"I don't need a large margin," Lothar replied. "Just a fair fight." His face was stern. "Five days, then," he told the rest of them. "In five days we finish this."
To Turalyon the words had a ring of finality, even of doom. He just hoped the doom was not their own.
CHAPTER TWENTY—ONE
"The humans are here!"
Doomhammer glanced up from his reverie, annoyed at the fear he heard in Tharbek's voice. When had his fierce subchieftain become so weak?
"I know they are here," he growled in reply, standing and glancing behind the other orc. They were standing upon a rough ledge that had been carved from the mountaintop, in front of the fortress itself and high above the rocky plain, and from here he could see the remaining Horde spread below. The last time he had had this vantage his warriors had carpeted the plain below, leaving not a hint of the rock beneath. Now there were large patches of black rock between the green and brown, and he could pick out each family where it grouped together, slightly apart from the rest. When had his Horde grown so thin? What had he led them to? Why had he not listened to Durotan sooner and heeded his old friend's words? Everything he had been warned about was coming true!
"What will we do?" Tharbek demanded, stepping up behind him. "We do not have the numbers to repel them, not anymore."
Doomhammer glared at his second so fiercely the other orc backed away. It was true that they were fewer now, and that their forces were no longer so numerous as to blanket the world. But they were still orcs, by the ancestors! "What do we do?" he hissed at his lieutenant, pulling his hammer from its place on his back. "We fight, of course!"
Turning away from the quivering Tharbek, Doomhammer stepped farther onto the ledge. "Hear me, my people!" he bellowed, raising his hammer high. Some turned to look up but others did not, and that incensed him. He struck the cliff face a mighty blow with his weapon, and the resounding crack brought him the Horde's immediate and undivided attention.
"Hear me!" he shouted again. "I know that we have suffered defeats and setbacks, and our numbers are sorely diminished! I know that Gul'dan's treachery has cost us dearly! But still we are orcs! Still we are the Horde! And our footsteps shall shake this world!" A cheer rose from the warriors below, but it was ragged and weak.
"The humans have followed us to this place," he continued, spitting each word as if it disgusted him—which it did. "They think us beaten! They think we came here because we were fleeing their might, as a dog would flee its master! But they are wrong!" He raised his hammer again. "We came here because this is our stronghold, our place of strength. We came here because from here we can spill forth once more, covering this land with our steps. We came here so that we might pour out upon them again, and make them once more tremble at our name!" This time the cheer was louder, and Doomhammer let it wash over him. The warriors were standing and waving their weapons aloft, and he could tell they were getting worked up again. Good.
"We will not wait for them to come upon us," he told his people. "We will not sit here idly and let them dictate this battle. No. We are orcs! We are the Horde! We will bring the fight to them, and they will learn to regret ever pursuing us here! And when we have crushed them beneath us, we will march back over their corpses and once more claim their lands as our own!" He held his hammer over him with both hands, swinging it about above his head, and the cheer now shook the rocks and the very stone upon which he stood. Doomhammer felt a smile crease his face, and exulted in it. These were his people! They would not go down sniveling and pleading! If they fell, it would be in battle, and with blood on their hands.
"Ready the warriors of our clan," he told the stunned Tharbek. "My elite guard and I will lead the charge ourselves. The rest of the Horde will follow." Turning, Doomhammer glanced at the bulky figures that stood in the shadows, waiting. Each of them straightened and nodded as he caught their gaze, and Doomhammer nodded in return. These were his elite guard, and they were all ogres.
Doomhammer was a proper orc and had been raised to hate the ogres, but these were different. They were more intelligent than most of their kind, for one, but they were warriors and not warlocks. Equally as important, they were intensely loyal to him and him alone. He knew they admired his strength and courage—they seemed to see him as a small ogre himself, and had pledged themselves to his personal command. He, in turn, had come to respect their strength and rely upon their support. He knew they would die for him if necessary, and was surprised to realize he would give his life for them as well.
And now they would all risk their lives, as the Horde's victory hung in the balance.
At least the portal was safe. Rend and Maim Blackhand had survived the battle with Gul'dan and an attack by the Alliance fleet, along with some of their clanmates. They had sent a scout to Doomhammer, finding him on his way here from Khaz Modan, and he had ordered them to join the rest of their clan at the portal. He still did not trust the brothers but they proven themselves loyal to the Horde, at least, and he needed strong warriors to protect their access to Draenor. Not that he would ever consider fleeing, even if the battle turned against them.
He nodded at his ogres again. Then he made his way off the ledge, leading down toward the plain below, and the battle that awaited them.
The Alliance was not prepared for the orcs to attack. Just as Doomhammer had hoped, the humans had positioned themselves for a siege, expecting to wait the orcs out and take out any lone warriors foolish enough to show themselves beyond the protective cliffs that ringed Blackrock Mountain itself. Doomhammer's charge took them completely by surprise.
"Orcs!" a soldier shouted, running back to where Lothar and his lieutenants stood. "They've overrun our position!"
"What?" Lothar kicked his steed into motion and galloped across the black valley where he had stationed the bulk of the Alliance troops. Turalyon and the others followed close behind.
Sure enough, as he approached the front lines he heard the unmistakable sounds of battle. Then he saw them. They were orcs, but orcs like he had never seen. These were massive creatures, with thick arms and stout legs, and their hair was worn in spikes that rose above them like bird crests or horse manes. The orcs had no armor, wearing only loincloths, shoulderpads, and furry boots, and wielded their weapons with mad abandon, hacking and stabbing everything within their reach. Their green skin was heavily tattooed, and most of them had jagged bits of metal or small bits of what looked like bone shoved through ears, noses, brows, lips, and even nipples. They were savages, and the men were falling back before their frothing attack.
"Uther!" Lothar shouted, and the Paladin strode forward. He lowered his sword, indicating the orcs, and that was enough. The Paladin nodded, beckoning the other members of the Silver Hand to follow him as he lowered his helm and raised his warhammer.
"By the Holy Light!" Uther shouted, a glow springing up around him and his weapon. "We shall not suffer such beasts to live!" And he dove into the fray, his hammer slamming down upon the nearest orc's head and shattering its skull.
The sky here was always thick with clouds and soot, casting heavy shadows and blood—tinged light upon everything. But not now. The clouds parted and a beam of pure sunlight lanced down, limning Uther as he waded into the assembled Horde. The Paladin became a figure of pure light, awesome and terrifying, his every blow crushing orc warriors left and right.
The other Paladins joined him, his light suffusing them as well. The Silver Hand had expanded in the months since the war had begun, and now numbered twelve under Uther's command and not counting Turalyon. Those twelve waded into the combat, their hammers and axes and swords glowing with their faith, and the rest of the Alliance soldiers pulled back to give them space.