It had slowed… and it was close. Closer than he had ever sensed it. There—it was coming from the north. Swiftly he dropped, veered, and headed with a renewed sense of purpose in that direction, following the trail. His eyes were fastened on the ground, and Kalec realized with a sudden, sickening jolt that his joyful anticipation of victory was terrifyingly premature.
The Horde was on the move.
“They are appeased,” said Malkorok as he rode beside his warchief.
“Of course they are,” Garrosh replied, looking proudly at the vast numbers steadily marching on Theramore. “They are warriors. They crave Alliance blood. I have held them in check. Now their thirst is even greater—and my plan is even more secure.” He thought of Baine and Vol’jin. Garrosh had learned his lesson with Cairne’s death, and while the troll and tauren leaders irritated him to no end, he knew it would be foolishness to challenge either of them to ritual combat. They were loved and respected by their people, and both did have true loyalty to the Horde, if not to Garrosh individually. Soon, they would come to heel and acknowledge that his tactics had been beyond brilliant—indeed, that he had achieved more for the Horde than any leader, including the adored Thrall, had ever done.
Then they would honor him as well as the Horde, and he would show his magnanimity to them as he had with Captain Briln. Garrosh permitted a pleased, rather smug smile to curve his lips.
Suddenly there was a great hue and cry. Everyone was pointing skyward and shouting. Garrosh squinted against the already-bright sunlight and saw a black silhouette. It was long and sleek and—
“Dragon!” he roared. “Bring it down!”
Even as he shouted, the wind riders were attacking. The Horde had an aerial front as well, composed not only of the beloved wyverns of the orcs, but bats, dragonhawks, and other creatures domesticated and used for their unique abilities. The dragon dove as it came under attack, flying irregularly to avoid huge polearms, thrown spears, and the sting of dozens of arrows, all doubtless targeting the leviathan’s sensitive eyes. It opened its mouth. A wyvern and his rider halted, encased in a sudden sheet of—
“Ice!” cried Garrosh. He threw back his head and laughed, even as the unfortunate wind rider and mount plummeted like a stone to the earth. He clapped Malkorok on the back. “Ice!” he repeated. “Behold, Malkorok, it is a blue dragon who attacks us!”
The Horde members who surrounded him did not know why he laughed, but it fueled them nonetheless. Those on the ground cheered on their embattled comrades in the sky, who harried the dragon as sparrows harry a hawk, while they set up ballistae and catapults and loaded cannons. All were now pointing skyward.
Garrosh, giddy with pleasure, raced among his people, shouting encouragement. It was he who gave the order to fire a flaming, pointed bolt almost vertically, and he who led the cheers when it was clear from the blue’s erratic movements that the bolt had struck home.
Agony ripped through Kalecgos. He had been so engrossed in following the emanations of the Focusing Iris that he had flown right into peril. The Horde had reacted swiftly and in a manner that reminded Kalec alarmingly of the battle at Wyrmrest Temple not so long ago.
The fiery bolt had seared a black groove in his side. It was not a lethal blow, not even one that had knocked him out of the sky, but it brought home that although he was a dragon, he was one, and they were many. He would not be able to help Jaina at all if he were killed now, foolishly staying to try to fight. The Focusing Iris, though close, was still heading northward as the Horde troops marched south. His worst fear—that the Horde had captured it—seemed to have been a false one. For surely if so powerful an item were in their possession, they would be bearing it south with them to use against the hated Alliance in the upcoming battle.
He steeled himself against the aching pain in his side and lashed out with his tail, sending a bat hurtling end over end while it flapped frantically, and its rider fell to a doom certain enough even for a Forsaken.
Kalec’s mighty wing beats carried him higher, safely out of range of the earthbound weapons and too swiftly for the wyverns, bats, or dragonhawks to follow. Once out of immediate danger, Kalec stretched out his long, sinuous neck and tucked in his paws, making himself as aerodynamic as possible. He headed due south, determined to give Theramore—and its lady—as much warning as possible that the Horde would soon be beating down the door.
16
“We will be facing a battle on three fronts,” Jonathan said. He stood, pointing to the map of Theramore on the table. Everyone was standing now, the shorter dwarves craning their necks to see. “From the harbor, of course. We have a good idea of how many ships are there already.”
“And if I were Garrosh, I would be holding a few in reserve and then sending them off within about four hours of the battle,” added Aubrey.
Jonathan nodded. “We should plan on that. When is the Starsword due to return?”
Shortly after the arrival of the 7th fleet, Jaina had insisted that one ship, the Starsword, be dispatched to bear the civilians of the city who wished to leave to safety. All of the children went aboard, and many of their families. Others chose to stay. It was their home; they loved it as Jaina did and wanted to defend it. Ratchet would have been the first choice, and from there the ship would have traveled to Stranglethorn. Unfortunately, while the goblins who ran Ratchet were neutral considering the flood of Horde that had recently passed through that town, Ratchet was deemed far too unsafe for Alliance refugees. So instead, the Starsword had sailed for Gadgetzan.
“The draenei shaman have assured me that with the cooperation of the air and water elementals, the trip will go much more quickly,” Jaina said.
“Perhaps,” said Stoutblow. “But the ship just sailed a few hours ago. We canna hope tae see it back afore tomorrow at the earliest.”
“Children never belong in battle,” said Tiras’alan quietly. “Even if it means we do not have a battleship available, transporting them to safety was the right choice.”
“The young are indeed too precious to risk,” said Shandris. “And also… civilians only get in the way.”
It was a harsh assessment, but Jaina and all the others knew it to be true. A battle demanded everything from those who would fight it. Worrying if children might come in harm’s way was not an option. Removing them from the equation was more than the morally right thing to do—it was a necessary and intelligent thing to do.
“The road north troubles me more than the road west,” said Jonathan, bringing them all back to the subject at hand. “We have seen no buildup at Brackenwall Village.”
“Yet,” growled Rhonin.
“Yet,” said Jonathan. “But it is likely that Garrosh’s army will march through there and either gather reinforcements or leave a portion of his troops behind to send in later if they prove to be needed. It would also be a safe place to retreat and regroup—a luxury we don’t have.”
“What about the siege weapons that are currently stationed along the western road?” said Pained. “We could bring those in closer to the city and position them at both gates.”
“What about the Grimtotem?” asked Kinndy.
“I doubt we need to worry about them,” Jaina said. “We are battling the Horde now, and even if they offered their services to Garrosh, I do not believe Baine would stand for it. Or even Garrosh. Not after what Magatha did to Cairne.”
“They could try to use the distraction of battle to their advantage,” said Vereesa. “Take the opportunity to enter the city in an attempt to loot or simply kill.”
“Only if we fall,” said Pained bluntly. “They would not dare otherwise.”
“It’s settled then,” said Jonathan. “We pull back the siege engines and—”