Thanks be to those who've reviewed the previous chapter, and much hope for you all to enjoy the next! ~F
Chapter Eighty Three
Machines of Death
Lor'themar would never have believed that the Blood Elves would push so far into the Ghostlands so quickly. But watching them hold the line at Tranquillian, even as hordes of the Scourge fell before the combined might of the Sin'dori and the Forsaken caused his heart to surge with hope.
Sylvanas held her word and then some. Even as the undead pounded their lines here, Lor'themar could see her Dark Rangers taking to the trees, flanking and evading the onslaught as they pushed further south toward Deatholme.
"Selama ashal'anore!" he cried, rallying the mages, rangers and warriors gathered nearest to him, as well as his personal guard of blood knights, before nodding to Lady Liadrin.
The Blood Knight Mariarch raised her sword, and her fellow paladins roared in compliance, "Tal anu'men no Sin'dorei!" she shouted, leading the charge as the Blood Knights took to the field, their powers over the Light blazing like the Sunwell once did.
The ravaging corpses of the Scourge stood no chance against the Light magic that the Blood Knights wielded, and they burned through their ranks like fire before charging down the ancient cobblestone road toward the south.
Lor'themar stayed toward the rear of the company, with the rest of the Farkstriders, keeping a vigil watch of their rear and the surrounding woods for any sign of ambush, but it seemed that the Dark Lady's forces were on either side, hounding away any wandering foes that might try to entrap the Blood Elf advance.
Catching the wisp of a shadow darting through the trees again, Lor'themar nodded. "The Forsaken are as agile now as they ever were in life," he said to himself.
Onward they pushed, Lady Liadrin crushing every knot of undead that they confronted as they stormed over the Ghostlands toward their target.
Soon enough the walls of Deatholme reared up through the trees, and the undead forces grew larger and more imposing. Hulking abominations were plentiful, and gargoyles swarmed the sky.
"Bring them down!" Lor'themar shouted, aiming at the flying menaces. The winged terrors had torn apart countless villages, and the Blood Elves hated the Northrend-born creatures more than any creature in the Scourge short of Arthas himself.
A volley of arrows flew upward, knocking a trio of the vile beasts from the air, and with sickening crashed they struck the earth.
"What have we here?" a cold voice called out over the walls of the dreaded fortress. The words chilled Lor'themar to the bones. He knew that voice.
"Ah, is it really my old comrade Lor'themar?" Dar'Khan Drathir said, appearing on the parapet of the spike walls of Deatholme. "I had thought you dead! A mistake I see… but one easily remedied!"
The gates of the fortress swung wide, spilling forth a multitude of ghouls, skeletons and other abominations of undeath, even as the traitor's laughter echoed over the din of the battle that began.
"Open fire!" Lor'themar shouted, and the Farstriders let loose another flurry of arrows. From the surrounding trees, even more black feathered shafts manifested, striking down the oncoming wave of death.
"So many of your comrades perished protecting the Sunwell," Dar'Khan taunted from his vantage, "…they have missed you, Lor'themar! I think it's time you finally joined them, do you not agree?"
The Blood Knights charged in, the Light singing off their weapons and their eyes burning golden. They crashed into the next wave of undead, and started to push them back.
"Hmm…" Dar'Khan said, looking down at the Blood Elf Paladins, "a bit more defiant, eh? How admirable, if futile."
"For the Forsaken!" shouted the voice of Sylvanas Windrunner, and an arrow sailed upward, striking Dar'Khan in the shoulder. Undead humans, the Forsaken of Lordaeron appeared from the trees, charging the field and standing with the Blood Elf warriors against the tide of the Scourge.
"Ahh, what's this?" the traitor said, pulling the arrow from his arm and examining it casually, "Your friends have come to die with you. I shall be only too happy to oblige them…"
"It shall not be our death, but yours and your master's!" Sylvanas shouted, notching another arrow and taking aim.
Dar'Khan merely laughed as he disappeared from the rampart, and another horde of undead swarmed the gates.
"We've got to get inside and hunt him down before he escapes to gather more forces…" Lor'themar stated, picking off a necromancer from the rear of the Scourge lines.
"Naturally," Sylvanas agreed, pushing forward with her elite deathguard, "see that you keep up!" she called back, almost playfully despite the tone of morbidity that her voice carried.
Lor'themar huffed, but indeed the Forsaken's sudden assault on the front lines seemed to push back the Scourge, their savagery in fighting Arthas' forces meeting and seemingly exceeding even the Blood Elves' fury.
Leaping after them, the Farstriders followed the column of soldiers pushing into the dreaded fortress of the Scourge, slaughtering every rotted corpse that stood against them. Lor'themar kept his eye aware of their surroundings, looking for where the traitor had fled to in the chaos of the battle. There were a series of small ziggurats near to the walls, but by far the largest building seemed to be a temple of the damned, and after giving orders for his Farstriders to take to the walls and keep up a suppressing fire on the courtyard, he started toward the building himself.
He would end Dar'khan personally, and stop the terror of his people once and for all. "Regent Lord," the dry voice of the Banshee Queen said, appearing beside him as they crossed the corpse laden yard toward the temple, "You honestly thought that you'd be allowed to do this alone?"
Lor'themar smirked sarcastically, but in truth he knew that this was the way it had to be. Sylvanas had been injured far more than he because of the traitor's deeds, and she had more of a right than anyone to see the final end of Dar'khan Drathir.
The necromancers in the main chamber stood little chance against the two great elven heroes, the Dark Lady's dagger and one of Lor'themar's arrows silencing them before they could even raise an alarm.
"I had wondered how long it would take you both to find me here.." the icy voice called down from an upper level, and Dar'khan appeared, his robes slightly matted and torn from the arrow that had struck him earlier.
"You have many crimes to answer for," Lor'themar replied, placing an arrow in his bow, "and this time, there will be no miraculous return from the dead for you. Your head will adorn the spires of Silvermoon forever."
"Bold words… but can you follow through with them?" Dar'khan said, a staff appearing in his hands, and shadow magic radiating around him, "I was always one of the more powerful magisters Lor'themar, do you really think that the two of you can stand against me now that my Blessed Lord Arthas has empowered me in my death?"
"Look out!" Sylvanas shouted, and Lor'themar turned to dodge a trio of ghouls that had climbed into the temple behind them. They were likely fleeing the battle and rallying around their master, even as Dar'khan lashed out, shadow and death magic blasting the stones around their feet as the Elf and Forsaken leapt back.
"Mortal fools! The ghouls of Deatholme will feast on your remains!" Dar'khan taunted, raining more magical attacks down from his balcony.
Lor'themar and Sylvanas were pinned behind pillars at opposite ends of the room, unable to face Dar'khan properly because of his magical attacks, and hampered by the onslaught of undead from the other rooms of the temple.
Lor'themar knew he was running low on arrows already, and drew his short elven blade to fend off those ghouls that came at him, but the fact remained that unless they got their shot at Dar'khan, this would end before it even began.
"I will enjoy having you at my side once more Lor'themar," the traitor taunted, "we always were able to do great things together, and the razing of Silvermoon will not be the least of our undertakings."
"Never!" Lor'themar shouted, throwing himself from behind the pillar and skewering the last ghoul near him with his sword. He left the weapon impaled in the undead and recovered his bow. Loosing a pair of arrows, the Elf forced Dar'khan to interrupt his current spell and dodge. Sylvanas appeared, abandoning her own cover and adding another volley to the chamber, striking Dar'khan several times in the torso and upper legs.
Lor'themar went to pull another arrow, and grasped thin air at the top of his quiver. He was out. A ghoul leapt at him from a side room, and he kicked the foul creature away, reaching over and stealing an arrow from the Banshee Queen's quiver. It notched easily, the black raven feather and bone shaft feeling uncomfortable, but usable to the Elven Regent.
Kicking off the ground to gain a touch of altitude, Lor'themar aimed carefully, loosing the arrow just as Dar'khan dodged another shot from Sylvanas. The black feathered arrow struck home, right between the traitor's eyes, and he staggered for a moment, before toppling over the railing and falling to the ground in front of the rangers.
Sylvanas planted a dagger into the last ghoul, and stood up straight. "It is finished…" she said.
"Not quite yet," Lor'themar said, retrieving his sword and approaching the body of the traitor, "I will have his head this time, so he cannot return ever again to threaten my people."
Within moments the grisly task was complete, and the pair of racial leaders exited the temple. The Forsaken and Blood Elves were gathered at the foot of the temple, looking up expectantly.
"Dar'khan Drathir is no more!" Lor'themar shouted, holding the traitor's head up by the hair for all to see. "The Ghostlands are ours once more!"
The Elves and Forsaken shouted in triumph, the air ringing with their cries. Lor'themar turned to the Dark Lady, "this would not have been possible without your aid, or the Forsaken…"
"We would do whatever is needed for revenge on those that defiled our homeland," the former Ranger General stated.
"Nevertheless, you came not only for yourself, but to gather allies against your foes to the south." Lor'themar persisted, "I cannot speak for all my people, but I will convince them in time. We would be honored to join the Horde, if the rest of the races there are half as honorable as you have shown yourselves to be, then we will find ourselves in excellent company."
Sylvanas grinned for a small moment, before becoming thoughtful and turning to gaze across the assembled crowd. "The Warchief will be pleased with this outcome, but more so that you chose it of your own will, rather than being coerced or tricked into it," she said, "It will take a long time for the Ghostlands to heal, but we ought to return to Silvermoon and celebrate, before I take my forces back to reconvene with the Warchief at the Undercity."
"I will join you on that journey," Lor'themar stated, and they started down the steps to rejoin their people and begin the march back to the north.
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Nobu'tan couldn't wipe the grin from his face as the human leaders of the Syndicate started to turn purple in the face. "You honestly expect us to rejoin with the Horde?!" Lord Falconrest half shouted.
The surrounding Syndicate members were exceedingly jumpy with him, and Nobu'tan took extra care to make sure his teeth were visible at all times. "Of course… do you honestly think that you stand a chance in Arathi when we control the entire region?" he threatened.
"We would find a way; the Syndicate has endured since the Second War!" Falconrest shouted in return.
"Enough!" another voice shouted from behind the group. Nobu'tan drew serious as the true leader of the Syndicate appeared.
"Lord Perenolde, we cannot allow the Horde to suck us into their war. We lost everything the last time!" Lord Falconrest ranted.
"So… you're price would be the restoration of the Nation of Alterac?" Nobu'tan said casually, waiting for their reaction.
That got the attention of the leader, and he brushed off Lord Falconrest and faced Nobu'tan directly. "Why would you offer such a thing? How could we possibly trust that you would follow through on such a promise?"
Nobu'tan smirked, "Well, that is something that you'd have to trust us on… in truth I could just order my armies to destroy you, and yet I have chosen not to…" he replied, already gathering the magic to rend open another portal, "we need to get around the siege in Hillsbrad, and crossing through the ruins of your former nation would be the perfect route…"
The nether portal opened behind him at a whispered word, "Think about it, you have few options… I'll be in touch."
Before they had the chance to react, Nobu'tan stepped backward through the portal and sealed it, shaking his head. It was not terribly likely that the Syndicate would benefit them as much as the Defias Brotherhood had, but the threat of death would be enough to at least make them leave Arathi and focus their efforts elsewhere.
Having emerged in the large gatehouse of Tohradin's Wall, Nobu'tan instantly sensed that something was drastically wrong. The magic that ought to have been protecting the wall from the projectiles coming from the battlefield beyond seemed to be weaker, and there was something draining power away from it from moment to moment.
Storming up to the top of the wall, he found Lucius and several other warlocks gazing out across the foothills of Hillsbrad. "Lord Nobu'tan, I did not expect you back so soon," Lucius said in surprise.
"Nor did I expect to be back, but never mind that. What's going on here?" Nobu'tan demanded.
"We're not sure," one of the other warlocks informed him.
"From what you've told me before," Lucius speculated, "I could only guess that elves of some sort have come and sided with our enemies…"
"Well, that I find hard to believe…" Nobu'tan replied, "The only elves that I know of here are those of Quel'Thalas, and they are starch enemies of the Horde, either of them. They'd never aid a faction of orcs…"
"Nevertheless, that is what I had seen." Lucius reported, offering a spyglass. They had learned quickly that eyes of Kil'rogg were spotted easily by the other faction of Horde, and had to take other means to spy on them.
Accepting the offered item, Nobu'tan pressed it to his eye and looked out at the other tower far across. Sure enough, the half dozen figures on the top of the tower were no member of the Horde that Nobu'tan had grown familiar with, but Elves.
Worse still, they were clearly using some form of siphoning magic on their wards, draining away their defenses on behalf of the other Horde. "This isn't good," Nobu'tan said, "We had better prepare our forces just in case they decide to take the opportunity to attack once more."
"We will do so, my Lord," the other warlocks declared, departing swiftly to rally troops for another potential attack.
"In the meantime, we ought to figure out just what the elves are up to and why they are aiding the Horde," Nobu'tan stated, drawing from his robes his own wand. Or rather, it was in fact the Elder wand; it was still strange for Nobu'tan to consider this powerful artifact as his wand now, as he was still unaccustomed to relying too much on the wizarding magic of his birth-world.
"I have several members of the inner circle trying to reestablish the wards," Lucius explained as Nobu'tan gave a few careful flicks of the wand, "but these elves seem to be draining it as quickly as we can replenish it."
Nobu'tan nodded, sensing the same through his charms. These elves had developed some technique that was siphoning off any ambient magic and absorbing it into themselves. "They need to be stopped before the wards weaken to the point that they can be broken," he said.
"How do you intend to accomplish that?" Lucius asked, "We cannot venture past the wall without initiating another battle."
"Well, are we not capable of magic…?" Nobu'tan said blandly, raising the Elder wand once more. Dark curses and combat magic came easily to the warlock, and soon enough the sky was filled with the deadly jets and bolts swarming toward the tower where his enemies were gathered.
Many of the troops out in the open scrambled for cover as fire exploded around them, but curiously the spells that arced over to the top of the tower seemed to be weakened by the time it splashed over a shield of magic.
Looking closely, Nobu'tan cursed under his breath as he spotted that the elves were siphoning his attacks even before they reached the tower.
"Bring up the long range artillery…" Nobu'tan said, glaring across at the tower. Lucius paused, before silently obeying.
Nobu'tan had kept the technology he had chosen to bring from his homeworld a close guarded secret, and only the Malfoys' knew the full extent of ideas that he had brought with him. Nobu'tan hadn't thought any of his muggle technology would be needed, but seeing that the siege weaponry of the Horde and Alliance was still very basic, he had in secret commissioned a useful invention that would annihilate the distance and accuracy of their catapults.
Teams of goblins came at Lucius' call, pulling the carts holding the several packed trebuchets, and ogres started to assemble the massive siege weapons under their direction. Once the first was assembled and ready, Nobu'tan approached, stopping the ogre from loading a boulder. "No," he ordered, pointing to a special package, "use that for the first shot, just to make sure they know we're serious."
The ogre did not question his command, and quickly dropped the boulder and moved to pick up the glass canister that once contained the undead's plague.
Nobu'tan had noticed the intricate design and craftsmanship that had gone into making these canisters, and he had happily repaired and repurposed it for a much more devastating use. Fiend Fyre, mixed with the power of demons to burn hotter and green, danced merrily inside the glass container, just waiting for the impact that would shatter and spread the destruction within far.
A goblin stood on the parapet of the wall with a spyglass, relaying orders for the aiming of the trebuchet, even as the others were still being assembled.
"Fire at will…" Nobu'tan ordered, sensing their wards growing frailer by the moment. The goblin waved a small red flag, and the accompanying snap of the trigger send the canister hurtling through the air. Nobu'tan watched closely as the canister smashed at the midpoint of the tower. The Horde's warriors scrambled like ants as they tried to flee or put out the magical fire, but it was no use. Nobu'tan had tested the power of this Fel Fyre himself, it was particularly potent.
He smirked, that would teach them. "Continue firing, pummel that tower to dust…" he ordered.
"Yes, Lord." The goblin replied immediately, just as the other trebuchets started firing.
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Thrall was shocked.
From behind Thoradin's Wall boulders were being flung a great distance and striking the tower in which their command outpost had been established.
Magister Rommath and the other Blood Elves staggered from the first blast, and recoiled at the vile green fire that slowly started to spread across the tower.
"Spirits of Water, come to my aid!" Thrall intoned, letting the cool jets spray across the demonic fire, but there was no effect. If anything the flames seemed to consume the water and grow rather than shrink.
"This is magic beyond anything we've experienced," the Magister said, siphoning a bit of the magic from the flames and looking disgusted.
The tower started to quake as boulders followed, "We must evacuate the tower Warchief," Saurfang said, and Thrall nodded, following quickly as they descended the tower and made for Durnholde Keep.
Thrall had never wanted to set foot in this place again, but with the unknown method of long rang artillery behind the wall attacking them, it was better to be in a fortified area than in the open.
The magical barrier over the wall flashed and started to glow brightly, being empowered by spellcasters hidden from view.
"Fascinating," Rommath said, watching the blueish-green barrier of magic as it swelled. "I've never seen magic that could be so effectively charged in such a manner. We must learn more about what is going on here…"
Meanwhile, Thrall turned to Saurfang, "We need to understand what they've used to attack us from such a long range."
"At once, Warchief," the High Overlord replied, before turning away to speak with some of their troll stalkers. Thrall already knew what specifically they would discuss. Before the forced withdrawal from the tower, they had already been scheming to scale the mountains to the north and spy down on the other side of the wall, to see exactly what is going on among their enemies.
"Saurfang," Thrall said after a moment, calling back the attention of the other orc, "Send Magister Rommath with the trolls. His opinion of their magic would be more than useful for our planned attack."
"Yes Warchief," Saurfang replied.
Thrall started toward the entrance of the Keep. He did not want to be here longer than he needed to be, and a messenger had already informed him that Sylvanas was returning soon to the Undercity with a report from Quel'Thalas.
Saurfang would keep up the siege, and Thrall more than trusted the High Overlord to take care of things in his absence. The Kor'kron already had Thrall's wolf mount ready for him when he arrived at the gate. "We need to ride hard and fast back to the Undercity." Thrall called, swinging his leg over the wolf's haunch and pulling himself into the saddle.
Whatever methods the Dark Horde had to pummel their forces from afar, they were not used as Thrall and his guard departed the front lines, pounding over the river and back toward Silverpine Forest.
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Teg'Ramm was coated in the dark blood of the vile spawn of Hakkar. The battle had raged on for quite a while, the Loa of Blood seeming to have near infinite reserves of energy and destructive power.
Despite that, the Ogre mage could tell that the god-like being was covered in wounds of its own. Their healers were running low on energy to continue funneling restorative magic into their warriors, but Teg'Ramm had a feeling that they would win the day long before the end came for them.
Channeling Fel power through his free hand, Teg'Ramm pushed through to the front line. The beast turned at the last moment before the Ogre mage lashed out, the shadowy darkness forming a terrible claw, rending the flesh of the Blood God. The serpent reared back, its serpentine tail thrashing in agony.
Fire and shadow magic bombarded the length of the Loa's body, and Teg'Ramm breathed easier the moment that the creature finally fell. Trolls leapt upon the body, hacking at it with their axes, making absolutely certain that the Loa was dead.
Once they were satisfied, Teg'Ramm relaxed and turned away, looking over the rest of the temple-city of Zul Gurub.
"It be finished, mon…" Warmaster Voone said, sidling up beside the ogre, "And your forces be no worse for wear…"
"I take it you will be claiming all the trolls here for your own them?" Teg'Ramm asked.
"Yes…" the Troll said, savoring the word, "Da Gurubashi will be makin' good soldiers for da Horde…"
"I hope that it was worth it…" Ramm said, even as Teg started to focus on the logistics of getting his forces back to the Blasted Lands unseen.
The roars and fighting in this place were sure to have put all nearby settlements on edge, and he was not willing to compromise the secrecy of their holdings to their enemies just yet.
"Da first ding dat we be makin' da Gurubashi do, will be to dig a tunnel from here to da Blasted Lands…" Voone added, seeming to guess what the Ogre Mage was thinking, "Den dere be no way dat da humans will know whether we be comin' or goin'…"
"That would be an excellent use of strategy," Teg'Ramm replied, thinking about the possibilities. He knew that there were many more ogres here that would readily rally around his clan, boost his own forces to once again contend with the trolls and other races for power in the hierarchy of the Horde.
"Until den, we best be sendin' ya back to da fortress with a portal…" Voone suggested, even as a pair of troll mages appeared, arcane magic shining in their eyes.
Teg'Ramm narrowed his eyes. If the Amani Troll had this magic at their disposal already, then why had they specifically waiting until now to reveal it.
Neither answering nor explaining his actions, Voone waved a hand at the maged, and they began their chanting, conjuring a shimmering vortex wherein Teg'Ramm could see the reinforced walls of Rockard.
"Take care of yourselve, mon. it would be a disappointment if you be dyin' too soon…" the troll said casually as Teg'Ramm started forward for the portal.
Teg'Ramm didn't reply, knowing the challenge for what it was. The Troll knew he had the upper hand currently with favor from Nobu'tan, and Teg'Ramm was not pleased about it in the slightest.
But as he passed through the portal, he had to acknowledge that there was little he could do regarding it. He was guarding an important pass in the mountains, and the troll was free to wander where he felt needed, which imparted a bit of a boon when it came to gaining prestiege with their mutual master.
Tasting the arid air of the desolate land, Teg'Ramm thought that he could sense something strange in the air, like the magic of the Fel emanating from south-east. Curious, Teg'Ramm conjured an Eye of Kil'rogg, sending the little orb sailing over the landscape toward the location of the Dark Portal.
The sensation of the Fel on the air seemed to swell the closer that the scrying orb drew to the area, and there were many more demons swarming over the crater where the portal lay. Teg'Ramm followed the source of the magic to the base of the portal itself. A ritual was underway there, led by several Nathrazim, each chanting in their vile language and pouring magic into the empty archway that once held the portal to the orcish homeworld.
Quickly dispelling the eye before it was discovered, Teg'Ramm smirked widely, "And now we have something that will trump all raising of troops…" he said to himself. This information that the demons were planning to open a portal back to Draenor would most assuredly catch Nobu'tan's interest. "Send a message back to Blackrock Mountain," Teg'Ramm told a passing messenger, "there is something he needs to see here…"
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Voldemort was pensive, even after being sent back to Blackrock Mountian and being granted access to every tome and scroll that Potter had amassed. He had not revealed what his concern was, but the warlock seemed to sense that something had disturbed the former Dark Lord turned Death Knight, and had granted him his request without question.
Granted, there was also the issue of the battle going on outside the wall of Arathi that was taking most of Potter's attention, and therefore Voldemort figured that he was simply being placated so that the strange young man could focus.
Regardless, he was thoroughly searching the records of Azeroth that were located there, trying to find any mention of the armor-clad figure that he continued to see in his visions. He wasn't sure what to make about the banshee being silent for the longest time since seeing the vision again, torn between relief that it was silent and concern that it might know something and be refusing to tell him.
"Tough to believe that you of all people would be here, scrounging through ancient tomes like a man possessed…" said a voice at the doorway. Voldemort snarled as he turned to see Potter's personal assassin, Zabini, leaning in the doorway and looking bored, "I guess former man would be more appropriate," the man added cheekily.
"Nothing of what I have to do concerns you, boy, leave me be," Voldemort said icily, turning back to the table of parchment.
"Anything to do with Nobu'tan and his goals is my concern, My Lord," the man persisted.
Voldemort glared, his eyes glowing crimson. He knew where this boy got his audacity. Madam Zabini had been a powerful pureblood in the old world, and had rejected his advances to join the Death Eaters, even to the point of threatening Voldemort himself with her wand. At the time, he had found the woman amusing in her defiance, and had tolerated her insolence. He had planned to deal with her at a later time once he had control of the Wizarding world, but that had not gone according to his design.
"You mother's spite is strong in you it seems," Voldemort said reminiscently.
That silenced the man, which was curious to the former Dark Lord. He had been under the impression that the imposing woman of Lady Zabini would have been the first on board to Potter's faction.
"In truth I learned everything that she had to teach me…" the man said coldly, "but I did not come here to discuss things past with you… there is something that your skill set would be extremely valuable to me in undertaking."
"And why should I care to help you?" Voldemort responded, dried skin warping awkwardly as he attempted to smirk.
"Because I think a cave full of necromancers and their magical records would be the most important thing for your little search regarding… whatever it is you're looking for…" Blaise retorted, equally snide.
Yes, Voldemort was very interested if such a thing was true, but he needed proof before he would waste time with gallivanting across the ashen landscape with the assassin.
"And how do I know that this is not some clever ploy to get me out of the way..." he said slowly, carefully resting his hand on the hilt of the runeblade leaning against the table at his side.
"Simple," the assassin replied, "I'll let you question one of them now."
With that, to Voldemort's amazement, the warlock reached out of the room and drug in a bound orc, whom was struggling violently against enchanted bonds.
It was surprising for the Dark Lord that he had not sensed the life force of the orc when he was just outside his view, and that quickly set his suspicion that Blaise was telling the truth.
Throwing the orc at their feet, Blaise smirked snidely, "Why don't you ask this one about his necromancy…"
The orc started to try and rise, but Voldemort lifted Rivendare's greatsword and pointed the end of it at the creature. The reaction was most interesting.
The orc's eyes widened in recognition, and he smirked, "My Lord, aid me against this fool, I command you in the name of the Lich King!"
Voldemort felt the slightest twinge of control snap into place, but it was quickly suppressed by his overriding commands from Nobu'tan, and the control of the Banshee rebuffing the foreign command. Snarling at the attempt, Voldemort kicked the orc hard, and heard the telltale snap of a rib as it shattered.
The orc gasped in pain. "Interesting," Voldemort commented, stepping heavily on a wrist and grinding those bones as well. "Despite my inability to sense any life, you feel pain quite well…"
"T…traitor!" the orc wailed, and Blaise waved his wand at the door to prevent any sound from escaping. "The Lich King will have your head! He will torment your soul for all eternity!"
"Lich King…eh?" Voldemort repeated, sensing the Banshee within him unsettling with the information. "I believe this will indeed be worth my time Zabini… I thank you for bringing this to my attention."
Slamming the sword down into the orc's chest, Voldemort felt he necromancer's soul add to his power within the blade, and turned to the warlock fully.
"Where are they hiding?" he demanded.
"In a cave on the eastern side of the Steppes; they have various undead there, and probably have beefed up their defenses since I was there…" the man replied quickly.
"You were seen, then," Voldemort taunted, but started for the exit nonetheless, "If you are going to show me where they are hiding, and witness their destruction, we had better get moving then."
Zabini smirked, "as you wish…"
The illusioned human started out the door, and Voldemort followed in his wake. Grunts and other orcs parted in the hallway as he approached, seeming to sense the deadly aura radiating off of the former Dark Lord.
He was more than eager to seek out, destroy these necromancers, and learn what secrets they were guarding. Zabini clearly wanted to eliminate whatever threat they poised to Potter, but Voldemort couldn't care any less about that aspect of it. He was in this for himself, and neither of them held any doubts that this was an alliance of convenience and nothing more.