Someone appeared at his side, and he recognized Morev with some relief. The guard commander carried a long spear, and jabbed at the orc, forcing him back. "You should go see the gates, sire," he said calmly, poking at the orc again. "I will handle this." On the orc's other side Terenas could see several other guards approaching, two of them also armed with spears.
Accepting that he was no longer needed here, Terenas gratefully laid down the sword and turned away. He ducked down a short flight of steps within the rampart, coming out near a small guard's armory, and from there took a narrow walkway along the wall. It ended at a short stairway, and he leaped up the steps and onto the ramparts again, but now just above the main gates.
He could feel the heavy pounding even before he reached the rampart's edge, rattling his teeth and making the stones shake. And looking down he saw them slamming a thick tree trunk against the front gates. Even from here Terenas could tell they were shuddering from each impact.
"Shore it up," he told a young lieutenant standing nearby. "Get some men and shore up the front gates."
"With what, sir?" the young officer asked.
"Anything you can find," Terenas replied. He gazed out past the walls, at the untold number of orcs gathered there against him and his city. Beyond them he saw the glitter of metal on the bridge, and knew Turalyon and his forces had retreated to that distance so they could plan their next move. Terenas just hoped it was a good one.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"We have them!" an orc shouted, and Doomhammer grinned. Victory was within his grasp! The walls of the city still stood firm no matter how many warriors he hurled at it, but the gates were beginning to buckle from their constant ramming. And once those fell, his warriors would pour into Capital City, crushing its remaining defenders and sacking the city. With this and the elven forest as bases they could spread across the rest of the continent rapidly, driving the humans back to the shores and finally into the sea. And then the land would belong to the Horde, and they could end this war and start a new life at last.
If only the ogres were here, Doomhammer thought yet again, leaning on his hammer and watching his followers strike yet again at the city's sturdy wood and iron gates. They would have been able to scale the walls and perhaps even batter holes in the thick stone with their clubs. He wondered why Gul'dan and Cho'gall and their clans had not yet arrived. He had moved quickly across the mountains, he knew, but still they should have been here by now.
"Doomhammer!" He glanced up and saw one of his warriors pointing toward the sky. More gryphons? he wondered with a grimace. The feathered mounts had proven deadly in the forests of the Hinterlands, and equally so at Quel'Thalas. He had only seen a handful here so far, and one had flown to the castle and back but had not otherwise participated in the battle. But still he was wary. The Wildhammer dwarves were strong and sturdy, their mounts fast, and their stormhammers as deadly as the warhammers of his own people. They were not a foe to be taken lightly, despite their small stature, and if more were arriving he would need to be ready.
But the dark shape silhouetted against the clouds grew larger and larger, too long and sinuous for a gryphon, and Doomhammer heard many of his warriors cheer as its shadow fell across them. A dragon! That was good news! The massive beast could use its flames against the gates, and to clear the castle walls of defenders. The city was as good as theirs!
The dragon landed well clear of the lake, a large orc dropping from the saddle on its back as soon as it had set down, and Doomhammer strode forward, slinging his hammer back on his back.
"Where is Doomhammer?" the dragon rider was demanding. "I must speak with him!"
"I am here," Doomhammer answered, his warriors parting to let him pass. "What is it?"
The rider turned to face him and Doomhammer realized he had seen the warrior before. He was one of Zuluhed's favorites, a powerful warrior, who according to reports, had been one of the first to dare ride the still—rebellious dragons. Torgus, yes, that was his name.
"I bring a message from Zuluhed," Torgus announced, a strange expression on his broad face—Doomhammer saw anger there, and confusion, and also possibly shame and even fear.
"Tell me, then," Doomhammer replied, stepping close enough that he was within the circle of the dragon's tail as it lay coiled upon the battlefield. The other orcs nearby, recognizing this warning, backed away to give them privacy.
"It is Gul'dan," Torgus said. He was a big orc, as tall as Doomhammer himself, but would not look him in the eye. "He has fled."
"What?" And now Doomhammer understood the fear on the dragon rider's face, as he felt his blood boil with rage and his hands grip his hammer tight enough to make the wooden handle groan in protest. "When? How?"
"Shortly after you left," Torgus admitted. "Cho'gall is with him. They have the Twilight's Hammer and Stormreaver clans. They have launched the boats back into the Great Sea and are sailing south." Now he did look up, and the fear was dominated by rage. "One of my clansmen spotted them and flew down to ask why they were going the wrong way. Gul'dan killed him, used his foul magic on him. I saw it happen! I wanted to go after them but knew Zuluhed must be told. And he ordered me to come here at once."
Doomhammer nodded. "You did right," he assured the dragon rider. "If Gul'dan killed your clanmate he would not have hesitated to kill you as well, and then we would not have known of his treachery." His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. "Damn him! I knew he could not be trusted! And now he has taken the ships with him!"
"We can fly after him," Torgus offered. "Zuluhed said he would have the other dragon riders ready. We could burn the ships to ash, and every orc on them."
Doomhammer frowned. "Yes, but only if you can get close enough. Gul'dan's magic is strong, and Cho'gall is powerful as well." He smashed his hammer into the ground. "I knew those Altars he created would be a problem! And I let him transform the ogres into new warriors to fill out his own ranks!" Doomhammer bit down hard on his lip, punishing himself for his own stupidity. He had been so excited about having new weapons for the war against the humans that he had ignored his own instincts, which had warned him the warlock would only do things for his own purposes.
Torgus was still awaiting an order, but both of them turned as another orc came running up. It was Tharbek, Doomhammer's young Blackrock second, and he stopped just beyond the dragon's tail, which was flicking in annoyance.
"Yes?"
"There is a problem," Tharbek informed him bluntly. "The mountains are closed."
"What?" Doomhammer turned and stared out past the dragon, toward the Alterac Mountains. Sure enough, he could see that the steady dark stream of orcs flowing from the southern passes had stopped. "What has happened?"
Tharbek shook his head. "I do not know," he replied. "But we are no longer able to get through the passes. I have sent warriors back to scout the way but they have not returned." His expression made it clear that they should have been back by now.
"Damn it!" Doomhammer ground his teeth together. "That human betrayed us! I knew one who would sell out his own race could not be trusted!" Still, he had thought the cloaked man too frightened to turn against them. Either the Alliance had shown superior strength, or they had threatened him with something more immediate than Horde domination—or they had discovered his treachery and removed him from whatever position he had held that had enabled him to control those passes. Yes, the last was the most likely. The man had seemed too eager to negotiate to back out now, especially since there would still be Horde warriors nearby. He had been caught and removed, and others now controlled that mountain region.
That did not change the results, however. "How many orcs are trapped up there?" he demanded.