He should have known the real threat would come from the north. From Orgrimmar.
As for the battleships of the other Horde races… “Tell cannoneers Whessan and Smythe to fire at will as soon as those ships are within range. We’ll need to keep their troops from landing.”
“Aye, sir.”
Aubrey’s mind was racing. How would the orcs manage it? The tauren and trolls approached by land, yes. The other races, by sea, yes. But there was no way that hundreds of orcs would be able to charge Northwatch Hold en masse directly from the north. The Rageroar orcs had been a thorn in his side but they had never been able to bring in many reinforcements. Their strongholds were merely small jutting islands between the hold and Ratchet. An army could never possibly—
He felt the sound before he heard it. It was not cannon fire; Light knew they had grown used to hearing that over the last few months. No, this was different… a deep trembling of the earth. For a second, Aubrey and most of the others, still raw from the tumult during the Cataclysm, thought it was another earthquake. But it was too regular, too… rhythmic…
Drums. Drums of war.
He reached for the spyglass hanging at his hip, hastened to the wall of the tower, and looked to the north. Until this moment, the Rageroar stragglers had been glimpsed milling about near the base of the hold, sometimes even attacking the Northwatch guards in reckless, usually fatal charges. Now there was no sign of them.
“Belay that order to send scouts!” he shouted to Blaine. “The Rageroar have returned because they’ve joined with the Horde orcs. They’ll be—”
The words died in his throat. He could see them now, cresting the hill—a great wave of orcs clad in everything from the cloth robes of their shaman and warlocks to mismatched pieces of leather to imposing plate mail. They lugged carts of wooden planks and boulders. The Rageroar had joined them, obviously expected, and the great green brutes heaved and tossed the boulders into the shallow waters with enormous splashes and roars. The infernal drums kept pounding, pounding, and the enemy was close enough so that Aubrey and the others could hear war chants being sung in Orcish. Behind the orcs were catapults, battering rams, other massive engines of war. But how could they possibly think—
It was when the orcs began laying the planks over the stones that Aubrey realized the insidious cleverness of the tactic.
“Shore up the gates!” he shouted. What little there is left of them, he thought. “Prepare for attacks on three fronts—from the harbor, from the north, and from the west!”
They’d been able to handle the Rageroar. They’d been able to handle the few tauren skirmishes that erupted from time to time on the Fields of Blood.
But this…
“Light preserve us,” he whispered.
8
The tauren and trolls had continued their march eastward as night yielded its reign to dawn. They had given the Alliance’s Forward Command a wide berth and so far had met with no resistance. Forcing their way through the Overgrowth, they found the remains of an encampment, with the campfire extinguished but the coals still warm. There was no way to tell who had built it. Horde and Alliance both were in the area, and there was always someone wandering from one place to another. The Cataclysm had caused upheaval in lives as well as land. They continued cautiously, but Baine was beginning to wonder… was it possible that their approach was yet undiscovered?
They found a small sacred site of the tauren, and Baine called a halt. “This is a sign,” Baine said. “Here is where our brothers and sisters were released from their bodies. Here we will pause, to prepare our hearts for battle and our souls for possible death. Our troll brethren, this is not your ritual, but you are welcome to approach here, to contemplate life and death and those who have gone before. And,” he added, “we will ask our ancestors to bless us, and to guide us to do what is right and best for our people.”
Baine did not suggest asking the ancestors to bless what they were about to do, for he was not at all certain they would approve. He did not think Cairne Bloodhoof would. There was a mixture of fierce battle anticipation and unease in the gathering of tauren and trolls; Baine knew his people well and could sense their divided loyalties. Loyalties that were in conflict in their leader’s heart as well.
After a few moments—where some chanted, some knelt in prayer, and others simply stood respectfully—it was time to move forward. They were on the last leg of their troubled journey. The Great Divide yawned on their left, and the path curved slightly and bore them up into gently rolling hills.
“Looks like we caught a break,” Vol’jin said.
“I don’t think any runners made it through to warn them,” Baine said.
Vol’jin peered up at him from his raptor. “Dey destroyed Camp Taurajo, mon,” he said.
“Yes,” said Baine. “They took down a military target. And their general refused to slaughter civilians. He could have given the order to massacre everyone. But he didn’t.”
Vol’jin’s eyes narrowed. “Will you be showin’ da same courtesy to dese Alliance?”
“I do not think there are any civilians in Northwatch Hold,” Baine said. He did not add that he was fairly certain that Garrosh would order him to kill any prisoners he took. Yes, it was a military target, and Garrosh was displaying good tactical leadership in wanting to see it broken.
But Garrosh wasn’t truly interested in Northwatch as a military target. To him, rendering it useless to the Alliance was not so much a strategy as a stepping stone. His true goal was Theramore. There were plenty of Alliance soldiers and sailors there. But there was also an inn. Merchants and their families dwelt there. And so did one who had never shown anything but friendship to Baine Bloodhoof.
They rounded a curve in the road. The view opened up, and Baine could see the gray and white stone of the towers of Northwatch. Just as he lifted a hand to call a halt to prepare for the rush toward the hold, the quiet of the Barrens erupted with the sound of gunfire. The trolls and tauren responded immediately, aiming their own guns and arrows up at the Alliance soldiers who were attacking from the hills.
Baine was furious. He should have expected this, but he had permitted himself to be lulled into a false sense of safety. And now his people fell in their tracks, paying the price for his foolishness.
“Forward!” he shouted, his voice carrying, fueled by his anger. “Shaman! Interrupt their fire!”
The shaman obeyed while the rest of the tauren and the trolls surged forward as swiftly as they could. The Alliance riflemen found themselves knocked off their feet, buffeted by sudden winds, or crying out in startled pain as their clothing caught fire. In the chaos that followed as the riflemen tried to regroup, the Mulgore contingent had reached the path to the hold and was engaged in fierce battle.
“The tauren are here!”
The cry was caught up and swept through the ranks of the orcs who were bearing down on the Alliance stronghold from the north. Cheers arose, and Garrosh, swinging Gorehowl as he himself led the charge, spared a moment to give Malkorok a fierce grin. He could hear the sound of massive stones striking the already damaged walls of the hold, and he threw back his head and screamed his delight.
He wished that he had done this sooner. The Cataclysm had torn down some walls of the fortress, and the foolish Alliance had not made the effort to properly restore them. Now they would regret it bitterly and pay for that neglect with blood.
The orcs stormed over the makeshift bridges of boulders and planks. A guard charged toward Garrosh, wielding a pike. He was human, strong and deft and knowledgeable with his weapon, but he could not stand against the Kor’kron encircling the warchief. Screaming their battle cries, the orcs descended upon him, hacking with swords and slamming maces against his metal-encased body. A blow landed with a crunch that was audible even amid the sounds of the drums, battle, and cannon fire, and the guard crumpled. The Kor’kron and Garrosh ran over his fallen body, though Garrosh spared the corpse a nod of approval.