But if the horn stirred the post for the wrong reasons, at least she saw that it served its other purpose. The lead scout glanced over her shoulder, saw Denea gesturing, and had the party turn about.
“Praise Elune . . . ” Haldrissa moved forward to meet the descending hippogryphs. She had a few instructions to pass on to the scouts before hurrying to write out the new messages to Darnassus.
A cry above made her stumble. Near her, Denea let loose with an oath.
One of the scouts dropped limply from her mount, plunging to the ground as the other night elves stared in horror.
The fletchings of two arrows thrust up over her back as she landed. Haldrissa had fought too many battles not to recognize the Horde markings.
The sky was suddenly filled with arrows. At first the commander thought that the archers had miscalculated the distance, for the bolts flew too high to properly descend upon the Sentinels below.
Only when one of the other scouts and her mount were struck several times did Haldrissa see the terrible logic: it was not the encampment that was the immediate target; it was the scouts.
The Horde was already prepared for her plan.
As the arrows brought down the second scout, other shouts arose ahead. Haldrissa saw several warriors pointing to the east.
Smoke rose from two other locations. She did not have to guess its origins. Two of the outposts lay in those directions.
“Sentinels, form ranks!” Denea cried out. “Prepare for imminent attack!”
As Sentinels—including blue-armored huntresses with shields and glaives—raced to obey, Haldrissa stirred in frustration. Those were orders she should have given. She eyed the forest beyond, wondering how the Horde had gotten so near in such numbers. They had clearly made several forays into the area to have such an excellent understanding of their surroundings.
But she also knew the terrain well. “Denea! Twenty to the southeast edge of the post! They will have to come from there! I want a mounted force of huntresses with shields and lances readied!” With the Horde presence in Ashenvale having grown over the past months, General Shandris had decided to include lancers—a seldom-utilized aspect of the night elf armies since the end of the War of the Ancients—in the Sentinels’ arsenal of weapons. “Get the other—”
A hippogryph’s squawk cut her off. Another of the winged creatures dropped. Her rider, a shaft through her arm, managed to jump off before the creature hit.
The last of the scouts managed to land. However, even the ground proved no sanctuary. More arrows flew, these designed to target those within the encampment and, Haldrissa saw, especially the area where the hippogryphs were kept. Worse, the landing scouts had given the archers a fairly good notion of just where that was.
Someone among the attackers had planned very, very well.
“Get the hippogryphs to cover!” Haldrissa ordered. She drew her glaive. There was still no sign of the invaders themselves, but that would surely change in moments. Haldrissa had to use what little time remained to her advantage.
Her gaze fell upon Kara’din, who ran from wounded fighter to wounded fighter, using his druidic powers to heal them as best he could. The commander chose to leave Kara’din to his own devices for the moment as additional concerns occurred to her.
“Archers, form ranks!” She saw that some had already begun to, but as a whole they were not moving as quickly as Haldrissa would have hoped. “Northeast, east, southeast! Twenty paces from the gate!”
Of necessity, the main post was surrounded by high wooden walls. When it was being built, the trees sacrificed had been honored as if they were fellow warriors. Haldrissa now prayed that the trees had retained their great prowess even in death. She suspected that the Sentinels would need it.
Guards on the wall crouched low as they surveyed the forest beyond. Thus far, they had given no sign of sighting the enemy, although a few moved about as if momentarily believing that they had.
The deadly whistle of another rain of arrows filled Haldrissa’s ears. Denea shouted a warning to the gathering huntresses to quickly raise their shields.
Arrows clattered against the shields. Unfortunately, some of the huntresses did not move fast enough. Screams rose as at least three of them fell with shafts sticking in them and others struggled with wounds. Haldrissa looked for her own archers and was grateful to see them ready to return fire.
Arrows nocked, the archers awaited the word. The commander gave it to them without hesitation.
Now the whistling became a sign of hope as night elven arrows soared out over the wall. Haldrissa raced toward it, aware that she would not be there in time to see the bolts descend, but hopeful that there would be evidence of their success.
She heard cries from without as she climbed. More than a few. The orcs might have good archers among them, but they were not Sentinels. Haldrissa was certain that her people would inflict far more damage. She only hoped that it would be enough.
As if in answer to her question, another stream of arrows returned just as the commander reached the top. Although she managed to duck, the Sentinel nearest to her was too slow with the shield she carried. The thick arrow completely piercing her throat, the dead night elf toppled back off the wall.
Haldrissa peered into the forest. For the first time, the Horde began stepping from the protection of the trees. They were spread throughout the edge of the forest in various positions, and while a few had bows, others seemed intent on merely watching.
No . . . not watching. Counting. Counting the return fire and the number of Sentinels on the walls.
Squatting down again, Haldrissa turned back to those farther inside. “Cease fire! Cease fire!”
Below, Denea looked as if her superior had gone mad. She hesitated long enough for another rush of arrows to answer those from the Horde. Haldrissa silently cursed as the bolts flew over her. The orcs were expert warriors; by now they could make a good estimate on the Sentinels’ strength in terms of the archers.
Sure enough, as she looked outside again, she saw the orcs at the edge begin to creep back. Simultaneously, the forest quieted. No new flight assailed the night elves.
“They have retreated,” one younger Sentinel naïvely murmured to a comrade. “They are gone.”
“No,” the commander replied, startling the pair and others nearby who, in the excitement, had forgotten that she was there. “No, they have only moved back a little for a short time. We remain under attack. The first person to forget that will likely not have to worry about punishment from me. The Horde will have already killed her.”
The warriors grew solemn, and several tightened their grips on their weapons. That was how Haldrissa wanted it. If they remained ready for the worst, they had a far better chance of survival.
She quickly descended to Denea. “How are the archers?”
“A few wounded, three dead. Say the word and we will send another greeting to those vermin!”
“Never mind that. The hippogryphs! Were they able to get most of them to cover?”
“Four are uninjured. Two more are wounded but able to fly. Two others have injured wings and cannot be counted. Another is sorely wounded, and I fear he will die.”
Six viable hippogryphs. It was better than Haldrissa had hoped, although fewer than she would have liked.
“We do not have much time. See if Kara’din can do anything for the less-injured ones first,” Haldrissa ordered. She paused as a dark look passed over Denea’s face. “What is it?”
“I meant to tell you next. The druid is dead. In the last flight of arrows, a good number fell his direction. He was focused on our wounded and failed to protect himself sufficiently. I believe he died quickly, pierced so many times.”
Haldrissa cursed. “They saw a chance to take out the druid. Where is Parsis?”
“No sign. He may be dead already.”
The commander could not waste more time on the subject. The Sentinels had survived without druidic assistance for millennia and would
do so now. “We move on, then. Get every archer ready quickly. The Horde will not wait long before beginning their attack in earnest. We do not know how many of the outposts have been hit and how many of those have been overrun already. We need to get word to Darnassus, but this time I want sufficient cover for the hippogryphs and their riders.”
“Do they each carry a copy of the message?”
“Damn the message! At this point all they have to tell General Shandris is that Ashenvale is under full assault. Now, go get them ready!”
Denea rushed off with a swiftness that the veteran warrior suddenly envied. Haldrissa already felt as if she had fought an entire battle, not merely the opening skirmish.
The archers reassembled, though initially they kept in a loose enough arrangement that if the orcs fired at where they had initially stood, there would be few casualties. It bothered Haldrissa to even think of success being measured by trying to have losses kept to a minimum, but that was war. The more of her fighters she saved, the better, even if it meant some others might have to sacrifice themselves . . . including her.
The hippogryphs were ready just a few minutes later. In all that time, the orcs had not fired one shot nor even sounded one horn. Haldrissa worried about that. Whoever was in charge of the attack had something insidious in mind, she was certain.
Denea signaled her. Haldrissa silently motioned for the archers to ready themselves. When they had their bows nocked and aimed, she nodded to the brave scouts and hippogryphs, then to her second.
Denea waved off the party. The great winged creatures flew into the air, their riders bent low. Each animal took a slightly different direction, but all headed toward the west.
“Fire!” Haldrissa commanded.
The front ranks of the archers let loose. The second held back, though, just as she had ordered.
The stream of arrows soared out toward the forest. As that happened, the hippogryphs beat their wings harder. They rose higher and higher.
Again, Haldrissa gave the order to fire. The latter ranks shot. All the while, those who had first fired readied their bows once more.
There was no return fire yet. Haldrissa almost held her breath, waiting for the Horde to try to shoot down the hippogryphs. Yet, they did nothing.
At last, the winged creatures and their riders were out of bow range. The commander finally breathed a sigh of relief.
“Look there!” someone cried.
Haldrissa looked for the long-awaited flight of Horde arrows, but instead a more stunning view awaited her. High above and closing fast from the east were nearly a dozen blurry specks that coalesced just enough to reveal reptilian forms with batlike wings. Red reptilian forms.
“Red dragons . . . ” Haldrissa at first gasped before recognizing that these were more bestial in appearance, and more primitive of form. “No . . . red proto-dragons . . .”
She had only heard of them in Northrend, but there had been rumors that the Horde had attempted to bring them to other regions. Savage creatures with stouter, toothy muzzles, they raced along the sky with clear intent. Their wings had sharp points to them, and the proto-dragons roared with monstrous eagerness as they closed.
Too late, Haldrissa realized that she had played exactly into the Horde’s hands. With an attack already under way, they had expected her to try to send another warning to Darnassus.
Haldrissa had just sent the riders and their mounts to their doom.
The Horde could not have many proto-dragons. These were likely most if not all. However, these were all they needed. Almost double the number of hippogryphs, the proto-dragons broke off in pairs to pursue the as-yet-unsuspecting riders.
A horn blared, Denea seeking to warn the scouts. Yet, even though some clearly reacted, it was too late. The proto-dragons—and their orc riders—had been waiting in hiding so near that it did not take them much time to overtake their quarry.
Hippogryphs were hardly defenseless, and those working with the Sentinels were especially adept at battle. Unable to gain enough distance on their pursuers, most of the hippogryphs turned to face the proto-dragons. The scouts readied their bows.
One fortunate scout got off a shot that swiftly dealt with the orc astride one proto-dragon. The dead warrior tumbled off the side of his mount and dropped like a rock toward Ashenvale.
Two proto-dragons caught a hippogryph between them. The hippogryph slashed with his talons, raking the snout of the nearest proto-dragon. The orc rider tried to aim his own bow, but the wound made his shot go wide. The hippogryph’s rider fired back with success equal to the previous scout, sending another Horde corpse falling to the ground.
Unfortunately, in focusing on the one proto-dragon, the hippogryph by necessity had to pay little attention to the other. The scout tried to nock another arrow in order to deal with the second, but in the process left herself open to the axe of that proto-dragon’s rider.
The orc struck hard, the axe blade crushing through armor, flesh, and bone. With a cry, the scout clutched the bleeding stump of an arm. The night elf was put out of her misery by a second swing of the blade, leaving the hippogryph to fend for himself while still bearing the dead rider.
The brave creature managed another good swipe, this time at the underbelly of the second proto-dragon. The beast let out a pained roar and tilted to the side. The orc tried to cling on, but with one hand still gripping the axe, he could not.
What saved him was the first proto-dragon, which appeared as if by silent command under the dropping orc. Grabbing hold, the orc repositioned himself on his new mount.
Both the badly injured proto-dragon and its comrade closed on the hippogryph. Fangs tore into a wing. Claws ripped at a neck.
The hippogryph made one last lunge at the most wounded of his adversaries. He tore into the throat of the proto-dragon. The proto-dragon planted its nails on one of the hippogryph’s wings.
So entangled, both plummeted to their doom.
In an attempt to see their mission to fruition, two of the hippogryphs attempted to flee west. One did not make it far, and although the scout tried to aid by firing at their pursuers, a proto-dragon managed to cut the creature off. Unlike in the previous struggle, the hippogryph and night elf were unable to put up much of a defense before both were ripped to shreds by the combination of teeth, nails, and axes.
The full aerial combat quickly began to shrink as the trapped defenders fell one after another. Two more proto-dragons perished—as did their orcs—but soon there were only the one scout and hippogryph still seeking to outrace the two mounted proto-dragons slowly but surely closing. The trap had been set well, and Haldrissa felt personally responsible for each death she witnessed.
Worse, there was nothing she could do but watch as the last was trapped. The scout and his hippogryph fought as valiantly as their comrades, even bringing down one of the other proto-dragons and its rider, but in the end, they, too, fell. The entire struggle had taken place over perhaps four minutes, though to Haldrissa it had seemed a horrific eternity.
The Sentinels had not simply stood by as this all happened. Lancers astride nightsabers readied to lead the charge out the gates. Sentinels on foot held their glaives steady. Archers held off their fire, now awaiting the word that the Horde was finally attacking in earnest.
The guards on the walls cautiously peered through carved gaps, waiting for the first rush of orcs.
But nothing happened.
13
JAROD’S HUNT
Although Velen’s arrival had not been expected, there was no question as to his staying as an honored guest, just like the rest of those representing the Alliance. However, the Prophet was not one who desired much in the way of accommodations, and insisted on a simple chamber. Tyrande saw that he received one that still faced him toward the temple proper.
The tranquility of the Temple Gardens appealed to Velen, and so the present moment found him meditating there. The draenei sat with legs crossed, facing the center of the gardens, his concentration
on the Light. The two honor guards the high priestess had assigned to him he had requested to stay behind at his quarters, their presence surely not needed in this of all places.
He suddenly sensed the presence of someone else approaching him—someone who also had a tremendous affinity for the Light. It could be only one person. Without looking, Velen quietly said, “Welcome, Anduin Wrynn.”
The human did not seem at all surprised that Velen sensed him, a further sign that the Light was very strong with King Varian’s son.
“Hello, Prophet. I—I’m sorry if I disturb you.”
“Please, the title is one given to me by others. I prefer simply Velen.” The draenei smoothly rose. “Your father does not know you are here.”
“No . . . he thinks I’m asleep. . . . ” Anduin could not hide his guilt.
“It is not for me to judge whether you should have stayed in your quarters or not. That is for you to decide.”
This statement seemed to put Anduin at ease a bit. “I’m old enough to make my own choices, despite what my father thinks. I love him, but he fears so much to lose me again—or to lose me forever, as he did Mother—that he nearly smothers me. I can never be out of his sight for more than a few minutes.”
“One can understand his concern . . . and your difficulty with it, as well.”
“Proph—Velen, you know why I’ve come here.”
“You wish to speak more of the Light. I am happy to tell you what I know, if you respect that I will not seek to guide you from your father.”
Anduin nodded, at that moment looking to Velen much like the king. “I wouldn’t ask it. I only want to learn more.” He put a hand to his heart. “I feel the Light here. I feel it more every day. It’s as much a part of me as anything else is.”
“Yes. It is extremely strong where you are concerned.” Velen glanced around the gardens, but there was no one else about. “We can talk for a time, if you like, so long as you promise me you will return to your quarters afterward.”
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