Warcraft: Official Movie Novelization

Draka, who knew him all the way to his bones, punched him in the shoulder—lovingly, but quite firmly. “Better than you can hide your fat head.”

Hearty laughter burst from him, a balm to his spirit, and his wife laughed with him. Again they lay back together, Durotan’s hand once more protectively over their son. They would face this new world together.

Whatever happened.

3

The next morning, as Draka strategically strapped a small, circular shield adorned with tusks over her stomach, she caught Durotan’s eye and he nodded slightly, somewhat reassured that she was able to hide her swollen belly and protect their unborn son at the same time. The last several years had been so difficult that Draka had not been able to gain any weight that had not gone directly to the developing child. No softening of her muscles, no roundness to her face revealed her pregnancy once her belly had been covered. It was useful now, but he felt a stab of regret that she had been so deprived.

Drek’Thar wore a hooded cloak pulled low to hide his white hair and the cloth that covered his disfigured face. Another shaman, Palkar, who had tended him for years, would be guiding him. Durotan walked over to them both as they assembled, awaiting the call to march toward the “hole in the ground.”

“I cannot promise you will not be discovered,” Durotan told them. “If this is a risk you choose not to take, no one would blame you.”

“We understand,” Drek’Thar said. “All is as the Spirits will it.”

Durotan nodded. Draka had already said her farewells to Geyah and now stepped aside. Durotan placed his hands on his mother’s shoulders. “You will be in charge of the clan while Orgrim and I are gone,” he told her. “I can think of no finer hands in which to leave the Frostwolves than those of their Lorekeeper.”

Her eyes were dry, and she stood tall and strong. “I will protect them with my life, my son. And when you return, we will gladly come join you in this verdant new land.”

Everyone knew that there might not be a return. So much was unknown about this promised place. They were getting there by magic, with no idea what awaited them save what Gul’dan had told them. What if he was wrong? What if he’d lied? What if there were dangers so great that not even an orc could face them? In the end, it didn’t matter. What was here could not be borne.

“I am certain we will conquer swiftly,” he said, and hoped his voice was as solid as he wished it to be.

Horns blew, summoning them. Durotan embraced Geyah. She clung to him for a moment, then released him and stepped back. Durotan looked over his clan, at the children, the orcs, male and female, who were artisans and shaman, not warriors. He had done everything he could for them.

Now, it was time to discover if Gul’dan’s word could be trusted.

Blackhand’s orcs directed them, funneling the clans into a single channel of brown and green skin, glinting steel, and dull white bone that trudged downward through the dust. Yet again, Durotan marveled at seeing so many orcs marching shoulder to shoulder, united in a single purpose. Hope swelled inside him. They were orcs! What could they not do? Whatever creatures awaited them, they would fall beneath racing feet, swinging weapons, and the bellowed cries of “Lok’tar ogar!”

He glanced at Draka, who grinned at him. She clasped his hand once, quickly, then let it go. No one gave her a second glance. Durotan strode forward carrying Thunderstrike, Sever strapped to his back.

One of Blackhand’s orcs jogged along the line, calling out instructions. “Veer to the right!” Durotan and Draka obeyed.

And there it was.

“Hellscream was right,” Durotan murmured. “It is not just a hole in the ground.”

Durotan’s entire clan would have taken up only the smallest fraction of the expanse that had been unearthed, and all could have run shoulder to shoulder through the large stone structure that had lain hidden by sand. It towered up, huge and imposing, a great, winged serpent coiled atop it and two carved, hooded figures, each the height of a hundred orcs, standing to either side. The right figure and the pillar from which it was carved stood freely. The left side of the gate was still connected to the earth. Scaffolding cluttered parts of it, and lift mechanisms ferried orcs who looked no larger than a flea as they scurried about their business, working on the great gate even now. There had not been much of a semblance of order to begin with, and as more warriors beheld the sight of this gargantuan carved edifice, what little there was began to dissolve. Everyone started talking. Durotan saw Blackhand’s orcs with angry, frazzled looks on their faces as they repeatedly shouted out orders that went unheeded. Orcs were fierce, wild, and strong. They obeyed their clan leaders, but clearly, the commander was going to have his black-inked hands full trying to manage this many individuals.