Drak'thul's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his mouth bone-dry.
At this moment, every lingering thought of escape or resistance vanished. He had no doubt that if he made even the slightest suspicious move, that green-flamed scythe would appear at his throat via that uncanny teleportation. Shields, shadow-cloaks, illusions—before that mana-sundering Fel weapon and such absolute speed, they were all nothing but a joke.
What unnerved him most was the nature of the demon's ability. That move just now—it was instantaneous!
There had been no ripple of Shadow energy, no fluctuation of Arcane power—the creature had simply existed behind him. For a spellcaster, this was a living nightmare. Drak'thul cursed himself for having a big mouth; he should have just played dumb, taken the recommendation letter, and headed for the New Horde. Though, truth be told, he was still uneasy about returning.
In the Horde, "new kings bring new courts." His faction had followed Gul'dan and betrayed Orgrim Doomhammer. Furthermore, he expected the New Horde to loathe Fel magic. Even if this Warchief Thrall was as great and magnanimous as people claimed, would he really forgive someone who had betrayed his own people?
Drak'thul was thinking like a traditional Orc, unaware that to understand Thrall, one had to think like a Human. Thrall hadn't been raised in the internment camps or the old clans; his cultural foundation was entirely human-centric.
The old Orc forced a smile that looked more painful than a sob, his tone becoming unprecedentedly respectful. "No... no need for a demonstration, Lord Rhodes! I can fully feel its power! A truly magnificent creation! Under its 'protection,' I feel... incredibly safe. With such a guardian, I doubt any assassin could even get near me. Please, rest assured—Drak'thul, your most loyal servant, will do everything in his power to serve you!"
Rhodes nodded, satisfied. He knew the old fox was finally cowed. The Fel Arch Devil—this Sword of Damocles—was now firmly suspended.
"Good. Remember your words. The Arch Devil's melee prowess is terrifying, and it possesses conceptual strength you'll discover in time. Its teleportation has no cooldown or restrictions; as long as it's within line of sight, it can appear instantly. It is the definition of a silent killer."
"No cooldown... I truly have no words left to describe such a creature," the old Orc sighed. This teleportation was leagues beyond the Blink he had seen the Night Elf Warden use earlier; they weren't even in the same category.
Rhodes patted the armored arm of the Fel Arch Devil. "Follow him. Protect him. And... watch him."
The green fire in the devil's eyes flickered as it gave a slight nod. It stepped behind Drak'thul with a silent, ghostly gait. The Orc felt the prickling sensation of a predator's gaze on the back of his neck, and cold sweat soaked his robes. He realized his future would be spent under the eternal vigil of this "guardian."
"Well then, let us part ways. I am heading to the Eastern Kingdoms, and you shall head there in secret. Find Illidan and show him your Fel magic. He possesses the Skull of Gul'dan and all of its memories; once he sees your skill, he will find a place for you." Rhodes patted Drak'thul's shoulder, preparing to leave.
But the old Orc suddenly called out to him. His eyes darted around before he pulled out a black scroll and handed it to Rhodes.
"Great Lord Rhodes, from this day forth, I labor in your service. I only hope that once my task is finished, you might grant an old man a path to survival—a chance to enjoy my final years in peace. As a gesture of my sincerity, I offer you a treasure. A true treasure."
He wanted a guarantee of freedom. To that end, Drak'thul decided to part with something he had cherished for years.
"Oh? What treasure do you have for me?" Rhodes turned back, intrigued.
"Indeed, Lord Rhodes. This is a set of blueprints. You must be familiar with the legendary Dark Portal, yes?"
"Of course I am. It's the reason the Orcs and Ogres reached Azeroth in the first place. Gul'dan and Medivh built it together."
"You may not know, Lord, but when the Dark Portal was built, I was one of its architects. Draenor was collapsing after the civil wars, and Gul'dan, desperate to escape, communicated with a mage from another world. He gave us incredibly complex schematics for a spatial gateway, which we modified to build the Dark Portal. I was there for the design and the construction. These are the original blueprints. According to these, one could build a second Dark Portal. It's of no use to me, so I give it to you."
Rhodes looked at the Orc with genuine surprise. He hadn't expected the blueprints for the Dark Portal to be in this old man's hands.
Strictly speaking, attributing the research solely to Medivh and Gul'dan was a bit of an exaggeration. The true master of that technology was none other than the Dark Titan, Sargeras himself. The Dark Portal was just a tiny sliver of Titan technology. What use is this to me? Rhodes wondered. For now, perhaps nothing—but in the future? It was best to keep it.
"Excellent. I like this gift very much. Thank you, Mr. Drak'thul. I give you my word: once my goals are achieved, I will no longer enslave you. I will recall the Arch Devil and grant you true freedom. I won't play word games or go back on my promise by killing you. As long as you follow my orders and complete your mission, you will be safe."
"Then I hope you remember that promise, Lord Rhodes." Drak'thul bowed deeply before departing with his demonic shadow.
Rhodes returned to where Maiev and Jaina were waiting.
"What did you discuss with that old Orc? I felt massive ripples of Fel magic. What happened?" Maiev asked suspiciously. If Rhodes hadn't been standing there with a Warlock, she would have sworn he was the one casting it; the intensity rivaled Illidan's power.
"You helped him with some tasks, so you should know his identity. He was a member of the Shadow Council. Their founder, Gul'dan, was an apprentice to Kil'jaeden. That old Orc is more dangerous than he looks; he's not just 'retiring' here.
He is strong. Very strong. Think about how dangerous this shore is—the Storm Dragons of the Vrykul, and the survivors of your own city, Suramar."
"Wait, Suramar?" Maiev's expression shifted instantly. "Suramar was destroyed! What do you mean, survivors?"
Suramar had once been the crown jewel of the Night Elf empire, the City of Magic.
"Grand Magistrix Elisande is still alive. She gathered the Highborne nobility and many civilians, hiding them behind a shield and developing a small city. They rely on a font of power called the Nightwell. These former Highborne now call themselves the Nightborne."
Rhodes was revealing secrets that wouldn't technically be "common knowledge" until much later in the timeline.
"Incredible... I thought Elisande fell into the sea with Queen Azshara! We must notify Tyrande and Malfurion. Perhaps we can bring our kin back into the fold."
"You're dreaming," Rhodes shook his head. "The Nightborne are lost to their magic. Once I take you to the Eastern Kingdoms, you'll see exactly what happens to Highborne when they are separated from their source of power."