Tides of Darkness (world of warcraf)

by Aaron Rosenberg

  Upon receiving the orders Proudmoore had dispatched his ships down the river. They had met up with Turalyon and the army just below Stromgarde and ferried the soldiers on board. They had then sailed upriver past the mountains, instead of going over them as the Horde had done. It had saved them considerable time. Turalyon just hoped it would be enough. He would have preferred to sail straight to Quel'Thalas, but Alleria had assured him that would be impossible. Her kin would never allow human ships up their portion of the river. They had been forced to disembark near Stratholme and proceed on foot once again.

  "Once I see the forest I'm going on ahead," Alleria warned. "Don't try to stop me."

  "I don't want to stop you," Turalyon replied, pleased to see a momentary smile cross her face, followed by surprise. "I want you and your rangers to find your brethren and warn them," he reminded her. "I just didn't want you possibly running into the entire Horde on the way. But we're close enough now that, if the Horde did get here first, we'll be able to distract them. That'll give you time to slip past and rally your kin. Then you can hit them from behind while we attack from the front, and we'll catch the Horde between us."

  Alleria nodded. She glanced up at him, silent for once, and then laid a hand along his leg. To Turalyon it felt like the touch radiated the heat of a small sun, setting his blood on fire and his limbs tingling. "Thank you," she said softly. He nodded, unable to speak.

  One of her rangers broke the moment by dashing back toward them. "The end of the hills lies just ahead," he told them quickly. "I can see the trees beyond!"

  Alleria glanced up at Turalyon, who nodded, pleased that for once she was asking permission. She turned and raced away, the other ranger right beside her. But she didn't get far. The two elves were still in sight when they stopped as if struck, and stared. Then Alleria wailed, a sound full of such grief as Turalyon had never heard.

  "By the Light!" Kicking his steed into a full gallop, Turalyon raced to her side. And then froze, tugging his horse to a stop, as he too saw what had upset them so. The foothills had indeed ended, and the majestic forest of Quel'Thalas, home of the high elves, spread out before them. Its tall trees swayed gently, almost as if dancing to silent music, and their heavy boughs cast deep shadows upon the land, shadows that somehow seemed peaceful rather than ominous. It was a beautiful scene, full of calm and quiet majesty.

  Broken only by the thick clouds of gray smoke billowing up from several spots, including one along the front edge but slightly west of their own position. Squinting, Turalyon could see dark figures swarming among the trees there, and great gaps in the leafy canopy alongside them. He could also just make out great tongues of flame licking over thick objects in the empty spaces, and the smell of green wood burning reached him, almost choking him.

  The Horde had arrived first after all.

  And they were burning Quel'Thalas.

  "We have to stop them!" Alleria cried. She spun back toward Turalyon. "We need to stop them!"

  "We will," he told her. He looked out a second time, making sure what he saw, then turned to the herald just behind him. "Inform the unit leaders," he announced. "We will ride north through the hills until we are level with the orcs. Then we will charge, taking them unawares. Warn the men to gather water as best they can, and detail several units to put out those fires. We don't want the forest burning down around us." The herald nodded, saluted, and wheeled his horse around, riding back to convey the new orders. Turalyon was already turning to Khadgar. "Can you do something to stop the fires?" he asked.

  His friend grinned. "Will a thunderstorm suffice?"

  "As long as the lightning does not find any more trees, yes." Turalyon turned to Alleria. "Alleria." She did not respond, but still stared at the smoke, her face pale. "Alleria!" That snapped her around to face him. "Take your rangers and go. Go! Your brethren are no doubt already fighting the Horde somewhere within the forest. Find them and let them know we are here. We need to coordinate our attacks or the Horde will crush your people within the trees and then smother us without." She stared at him, nodding but still in shock. "Now!" he snapped, hating to speak to her so harshly but knowing it was the only way. "Or are you too slow to make it to the trees safely?

  That earned a sharp glare, as he'd hoped it would, and she snarled at him but turned away. With a few quick words to the other elves and a quick tug to adjust the bow slung across her back, she set off, moving fast as an arrow down the hill and toward the forest. The other rangers flanked her, and soon they had reached the cover of the trees and disappeared into the shadows.

  "May the Holy Light protect you," Turalyon whispered, watching them go.

  "May it protect us all," Khadgar said grimly. "We'll certainly need it."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Quiet now. No noise," Zul'jin warned his brethren. They had made their way quickly through the trees, deep into Quel'Thalas, but now his sharp nose warned him that elves were somewhere nearby. Accordingly he slowed, setting each foot carefully on the branch he trod, axes held tightly in his hands to avoid any chance of their rattling as he moved. He did not want the elves to know they were there. Not yet.

  All around him the other Amani trolls crept just as quietly, weapons at the ready. Most of them wore big grins, revealing their triangular teeth, and Zul'jin understood completely. They were within the elves' own homeland, preparing to attack them in the one place they assumed themselves safe. He could almost taste the anticipation.

  The elves had plagued them far too long. Ever since the pale—skinned, pointy—eared interlopers had first appeared thousands of years ago, stealing territories from the vast Amani empire, they had claimed mastery of the lands' forests. As if they could match a troll for speed, stealth, and dexterity! But the elves had several strong advantages, the greatest of this had been their accursed magic. The trolls had never encountered such magic before, and had not had a way to counter the elves' mystical attacks or breach their arcane defenses.

  Fortunately the trolls had significantly outnumbered them, and could overwhelm the hated elves by sheer numbers.

  And then the elves had allied with the humans.

  Together the two pale races had shattered the Amani empire. They had laid waste to troll fortresses and slaughtered thousands of his ancestors. Zul'jin snarled at the thought, the sound fortunately absorbed by his thick scarf. Before the war his people had been numerous and powerful, and had controlled much of the land. Afterward they had been scattered, a shadow of their former selves, and never possessed the sheer numbers to reclaim their stolen heritage.

  Until now.

  The Horde had promised them vengeance. And Zul'jin believed them. The orc leader, Doomhammer, had honor about him, the honor of a strong leader secure in his own power. He would not play Zul'jin false. And he had vowed to help them restore the Amani empire.

  Already Zul'jin had started that task. He was the first forest troll since those terrible wars to reunite the tribes. One by one he had challenged the other tribe leaders and defeated them, whether at combat or at racing or at some other task. And all had bowed before him, pledging themselves and their tribes to his rule. The forest trolls were a single people once more. And with the Horde's help they would wipe the world clean of humans and elves alike, and rule the forests once more. The orcs showed no interest in trees and Zul'jin suspected they would occupy the valleys and plains of the world. Let them. All he wanted was the woods.

  But first they had to take them from the elves. And that would be a pleasure.

  Even now his nose twitched, warning him they were close. Zul'jin halted, raising one hand to signal a stop, and felt more than heard his brethren pausing as well. He peered down through the leaves, his sharp eyes piercing the gloom easily, and waited.

  There! A flicker of movement appeared below, something passing into his range of vision on the forest floor. Whatever it was, it was cloaked in browns and greens like the trees but he caught a glimpse of paler color beneath. And it made no sound as it steppe
d, walking across leaves and brush as if they were smooth stone.

  An elf!

  Another emerged behind the first, and then a third and a fourth. Soon a full hunting party was passing below, ten in all. And they did not look up. Secure in their own forest, it did not occur to the elves to be wary.

  Zul'jin grinned. This would be easier than he had thought.

  Signaling his kin he returned his axes to their sheaths and dropped quietly to a lower branch, and swung from that one down to a third. Now he was less than twenty feet above the elves and could see them clearly, their cloaks streaming behind them. They carried the accursed bows and arrows of their kind slung across their backs, but their hands were empty. They did not suspect what lurked above them.

  Zul'jin dropped down from the trees, drawing his axes as he moved. He landed easily on the balls of his feet, right between two elves, and slashed at both before they could react. His first blow took the one facing him in the throat, while his second blow bit deep into the skull of the one before him. Both fell, blood spraying the leaves.

  The other elves turned, shouting in surprise, and reached for their own weapons. But now Zul'jin's brethren fell upon them, axes and daggers and clubs at the ready. The elves twisted and dodged, desperate to get enough space to draw their swords or string their bows, but the trolls did not give them the chance. The elves were quick but the trolls were taller and stronger, and grabbed the rangers before they could get away.

  One elf did manage to twist free. He took two quick steps away and turned, using a tree for cover. Zul'jin expected the elf to go for his bow, but instead his hands fell to a long horn hanging from his belt. The ranger lifted the horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast—but it was cut short as one of the other trolls stabbed the elf in the stomach, and the blast turned to a faint wheeze as the ranger collapsed, blood spilling from his mouth as well as his gut.

  The skirmish was over. Zul'jin reached down and cut an ear from the first elf he'd slain, adding it to the pouch at his waist. Later he would dry the ear and string it onto his necklace with the others, to show his prowess. But for now they had other tasks.

  "Come," he told his kin, who were laughing and amusing themselves by tearing off ears and hair and other parts from the fallen elves. Several had appropriated the elves' long slender swords as trophies—such weapons were pretty enough but not sturdy enough for the trolls' powerful thrusts. "More elves be comin'," Zul'jin warned them. "Back ta the trees. We lead them on a chase, keep them busy." He grinned and his brethren answered with fierce expressions of their own. "Then we kill them all."

  Quickly the forest trolls leaped up, grabbing low branches with their long—fingered hands and pulling themselves up into the cover of the leaves. They swung up and away, leaving the bodies and the blood behind, their eyes alert and noses sniffing for any hint of approaching elves.

  Zul'jin was not worried. He knew the other elves would come soon. And they would be ready. It had been a long time since he had spilled elf blood, and the brief battle had renewed his thirst for more. His kin felt the same, and many were snapping their jaws and flexing their fingers, eager for another fight with the pale—skinned elves. Soon, Zul'jin assured himself quietly. Soon they would have a chance to kill as many elves as they wanted. The forest would run red with blood, and the elves would know the fall of their own empire, just as the trolls had felt theirs die so long ago. And he, Zul'jin, would be responsible. He would hold the elf king's head high so it could see its people's death, just before he devoured it whole.

  He could hardly wait.

  "Is it ready?" Gul'dan asked impatiently. A short distance away, Cho'gall shook both his heads. The massive ogre grunted and shoved, his enormous shoulder pushing the last Runestone fragment another foot across the thickly grassed clearing.

  "Now it is ready," he called out, straightening and rubbing at the shoulder with one hand.

  Gul'dan nodded. It had taken them several hours to dig out a single Runestone, shatter the monolith into several still enormous pieces, and carry five of them here to this clearing, and then several more hours to position the stones just right and inscribe the circle and the pentagram between them. Fortunately Doomhammer had given them the use of several regular ogres for the labor, and Cho'gall was able to communicate with his stupid one—headed kin more easily than any orc could. The Runestone fragments were large and dense but two ogres could lift them, whereas it would have taken dozens of orcs to budge each stone. Gul'dan wondered idly how the elves had gotten the original unbroken stones to their locations in the first place. Most likely magic. Or perhaps they had used slave labor as well. The forest trolls were nearly as powerful as the ogres and far smarter, so they would have been able to follow more detailed instructions.

  At least the stones were in place now. Gul'dan gestured and three other orc warlocks took their places beside three of the Runestone pieces. It was a good thing Doomhammer had not killed all of them or this ritual would not have stood even a chance of working. As it was, Gul'dan thought it would succeed but he was not completely sure. Still, if it failed he was fairly certain he would survive unscathed.

  He nodded to Cho'gall, who called out to the ogres clustered off to one side. After a moment of jostling and pushing and grunting one of them stepped forward. Cho'gall barked a command and the ogre, shrugging, slouched into the space between the stones. It stood at the center of the pentagram and waited, motionless. One good thing about ogres was that they could stand still when required. Indeed, when not given an order and not looking for food ogres could stand for hours, as motionless as statues. Gul'dan had often wondered if they had somehow evolved from rocks. It would explain their dense hides as well as their utter stupidity.

  Returning his mind to the task at hand, Gul'dan raised his arms and called forth the dark energies his demon masters had granted him back on Draenor. The energy crackled about him, and he fed it into the Runestone fragment directly before him. Cho'gall had taken the final place and he and the other warlocks added their magic as well, each powering a single stone. When all five stones hummed with power, almost vibrating from the energies they contained, Gul'dan spoke a short incantation and concentrated. More energy arced from his fingertips into his Runestone, but this time the energy then flickered through his stone and on to the nearest stone on his left. Nor did the energy stop there. It passed to the next stone, and then the next, and then the next, and finally back to his, linking all five in an array of dancing, bristling magic. The air itself seemed to darken above the altar, and it felt thick with energy, the way the sky did right before a massive storm. The ogre still stood unmoving, though Gul'dan thought he saw a glimmer of fear in its eyes. Oh good, Cho'gall had picked a smart one.

  Now that the stones had power Gul'dan turned the energy toward their center, and toward the towering figure standing there. Bolts of dark energy shot from his stone and struck the ogre full in the chest, surrounding it with a blazing dark aura. The other Runestone fragments lent their strength and the ogre almost disappeared within the dark glow that filled the space between the stones. More energy danced within that sphere, somehow feeding on itself, and now they could make out only the faintest hint of the ogre's outline. Gul'dan was sure he could feel his arms trembling from fatigue and magical drain but excitement kept him quivering with energy.

  After a few minutes the shadowy glow began to fade. Slowly it dimmed, and the figure within stood out in greater detail. Still the ogre towered above them all, except Cho'gall, but something about the creature had changed. Gul'dan waited impatiently for the glow to dissipate enough for him to see into the sphere. Finally it did so, winking out completely in an instant, and Gul'dan had his first real look at the creature his Alter of Storms had created.

  It was still clearly an ogre, though even larger than before, and somehow its proportions had shifted. Its arms were not quite as long, its legs not quite so bowed, and it held itself different, more alert.

  And of course there were the two
heads.

  Back on Draenor, two—headed ogres were incredibly rare. They were bigger and stronger than their kin and more coordinated. They were venerated, and Cho'gall was the first seen in generations. Even more rare, he had proven intelligent enough to become a mage. Gul'dan had found the two—headed ogre when he was still young and had trained him carefully. Cho'gall had proven a valuable assistant and a powerful warlock in his own right, and still remained with Gul'dan to this day. And now it seemed Cho'gall was not alone.

  The new two—headed ogre turned and stared at Gul'dan, somehow realizing he was in charge.

  "What am I?" it demanded, one head speaking while the other looked around. Its language skill was far greater than a normal ogre's as well.

  "You are an ogre," Gul'dan replied. "Perhaps an ogre mage."

  "An ogre mage," the new ogre's other head asked. "What does that mean?"

  Gul'dan found himself explaining about magi and warlocks and shaman and other workers of magic.

  "And I am one of these?" the new ogre asked.

  "Possibly." Gul'dan's eyes narrowed. "There is a simple test." He stooped and lifted a single leaf from the ground, handing it to the two—headed creature. "Take this." The ogre took the leaf with surprising skill, showing that his dexterity had dramatically increased as well. "Now concentrate on the idea of fire, of heat and flame," Gul'dan told the ogre.

  The ogre frowned with both faces, studying the leaf. Then it nodded slightly, first one head and then the other.