Tides of Darkness (world of warcraf)

by Aaron Rosenberg

  Tharbek nodded, rubbing his cheek sullenly with one hand, but said nothing. He didn't have to. Doomhammer knew what his Second was thinking—if he had not sent the other clans after Gul'dan in the first place, this would not be an issue now.

  Doomhammer ground his teeth together. Why was it no one else among his people understood the reasons behind his decision? He had seen the same look from every other orc these past few days, ever since he had ordered the retreat from Capital City. The gates had already been showing small cracks, and bowed with each strike of the battering ram. The city's guards had long since exhausted their oil supply and were reduced to pouring boiling water on them. The Alliance forces had been pushed back across the lake, and were being held at the bridge. They had almost won! Another day, two at the most, and the city would have cracked. And then he had sent the army away, leaving them too weak to continue here.

  Nor had the Alliance been slow to capitalize on the sudden reversal. The humans had poured across the bridge immediately after the Blackhands had led their clan away, crashing through the handful of remaining orc defenders and pushing their way out onto the battlefield. The orcs had found themselves trapped between horsemen and foot soldiers on the one side and entrenched guards on the other. And they had no help in sight. It would take days or even weeks for the rest of the Horde to return, just as Tharbek had said, and that was assuming they were able to defeat Gul'dan and his warlocks and his ogres and whatever else he had conjured to aid him in his treachery. The warriors still trapped in or beyond the mountains he had to assume were dead by now, killed by whatever humans had retaken the passes and closed that route to them. The orcs standing before the city were all he had left for the assault.

  So he had ordered the retreat. He had hoped the other clans would encounter them on the way, but the dragons at least should have been here long before. Something had definitely gone wrong. And he blamed Gul'dan for it all. Even if the warlock had not personally killed the Horde warriors, it was his betrayal that had forced Doomhammer to split his forces.

  And he had been forced. He had made personal vows to the ancestral spirits that he would not allow his race to continue as it had. He would fight the corruption, the blood lust, the savagery at every turn, using every weapon at his command. Winning the war did not matter. His own survival meant nothing. Without honor they were mere animals, less than animals because they had the potential to be so much more and had a noble history they had thrown away for blood and combat and hatred. If he had allowed Gul'dan to escape unpunished he would have been guilty of allowing such selfishness, even encouraging it, and would have been partially responsible for the further degradation of the entire race.

  At least this way he could say he had done his best, Doomhammer decided. He had upheld his honor, and through him the honor of the Horde. They might lose to the humans but they would do so proudly, on their feet and with weapons in their hands, not howling or sniveling.

  Besides, the war was not over yet. He was leading his warriors south but to the east instead of the west. Khaz Modan lay there, between Lordaeron and Azeroth. It was the home of the dwarves, and they had marched through that region to reach this land. The dwarves had proven sturdy opponents but their mountain keeps had fallen before the might of the Horde, all except the city of Ironforge, which held fast. Doomhammer had left Kilrogg Deadeye and his Bleeding Hollow clan there to oversee the mining operations that had ultimately produced their ships. If he could lead his own warriors back there and reunite with Kilrogg they would have a substantial force again, enough to turn on the pursuing Alliance and destroy them in turn. The battles would be more difficult, and their conquest would take far longer, but they could still dominate this continent and carve out homes for themselves.

  Provided nothing else went horribly wrong.

  "Humans!" the orc scout gasped, dropping to his knees from sheer exhaustion. "To the east of us!"

  Doomhammer stared at him. "East? Are you sure?" But he didn't need the scout's tired nod to know the orc was not lying. But how did the humans get east of them when they were chasing them the entire way and Lordaeron lay north and west of here?

  Then he remembered. The Hinterlands! He had split off some of his forces there, leaving a clan behind to distract the humans while the rest marched on toward Quel'Thalas. The feint had worked and the humans had left half their own forces behind to flush the orcs from the forests there. Apparently those warriors had never made the trek to Capital City, and now they were heading toward them from the east. Which meant, if he was not careful, the two Alliance armies would trap his orcs between them and crush the last chance the Horde had for escape, much less victory.

  "How many?" he demanded of the scout, who was gulping water from a skin.

  "Hundreds, maybe more," the orc answered finally, frowning in concentration. "And some of those were heavily armored as well."

  Doomhammer grimaced and turned away, swinging his hammer about him in great arcs to relieve the anger raging within him. Damn them! That many Alliance warriors could lay waste to his own forces, especially with their horsemen coming up fast from behind. And he was still days away from Khaz Modan. Nor had they seen a single hint of the dragon riders or their other lost brethren.

  He had no choice. Doomhammer looked up and caught Tharbek's eye. "Quicken the pace," he told his lieutenant. "Full run, no breaks. We need to reach Khaz Modan as soon as possible."

  Tharbek nodded and hurried off to shout orders to the other orcs, and Doomhammer growled as he watched the younger warrior go. Running felt too much like defeat, and that was something he hated to even consider. But he could not risk an open battle now. He needed to reach the Bleeding Hollow first. Then he could turn and face the restored Alliance army on more equal terms.

  "There!" Tharbek pointed, and Doomhammer nodded, having already seen the orc scout crouching atop the cliff.

  "Hail, Doomhammer!" the scout shouted, straightening as they approached and raising his axe in salute. "The Bleeding Hollow welcomes you back to Khaz Modan!"

  "My thanks," Doomhammer shouted in reply, holding his black stone hammer aloft so the scout would recognize him easily even from this distance. "Where are Kilrogg and the rest?"

  "We have made camp in a valley back within the mountains proper," the scout answered, leaping down to a lower ledge so they could converse more easily. "I will run and tell of your approach." He glanced up, and Doomhammer knew he was surveying the mass of warriors behind him. "Where is the rest of the Horde?"

  "Dead, most of them," Doomhammer replied bluntly. He bared his tusks as the scout's eyes widened in surprise. "And we have Alliance forces marching fast behind us. Tell Kilrogg to ready his warriors for battle."

  The scout seemed about to ask another question, then thought better of it. Instead he saluted again and darted back up the cliff, disappearing over the rise at a run. Doomhammer nodded. At least they would have the Bleeding Hollow warriors beside them when they stood to face the humans again. Kilrogg was a clever old warrior, still powerful despite his years, and his clan was fierce and warlike. Between the Blackrock and the Bleeding Hollow they would still be more than a match for the Alliance.

  "We cannot fight them. Not with our full force."

  Doomhammer stared at Kilrogg as the older chieftain shook his head, his face glum but resolute.

  "What? Why not?" Doomhammer demanded.

  "The dwarves," Kilrogg replied curtly.

  "The dwarves?" At first he thought the chieftain meant the gryphon—riders, but Aerie Peak was far from here. He could only be referring to the dwarves that lived here in the mountains. "But we crushed their armies and routed them from their citadels."

  "From all but one," Kilrogg corrected, glancing up so both his good eye and the dead, scarred one stared at Doomhammer. "We have not been able to crack Ironforge, and I have lost many good warriors in each attempt."

  "Then leave it," Doomhammer insisted. "We do not need it now. We must turn on the humans before they
can cross the land bridges and mass on this side of the channel. Once we have destroyed their army we can fall upon Ironforge and rip it open, then station our own warriors there while we march north again to finish our conquest there."

  But Kilrogg shook his head. "The dwarves are too fierce to leave at our backs," he stated. "I have fought them many times these past few months, and I tell you true, if we let them they will boil from their fortress and fall upon us like angry wasps. Each time we crushed one of their citadels the survivors fled to Ironforge and it took them in—I can only guess how deep its levels run, but the whole of the dwarf nation lurk within it and await a chance for revenge. If we do not guard that place and keep them too busy to emerge we will face not one army but two."

  Doomhammer paced, considering this new information. He trusted Kilrogg's judgment, but that meant they would not have enough warriors to stand against the Alliance here and hope to win. He would need to keep moving.

  "Stay here," he told Kilrogg finally. "Keep as many warriors as you need to hold the dwarves and harry the humans. I will lead the rest to Blackrock Spire, where we can make our stand from within its sturdy walls." He glanced at the older chieftain. "If you can, bring your warriors there afterward. Perhaps you can fall on the humans from behind. Or perhaps more of our people will appear, either from the sea or from the Dark Portal." He straightened. "But Blackrock Spire is our strongpoint. If we cannot defeat the humans there we cannot hold them anywhere, and this war is lost."

  Kilrogg nodded. For a second he eyed the Horde warchief, and when he spoke it was more softly than Doomhammer had ever heard the grizzled old chieftain. "You made the right choice," Kilrogg assured him. "I too know the depths of Gul'dan's treachery. He would have taken us back to the days before the Portal opened, when we were nearly mad with rage and hunger and desperation." He nodded. "Whatever else happens, you have given our people back their honor."

  Doomhammer nodded back, feeling a sudden respect and even affection for the one—eyed chieftain he had always feared and disliked. He had always considered Kilrogg a brutish, savage warrior, more interested in glory than in honor. Perhaps he had been wrong all these years.

  "Thank you," he said finally. There was nothing more to say and so he turned and walked away, back toward his own clan. There were orders to hand out, and another march to begin. Possibly the last.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "Turalyon!"

  Turalyon glanced up at the shout, unable to believe his ears. But there, riding toward him, was a large man in full armor. The lion symbol of Stormwind glittered gold on his battered shield, and the hilt of a massive sword rose above one shoulder.

  "Lord Lothar?" Amazed, Turalyon rose from his seat by a campfire and stood staring as the Champion of Stormwind and Commander of the Alliance reined in his horse. Then the older man had dismounted and was clapping him on the back.

  "Good to see you, lad!" He could hear the genuine affection in Lothar's voice. "They said I'd find you here!"

  "They?" Turalyon glanced around, still confused by his leader's sudden appearance.

  "The elves," Lothar explained, pulling off his helm and running a hand over his balding pate. He looked tired but pleased. "I ran across Alleria and Theron and the others as I was turning north. They told me what had happened in Capital City and that you had brought the rest of the army this way, pursuing what's left of the Horde." He clasped him about the shoulders. "Good job, man!"

  "I had a lot of help," Turalyon protested, pleased but discomfited by his hero's praise. "And, truth to tell, I'm not entirely sure what happened." He and Lothar sat down again, the older man gratefully accepting some food and a wineskin from Khadgar, and Turalyon explained. He had been as surprised as anyone when the bulk of the Horde forces had turned away from Capital City and marched rapidly south. Then he had received a report from Proudmoore about the naval battle and its outcome. "The rest of the Horde wasn't strong enough to stand against us, especially with King Terenas pounding them every time they approached the city's walls," he concluded, "and their leader must have known it. So he retreated. We've been chasing them ever since."

  "He may have been waiting for those orcs to return from the sea," Lothar commented, gnawing on a hunk of cheese. "When they didn't he must have known he was in trouble." He grinned. "Besides, closing the mountains behind him meant no escape route, and no reinforcements from there either."

  Turalyon nodded. "You heard about Perenolde, then?"

  "Aye." Lothar's expression turned grim. "How a man could turn against his own race I'll never understand. But thanks to Trollbane we don't have to worry about Alterac any more."

  "And the Hinterlands?" Khadgar asked.

  "Orc—free," Lothar replied. "Took us a while to find all of them—some had burrowed in deep, even carved out homes beneath the ground, where they could disappear when we chased them—but we got them at last. The Wildhammers are still patrolling to make sure, of course."

  "And the elves are heading back to Quel'Thalas to clear it as well," Turalyon added. "The orcs seem to have left the forest but the trolls may still be hiding among the trees." He grinned as he thought about Alleria and her kin and their attitude toward the forest trolls. "I would not want to be them when they and the rangers meet again." He glanced around. "But where are Uther and the other Paladins?"

  "I sent them up to Lordaeron," Lothar answered, draining the wineskin and tossing it aside. "They'll make sure that region's safe again, and then they'll follow after us." He smiled a little. "Uther may be upset if we don't leave him anyone to fight."

  Turalyon nodded, imagining how his zealous fellow Paladin would react to discovering he had missed the end of the war. And though the orcs were still numerous it felt as if the war was winding down. He had thought they were all finished there by Capital City, but when the bulk of the Horde had left it had changed everything. And the Horde had been growing smaller and more desperate ever since.

  "They may try to hole up here in Khaz Modan," Khadgar was saying, but Turalyon shook his head. He was pleased to see Lothar doing the same. "They'll have the dwarves to reckon with if they do," the Champion explained. "Ironforge still stands unconquered, and the dwarves will be twitching for a chance to take the fight back to the orcs and reclaim their mountains for good."

  "We should give it to them," Turalyon commented, pausing as both Lothar and Khadgar turned to give him their full attention. "We can detour to Ironforge if the orcs aren't going there themselves, and use the gryphon riders to keep tabs on the Horde's path. If we free the dwarves, they can hold the mountains, preventing any chance of the orcs returning this way. They'll also hunt down any orcs still hiding among the peaks."

  Lothar nodded. "It's a good plan," he said with a smile. "Let the troops know, and we'll begin our march in the morning." He stood and straightened slowly. "For me, I need sleep," he explained, sounding a little annoyed at himself. "It was a long ride, and I'm not as young as I was." But he favored Turalyon with a serious glance before turning away. "You've handled yourself and the troops well was I was gone," he said. "As I knew you would." Lothar paused, and a look of mixed sorrow and respect crossed his face. "Llane," he said softly. "You remind me of him. You have his courage." Turalyon stared, unable to respond.

  Khadgar stepped up beside Turalyon as the older warrior walked away. "Looks like you've won his respect after all," the mage teased him. He knew how much Turalyon valued the Champion's good opinion, and how he'd worried that he would fail the Alliance commander.

  "Shut up," Turalyon said absently, shoving Khadgar lightly. But he was smiling as he arranged his own bedroll, collapsed upon it, and closed his eyes, trying to get a little rest before they moved out again.

  "Attack!" Lothar shouted. He had his greatsword out, its golden runes catching the sunlight as they charged up the wide path curving around the snow—topped mountain peak. Near the top of the peak the rock had been planed and polished and carved into a massive wall, complete with windows that pierced
the stone far above. Set into that wall atop a short flight of stairs were a pair of truly gargantuan doors, easily fifty feet high, the image of a mighty dwarven warrior chiseled into their face. Above the doors soared a majestic arch, and within it was engraved the image of a heavy anvil. It was an awe—inspiring sight, the entrance to Ironforge.

  The heavy doors were closed fast, of course, and no other entrances or openings were visible. Which did not stop the orcs from pounding against both that portal and the rocks around it, trying in vain to batter down the dwarves' ancient defenses.

  It was these orcs Lothar and his soldiers targeted now as they reached the top of the path and emerged onto the wide snowy ledge facing those colossal doors. The orcs spun around, surprised—they had been so busy with their own attack that between that and the winds that whipped past the peak they had not heard the Alliance 's approach. Now they tried desperately to bring weapons to bear against this new enemy, but the first row of orcs were mowed down before they could even turn around to face their attackers.

  "Do not let up!" Lothar shouted, his sword lopping off one orc's arm and then splitting another up the middle. "Drive them back against the rocks!" His men raised their shields accordingly and advanced steadily, using swords and spears to strike at any orcs that tried to breach their line and otherwise content to move them bodily back against the very edifice they had been trying to breach.

  But, as Lothar had hoped, the dwarves were well prepared. The mammoth black doors swung open with only a faint sigh and short, sturdy fighters in heavy mail poured through the opening, hammers and axes and pistols at the ready. They fell upon the orcs from the rear, and between them and the humans the orcs were quickly cut down.