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.