Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War Page 20
• • •
Kalecgos flew over Theramore, doing reconnaissance to see how the battle was progressing and where he was needed. He saw the Horde flood into the city and immediately began pressing the attack. He breathed a cloud of frost on them, slowing their movements, then rose, wheeled, and attacked a second time.
He dove, caught Jaina up in his forepaw, and bore her upward—not taking her out of her battle, no, but giving her a dragon’s-eye view.
“Where do you most need me?” he asked. “And where should you be?”
She was completely relaxed in the grasp of his huge forepaw. Her hands rested on a great talon, and she peered down, the wind from his wings whipping her hair about her face.
“The north gate!” she cried. “There are so many still out there—we must stop any more coming in! Kalec—can you bring some trees and boulders to block the entrance and then focus on the Horde remaining outside? Drive them back?”
“I will,” Kalec promised. “And you?”
“Put me on the top of the citadel roof,” she said. “I can see nearly everything from there and can attack without being a target myself.”
“Save for those who take to the air,” Kalec said, warning her.
“I know it’s a risk, but it can’t be helped. Hurry, please!”
At once Kalec veered toward the citadel and placed Jaina on its roof with exquisite gentleness. She gave him a heartfelt smile of gratitude. Kalec started to rise, but she held a hand out to him, imploring him to stop.
“Kalec, wait! You should know—Garrosh is with the forces at the north gate! If we can capture him—”
“Then we can end this war right now,” he replied. “I understand.”
“Stop the flow through the gate—then try to find Garrosh!”
He nodded, rose, turned, breathed frost once more upon the Horde combatants still pouring in from the north gate, then headed toward the swamp.
• • •
From her position, Jaina had an excellent view. She looked to the harbor. It seemed as though the two sides were evenly matched; there were Horde ships and Alliance both aflame, and she could see the banners of each side fluttering plaintively aboard half-sunken wreckage. The west gate held, and she felt a fierce swell of pride in Kinndy. Several hunters, magi, warlocks, and others who could fight well from a distance were lined along the walkways.
She turned to the north, and she felt both sadness and resolution. With so many in close quarters, she needed to target cleanly, so as to wound or kill the enemy without harming a fellow member of the Alliance.
Her eyes fell first upon Baine, and she felt a pang. Baine was locked in combat with Pained, and she realized that as long as there were other enemies to fight, she could not bring herself to attack the tauren high chieftain. And Light knew, there were plenty of other targets—undead wielding swords with arms that were half-rotting; massive orcs; small, swift goblins; beautiful sin’dorei who moved like dancers.
She focused on an orc shaman whose dark-hued garb seemed to more resemble that of a warlock than the pleasant natural hues Go’el had worn. Jaina murmured a spell, and shards of ice went flying toward the shaman. They pierced his black robes like so many daggers, and he arched in pain. He dropped, and Jaina, regretfully but efficiently, sought another target.
• • •
It was the first crashing sound of a boulder being dropped in front of the ruined gate that alerted Vol’jin that perhaps Garrosh’s plan had a flaw. A big one.
He was in the courtyard with many others, using his connections with the loa to help his brothers and sisters. An undulating, hissing serpent ward kept several Alliance soldiers from attacking Horde members. He whirled, momentarily distracted as the boulder slammed down.
He swore in his native tongue, glancing about. Baine was battling beside Garrosh. The blue-haired night elf seemed to be giving Baine a good fight. Several Alliance defenders, including two dwarves dressed in very formal armor, were attacking Garrosh. A few moments earlier, the blue dragon had passed over them, slowing their movements. And now, that same creature was determined to shore up the gate.
Vol’jin fought his way up to Garrosh and Baine. Shouting to be heard over the din, he cried in Orcish, “Dat dragon be tryin’ to trap us!”
Baine’s long ears swiveled forward, and then the high chieftain skillfully maneuvered himself and the elf he was fighting so he could see. His eyes widened. The elf leaped on him, but Baine got his mace up and slammed her away. She turned the fall into a roll and started to come at him again. Swiftly Vol’jin set the serpent ward upon her, buying the tauren a brief respite.
“Garrosh!” bellowed Baine. “We will be sealed inside!”
Garrosh grunted and risked a quick glance. Strangely, he did not seem too concerned. “Agreed. Fall back, my Horde! Fall back to your brothers!”
A horn sounded the retreat. The boulder was joined by a large tree. A shaman called out for aid from the elements, and the boulder rolled away slightly, widening the gap. The Horde, once so keen to enter Theramore, now hastened to leave it. The Alliance, however, did all they could to stop the escape, renewing their efforts in hand-to-hand combat and shoring up the broken gate as fast as the Horde could tear it down.
Baine hung back, trying to fend off the persistent night elf, buying time for his people to escape. Vol’jin called to his trolls, though it was clear the bloodlust was high in them and they did not wish to stop fighting. Garrosh, strangely, hurried out, pausing to call back to those who did not follow at once.
“Baine!” he shouted. “Retreat now! I have no wish to mount a rescue party to save your furry hide!”
With a growl, Baine forced the night elf to dodge, slammed her once more with his mace, and raced through the ever-narrowing crack in the gate.
• • •
They were retreating! Again the deep song of the Horde war horn cut through the air. Not only were the attackers from the north fleeing back through the swamp, but those on the west were also hastening toward safety.
Jaina turned, trying to see if the same order had been given to the ships in the harbor. It seemed so—as she watched, shaking a little with released tension, the Horde vessels that remained were sailing for open water. The 7th fleet did not pursue, doubtless on Admiral Aubrey’s orders.
Jaina let out a long breath. A large shadow blocked the sun for a moment. Peering up, she saw Kalecgos hovering. He dropped lower, reaching out a forepaw to her, and she happily climbed into it.
“We won, Kalec!” Jaina cried. “We won!”
18
“He is gone!” snapped Pained. “That cursed traitor Songweaver—he is gone! I am getting reports that a small group of Horde came in and freed him!”
“I will take some Sentinels and try to find them,” Shandris stated. “They must not be allowed to escape.”
“Indeed, they cannot,” said Vereesa. “I will not let a blood elf reveal how we stand now. If you search the north road, I and a few others will see to the west.” She turned to Rhonin. “I anticipate we will be back soon.”
“I would tell you to be safe, my love, but that would be redundant,” said Rhonin. Both appeared exhausted. Vereesa was spattered with blood that was, thankfully, not her own, and Rhonin looked as if a good stiff breeze would blow him over. Still, they knew their duties and would never shirk them.
She slipped into his arms and they kissed with the familiarity of lovers and companions who knew each other’s body well. The kiss was sweet, but they did not linger.
“Rest, if you can,” Vereesa urged. Rhonin snorted. She grinned. “I said, if you can.”
“I’ll try. But there are many wounded, and even those of us who can’t conjure a healing spell to save our souls can wrap bandages.”
“This is why I love you so,” she murmured. “I will be back soon, my love.” Shandris and her Sentinels had already departed through the north gate. Vereesa’s warriors were mounted and waiting as she hastened to a fresh horse, lea
ping atop it with lithe grace. She did not look back as they rode out the west gate. Rhonin didn’t expect her to. His wife had made her farewells and was on to her duty, as he should be on to his.
• • •
Jaina’s first duty in those early moments, when it sank in that, yes, they had won, was to care for her people. Such was always her first responsibility. She spoke briefly to Jonathan, who updated her on the status of their defenses. He assured her that the marines of the entire Seventh Fleet would be coming ashore and offering their aid to the injured, and that it was the gryphon roosts and other aerial defenses that had taken the most damage.
“Do you think they will return?” she asked.
“Doubtful. They suffered many casualties and will need time to regroup. Besides, we’ve got a dragon if they send more than ground troops.”
Jaina had to smile at that. “Then let’s get to helping those who need it,” she said. A quick look around assured her that the other generals were taking charge of the injured as well. Hunters set their pets to sniffing out still-living bodies in the rubble, and even as Jaina watched, two people were pulled out from beneath piles of stone and wood. They were wounded but smiling—and alive.
Dr. VanHowzen looked up as she entered the infirmary. “Lady Jaina,” he said, “please move back about three steps.”
She quickly did as she was told, and two soldiers carrying a third on a stretcher ran past her. The infirmary was filled to overflowing. Blue sky could be glimpsed from a hole in the roof, but it appeared as though the building would hold. “What do you need, Doctor?” Jaina asked.
“We need to spread out into the courtyard area,” he said. “And tell the most experienced healers to come meet me here. We can use their help. Anyone else will just get in the way right now.”
Jaina nodded briskly. VanHowzen stabbed a bloody finger at her. “And you and the rest of your magi, get something to eat. I don’t want to have to be treating you too. These soldiers need me more.”
Jaina smiled wanly. “Message received.” She turned and went back outside, mindful of those hurrying in with the wounded. She conjured bread and water, an easy spell, enough to fuel her for a little while, and forced herself to eat, although she was far from hungry.
They had won, Jaina thought sadly as she looked around, but not without cost. All the gryphons and hippogryphs, along with their riders, had been slain. Their furry, feathered bodies lay where they had fallen, pierced by arrows or blasted by spells, their roosts destroyed by the Horde intruders who had spirited away the traitor Songweaver. The beasts had not died alone, however; the bodies of giant bats, dragonhawks, and lionlike wyverns also sprawled on the ground of Theramore.
She spied a small figure wandering aimlessly where the inn had once stood. Jaina hurried up to Kinndy, relieved that her apprentice had survived. The face that Kinndy turned up to her, though, made her heart ache.
Kinndy was pale. Even her lips were bloodless. Her eyes were enormous but dry, and Jaina reached down and stroked her messy pink hair comfortingly.
“I thought I knew… what it would be like,” the gnome said quietly. Jaina found it hard to believe that this sweet, soft voice had once exchanged ribald jokes with Tervosh or had challenged a dragon.
“You can read all the books in the world, Kinndy, but no one ever knows what battle will be like until she’s in it,” Jaina said.
“You… had the same experience?”
Jaina thought back to her first encounter with the risen dead in the lands that would later be known as the Plaguelands. More vividly than she wished, she recalled walking into one of the farmhouses, breathing in the sickly sweet reek of carrion; the cries of the shambling thing that had once been a living human being, attacking her; and her own attack with a fireball, adding the smell of incinerated flesh to the miasma. She had burned the farmhouse down, consigning more of the walking corpses to true death. This battle had been different but in many ways the same. Anything that involved violence and killing or being killed was the same, as far as it affected her. Even now, she felt a chill touch her like the brush of a bony hand, and she shivered.
“Yes,” she said, “I had the same experience.”
“Do you… get used to seeing this?” Kinndy spread her short arms to indicate the bodies still strewn about. “Seeing people who were alive and well only a few hours ago now… like this?”
Her voice broke on the last word, and Jaina was relieved to see tears, finally, in the girl’s eyes. Being able to grieve was the first step in healing from such horror.
“No, you don’t,” Jaina said. “It hurts, every time. But the… unfamiliarity of it goes away, and you learn that you can go on. That those you’ve lost would want you to go on. You’ll remember how to laugh and be thankful and enjoy life. But you won’t ever forget.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to laugh again,” said the girl. Jaina almost believed her. “Why me, lady? Why did I survive and all of them didn’t?”
“We will never know the answer to that. All we can do is honor those who aren’t here by living our own lives to the fullest. Making sure their deaths meant something. Think of how much your parents love you and how grateful they will be that you weren’t killed.” Jaina smiled a little, though it was tinged with melancholy. “Think of how grateful I am that you weren’t killed.”
Kinndy looked up at her searchingly, and then the faintest ghost of a smile touched her pale lips. Jaina felt another knot in her stomach untie. Kinndy was made of strong stuff. She would be all right.
Jaina broke off a chunk of bread and gave it to the girl. “You handled yourself very well, Kinndy. You did me and your family proud.”
Jaina wasn’t sure what to expect. It wasn’t what happened next. Kinndy, smart-mouthed, independent Kinndy, dropped the piece of bread to the bloodied earth, turned to Jaina, wrapped her arms around her mentor, and sobbed as though her heart would break.
Her own blue eyes sorrowful, Jaina gazed at the aftermath of battle, knelt down, and held her apprentice tight.
• • •
Of all the races that had given their allegiance to the Horde, there was no question that the tauren were among the most peaceable. Slow to anger, quick to forgive, stalwart and steadfast. But when a tauren did find a reason for fury and outrage, it was usually wisdom to move out of his way.
The throngs of Horde soldiers scurried to one side when Baine came through.
He strode heavily, angrily, his tail lashing, his ears flat. He did not request an audience with the warchief. He bellowed his demand for it, as his father before him had.
“Garrosh!” The roar of the normally calm bull silenced any other conversation and caused heads to whip around. Followed by Hamuul Runetotem and, hanging back slightly, Vol’jin, Baine marched up to where the warchief stood on the far west side of the bridge over Dustwallow Bay, arms folded, gazing at Theramore. He did not turn when Baine called his name. Heedless of any repercussions to himself, Baine grabbed Garrosh’s arm and whirled the orc about to face him. At that moment the Kor’kron surged forward, Malkorok in the forefront, but Garrosh shook his head before they could move to slice the angry tauren into so much meat.
Baine shoved a bloody piece of cloth into Garrosh’s face, growling furiously. This did get a reaction out of Garrosh, who snatched away the cloth and snarled at Baine.
“That, Garrosh, is the blood of a young tauren who died obeying your orders! Your commands! The commands that have left far too many stiffening in these muddy waters for no purpose!” shouted Baine. “It is a more fitting decoration than your tattoos, Garrosh!”
Malkorok was there, shoving the mighty bull so hard that Baine actually stumbled backward a step. Malkorok seized Baine’s wrists in his powerful warrior’s hands and started to twist, his missing fingers not hampering the strength of his grip. Garrosh had wiped his face clean of the bloody smears and now said, “Let him go, Malkorok.”
For a moment, it seemed as though the Blackrock orc woul
d refuse the direct command. Then, his body visibly straining against it, he released Baine, spat on the ground, and stepped back.
Garrosh regarded Baine and then, to the tauren’s utter disbelief, began to laugh. It was a slow, deep rumble of mirth, building to a loud guffaw that seemed to echo across the water. “You stupid beast,” said Garrosh, still chuckling. Facing Baine, he extended a hand and pointed back toward Theramore. “The moment of our victory has finally come!”
Baine gaped. Behind him, Vol’jin recovered first. “What in da name of da spirits you be tinkin’, mon? We just lost! Not just lost—it was a disastah!”
“Disaster,” repeated Garrosh, rolling the word around in his mouth as if tasting it. “No, I do not think so. You were all so very angry with me for waiting. You had secret meetings; you complained to me again, and again, and again. You did not trust my wisdom. My plans. And now, can you tell me what my decision to wait has bought us?”
“Defeat?” said Runetotem, spitting the word like acid.
Again Garrosh laughed, that inexplicable and inappropriate laughter that only threw fuel on the fire of Baine’s grief and fury. He thought again of those he had lost, to no real purpose other than to satisfy Garrosh’s ego. But before Baine could speak, Garrosh dropped the amused expression and drew himself up to his full height.
“Behold what happens to those who dare stand against the will of the warchief of the Horde!”
To Baine’s confusion, he pointed again, but not toward Theramore or the harbor in which the ruins of Horde ships were sinking. Garrosh Hellscream pointed up.
So engrossed in his pain and anger had Baine been that he hadn’t even noticed that they had had to shout to be heard above a whirring, buzzing noise. It was coming closer, and Baine could feel it shaking his very bones. Far off, now a fair distance from the docks but drawing nearer with each moment, flew not a dragon—as might have been an expected sight in a previous war—but a giant goblin sky galleon. Beneath it, fastened securely to the hull, was a large spherical object. So shocking was the sight that for an instant, Baine didn’t even know what he was looking at.