain before they could even see the
threat racing up from behind. From the fortress men
cheered as Turalyon and his forces swept forward, laying
about them with hammers and axes and swords. Alleria
and her rangers fired arrow after arrow, drawing and
nocking with inhuman speed, their aim unerring, their
horses never breaking stride. In a surprisingly short time
Turalyon had won through to Nethergarde's enormous front gates, which swung open as he approached.

Turalyon hesitated, looking back over the battle. His eyes
met Alleria's. He gestured toward the gate. She frowned
slightly—she was as reluctant as he to leave the thick of
battle, but they were the leaders of their units and she
knew, as he did, that they should speak with the
commander of the keep as soon as they could. When she
nodded, Turalyon spurred his steed through the narrow
gap, crushing an orc that tried to follow. Alleria was
beside him, close enough that her leg brushed against his, and then the gates shut again behind them.

"Ah, good, Alleria—you've brought Turalyon to us just
in time." Turalyon turned toward the speaker and smiled
as he recognized Khadgar. Roughly they embraced;
Turalyon had missed the friend he'd grown to so like and
admire as they worked together through the Second
War. He wished they were not reuniting under these
circumstances. Alleria gave the mage a curt nod.
"I came as fast as I could," Turalyon said. He spied
another man he recognized, and he smiled in relief.
"Danath," he greeted his second-in-command, "I am glad
to see you're safe." He glanced around. "But . . . where are your men?"

"Dead," Danath replied curtly.
"By the Light. . . all of them?" Turalyon whispered.
Danath had taken fully half the warriors of
Stormwind. Danath gritted his teeth at the words.
"The orcs had a nice little trap ready for us when we
reached the valley. They slaughtered my boys before they
could react," Danath's voice cracked ever so slightly. "My
boys," he had called them. Turalyon realized Danath
blamed himself for the deaths. "They sacrificed
themselves that I might reach here and warn Khadgar of the Horde's approach."

"They did the right thing. And so did you," Turalyon
assured his friend and subordinate. "It is an awful thing,
to lose the men under your command, but alerting
Nethergarde was the first priority." He frowned.
"Khadgar—we need to figure out why they're attacking now."

"It's obvious—they need to get past us to reach the rest
of Azeroth," Khadgar replied, but Turalyon shook his head.
"No, that doesn't make sense. Think about it. They
lack the numbers to take this keep, and they must know
it. I'm willing to bet this is not the entire Horde—it can't
be. So where are the rest? Why attack with only a partial army?"

Khadgar's white brows drew together over his youth's
eyes. "You raise an excellent point."
"One way to find out," Danath said brusquely. "Bring
me an orc, and believe me, I'll get out of him what we
want to know." The way he said it and the set of his jaw
made Turalyon flinch. He saw in Danath's face an echo
of Alleria's single-minded hatred of the orcs. For all their
brutality, for all the pain and damage and hurt to this
world they had caused, he could not help but pity
whatever captive Danath Trollbane took it upon himself
to question. He only hoped the orc would speak quickly—for its sake, and their own.

They were waiting for his approval. He nodded reluctantly and turned to Alleria, but before he could speak
she had hurried up one of the towers, anxious to be
doing something, anything. She called down the order,
waited for the reply, then grinned fiercely. "It will not
take long," she said, Turalyon expected her to climb back
down. Instead she stayed where she was, nocking an
arrow to her long, elegant bow, taking aim, and joining in the battle from that vantage point.

The elf was right. Not three minutes later a cry went up outside: "We've got one!"
The massive gates were again opened. A pair of
Turalyon's men rode through, half-dragging an unconscious orc between them. They dumped the body on the
ground at their general's feet. Blood covered its bare
green head, and its eyes were closed. It didn't stir as it hit the ground.

"One orc, still alive, sir!" one of the two men reported.
"He took a good hit to his head, but he'll live. For a while
at least." Turalyon nodded, dismissing them. Both men
saluted before wheeling their horses about and charging
back out the gate, diving once more into the fray.
"Let's see what we have here," Danath muttered. He
bound the orc's hands and feet with heavy rope, then
splashed water on the monster's face. It awoke with a
start, grimacing, and then frowned and started to growl as it noticed the restraints.

"Why are you attacking us now?" Danath demanded,
leaning down over the orc. "Why hit Nethergarde when you aren't at full strength?"
"I show you strength!" the orc warrior roared, struggling against his bonds. But they held fast.
"I don't think you quite understand," Danath said
slowly, drawing his dagger and idly waving it mere
inches from the orc's face. "I asked you a question. You'd
best answer it. Why attack Nethergarde now? Why not
wait until the entire Horde is here?"
Blood and spittle spattered Danath's face. He jerked
back, surprised, then slowly wiped the spit off. "I'm tired
of playing with you," he growled, and leaned forward with the dagger.

"Wait!" Turalyon ordered. He deeply disapproved of
torture, and he was beginning to think that even if he
permitted Danath to continue, the orc would say nothing
of use—orcs had a high tolerance for pain—and chances
were he'd pass out, or die, before speaking. "There might be another way to find out."

Danath stayed his hand. He felt Alleria's eyes on him,
angry, wanting to see the creature hurt. But that would solve nothing.

Turalyon closed his eyes and slowed his breathing,
reaching for the quiet, still pool deep inside him, the
center where no matter what was raging in his head or
heart, he was at peace. From that place of calmness, he
asked for aid, for the Light. He felt a tingling along his
skin as the Light responded, granting him its power and
its unspeakable grace. He heard gasps from his friends
and a frightened cry from the prisoner, and inhaled
deeply, opening his eyes to see the familiar shimmering
along his hands, his arms. Danath and Khadgar stared at
him, their eyes wide in shock. And as for the orc, it was a
huddled ball of green at his feet, whimpering
incoherently. When he spoke, Turalyon's voice was
completely calm and controlled. There was no place here
for hate or the heat of anger. Not when one stood fully in the Light.

"Now, by the Holy Light, you will answer our questions and do so truly," Turalyon intoned, reaching out
and resting his palm against the orcs forehead. There was
a sudden, blinding flash of light. He felt a spark leap from
flesh to flesh. The orc shrieked, and when Turalyon
removed his hand there was a dark handprint there, as if
it had been burned in. The orc shivered and groveled,
weeping. Turalyon hoped he had not scared it senseless.

"Why attack now?" he asked yet again.
"To—to distract you," it sobbed. "From the thefts." It
had been stubbornly silent before; now it apparently
couldn't speak fast enough. "Ner’zhul needs things. Artifacts. He ordered us, attack the keep. Alliance stay busy
here, and not see anything else."
Khadgar was stroking his full beard. He'd recovered
faster than Danath, who was still staring at the young
paladin. Turalyon risked a glance up at Alleria to find
her, too, looking at him with an expression of stunned
disbelief. When their eyes met, she colored slightly and looked away.

"A simple plan, but simple plans are often the best,"
Khadgar offered. "What artifacts, though? And why
would he need any such thing from our world and not
from his own?"
The orc shook his head, trembling. "He doesn't know,"
Turalyon said. "He'd tell us if he knew. With the Light upon him so, the orc could not lie."
The gates creaked open just enough for two elves to
squeeze through before it shut again. Turalyon glanced
up as they approached him, his eyes narrowing as he
realized they both looked exhausted. "What news?"



"Stormwind, sir," one of the elves replied. "Someone
broke into the royal library. The guards found the bodies
of the two men stationed outside the door and the one
inside. Looks like one died by an orc axe, sir."
"Orcs? In the royal library?" Turalyon whirled to stare
at Khadgar, then at the orc, who cringed away.
"Artifacts . . . ," he murmured, putting the pieces together.

"The perfect distraction," Khadgar was forced to admit.
"Damn it. I'd say that simple plan worked very well
indeed. We were busy here fighting the orcs, and
someone made off with—" He turned to the elves. "What exactly aid someone make off with, if anything?"

Now the elven scouts looked even less happy. "Unfortunately, you are right, Lord Wizard—one thing was indeed missing."
"And that was?" Turalyon prompted.
The elf cleared his throat. "The, uh . . . the Book of Medivh."

"By the Light," Turalyon whispered, feeling a knot
form in the pit of his stomach. The Book of Medivh? The
spellbook of the greatest mage in all the world, the man who
had helped the orcs create the original portal? The book
containing all the brilliant wizard's many secrets? In the hands of the orcs?

Beside him Khadgar seemed stricken as well.
"Turalyon . . . I need that book! To close the portal!"
"What?" Turalyon cried.
"Medivh and Gul'dan created the thing. That spellbook could tell me how to close it! Not only that—if the
orcs have it, they can use it against us in any number of
ways. This is bad. This is very, very bad."
Turalyon shook his head, reaching for the calm place
inside himself "I understand. But we can't worry about it
right now—we've got orcs outside, and distraction or
not, they're still a great danger. Our job is to protect this
keep, and prevent them from spreading past it. Once that's done, then . . . well, we'll go from there."

He eyed his friends, who nodded slowly. He glanced
up at Alleria, thinking he saw a hint of approval glimmer
in her green eyes before she again lifted her bow to resume firing.

"You're right, General," Khadgar said, inclining his
head. "We have a keep to defend. We can't solve a puzzle if we're not alive to do so."

Turalyon gave a weary, worried grin, climbed back
atop his mount, and rode again into the maelstrom that
was battle.

第十章

　　“我们要分成两组。”血魔向芬瑞斯、塔伽和他的死亡骑士们指示道。众人很快的拆散了他们身边那座临时营地。 “我需要……”

　　周边突然沉寂了下来，于是血魔抬头看去。死亡之翼回到了他们的身边，仍然是与之前相同的人类形态。他和泰隆 四目相对。

　　“什么，你认为我不会回来么？”

　　“不，当然不了。”

　　不知道是不是因为他说错了什么话，死亡之翼眉毛紧缩，很明显巨龙感到自己被冒犯了。血魔意识到他刚才所说的 话可能被对方理解成了自大，于是赶忙加了一句，“我完全相信您所说的话，死亡之翼大人。”

　　看上去黑龙的愤怒被平息了，于是血魔继续道，“我们需要前往奥特兰克，然后再从那里转至达拉然。我们可否请 求您的子嗣帮我们一个忙？”

　　“可以。现在我会召唤他们。”死亡之翼头部后倾，将嘴巴张大到了一个真正的人类永远无法达到的程度，发出一 阵源源不绝而又刺耳的吼叫。众人脑中产生了幻听，周边刮起了一阵刺骨的阴风。脚下的大地在震颤，仿佛在回应着黑 龙之王。有些兽人为之发抖，而即便是血魔也无法维持其内心的平静。

　　最终，死亡之翼闭上了他的嘴，他的脸也恢复了正常的状态。黑龙脸上挂满了笑意，似乎是为兽人和死亡骑士们的 不适而感到快意，他说道，“好了，他们马上就到。”

　　“谢谢您。”血魔鞠躬谢道。他转向身旁的两个兽人酋长，说道，“你们的任务将会很困难，但是这是必须的。我 需要你们前往萨格拉斯之墓。”虽然他并不想这么问，而且他害怕两人会拒绝这一任务，但他必须这么做。

　　塔伽嘟哝着，似乎很是心神不安，而即便是更为坚强的芬瑞斯看起来也有些不知所措。“你这是让我们去送死！” 芬瑞斯吼道。

　　“并不全是。在那里有着耐奥祖所需要的一件神器。我会派雷格诺克去协助你们，并且向你们解释……”

　　“古尔丹——即便是强大的古尔丹也死在了那里！”芬瑞斯打断了他。“我们听过有关他的故事。古尔丹从海底将 那片陆地升起，但最后却被那些负责监守那里的怪物撕成了碎片，只有很少的几个人逃了出来，而其他大多数人都在痛 苦的尖叫之中死去了。那里有恶魔啊，血魔！”

　　刚听到这段话时，血魔感到很是好笑，对于这个世界上的人类来说，他们将兽人都看作邪恶之物。

　　“如果我明知道不会成功的话，你认为我还会将你们和我的一个死亡骑士派去送死么？”他们并没有回答这个问题 ，而是交换了一个忧虑的眼神。血魔向两人露出了他那标志性的死者之笑。“这样更好。就像我刚才所说的，你们必须 要找到一件神器。至于细节，雷格诺克会告诉你们的。等你们找到了它之后，就尽可能快地回黑暗之门，我们会在那里 和你们相会，毕竟战歌氏族无法一直牵引着联盟的注意力。 ”

　　两个酋长点了点头，看起来更加自信了一些。血魔看着两人。塔伽是一个好战士，但他不够狡猾，也不够聪明。相 比之下，芬瑞斯就好上很多了，只要有他在，嚼骨氏族的酋长就不会干出什么傻事。血魔感到很是满意，于是又转向黑 龙之王，“伟大的死亡之翼，您能载他们前往萨格拉斯之墓么？”

　　龙王点了点头，说道，“我们知道你所提及的这个岛屿，而这些就是我的子孙，我认为他们足够载你们了。”

　　就在黑龙说话的同时，血魔听到了一阵噪音，似乎是周围在大雨滂沱，雨滴穿过空气打在地上的声音。血魔抬头看 去，在夜空之下，他发现了一些黑色的阴影，但是这很明显不是雨滴。泰隆感到自己脚下的大地再一次隆隆作响。突然 ，他发现在那些逐渐变大的阴影之中闪着一些橘黄色的光点，它们慢慢变成了钻石一般的形状。血魔双眼睁大，意识到 了那些橘黄色的闪光是那野兽口中灼热的岩浆，而那震耳欲聋的噪音则是巨大的翅膀扇动的声音。

　　巨龙俯冲而下，血魔则面带敬畏的看着。当它们落地的时候，脚下的土地颤动着，它们口中掉落着冒着热气的液态 火焰。它们光滑的黑色鳞片在星光之下反射着微光，而它们的巨爪则像是磨光的钢铁。这些黑龙站立在地上或是巨石上 ，对于血魔来说它们已经和大地融为一体，一个活生生的、致命的存在。当所有巨龙都降落之后，它们收起了自己巨大 的龙翼，用黑檀色的眼睛凝望着面前的兽人，脑袋和尾巴都在轻轻摇晃着。对血魔来说，这感觉就好像一只猫在吃掉它 的猎物之前首先要仔细研究一下一般，他打了个冷颤。

　　“我的孩子们来了。”死亡之翼向众人说道，他的语气中带着很明显的骄傲。“艾泽拉斯大陆上最强的生物！”它 指向旁边一只特别大的黑龙，它的额头上有两只巨大的角。“萨贝里安，”当他喊出了这只黑龙的名字时，其他黑龙都 低下了头。“他是我的中尉，负责所有事项。他和其他几个同伴会载着你的兽人前往你所提到的那个岛屿。至于奥特兰 克之行么，我会亲自带你去的。”

　　“这是我的荣幸。”血魔开始道，但是死亡之翼不耐烦的挥了挥手让血魔闭嘴，黑龙的双眼就好像燃烧着的木炭一 样发着红光。他继续道，“凡人，不要太自大了，我这么做并不是为了向你表示尊敬，我只是想要帮你成功。如果你失 败了，那我的计划也就只能成为泡影。我希望你不要这样，如果你想要活下去的话……好吧，至少是和你现在一样活着 。”

　　死亡之翼得意地笑着，而后笑声开始变大，从一个普通人类的笑声逐渐变得更为阴暗，也更为可怖。他后仰着头， 举起双臂，带来了一阵风。那大风吹袭着他们，迫使血魔等人不自主的靠向了身后的岩石。

　　他在做什么？在那一刻，血魔不安的想着，也许这一切都只是一个低级的笑话，而现在死亡之翼已经厌倦了这个游 戏。

　　身边行将熄灭的营火在那突然而来的风中摇曳着，在地上映出诡异的阴影。在那狂笑着的男子背后，死亡之翼真正 的影子逐渐变大，并在不断的扭动，就好象它也有了生命一样。那影子慢慢改变着形态，巨大的龙翼之影伸展开去，覆 盖了周边的山脉，笼罩着其他的黑龙以及周围的环境。在那一晚上，大地第三次颤动着，这一次更有许多兽人跌倒在地 。突然，大地绽裂开去，沸腾的蒸汽向上喷涌着，那从黑龙口中滴出的液态火焰，仿佛是那来自地底深处岩浆的余痕。

　　就在影子变化的同时，死亡之翼的人类躯体也开始变化。他的身形逐渐变得模糊，似乎是被身后的影子吸收了一般 ，唯有他的眼睛仍然清晰可见。黑龙的双眼开始变长变斜，颜色也变红变亮，好像是眼前火焰的光芒的反射，但最后， 一双眼睛又使那些火焰相形见拙。

　　黑龙的身子和影子仍然在不断的变化着。那虚幻的躯体似乎开始有了实质，并且开始推开附近的岩石。那身体疯狂 的伸长着，似乎想要尽快和它的影子相匹配。

　　一条黑龙，是的，不过……他不单单是一条普普通通的黑龙。他是最强大的，最凶猛的，也是最恐怖的一条，他是 黑龙之父。

　　血魔认为死亡之翼应当是黑龙之中最为完美的一条，但是在他逐渐变换着形态的时候，血魔改变了自己的看法。死 亡之翼并没有他的子嗣那种黑色的美感，他身上有的只是那沿着脊骨，从头到尾贯穿全身的闪亮金属护甲。在那些护甲 之下，血魔看到了一些发着亮光的，红色、金色和白色相间的东西，似乎是……熔化的火焰在他的体内涌动。那些嵌入 死亡之翼脊骨的铁制板甲好像是用来将他的身体固定在一起的，但是它最终的效果却很是不和谐。血魔明白了为什么死 亡之翼要对他人类形态的外貌如此在意——他的巨龙形态有着很大的缺陷。

　　在那爬行动物一般的脸上，红色的双眼绽放着耀眼的光芒。黑龙展开了它巨大的双翼，那皮质的表面如同没有星光 的夜一样黑暗，如同老年妇女的脸一样褶皱不平。来自巨龙体内的能量脉动着，有如燃烧着的火焰散发出热量。

　　“来吧，渺小的死亡骑士，如果你有胆量的话。”死亡之翼命令着，他的声音变得十分低沉。黑龙将他的头放低， 几乎贴到了地面。血魔感到有那么一刻，他完全无法动弹。泰隆赶忙强迫自己去听从黑龙的指挥。他惊惊颤颤地从黑龙 的脖子与披挂装甲的肩膀之间的地方爬了上去。值得庆幸的是，那些奇异的金属板甲让他能够很轻松的抓住，其他人都 争相模仿着血魔。不一会儿，血魔的部队都爬上了黑龙。

　　死亡之翼毫无预兆的向地上一蹬，双翅向下挥去，腾空而起。他来回扇动着自己的双翼，众人逐渐远离地面，血魔 紧紧的抓住黑龙。空气在支撑着他们高飞，好像那强健的黑龙就如同飘落的树叶一般轻如无物。他的双翼是那么的低， 以至于血魔曾一度认为它们会擦到地面上。萨贝里安和他选中的几只黑龙和死亡之翼分离，冲向前方，消失在夜空之中 。黑龙则向右倾斜，带着兽人们朝向奥特兰克飞去。

TEN

"We'll divide into two groups," Gorefiend
instructed Fenris, Tagar, and his death
knights. Around them was the bustle of a
camp being broken as swiftly as possible. "I need—"
He glanced up as the sounds stilled abruptly.
Deathwing had rejoined them, looking as perfectly
human as he had before. He caught Gorefiend's eye.
"What, did you think I would not return?"
"No, of course I did."

Something about how he said it obviously displeased
the great dragon, whose black brows drew together.
Gorefiend realized the words could be interpreted as arrogance and hastened to add, "I completely trust your word, Lord Deathwing."
The dragon looked mollified. Gorefiend continued,
"We need to travel to Alterac, and from there to Dalaran.
May we ask you for the aid of your children in this?"

"You may. I will summon them now." Deathwing
tilted back his head, his mouth opening far wider than
any true human's could, and uttered a strange rippling
cry that teased at the ears, creating phantoms of other
sounds and generating a cool breeze that reeked of old
death. Some of the orcs shrank back, and even Gorefiend
was hard put to keep his face calm as the earth itself
shook and rumbled beneath his feet, as if replying directly to the black dragonlord.

Finally, Deathwing closed his mouth and his face assumed its normal proportions. "There we are." he said,
grinning in obvious delight at the discomfiture of both orc and death knight. "They will come."

"Thank you." Gorefiend bowed. He turned toward the
two orc chieftains. He was not looking forward to what
he had to ask of them, and feared they might balk; but it
had to be done. "Your task will be challenging, but vital. I
must ask you to go to the Tomb of Sargeras."
Tagar growled uneasily, and even the sturdier Fenris
looked upset. "You send us to our deaths then!" Fenris snapped.
"Not at all. There is an artifact there that Ner’zhul
requires. I will send along Ragnok to aid you and explain what—"

"Gul'dan—the powerful Gul'dan died there!" Fenris
interrupted. "We have heard the stories—of how Gul'dan
raised it from the ocean bed, only to be attacked by the
monstrous things guarding that horrible place. We have
heard how only a few escaped and that most died there,
screaming in pain. . . . Evil lives in that darkness,
Gorefiend!"

The death knight spared only a moment to be amused
at the comment; he well knew that the humans on this
world thought the orcs themselves monstrous, evil things.

"Do you think I would send you and one of my own
knights if I believed you would not be successful?" They
had no answer for that and exchanged uneasy glances.
Gorefiend graced them with his deathrictus smile. "That's
better. As I was saying, you must retrieve a certain
artifact. Ragnok will explain everything. Once you've
found it, return to the Dark Portal as soon as possible and
we will meet you there. The Warsong clan won't be able
to keep the Alliance distracted and busy forever."
Both chieftains nodded, looking more confident.
Gorefiend regarded them for a moment. Tagar was a
powerful fighter, but he had no subtlety and little intelligence. Fenris, however, was clever and subtle enough
for both of them, and his bearing told Gorefiend he
would keep the young Bonechewer chieftain in line.
Satisfied, Gorefiend turned to the dragonlord. "Great
Deathwing—can you bear them to the tomb?"
The dragon-man nodded. "We know this island of
which you speak." he said. "And here are my children—
enough to accommodate both groups, I think."

Even as the words left Deathwing's lips, Gorefiend
heard a sharp flurry of noise, as if a heavy rain were
striking, its pellets slashing through the air and into the
rock and earth all around. Looking up, Gorefiend did see
dark streaks against the stars, but they were most
certainly not raindrops. Beneath his feet, he felt the earth
rumble again. Suddenly he saw specks of bright orange
as the streaks increased in size, swelling and becoming
diamond-shaped. His eyes widened as he realized the
orange glows he had seen was fiery magma in the beasts
huge jaws, and the increasingly loud noise was the beating of gigantic wings.

Gorefiend watched, awestruck, as the dragons
swooped down. The very earth shook as the mighty
creatures landed, liquid fire dripping from their mouths
to steam, glowing and sullen, on the earth. They were
beautiful in their deadliness. Their scales gleamed in the
starlight, a glossy black like a midnight pool, and their
claws seemed like polished iron as they perched on the
earth or on giant boulders, seeming to Gorefiend's eyes a
living, lethal extension of the earth upon which they
stood. When they had all come to ground, the dragons
folded their great leathery wings and watched the orcs
closely, their ebony eyes staring, their heads swiveling
and tails flicking slightly. Gorefiend was reminded of a
cat analyzing its prey before it casually dispatched it, and shivered slightly.

"Here are my children," Deathwing announced, the
pride evident in his voice. "The finest of all the creatures
of Azeroth!" He pointed to a particularly large dragon
nearby, two great horns jutting up from its brow.
"Sabellian," Deathwing announced, and the dragon
lowered its head as its name was announced, "is my
lieutenant in all things. He and a few companions will
bear your orcs to the island you spoke of. And as for your
jaunt to Alterac, I'll take you there myself."
"I am honored," Gorefiend started to say, but
Deathwing silenced him with an impatient wave of his
hand. His eyes glittered like banked coals as he
continued, "Don't get too full of yourself, death knight. I
do not do it to show you respect, but to ensure success.

My plans will come to naught if you fail. I suggest you
don't, not if you wish to remain alive—well, at least as alive as you are now."

Deathwing smirked slightly. Then he began to laugh,
the sound rising from an ordinary human laugh to
mutate into something much darker and much more
frightening. He threw his head back and lifted his arms,
the gesture stirring up a wind that buffeted Gorefiend
and the others against the rocks behind them. What was
he doing? Gorefiend wondered for a frantic moment if this
whole thing had been some sort of dreadful joke, and
that at last Deathwing had tired of the game. The flames
of their dying campfires flickered and swayed in the
sudden gust, casting grotesque dancing shadows. Behind
the maniacally laughing man, Deathwing's own shadow
swelled and grew, twisting as if it were a living thing
itself, changing form as it rose behind him, vast wings
spreading out across the mountain range, engulfing all
his dragons and much of the surrounding land as well.
For a third time that night, the earth trembled, and this
time many of the orcs fell hard to the ground. Sudden
fissures split open, scalding steam rippling the space
above them, red-orange magma in their depths echoing the liquid flame that dripped from the dragons' mouths.

Even as his shadow rose and took on more detail,
Deathwing's human body contorted. Its edges grew indistinct, as if it were being absorbed into the shadows
behind him. Only his eyes remained clear, growing
longer and more slanted, taking on a reddish cast from
the reflected glow of the flames but then outshining those thin fires.

Still the shadow grew, as did the shifting, blurring
body that cast it. It seemed to have its own substance now, and was somehow pushing away from the rocks.

The body elongated and increased in bulk, changing
rapidly to match its shadow. A black dragon, yes, but
more—the black dragon, the mightiest, most powerful,
most dangerous of them all; the father of the flight.
Gorefiend thought he would be the most perfect
specimen of his kind, but as the shape before him grew
more distinct, the death knight realized that Deathwing
lacked the dark beauty of his children. Giant plates made
of gleaming metal ran along the dragon's spine from the
tail to the back of the long narrow head. Beneath them
Gorefiend caught glimpses of red and gold and white in
radiating lines, as if molten fire were somehow . . .
breaking through. As if the metallic plates fastened onto
Deathwing's spine were physically holding him together.
The effect was disjointed, disharmonious, and suddenly
Gorefiend realized why Deathwing was so meticulous
about his appearance in human form—his dragon form was flawed.
Red eyes blazed now from a reptilian face. Deathwing
spread his wings wide, their great leathery surfaces as
dark as a starless sky and as wrinkled as an old crone.
Power pulsated from the dragon in waves, like heat from a raging fire.

"Come, little death knight, if you dare." Deathwing
commanded, his voice now a deep rumble. He lowered
his head almost to the ground, and Gorefiend actually
found himself frozen in place for a moment before he
forced his body to obey. Trembling, he clambered up
onto the dragon where his neck met his heavily armored
shoulders. Fortunately, the unnatural metal plates
provided easy handholds. The others emulated him, and soon all Gorefiend's band were astride the dragons.

With no warning, Deathwing launched himself into
the air with a powerful kick and a downward sweep of
his wings, lifting them up into the sky by sheer muscle alone. Gorefiend clung tightly as the ground fell away,
and then Deathwing's wings beat down and back, and
again, and they were soaring, the air supporting them as if the massive dragon were as light as a stray leaf.

Sabellian and his chosen followers split off, racing
forward and disappearing into the night, while
Deathwing banked to the right, that wing dipping so low
Gorefiend thought it might scrape the ground, and headed for Alterac.

艾登•培瑞诺德，奥特兰克之王，被软禁于王宫之中的罪犯，在惊吓之中醒了过来。他在做梦，而现在他仍能记得 那些虽然一闪而过却又清晰可见的东西，那是某种巨大、黝黑、貌似爬虫的东西在他的上方隐隐显现着，它还在……笑 着？培瑞诺德苦涩的想着，也许这是在隐喻他的命运。

　　他抹了抹自己的脸，试图把那梦魇驱走，但是却再也无法入睡。培瑞诺德嘟囔着起了床。也许喝点酒会有所帮助吧 。他给自己倒了一杯深红色的酒——如血液一般深红——而后慢慢地呷着那杯酒，思考着那些让他走到今天这一步的选 择。

　　在那一刻，抉择看起来是那么的容易，那么的明智，那么的正确。兽人们将要摧毁所有目中所见之物，无一可以幸 免，于是他和兽人们进行了协商以期挽救他的人民。他皱着眉头，凝望着手中的酒杯，想起了当时他与奥格瑞姆•毁灭 之锤之间的对话。似乎一切都会按计划进行——但是不知何故他并未遂愿。他那所谓的“背叛行径”被联盟发现，兽人 们也并没有和以往一样，成功的毁灭一切。这些绿皮的傻B们。

　　突然，通往他卧室的大门被猛然打开。培瑞诺德被吓了一跳，将他手中的酒洒到了他的睡衣上。这时，几个高大的 人影冲了进来。那一刻，艾登感到目瞪口呆，他感觉自己在做白日梦，这可真是说曹操，曹操到。更为离奇的是，那些 兽人——兽人们在他的宫殿里面做什么？——抓住了他，将他强拉到门口。培瑞诺德稍微清醒了一些，他尝试着挣脱兽 人。其中一人将国王抬起来搭到了自己的肩上，兽人们继续向前进发。众人越过了培瑞诺德贴身保镖们的尸体，走出了 王宫的前门，而后那些兽人们把艾登再一次放回了地上。

　　“不！求你了，我……”他的叫喊声突然停住。一个和他的王宫之大几可媲美的生物出现在他的上方，它有着黑色 的鳞片，闪亮的板甲以及皮质的双翼。那狭长而又巨大的头晃来晃去，研究着下面的人类，它的双眼发着红光。

　　“培瑞诺德国王。”那干涩的声音听起来并不是从巨龙那布满长牙的嘴中传来的。培瑞诺德颤抖着，意识到它并不 是唯一的一个，在它的双肩之上，有人倚着它的脖子骑在上面。或者，是什么东西骑在上面，培瑞诺德改变了自己的看 法。那骑手有着闪亮的双眼，斗篷上带着兜帽，而它的四肢也被诡异的裹着。为什么在第二次战争中他没有见过这种生 物？作为部落的代言人？

　　“培瑞诺德国王。”那骑士再一次叫着他的名字。“我们来此是为了跟你谈谈。”

　　“噢？”培瑞诺德回道，他的声音几不可闻。“和我？真的么？”

　　“在那场战争中，你和部落达成了一个协议。”

　　“嗯？”培瑞诺德试图把上下联系起来。“啊，是的！是的，我和毁灭之锤本人达成了协议！我是你的盟友！我和 你在同一战线上！”

　　“麦迪文之书在哪里？”那外貌奇怪的骑士问道。“把它交给我！”

　　“什么？”在那一刻，骑士突然转换的话题消除了培瑞诺德的恐惧。“那本书？你要它做什么？”

　　“我没有时间跟你解释。”那骑士厉声说道。他嘀咕了些别的什么，用一只手做了个手势。培瑞诺德突然感到了一 阵剧痛，他的整个身体都在痉挛着。“这只是让你尝尝看我的厉害。”那陌生人告知奥特兰克国王。培瑞诺德仍在饱受 着疼痛的煎熬，在他听来那人的话似乎是从很遥远的地方传来的。“现在，把那本书给我！”

　　培瑞诺德想要这么做，但是他失败了。国王双手抓住膝盖，跪了下来。之后，那道疼痛消失了。他慢慢的站了起来 ，身躯仍在颤抖着，看向前方那两个强大的生物。巨龙眼中燃烧着的光芒在他的灵魂最深处留下了烙印。不知道是因为 什么，黑龙的凝视似乎并不像刚才的那么折磨人。疼痛让培瑞诺德变得头脑清醒，他得以凝聚心神。如果他不干出些傻 事的话，这将会是一个很好的机会。

　　“我有那本书，”他承认道。“或者说，我从暴风城偷来了那本书，并且我知道它在哪里。”他心不在焉的擦着自 己睡袍上的酒渍。“最开始我认为我可以将它用作讨价还价的筹码。联盟夺走了我的王座和我的王国，就是因为我在上 一次战争中帮助了你们。”他研究那个骑士，突然想到了他的专用名：死亡骑士。是的，很明显他是一个死亡骑士，也 就是说他在部落中有一席之地。

　　培瑞诺德想了想，说道，“我会把那本书给你……以求你们的帮助。”那个骑士并没有说话，但是从他的态度上来 看他应当还在听着。“联盟士兵驻扎在我的王国之中，以便监视我，控制我。把他们都搞定，那本书就是你的了。”

　　有那么一刻，死亡骑士并没有动，而后他点了点头。“非常好，”他回道。“我们会帮你的。在那之后我们会回来 ，而你将告诉我们麦迪文之书在哪里。”死亡骑士向跨下的黑龙低语了几句话，黑龙展开双翼，向空中飞去，附近还有 更多的黑影随后飞走，双翼挥动的瑟瑟之声镇住了培瑞诺德.