Nefarian grinned, his expression a mirror of his father's. "Little could be easier. We'll have the orcs and their mountain fortress waiting for you," he promised.
"Excellent." Deathwing regarded his children for a moment, then nodded. "Now I must return to our new allies, and aid them in their little tasks, that they may the more quickly turn to mine."
As their father returned the way he had come, Onyxia bared her teeth in a feral smile. "Well, brother, shall we go see to our new home and our new subjects?''
"Indeed we shall, sister," Nefarian replied with a laugh. "Good sport ahead, I think." He offered his arm, which she accepted, curling delicate, pale fingers around his powerful bicep, and together they vanished into the shadows.
A heartbeat later, the sound of great wings flapping overhead blended into the evening breeze.
CHAPTER NINE
"Faster! Faster, damn you!" Danath lashed the reins against his steed's neck. His horse whickered in protest, its mouth flecked with foam, but obeyed.
Danath didn't hear the sound of the horse's increasingly rapid hoofbeats on hard-packed earth. He heard only the sound of primitive weapons striking home, the grunts and howls of savagery, the cries of his men as they fell, taken by surprise at that strange darkness that had abruptly dropped to reveal the orcs waiting for them. They'd been led right into a trap. There was no time to strategize, no time to do anything but fight, and too many were so taken aback they didn't even have time to swing before the green tide had washed over them.
Danath closed his eyes, but he still saw them fall. Horses and men both, going down beneath the onslaught that was as efficient as it was brutal and barbaric. He'd been looking right at Farrol, about to cry out a warning, when a huge orc had literally barreled into the boy's horse and unseated him. The boy went down at once. Danath didn't see Farrol die, but he thought he'd hear his screams for the rest of his life. Farrol, all afire with a desire for battle and glory, wanting to go kill his first orc. He hadn't even had a chance to strike a blow.
Danath had realized at once, sickened, that they would fail.
His men had seen it too. And they'd known what must be done.
"Commander! Get to the fortress!" Vann had urged him, even as he struggled with a much larger opponent wielding a club. "Tell them! We'll cover you!"
Other soldiers had added their voices in monosyllables, agreeing. Danath hesitated, feeling ripped in two. Stay here and fight with his men, or flee to perhaps save them?
"Go!" Vann cried, turning his head to shout at his commander. Their eyes met. "For the Sons of Lo—"
The orc had struck in that second of inattention, his club descending with deadly force. Danath had wheeled his horse around before Vann fell, and had spurred it on, screaming insanely at the beast, galloping away from the carnage and toward the fortress. Away from Farrol, and Vann, and all the others he had led here to their deaths.
Danath bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.
They'd been right, of course. Someone had to warn Nethergarde, and he had the authority and familial connections to make himself heard. His experience and leadership skills, too, could not afford to be lost.
But by the Light, he'd never done anything harder in his life than leave his men behind. He cursed softly, shook his head to clear it, and yelled at the horse again.
The trail twisted and turned in the life-drained land. Red dust rose beneath his horse's hooves. Danath clung like a burr and glanced up at one point to see the vast stone walls of Nethergarde Keep. Already he could see guards atop its parapets, pointing down at him and no doubt alerting others to his approach.
'Open the gates!" he shouted as loud as he could, holding his shield high before him so they could see the Alliance symbol emblazoned there. "Open the gates!"
The heavy timber and iron gates slowly parted, and he galloped on through without slowing. Once inside Danath slipped from his saddle and turned to the nearest soldier. "Who's in charge here?" he demanded, realizing he was gasping for breath.
"Sir, state your name and business, please," the soldier replied.
"I don't have time for this," Danath growled, grabbing the soldier by his breastplate collar and drawing him close. "Who's in charge?"
"I am," a voice said from behind him. Danath released the soldier and spun around, to find himself facing a tall, broad-shouldered man in the violet robes that marked him as one of the Dalaran wizards. The man had long white hair and a matching beard, but behind the lines on his face his eyes were young and alert.
"Danath Trollbane, isn't it?" the mage asked. "1 thought you were with Turalyon?"
Danath nodded, both in confirmation of the mans statement and in recognition of Khadgar's identity, and sucked in air to speak. "Close the gate and arm your men! The Horde is here!"
Khadgar's eyes widened, but he did not argue. He signaled with his hand and men rushed to obey his silent commands. The gate was closed as someone came to take Danath's poor overworked mount and another approached with a waterskin. "What's happened?"
"Turalyon sent me with half the men we had at Stormwind." Danath gulped down water, warm but wet, and nodded cursory thanks to the man who'd brought it to him. "We left as soon as he received your message. He'll follow with the rest." He shook his head, wiping his mouth. "We were too late. The orcs have already rebuilt the portal, and they were waiting for us there. My boys… never stood a chance."
Khadgar nodded, his eyes somber. "I am sorry for their loss, but your warning gives us time to prepare. If the Horde plans to invade Azeroth again they will have to get past us first. And Nethergarde was built for this. They will not find this keep so easily taken."
"How will you defend it?" Danath asked, sufficiently recovered from his ride to glance around. "Doesn't look like you have that many soldiers, and I don't see any ballistae or other siege engines along the walls."
"We do not have many soldiers, it is true," Khadgar agreed. "But that does not mean we are without defenses, or weapons. You will see."
"I suppose I will." Danath bared his teeth in a smile. “And when they come, I will be waiting."
The orcs arrived an hour later.
They swept up the path, filling the trail like water roiling down a narrow chute, elbowing each other aside in their haste to reach the keep's sturdy outer walls. Danath and Khadgar stood upon one of the taller parapets, watching the scene below.
"Damn… there are hundreds of them," Danath whispered, watching the Horde literally fill the plain before the keep and advance in a great sheet of flesh and weaponry. In the thick of the battle, he had not been able to notice the sheer numbers.
"Indeed," Khadgar said. The young-old mage did not seem concerned. "Not as many as during the Second War, though — either they lost much of their strength in those battles or they are withholding part of their full force now." He shrugged. "Not that it matters. We will deal with whatever they throw at us. You inquired about the keep's defenses? Watch."
He pointed, and Danath made out splashes of color all along the walls. Men and women stood there, clad in violet robes much like Khadgar's own. The archmage nodded then, and all the magi raised their hands as one. Danath felt his hair stand on end, and heard a faint hum. Then lightning arced down, destroying the first wave of orcs and scattering many of those behind them.
"Impressive," Danath acknowledged, his ears ringing from the accompanying thunderclap. "But how many times can they do that?"
Khadgar smiled. "I expect we're about to find out."
Turalyon crouched low over his horse, urging it on to greater speed. Even though he knew that waiting for reinforcements in the form of Alleria's rangers had been wise, something inside him insisted that they might be too late — that something was already happening at Nethergarde. He wasn't sure if it was a soldier's instinct or his own insecurities, but the paladin, normally gentle with beasts, kicked his horse again and again.