"Not to gloat," Zuluhed told her, still awed by her sheer size and power, "just to make sure all is arranged. You understand what will happen to you if you refuse us?"
"That has been made abundantly clear," she replied, her words sharp with anger and grief, and she turned to look pointedly toward the cavern's far corner. A handful of pale objects lay clustered there, and though he could not see them well from here Zuluhed knew they were paper—thin and mottled gold. They were the remains of an enormous egg, the size of a large orc's head. A dragon egg.
When they had first captured Alexstrasza she had refused to cooperate. Nekros had solved the problem by seizing one of her unhatched eggs, holding it before the captive queen's face, and smashing it with his fist, spattering himself and her with the yolk. Her shrieks had all but deafened them, and her thrashing had knocked several orcs to the ground, breaking limbs on two of them. But the chains had held, and after that she had cooperated, albeit reluctantly. Anything to avoid seeing more of her children destroyed unborn.
"You will not succeed," Alexstrasza informed him. "You have chained me but my children will defy you, and win their freedom."
"Not while we have this," Nekros replied, showing her the disc. He frowned, clearly concentrating, and the Dragonqueen's body arced in pain, a thin hiss escaping her clenched jaws.
"I…will…kill…you…someday," she warned, still writhing in agony, her eyes narrowed in both pain and hatred.
Nekros laughed. "Perhaps," he agreed. "But until then you and yours will serve the Horde." Zuluhed gestured and Nekros nodded, following him from the cavern. The queen snapped at air behind them, her act of defiance meaningless after their own show of power.
Zuluhed led the way down another corridor and into a second, even larger chamber. This one opened along the side of the mountain, and beyond it fiery shapes flew, flashes of color against the darkening sky.
"Release her!" one of them demanded, swooping close, claws outstretched, jaws open. "Release our mother!"
"Never!" Nekros held up the Demon Soul, and the approaching dragon screamed in pain, twisting to stay aloft as its body trembled and spasmed. The other dragons backed off slightly, though they continued to wheel about overhead.
"Your mother is our captive, as are her mates," Zuluhed shouted, knowing the dragons could hear him despite their altitude. "They will remain so. You and all their children will serve us, serve the Horde, or she will die screaming from the same pain you just felt. And with her your flight will die, for without Alexstrasza there will be no more red dragon hatchlings. You will be the last of your kind."
The dragons cried out in anger, but Zuluhed knew they would obey. He had seen the bond between mother and child and it was strong, strong enough to force them to obedience. As long as Alexstrasza thought there was hope for her children she would serve them by producing litter upon litter of dragon eggs. And as long as she and three of her mates were their captives her children would serve as well, in the hopes of one day freeing their mother.
Zuluhed grinned, watching the young dragons soaring above him. Even now his orcs were hard at work, fashioning leather straps and reins and seats. Soon they would bring the first red dragon down into this cave, and fit him with a harness and a saddle. He would hate that, of course—the dragons were fiercely independent, and no one had ever dared ride them before. But his clan would.
This was what he had promised Doomhammer, and the Warchief had been enthused about the project. This would be their secret weapon. The humans had troops and cavalry and ships, but they could not take to the air. With the dragons under his control, and loyal orcs astride them, Zuluhed could strike at the humans from above and then swoop back out of their reach. The dragons were powerful foes physically, with their claws and their jaws and their tails, but it was their fiery breath that would truly devastate the humans. Fire would rain down upon them, destroying them and their equipment, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. With the dragons on their side, the Horde would be invincible.
And he, Zuluhed of the Dragonmaw clan, was responsible. Without those visions he would never have found the Demon Soul, or sensed that it was somehow linked with the dragons, and without its powers—and Nekros to unlock them—they could not have enslaved Alexstrasza. But they had, and soon the first dragon—riders would take to the air, joining the rest of the Horde and awaiting Doomhammer's commands.
Zuluhed grinned. All was going according to plan.
CHAPTER TEN
"There, Thane! Look there!"
Kurdran Wildhammer wheeled Sky'ree about and peered down where Farand pointed. Yes, there! His sharp eyes spotted movement, and he tapped Sky'ree lightly with his heels. His gryphon mount cawed softly in response before tucking in her wings and diving down, the wind tugging at them both as they descended.
Yes, now he could make out figures traipsing through the forest below. Trolls? They were as green as the forest trolls his people hated, certainly, their skin blending in among the foliage, but they walked the ground rather than skimming the branches. And their footsteps were too heavy, too careless, to be the trolls, who knew the ways of the forest almost as well as an elf might. No, these creatures were something different. Kurdran caught a clear view of one as it passed through a small clearing, and frowned. Heavily built but big, as big as a human, with thick muscles and long legs. And heavy weapons, massive axes and hammers and maces. Whatever the creatures were, they were equipped for war.
He pulled back on the reins and Sky'ree lashed her tail, reared back on her leonine haunches, spread her wings and leaped upward once more, clear of the trees and back into the sky. Farand and the others were circling, their weathered skin blending into the tawny pelts of their mounts, and Kurdran rose to join them, his braided beard and hair streaming behind him, enjoying the sensation of flight even under these grim circumstances. Off in the distance he could see the massive stone carving of an eagle at rest, peering alertly and confidently out at the world, which was his own home and the heart of his domain. Aerie Peak. Yet the sight did not fill him with the usual pride and joy, for it seemed far too close for comfort given the activities occurring below him.
"Ye see, Thane?" Farand asked. "I told ye! Uglies in our forest!"
"Aye, ye were right," Kurdran told the scout. "They are ugly, and they are intruding. There be a lot o' them, though. And they'll be hard to hit as long as they stay beneath the trees."
"Are we just to let them traipse across our lands, then?" one of the other scouts demanded.
"Oh no," Kurdran replied. He grinned at the other Wildhammer dwarves. "We'll just have to be scaring them out into the open. Come on, lads, let's get back home. I have a few ideas. But don't worry, we'll soon be making it clear to those greenskins that they're not welcome in the Hinterlands."
"You there! Paladin!"
Turalyon glanced up as the elf slowed to a stop beside him. He hadn't seen the ranger approach, but that didn't surprise him. In the past few weeks he had learned how quickly the elves could come and go, and how silently. Alleria, in particular, delighted in startling him by suddenly speaking in his ear when he hadn't even realized she was back in camp.
"Yes?" He had been cleaning his gear but he paused respectfully.
"The orcs are in the Hinterlands," the elf reported. "And they're meeting up with the trolls there." That last was said with utter disgust. Turalyon had learned that the elves hated the forest trolls, and apparently the feeling was mutual. It made sense—both were woodlands creatures, and the forests here were not big enough for two such races. They had been enemies for thousands of years, too, ever since the elves had driven the trolls from part of the forest and established their kingdom there on that conquered land.
"You're certain they're allies and not just crossing paths?" Turalyon asked, setting his armor off to the side. He rubbed absently at his chin. If the orcs and the trolls really had formed a partnership, that could be trouble.
The ranger snorted in reply. "Of course
I'm sure! I heard them talking. They've got a pact of some sort." The elf actually looked concerned for the first time. "They're planning on striking at Aerie Peak — and then moving up into Quel'Thalas."
Ah, that explained his agitation. Quel'Thalas was the elves' own homeland, and the trolls hated them. If they'd joined the Horde it made sense they'd direct the orcs there.
"I'll let Lothar know," Turalyon assured him, standing up. "We'll stop them before they can get anywhere near your homeland." The elf nodded, though he didn't look convinced, and turned away, jogging back into the trees and disappearing once again. But Turalyon wasn't watching. He was already making his way toward the command tent.
He found Lothar inside, along with Khadgar, Terenas, and a few others.
"The orcs are targeting Aerie Peak," he announced as he entered. Everyone turned toward him, and Turalyon saw several eyebrows raise in surprise. "One of the rangers just told me," he explained. "The orcs have allied with the forest trolls and they're planning to strike Aerie Peak."
Terenas nodded and turned to the everpresent map covering the tent's large table. "Makes sense," he admitted, tapping Aerie Peak 's location. "The Wildhammer dwarves are strong enough to put up a fight so they'd not want to risk an attack from behind. And if the trolls are with them, they'd want the dwarves out of the Hinterlands altogether."
Lothar was staring at the map as well. "It'll be tough taking the fight to them in the forest," he commented. "We can't deploy properly in there, and we'll be forced to leave our ballistae behind." He rubbed a hand over his forehead, thinking. "Then again, they'll not be able to marshal their forces well either. We can pick off smaller groups of orcs and not worry about them sending the full army to any one location."
"Plus the dwarves would make strong allies," Khadgar pointed out. "If we help them they may agree to help us in return. They'd make excellent scouts and first—strike units."
"We could certainly use them and their gryphons," Lothar agreed. He glanced up, caught Turalyon's eye, and nodded. "Rally the troops," he ordered. "We're heading into the forest to save the dwarves."
"By the ancestors, there are a lot of them! They're like fleas, only bigger and better—armed!" Kurdran cursed as he studied the scene below. He and a full hunting party were on the wing, wheeling high above to get a better view of these new greenskins. And what he saw wasn't good.
The creatures were marching fast and were already only a day's travel from Aerie Peak itself. At first he'd only seen a score or so, but then he'd noticed another group not far away, and a third beyond that. The others had reported much the same. Though these greenskins were spread out in groups of twenty or so, there were more groupings than they could count. Wildhammer dwarves were not afraid of anything, but if those creatures were half as tough as they looked they could crush the Peak by sheer numbers alone.
Not that they'd sit by and let that happen. Kurdran glanced around, and each of his dwarves nodded in turn. "Good," he told them, raising his horn to his lips. "Wildhammers, attack!" He blew a blast on the horn and then slung it back at his side, already guiding Sky'ree into position with his knees. She responded with a fierce cry of her own, spreading her wings and rising up before folding them back in for the exhilarating dive. They plummeted down, and as they did Kurdran unlimbered his stormhammer, raising the massive weapon high.
But for the moment his targets were not the greenskins themselves. Instead he struck out, pounding the nearest tree solidly across the trunk. The impact sent leaves and berries and needles raining down, which startled the bewildered greenskins. Kurdran struck out at two more trees, and those sent cones and nuts down on the creatures, hitting hard enough to leave welts. The greenskins ducked, raising their hands to protect their eyes, but the onslaught continued as the Wildhammers struck tree after tree, dropping foliage and fruits and nuts in a veritable shower. The greenskins did not know what to make of all this, but they didn't like it, and they responded by taking the simplest solution—since the trees weren't safe, they left them behind, jogging away from the threatening foliage and out into the nearest small clearing.
Which was exactly what the Wildhammers had been waiting for.
With a loud warcry Kurdran led the way, his hammer at the ready. The first greenskin had time to glance up and half—raise a large axe before Kurdran's hurled, lightning—wreathed stormhammer caught him full across the jaw, shattering the bone with a thunderclap and sending the creature flying. "Ye're too ugly to be in me forest, ye bastard!" he shouted as the creature fell. The hammer returned and Kurdran loosed it again, the blow smashing a second greenskin, and then Sky'ree's arc drove her back up and she raised her wings to carry them back out of range before wheeling about for a second pass. The rest of his lads were striking as well, and the forest was filled with hoots and hollers, curses and insults as the gryphons darted past.
Whatever these creatures were, they were not easily frightened. As he came around again Kurdran saw that the remaining greenskins had their weapons up and ready now, and they gathered into a tighter cluster so the dwarves could not strike as easily. They had not counted on the aerial advantage, however. Kurdran whirled his hammer overhead, and let it fly. The heavy stone had struck a greenskin right in the temple, toppling it with a loud crack like an Ironforge pistol, and as the creature fell it pushed against two others, who stepped forward to avoid being entangled.
"Ha! That's taken ye down a peg!" Kurdran crowed at the fallen creatures. He was on them before they could realize their mistake, his stormhammer back in his hand, but let Sky'ree finish the fallen creatures, her powerful front claws laying one low and her sharp hooked beak tearing apart a second even as her wings stunned a third.
The skirmish was over quickly. Whatever these greenskins were, they were slow and not used to facing an airborne attack. And Kurdran and his people were experts at striking those on the ground. The creatures had managed to land a few blows, and some of his dwarves had wounds to tend, but they had lost no one and left no one unharmed behind them. Only a few of the greenskins in this particular grouping had survived, and only then by fleeing back under the trees.
"That's taught them to look up," Kurdran pointed out, and his dwarves laughed. "Back to the Peak then, lads. We'll send out another team soon to take out another o' their little clusters. Mayhap then they'll learn to give Aerie Peak a wider berth."
"Get ready," Lothar whispered. He had slowed his horse to a mere walk, since anything faster risked running into trees or being unhorsed by low branches, and now he drew his greatsword and held it before him, his shield raised on his other arm. "They should be close by."
Turalyon nodded and hefted his warhammer, riding to his commander's back left as usual. Khadgar rode beside him, the three of them forming a classic cavalry triangle, and though the mage's hands were empty Turalyon had learned to respect the magics his friend could wield in battle. Straining his eyes, Turalyon tried to pierce the gloom of the trees and see their quarry. Somewhere around here…
"There!" He pointed ahead and to the right, beyond Khadgar, and his two companions followed his gesture. After a moment Lothar nodded. It took the wizard a minute longer before he too had noticed the flicker of movement against the trees in that direction, a motion too low to be a bird and too steady to be a snake or insect or whatever else infested such forests. No, that flicker could only be from something the size of a man walking through the forest, and the fact that it kept repeating meant either the same figure was circling back repeatedly or it was a large group, The fact that it was barely visible meant the figures were the same color as their surroundings. All of which added up to one thing: orcs.
"Got them," Lothar agreed quietly. He glanced back at Khadgar. "Let the others know," he instructed, and the young—old mage nodded and backed his horse away quietly. "Meantime, we'll keep watch," the Champion told Turalyon, who nodded. "And if they look like they're getting away, well, we'll just have to make sure they've got reason to turn and come back this way again
, eh?"
"Yes, sir!" Turalyon grinned and patted the haft of his warhammer. He was ready. He still got nervous going into battle, but he no longer worried about freezing up or turning tail. He'd faced the orcs once already, and he knew he could do it again.
"We've lost Tearlach," Iomhar reported. Kurdran stared at him in surprise. "Oengus as well," the Wildhammer fighter continued. "And two more are too winded to continue fighting."
"What happened?" Kurdran demanded. The other dwarf looked embarrassed for a second, then turned belligerent.
"The greenskins, tha's what!" he replied. "They were ready for us! When we dropped toward them they started throwing spears! Then they scattered so we couldn't target them amid the trees." He shook his head. "Your strike was lucky, and took them by surprise. They've learned, though, the ugly buggers, and fast."
Kurdran nodded. "Not stupid, these greenskins," he agreed. "And more o' them than we thought." He studied the map of the Hinterlands spread out before him, and the markers he'd been using to show where the greenskins were marching. The map was almost completely covered. "Well, we'll just have to hit them afore they can react. Tell the lads to come in fast and hard, and to stay beyond the greenskins' throws. They're working against gravity and we're working with it, so we've got the advantage."
Iomhar nodded, but before he could say anything Beathan burst in. "Trolls!" he shouted, collapsing onto a nearby stool. His left arm hung useless at his side, still bleeding from a deep cut near the shoulder. "We were diving on a party of those greenskins when a pack of forest trolls jumped us! Took out Moray and Seaghdh with their first blows and knocked Alpin and Lachtin from their gryphons." He indicated his wound. "I took a nasty cut from one's axe but managed to dodge the second blow, or it'd have taken me head off."
"Damn!" Kurdran growled. "They're teamed with the trolls then, greenskin and greenskin! And those trolls'll keep us from using the trees!" He tugged at his mustache in frustration. "We need something to even the odds, and fast, lads, or they'll be swarming us over like ants on a beetle."
Tides of Darkness (world of warcraf) Page 11
