Tides of Darkness (world of warcraf)

by Aaron Rosenberg

  As if to answer his statement a third dwarf appeared to report. But this one, a scout named Dermid, wasn't wounded. And he looked pleased rather than worried.

  "Humans!" he announced happily. "A great mass o' them! They say they've come to help us fight off the orcs—that's what they call the greenskins."

  "Ancestors be praised," Kurdran rumbled. "If they can keep these orcs busy enough to forget their new tactics, we can strike them down from above again." He grinned as he hefted his stormhammer. "Aye, and we'll be taking care of any trolls that get close, too. They may control the trees but we rule the skies, and our gryphons will tear them apart an' they come within reach." He turned and stalked toward the door, already whistling for Sky'ree. "Wildhammers, let's fly!" he shouted, and behind him the other dwarves cheered and hastened to obey.

  "Now!" Lothar spurred his mount forward and charged across the clearing, bursting upon the pack of orcs. They whirled about, clearly surprised—they had been busy watching the skies, and many of them were holding spears instead of their usual axes and hammers. One thought to throw its spear at Lothar but the Champion was too close by then, and his massive sword swept out, shearing through spear and arm together, then looping back and removing the orc's head before its severed arm had even hit the ground.

  Turalyon was right beside him, and his hammer struck an orc and shattered its chest. His second blow glanced off an orc's arm, which was enough to make the green—skinned creature drop its axe. He simply struck it in the head this time, and it crumpled without a sound.

  But Turalyon did hear a strange noise, somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and glanced up. A tall figure, taller than an orc and more narrowly built, dropped from the trees in front of him, a spear held in its large, long—fingered hands. Its eyes were sharp and narrow, its features narrow as well, and it grinned at him as it jabbed with its spear, showing rows of pointed teeth. A troll!

  Turalyon raised his shield, blocking the spear thrust even though it hammered his shield back against him hard enough to leave his arm weak. He responded with a fierce blow from his hammer, staggering the troll but not stopping it. The creature glided forward again, spear at the ready, and Turalyon spurred his horse forward, bracing his shield just before it smashed into the troll's face and chest. The troll had not expected that crude an attack and took the blow full—force, reeling back and shaking its head to clear it. Turalyon didn't give it time to recover, however. His hammer took it in the jaw and dropped the troll to the ground in a heap.

  Pleased with himself, Turalyon glanced up just in time to see a second troll step out onto a nearby branch. Its eyes were narrowed in hate and its spear was pulled back to throw. Turalyon knew at once that the weapon was aimed at him, and that he was not strong enough to block it or fast enough to dodge it. He prepared himself for the worst, closing his eyes and listening for the sound of the flying spear against the rising wind.

  Instead he heard a strange, shrill shriek, mingled with a deep bellow then a massive thunderclap, and behind that a cry of sudden pain. Opening his eyes again Turalyon saw an amazing sight. The troll was falling from its perch, hands still clutching at the side of its face, which appeared to be crushed. Above it hovered a majestic creature, one Turalyon had heard of but never seen before. It was built like a lion, with the same tawny fur, but instead of a feline head it had a fierce bird's visage, the beak wide and emitting the shriek he had already heard. Its front legs ended in deadly talons but its rear legs had thick cat—like pads and a long tail swayed behind it. Great wings were flared out along its sides, and feathers covered its head and trailed off along its shoulders. And a man rode it like a steed.

  No, not a man, Turalyon saw, though of course he already knew. He had heard of the Wildhammer dwarves, though he had not met one before. Taller and leaner than their Bronzebeard cousins, the Wildhammers were still shorter and stouter than a man, with heavy chest and thick corded arms. They wielded stormhammers, like the massive weapon even now returning to this dwarf's hand, and clearly that had caused the troll's demise.

  The dwarf saw Turalyon looking at him and grinned, raising his hammer in salute. Turalyon raised his own hammer in return, then spurred his horse forward and targeted another orc. With the dwarves circling overhead he no longer worried about an attack from above, leaving him free to concentrate on the Horde. The orcs, on the other hand, had to worry about attacks from every direction except beneath their feet, leaving them confused and unnerved. And as Lothar had hoped the trees forced the orcs to move in small groups instead of a single mass, allowing the Alliance soldiers to pick them off one cluster at a time.

  Hours later, Kurdran welcomed the human leaders into his home. Their commander was a big man, even bigger than most, with a good dwarf—like beard and a long braid even if the top of his head was almost bare. He carried himself like a warrior born, and Kurdran could tell the man had seen more than his share of battles, yet those blue eyes remained alert and the golden lion head on his shield and breastplate still gleamed. The younger one, woefully unbearded, seemed less sure of himself, but Zoradan said he'd seen him use that big hammer almost as well as a dwarf. There was something else about the lad, a sense of calm, that reminded Kurdran of his shaman. Perhaps the lad was a shaman himself, or otherwise in touch with the elements or the spirits? Certainly the third one, the violet—robed man with the short, scruffy white beard but the young man's walk, he was a wizard, that was plain enough. And then there was the elven lass, lovely and strong and lithe, as they all were, with her green and her bow and her laughing eyes. Kurdran had rarely met such interesting people, and he would have been happy to do under any circumstances. Right now he was even more pleased to make their acquaintance.

  "Greetings, laddies—and lass!" he told them, gesturing to the chairs and stools and cushions scattered around the room. "Ye are welcome indeed! We feared those greenskins—the ones you call orcs—would overrun our homes, they were so many! But your arrival put an end to that, and together we'll be driving them from the Hinterlands! I am in your debt."

  The big warrior sat on a stool near Kurdran's own chair, idly adjusting the massive sword slung across his back. "You lead the Wildhammers?" he asked.

  "I am Kurdran Wildhammer," Kurdran replied. "I am chief thane, so aye, they will go where I lead."

  "Good." The warrior nodded. "I am Anduin Lothar, former Knight of Stormwind and now commander of the Alliance forces." He explained about the Horde, and about Stormwind's fate. "Will you join us?"

  Kurdran frowned and tugged at his moustache. "You say they be out to conquer all the land?" Lothar nodded. "And they came in great black iron boats?" Another nod. "Then they have been through Khaz Modan," he decided, shaking his head. "We've not heard from our kin in Ironforge for many weeks. I had wondered why. This explains it."

  "They conquered the mines and used the iron ore to make those ships," the wizard said.

  "Aye." Kurdran bared his teeth. "We Wildhammers have had many quarrels with the Bronzebeard clan over the years—it is why me people left Khaz Modan at all. But still they are our cousins, our kin. And these foul creatures, this Horde, attacked them. And now it has attacked us. Only your timely aid saved us from suffering our cousins' fate." He pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. "Aye, we will join you! We must be striking back at these orcs, until this Horde canna threaten anyone!" He stood and extended his hand. "Ye have the Wildhammers' aid."

  Lothar stood as well, and gravely accepted the clasp. "Thank you," was all he said, but it was enough.

  "At least we have driven them from the Hinterlands," the clean—faced youth pointed out. "Your home is safe."

  "That it is," Kurdran agreed. "For now. But where will these orcs be going next? Will they turn back toward the Hillsbrad? Or up toward Capital City? Or be heading north to join the rest o' their foul kin?"

  Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say, for suddenly his new allies were all leaping to their feet. "What did you say?" the elven lass demanded. "
About the north?"

  "That they might join the rest o' their kind?" Kurdran asked, puzzled. She nodded quickly and he shrugged. "My scouts say we saw but a fraction of this Horde here. The rest turned north, skirting our forests, and continued on toward the mountains." He studied their faces. "Ye didna know this?"

  The clean—faced youth and the mage were shaking their heads, but already the older warrior was cursing. "It was a feint!" he said, almost spitting the words. "And we fell for it!"

  "A feint?" Kurdran frowned. "Me home was at risk! This was no mere ploy!"

  But this Lothar shook his head. "No, the threat was real," he agreed. "But whoever commands the Horde is smart. He knew we would step in to aid you here. He took the rest of his forces north, and left a portion to slow us down. Now he's got distance on us."

  "And he's heading for Quel'Thalas!" the elven lass cried. "We have to warn them!"

  Lothar nodded. "We'll rally the troops at once and set off again. If we move fast—"

  But the lass cut him off. "There's no time!" she insisted. "You said yourself the Horde has distance on us. We've lost days already! And gathering the troops will only slow us down further." She shook her head. "I'll go myself."

  "No." The voice was quiet but the tone brooked no resistance. "You'll not go alone," Lothar told her, ignoring her glare. "Turalyon, take the rest of the cavalry and half the troops. You're in charge. Khadgar, you go with him. I want the Alliance present to help defend Quel'Thalas." He turned back toward Kurdran, who was impressed. This man knew how to lead! "There will still be orcs here in the forest," he warned, "and we can't risk letting them get behind us as well as before us. We'll stay and make sure the forest is completely clean, then we'll move forward and rejoin the others."

  Kurdran nodded. "I thank ye for your aid," he replied formally. "And when the Hinterlands are once again secure, my warriors and I will be accompanying ye north to deal with the rest of this Horde."

  "Thank you." Lothar bowed, then turned toward the elven lass, the clean—faced youth, and the wizard. "Are you still here? Get moving—every second you waste puts the Horde one second closer to Quel'Thalas." The three bowed and quickly exited the room. Kurdran didn't envy them their task, chasing an army and trying desperately to pass it and warn the elves of its approach. He just hoped they got there in time.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "Keep them moving!" Doomhammer bellowed, turning to look back at the Horde marching behind him. "We need to get through these peaks quickly!"

  "Why?" This was from Rend Blackhand. He and his brother Maim hated Doomhammer for killing their father and taking his place as Warchief. They were among the few who dared to question Doomhammer's orders. Doomhammer allowed it, both because he knew any explanations he gave would filter back to the rest of the Horde and because the Black Tooth Grin was a large, powerful clan and therefore useful. Besides, the brothers might question actions or decisions but they never disobeyed a direct order, even when they disagreed with it. Doomhammer appreciated that, and was willing to tolerate their questions, up to a point.

  "Why what?" Doomhammer answered now. He was negotiating the steep path up the mountains and most of his attention was on the rocks beneath his hands and feet. The forest trolls had already passed them by, scaling the cliffs as easily as they climbed trees, and had lowered ropes to aid the orc warriors in their climb, but Doomhammer refused to use them. He needed his troops to know he was still the strongest of them, and climbing the mountain unaided was one way to accomplish that. Rend had no such compunctions, and was pacing Doomhammer with one of the stout ropes wrapped firmly around his left arm.

  "Why are we climbing?" Rend asked. "We could have gone around these mountains instead. Why are we taking this way? It is shorter, true, but harder. Scaling these peaks will slow us down."

  Doomhammer reached the top of the cliff and grunted, wiping his hands clean of rock dust by rubbing them against his upper arms. He turned to face Rend as the other chieftain joined him at the peak, his brother and the other Horde leaders right behind them. They knew better than to reach the top before Doomhammer.

  "The humans think us stupid," Doomhammer began, making sure all of them could hear him. He did not like having to repeat himself. "They imagine us as dumb brutes, just as we see the ogres." Several turned to look below, where the ogres were trailing behind even the orcs in their climb. They were strong enough to move past but too clumsy to manage easily. "I encourage that image." He grinned, showing his tusks. "Let them think us brainless! It makes our conquest easier, because they underestimate us."

  He stooped and picked up a small rock, tossing it from hand to hand as he spoke. "We have already fooled them once, by splitting off a few clans when we reached the Hinterlands," he pointed out. "They busied themselves battling that portion of the Horde while we proceeded this way, toward the mountains. And they will still be busy while we cross here."

  "But we are heading to Quel'Thalas, are we not?" Maim asked, the strange name causing him some difficulty. "Why not sail as close to it as possible, then, and be there long before the humans emerge from the Hinterlands?"

  "Because the elves will never let our ships pass unmolested," Doomhammer pointed out. "Zul'jin says they are expert archers, and we would be trapped on the ships while they rained arrows down upon us. We would lose thousands, whole clans, before we could even reach the shore to fight them." Several of the chieftains murmured. That had not occurred to them. The Horde was still not accustomed to the idea of using ships, though a few, like the Stormreavers, and taken to it quickly enough.

  "But we could have marched around the mountains," Rend pointed out. "A longer route but less difficult."

  Doomhammer sneered at that. "Are you afraid of a challenge, then?" Several of the other chieftains laughed, and Rend bristled.

  "Of course not!" he snapped, raising his one fist, clearly ready to fight anyone who claimed otherwise. "I am up to the task! I was right behind you the entire climb!" No one dared point out that he had used a rope, while Doomhammer had not. The Blackhands were fearsome warriors and widely respected, another reason Doomhammer allowed them to ask so many questions.

  "Then you do wish to challenge?" Doomhammer asked quietly, his voice dropping. Rend backed away quickly, paling as he realized what he had almost said. The Blackhands wanted to lead the Horde, but they would have to challenge and defeat Doomhammer in combat to do so. And they all knew he would kill them, even if they both attacked at once. A part of him kept hoping they would try. Then he could replace them with a more reasonable Black Tooth Grin chieftain. But so far they had always backed down.

  "Going around might have been faster," Doomhammer said finally, when he saw Rend was not going to take the bait, "but our movements would have been more visible. This way we will come upon the elves with them unawares." He grinned again. "If the humans survive their battle in the Hinterlands and can march around the mountains, they may well reach Quel'Thalas before us. And then, if the elves allow them entry, they will all be gathered together when we attack." He laughed and crushed the rock in his hand, dust spraying from between his fingers. "They have nowhere to go from there. We will crush them and make that land our own." He opened his hand and let the dust and rock chips fall. "And if they are behind us, they will find us already established in Quel'Thalas when they arrive. And we will beat them back and smash them against the foothills behind them." He made a show of wiping his hands clean again. "Either way, we win."

  The others all murmured, several of them grinning and laughing as well, and Rend nodded. "You are wise," he grudgingly admitted. "This is a good plan." Doomhammer nodded to accept the compliment.

  "Now we must continue," Doomhammer told the rest of them. "There are still several peaks to cover." He turned to Zuluhed first, however. "Where are they?" he asked.

  "On their way," the Dragonmaw chieftain answered, grinning at the murmurs that rose behind him. None of the other orcs knew anything more than that the Dragonmaw were planning
something, with Doomhammer's full approval. "They have a long way to travel, but they are swift. They will reach us soon, and the world will tremble at their arrival."

  "Good." Then Doomhammer turned and glanced at the tall figure standing a short distance away, its long scarf blowing in the wind. "How far are we from Quel'Thalas?"

  "Four days travel, at this pace," Zul'jin replied. "But we could be there sooner." The forest troll's eyes gleamed at the prospect, and his hands strayed to the axes at his side.

  "No," Doomhammer ordered, ignoring the troll's obvious disappointment. "You will stay with us and continue lowering ropes for the troops." He grinned at the troll leader. "Do not worry, you will get your chance to attack the elven homeland. But not until the Horde is right behind you, ready to roll down upon them."

  Zul'jin pondered this a moment, then nodded. "They'll be angry, ya," he commented, then laughed. "They'll emerge like wasps, ready ta sting. An' you will swarm them like ants, devourin' them whole."

  "Yes." Doomhammer liked the image. Ants were industrious workers, and sturdy beyond all expectation. They could be nasty as well, gathering to overwhelm much larger creatures. Yes, ants would do nicely. And right now he signaled the march to continue, the Horde marching up the mountain behind him like an army of ants intent upon conquest.

  Four days later, Doomhammer and his chieftains looked down from a foothill that stood between the last mountain peak and the start of the great forest. The rest of the Horde was massing behind them, weary from the climbing and marching but shaking off fatigue now that their next target lay before them. But none were as excited as the forest trolls.

  "We be goin' now?" Zul'jin looked eagerly at Doomhammer, who nodded.