Malkorok roared his frustration and gave chase.
Though it looked like utter chaos, everything was going according to plan. The Horde was, as Jonathan had predicted, attacking on all three fronts. The sounds were deafening and frightening—the nearly constant boom of cannon fire, explosions to the north, and the clash of swords and the shrieking of battle cries to the west.
Jaina and Kinndy were at the top of one of the walkways facing the west. Jaina had struggled with her desire to keep Kinndy shut up safely away from harm but realized that would do the girl a disservice. Kinndy had come to her to learn, and there was no better way to learn about the horrors of war than to experience them firsthand. She kept the gnome close to her, but Kinndy had a front-row seat to the battle that raged below them.
When the horn sounded, Jaina told her apprentice, “Be ready. Do what we talked about, and strike when I do.” Kinndy nodded, swallowing hard. Jaina lifted her hands, waiting for the right moment. Dozens of Alliance fighters were running as fast as they could for the safety of Theramore. The abruptness and speed of the retreat had gained them a precious second or two, but now the Horde was coming after them.
And waiting for the Horde were more than two dozen engines of war.
“Now!” cried Jaina. She, Kinndy, and others who fought with spells instead of swords all attacked at once. Guttural cries filled the air as tauren and orc, goblin and blood elf, Forsaken and troll were set on fire or frozen or peppered with arrows.
“Well done!” Jaina cried. “The war engines will hold them back for a bit, and then we’ll return up here. Come on!”
Quickly they ran down the steps to the door. Almost all the Alliance defenders were safely inside. There were a few stragglers, slowed by their wounds or by carrying others who were wounded.
“They’re not going to make it!” yelped Kinndy, her eyes wide and round.
“Yes, they will,” Jaina said. She prayed she was right. The gates would have to be closed any second now. Come on, come on…
The last ones stumbled inside, and the gates slammed shut with an echoing boom. Kinndy and Jaina rushed forward, casting protective wards on the gates. They were joined by Thoder Windermere, and as they worked, the air around the gates seemed to shimmer and turn pale blue for a moment.
“Mage Thoder, you and Kinndy stay here. Keep an eye on the gate. Reinforce if it starts to weaken.”
“But—” Kinndy tried to protest. Jaina turned to her and spoke quickly but urgently.
“Kinndy, if that gate comes down, dozens—hundreds—of Horde will pour through. We’ve got to keep it as secure as possible. This might be the single most important thing anyone can do. You could save all our lives.” It was true. If the gates fell, the losses could be staggering.
Kinndy nodded her pink head and turned to look at the gates. She set her mouth determinedly and extended her hands, adding her skills to those of the member of the Kirin Tor.
Jaina realized that the magi were turning out to be very important in perhaps unexpected ways. Not just in the seemingly passive act of reinforcing the gates, but every Alliance vessel in the harbor had at least one mage who had great skill with fire. As Aubrey had pointed out, a single well-placed bolt of flame, on the sails or on the wooden deck, could be enough to sink an entire ship. And it seemed to be doing exactly that.
She turned and hastened to Pained, who had been one of the last to retreat. Pained was permitting a priestess to tend to a gaping wound in her thigh as Jaina ran up to her.
“Report?” Jaina asked.
“Took them utterly by surprise,” Pained said, her smile genuine but cruel. “Just as Jonathan predicted. We dropped at least a few dozen and only lost a handful. Now they are getting cannons in their faces. That should hold them for a while.”
For a while, Jaina thought, but not forever.
Pained continued, nodding her thanks to the healer and rising to put her armor back on. “There is a Blackrock orc with them. He has the livery that marks him as a member of the Kor’kron. He fights very well.”
“A Blackrock orc? Has Garrosh truly fallen so low?”
Pained shrugged. “I do not care if they are green, brown, gray, or orange; as long as they are attacking my lady’s home, I shall slay them.”
“Not this moment, but I fear soon,” Jaina said. “I cannot imagine there will not be more hand-to-hand combat. For now, please go and help with the wounded, Pained.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Jaina turned her attention to the north gate. Blastwidget, the gnome demolitions expert who had detonated so many well-placed bombs, was standing a few feet back from the gate. Jaina went to him and smiled.
“Your work has paid off, Blastwidget,” she said.
He turned a sorrowful face up to her. “It has,” he said, “but it was Captain Wymor and the others who made sure the Horde was standing in the right spot.”
Jaina’s heart sank. “They—they were supposed to retreat! They knew the safe path!”
The white-haired Sunreaver paused in his strengthening of the gate to look at them both. “Wymor and his soldiers stayed,” he said quietly. “It was a truly heroic gesture. Many of our enemies were slain. But still they come.”
“My lady,” a sentry called from the walkway, “mage Songweaver is right. They’re running right over the bodies of their dead!”
“Keep warding the gate!” Jaina cried, and she raced to the top of the nearest walkway. Like a dark wave, the Horde kept coming. The bridge had exploded, and chunks of debris and bodies floated in the water. Some of the Horde swam. Others, as the sentry had grimly reported, crawled over their comrades. Jaina lifted her hands and murmured a spell.
Ice shards rained down, some of them killing on impact, others wounding. Another quick flick of her wrist, and several Horde fighters were frozen where they stood. A fireball shattered the frozen forms as if they were statues. The wave retreated. She repeated the actions in a steady rhythm, killing at least a dozen with every methodical and debilitating strike. She could see a figure lingering just out of range, shouting orders, and recognized the distinctive demon tusks that formed the orc’s shoulder armor.
“Garrosh,” she whispered. He shouldn’t have survived the blast that had killed Wymor—but somehow he had. He could not have heard the soft sound, but at that moment he looked up and their eyes met. A sneer curled his lips, and he lifted Gorehowl and pointed at her.
Malkorok was angry—with himself, for not expecting the ambush; with the scouts, who should have discovered it; with the Alliance generals, who were too cursed clever and who had come up with the plan in the first place. The wave of stealthy rogues, druids, and hunter beasts had claimed many Horde lives. The close-quarters battle had claimed still more. Now they were being fired on by cannons and ballistae, their waves getting mowed down as they tried to approach.
He needed another tactic. He blew the horn of retreat and they fell back. Healers frantically tried to tend to the wounded while Malkorok shouted his orders.
“We are no match for their engines of war,” he said, holding up a hand to stop any angry protests. “So we must eliminate those weapons—or else take them for our own. Those of you who are clever at stalking and murder—go now. We will draw their fire. Creep up on those Alliance worms who hide safely behind their technology, and put a knife in their ribs. Then take the equipment and turn it on Theramore itself!”
The angry protests became cheers. Malkorok grunted, pleased. The strategy could not fail to work. The Alliance generals were clever, yes.
But so was he.
“For the Horde!” he shouted, and they took up the cry: “For the Horde! For the Horde! For the Horde!”