“Draw weapons,” Wymor said. In the eerie silence, the scrape of swords being drawn sounded overly loud. The soldiers stood, taut and ready. The minutes ticked by. All that could be heard were the ceaseless hum of insects, the cry of seabirds, the wash of waves on the shore nearby, and the creaking of their own armor as they shifted uneasily.
And then came the cries of battle, chilling the blood and lifting the hair of the guards. The drums started again, closer this time, their rhythm faster, more urgent. From out of the shadows of the murky swamp, dozens, perhaps hundreds, charged, all of them screaming, all of them carrying weapons that looked as if they weighed more than an armored human.
“Run, Adolphus!” shouted Wymor to the gnome, who was standing transfixed with horror. Blastwidget started, stared wildly up at Wymor, and then took off as fast as his legs could carry him toward Theramore. He still clutched the detonator. Wymor lifted his sword and stood ready.
An orc, bristling with armor and swinging a great axe that seemed to howl with its own lust for blood, led the wave of orc, troll, tauren, Forsaken, blood elf, and goblin. He charged straight for Wymor. His shoulder armor appeared to be made of giant tusks, and between the shoulders and the gloves covering his hands was an expanse of brown, tattooed skin.
Wymor’s golden beard parted in a smile.
Garrosh Hellscream.
The blade of Wymor’s sword met the shaft of Gorehowl with a clash. Garrosh, vastly stronger than the human, shoved, and Wymor staggered back. He got his blade up just in time to parry a swift downstroke from the axe and darted beneath the warchief’s bulk, pulling the sword with him. Garrosh grunted in surprised pain as the sword sliced across his inner arm.
“My first blood in this battle,” the orc said in Common. “Well done, human. You will die with honor.”
Wymor retreated several steps, brandishing the sword. “You won’t,” he said, taunting the orc. Garrosh growled beneath his breath and charged.
Exactly as Wymor wanted him to.
“Now, Blastwidget!” shouted Wymor. He heard a roaring sound, felt himself being hurled into the air, and then knew no more.
17
The elf was good—Malkorok had to give her that. That she had survived battles before was evident by the single great scar that marred her face. Seeing that their leader wanted her for his own kill, the other Horde members had scattered to take on other foes. Ancestors knew there were plenty of them.
The blue-haired night elf was uncannily fast, even though the sword she wielded had to be slowing her down. Malkorok was swift for an orc, and his weapons were much lighter, but even so the two small axes seemed only to bite thin air. Blue-Hair was there one minute, then gone the next, darting in under his defenses. More than once, it was only his heavy armor that saved him as the blade clanged against his midsection. If the glowing sword tip found the unprotected junction between torso and arm—
He brought one axe down while whirling the other over his head. She dove aside, but not before the blade bit into her thigh. She grunted.
“Ha!” snorted Malkorok. “If you can bleed, you can die.”
Impossibly, she sprang toward him, her mouth open in a snarl that would have done a worgen credit. He lifted the axes and crossed them in front of himself defensively. To his shock, Blue-Hair ignored her wound and climbed up the axes, moving as easily as if he had linked his hands together to provide a foothold. The point of her blade drove down toward his neck.
He twisted away at the last second, nearly falling, swinging his left axe around. Now she was behind him, and Malkorok turned, ready to begin the fight again.
A horn sounded. It was not one of the Horde’s—this was light and musical and sweet. An elven horn. Instantly those Alliance members who had been fighting the Horde began to run for the still-opened gate. Blue-Hair grinned fiercely at Malkorok, and when he swung again at the place she had been, she was not there.
Malkorok roared his frustration and gave chase.
• • •
Though it looked like utter chaos, everything was going according to plan. The Horde was, as Jonathan had predicted, attacking on all three fronts. The sounds were deafening and frightening—the nearly constant boom of cannon fire, explosions to the north, and the clash of swords and the shrieking of battle cries to the west.
Jaina and Kinndy were at the top of one of the walkways facing the west. Jaina had struggled with her desire to keep Kinndy shut up safely away from harm but realized that would do the girl a disservice. Kinndy had come to her to learn, and there was no better way to learn about the horrors of war than to experience them firsthand. She kept the gnome close to her, but Kinndy had a front-row seat to the battle that raged below them.
When the horn sounded, Jaina told her apprentice, “Be ready. Do what we talked about, and strike when I do.” Kinndy nodded, swallowing hard. Jaina lifted her hands, waiting for the right moment. Dozens of Alliance fighters were running as fast as they could for the safety of Theramore. The abruptness and speed of the retreat had gained them a precious second or two, but now the Horde was coming after them.
And waiting for the Horde were more than two dozen engines of war.
“Now!” cried Jaina. She, Kinndy, and others who fought with spells instead of swords all attacked at once. Guttural cries filled the air as tauren and orc, goblin and blood elf, Forsaken and troll were set on fire or frozen or peppered with arrows.
“Well done!” Jaina cried. “The war engines will hold them back for a bit, and then we’ll return up here. Come on!”
Quickly they ran down the steps to the door. Almost all the Alliance defenders were safely inside. There were a few stragglers, slowed by their wounds or by carrying others who were wounded.
“They’re not going to make it!” yelped Kinndy, her eyes wide and round.
“Yes, they will,” Jaina said. She prayed she was right. The gates would have to be closed any second now. Come on, come on…
The last ones stumbled inside, and the gates slammed shut with an echoing boom. Kinndy and Jaina rushed forward, casting protective wards on the gates. They were joined by Thoder Windermere, and as they worked, the air around the gates seemed to shimmer and turn pale blue for a moment.
“Mage Thoder, you and Kinndy stay here. Keep an eye on the gate. Reinforce if it starts to weaken.”
“But—” Kinndy tried to protest. Jaina turned to her and spoke quickly but urgently.
“Kinndy, if that gate comes down, dozens—hundreds—of Horde will pour through. We’ve got to keep it as secure as possible. This might be the single most important thing anyone can do. You could save all our lives.” It was true. If the gates fell, the losses could be staggering.
Kinndy nodded her pink head and turned to look at the gates. She set her mouth determinedly and extended her hands, adding her skills to those of the member of the Kirin Tor.
Jaina realized that the magi were turning out to be very important in perhaps unexpected ways. Not just in the seemingly passive act of reinforcing the gates, but every Alliance vessel in the harbor had at least one mage who had great skill with fire. As Aubrey had pointed out, a single well-placed bolt of flame, on the sails or on the wooden deck, could be enough to sink an entire ship. And it seemed to be doing exactly that.
She turned and hastened to Pained, who had been one of the last to retreat. Pained was permitting a priestess to tend to a gaping wound in her thigh as Jaina ran up to her.
“Report?” Jaina asked.
“Took them utterly by surprise,” Pained said, her smile genuine but cruel. “Just as Jonathan predicted. We dropped at least a few dozen and only lost a handful. Now they are getting cannons in their faces. That should hold them for a while.”
For a while, Jaina thought, but not forever.
Pained continued, nodding her thanks to the healer and rising to put her armor back on. “There is a Blackrock orc with them. He has the livery that marks him as a member of the Kor’kron. He fights very well.”
Pained shrugged. “I do not care if they are green, brown, gray, or orange; as long as they are attacking my lady’s home, I shall slay them.”
“Not this moment, but I fear soon,” Jaina said. “I cannot imagine there will not be more hand-to-hand combat. For now, please go and help with the wounded, Pained.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Jaina turned her attention to the north gate. Blastwidget, the gnome demolitions expert who had detonated so many well-placed bombs, was standing a few feet back from the gate. Jaina went to him and smiled.
“Your work has paid off, Blastwidget,” she said.
He turned a sorrowful face up to her. “It has,” he said, “but it was Captain Wymor and the others who made sure the Horde was standing in the right spot.”
Jaina’s heart sank. “They—they were supposed to retreat! They knew the safe path!”
The white-haired Sunreaver paused in his strengthening of the gate to look at them both. “Wymor and his soldiers stayed,” he said quietly. “It was a truly heroic gesture. Many of our enemies were slain. But still they come.”
“My lady,” a sentry called from the walkway, “mage Songweaver is right. They’re running right over the bodies of their dead!”
“Keep warding the gate!” Jaina cried, and she raced to the top of the nearest walkway. Like a dark wave, the Horde kept coming. The bridge had exploded, and chunks of debris and bodies floated in the water. Some of the Horde swam. Others, as the sentry had grimly reported, crawled over their comrades. Jaina lifted her hands and murmured a spell.
Ice shards rained down, some of them killing on impact, others wounding. Another quick flick of her wrist, and several Horde fighters were frozen where they stood. A fireball shattered the frozen forms as if they were statues. The wave retreated. She repeated the actions in a steady rhythm, killing at least a dozen with every methodical and debilitating strike. She could see a figure lingering just out of range, shouting orders, and recognized the distinctive demon tusks that formed the orc’s shoulder armor.
“Garrosh,” she whispered. He shouldn’t have survived the blast that had killed Wymor—but somehow he had. He could not have heard the soft sound, but at that moment he looked up and their eyes met. A sneer curled his lips, and he lifted Gorehowl and pointed at her.
• • •
Malkorok was angry—with himself, for not expecting the ambush; with the scouts, who should have discovered it; with the Alliance generals, who were too cursed clever and who had come up with the plan in the first place. The wave of stealthy rogues, druids, and hunter beasts had claimed many Horde lives. The close-quarters battle had claimed still more. Now they were being fired on by cannons and ballistae, their waves getting mowed down as they tried to approach.
He needed another tactic. He blew the horn of retreat and they fell back. Healers frantically tried to tend to the wounded while Malkorok shouted his orders.
“We are no match for their engines of war,” he said, holding up a hand to stop any angry protests. “So we must eliminate those weapons—or else take them for our own. Those of you who are clever at stalking and murder—go now. We will draw their fire. Creep up on those Alliance worms who hide safely behind their technology, and put a knife in their ribs. Then take the equipment and turn it on Theramore itself!”
The angry protests became cheers. Malkorok grunted, pleased. The strategy could not fail to work. The Alliance generals were clever, yes.
But so was he.
“For the Horde!” he shouted, and they took up the cry: “For the Horde! For the Horde! For the Horde!”
• • •
Kalec flew over the ships in the harbor. From this distance, they looked like toys—toys that were firing cannons, bursting into flames, and sinking. There was damage on both sides; the Horde, too, had determined the wisdom of positioning magi to incinerate the enemy’s vessels, and more than one of the famous 7th fleet battleships bore blossoms of orange-and-gold fire. He dove low, sending a chilling breath to extinguish the flames where he could, and hearing the cheers of the relieved crews as he did so. He angled his body to wheel about, turning his attention to the Horde vessels and the more somber task of attacking rather than protecting. Kalec flew until he was directly over a cluster of three of them, then tucked his wings and dropped. So swift was he that the cannoneers didn’t see him in time to redirect their fire. At the last second, the blue dragon opened his wings and lashed out with his tail. The mast of the ship in the center snapped like a twig. As Kalec gained height, he conjured a spell, and ice shards rained down, plunging toward the decks and punching massive holes in them. Now the cannons did roar, but by then Kalec was well out of range.
He flew back over the city, aware of how many were engaged in aerial combat. Kalec swerved toward a group of several Horde fighters against only a few embattled gryphons and joined in the fray.
• • •
The Horde had reached the north gate, and the terrifying, rhythmic thud of a battering ram was added to the sounds of conflict. How they had gotten it over the swamp when the bridge was destroyed was a mystery—probably, thought Jaina as she hurried to the gate, several tauren had simply borne the massive thing on their shoulders as they waded across.
She had intended to race up the steps to the walkway again, to lend her aid to those who were already there and try to attack as many at once as possible. But something stopped her.
The gates were shuddering under the pounding.
And they shouldn’t have been.
Not with a member of the Kirin Tor shoring them up with powerful magics. A terrible thought occurred to her.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The timbers were bulging from the impact. And the hinges and metal bands—
They were curling in on themselves.
Jaina whirled and, with all her might, sent a massive blast of arcane energy directly at Thalen Songweaver.
In his arrogance, he was not expecting it. He stumbled back but recovered quickly. The blood elf stared at Jaina. For an instant, it appeared as if Thalen would protest his innocence, but then his white brows drew together as he sneered and lifted his hands.
He dropped like a stone. Pained stood behind him, still holding the sword whose hilt had so inelegantly yet efficiently disabled the foe.
“I’m surprised you didn’t just kill him,” Jaina said as two others rushed up and prepared to bind the mage hand and foot.
“A traitor is a useful thing to have on hand,” Pained said. “With luck, we will… persuade him to talk.”
“We’re not the Scarlet Onslaught, Pained,” Jaina said. She turned to redirect her attention to the gate, but two other magi had already stepped in to protect it. A human and a gnome.
“I hope you are not suggesting you will invite him to tea,” Pained said.
“No. I will hand him over to Captain Evencane. He and others will interrogate him when we have a moment to spare.” She nodded to the soldiers, who carted off the unconscious blood elf, and realized that Rhonin had stepped beside her.
“I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “I personally vouched for him to come.”
“I am certain he fooled many others than you,” Jaina said.
“Indeed,” Rhonin said bitterly. “This will be a blow to Aethas and his cause.”
“Do you think Thalen acted alone?”
“I do,” Rhonin said. “Because if I don’t—”
The gate splintered, caught fire, and the Horde rushed through.
• • •
Kinndy found herself trembling from the strain, and she had the help of a Kirin Tor mage! Thoder smiled down at her reassuringly, his rough face kind. “You’re doing very well,” he said. “Lady Jaina has chosen a fine apprentice.”
“I’d be better if I didn’t feel like I was going to fall over,” Kinndy muttered.
“Take a rest,” Thoder said. “Eat something. You’ll be stronger
for it in just a few moments, and I can hold it until then.”
Kinndy nodded gratefully and staggered off, leaning against the stone wall as she gobbled down bread and water. She wondered if she’d ever be anywhere near as good as Thoder or Lady Jaina. They made it seem so effortless. Especially Lady Jaina. Kinndy had been in awe as Jaina had blasted wave after wave of the encroaching Horde with apparent ease. As she ate, Kinndy found her mind drifting toward the sounds of battle raging right on the other side of the wall, and felt herself drawing inward. Focusing on keeping the gate closed had helped distract her more than she had realized. Uneasy with the revelation, she straightened, brushed crumbs from her mouth, and ran over to rejoin Thoder.
As she approached, she saw the gate timbers strain, and the blood drained from her face. Outside, the battle was escalating.
Kinndy, if that gate comes down, dozens—hundreds—of Horde will pour through. We’ve got to keep it as secure as possible. This might be the single most important thing anyone can do. You could save all our lives.
She quickened her pace the rest of the way, extending her hands and muttering a spell as she did. And to her pride and relief, she saw the buckling of the wood subside.
“Horde have breached the gates! Horde have breached the gates!”
For a wild second, all Kinndy thought was, No, the gates are holding just fine! And then she understood. Apparently, the magi at the north gate had not been so fortunate.
• • •
Seldom had Theramore witnessed such violence. The Horde was pouring forward like a wave through a break in the dike.
That the Horde would somehow enter the city, by finally destroying the wards or by scrambling over the walls or by aerial assault, had been anticipated and prepared for. Treason from within the very ranks of the Kirin Tor had not. The battle inside Theramore had come too soon, and the Alliance defenders who had been expected to fight hand-to-hand were still recovering from their earlier injuries.
It was a saying that generals stood back and planned wars while others fought and died in them. Such was not the case with these. Fully armored and armed, Jonathan, Redmane, Stoutblow, Shandris, and Tiras’alan charged into the fray without hesitation, so that the Horde met not fresh-faced recruits but some of the very best fighters the Alliance had to offer.
Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War Page 19