Tides of Darkness

CHAPTER EIGHT

"A re we ready?"

Turalyon gulped and nodded. "Ready, sir."

Lothar nodded and turned away, frowning, and for a second Turalyon worried the expression was because of him. Had he given the wrong response? Had Lord Lothar wanted more detail? Was there something else he was supposed to say or do?

Stop it, he warned himself. You're panicking. Again! Calm down. You're doing fine. He's frowning because we're about to go into battle, not because you've disappointed him.

Forcing himself not to think about it any more, Turalyon gave his gear one more inspection. The straps of his armor were all good and tight, his shield was steady on his arm, his warhammer was slung from the saddle—horn. He was ready. As ready as he could be.

Looking around, he studied the other figures nearby. Lothar was talking to Uther, and Turalyon envied both men their poise. They looked slightly impatient but otherwise completely calm. Was that just something you picked up as you got more experience? Khadgar was looking out over the plain, and must have sensed Turalyon's gaze because he turned and gave him a weary smile.

"Nervous?" the mage asked.

Turalyon grinned despite himself. "Very," he admitted. He had been raised with the typical sense of respect but wariness toward magi but Khadgar was different. Perhaps it was because they were near the same age, though the mage looked decades older. Or perhaps it was simply that Khadgar didn't hold himself above non—magi the way Turalyon had seen other wizards do. They had struck up an easy conversation that first day, after Archbishop Faol had introduced all of them, and Turalyon had found himself liking Khadgar. He liked Lothar as well, but was in awe of the Champion's experience and martial skill. Khadgar was probably more powerful personally, but somehow he was more approachable, and he and Turalyon had become fast friends. He was the only one Turalyon felt safe telling about his fears.

"Don't worry about it," Khadgar advised. "Everyone is. The trick is just to work past that."

"You're nervous too?"

The mage grinned. "Scared spitless would be closer," he revealed. "I have been every time we've been in combat. And it was Lothar who told me, after one encounter, that you should be scared. Because the man who isn't afraid gets careless, and that's when he gets hurt."

Turalyon nodded. "My instructors said much the same thing." He shook his head. "It's one thing to say that, though, and another to believe it."

His friend patted him on the shoulder. "You'll do fine," he assured. "Once it starts you'll be too busy to think about it."

They both turned and looked out again. The Hillsbrad region was so named for its rolling foothills, and the Alliance army was spread across the last line of those hills, facing Lordaeron's Southshore and the Great Sea beyond. The Horde ships were approaching even as they watched, massive unwieldy vessels of dark metal and blackened wood, without sails but with row upon row of oars. Lothar intended to meet the Horde as it emerged from the water, before the orcs had a chance to find their footing. Proudmoore's navy had already assaulted the ships during their passage, destroying several vessels and sending thousands of orcs to the bottom of the ocean, but the Horde was so numerous they had merely picked off the outermost ships while the rest sailed on past. There would still be fighting aplenty when they landed.

"They are almost ashore," Alleria reported, her sharp elven eyes seeing farther than theirs. She turned toward Turalyon. "Best ready your men for the attack."

Turalyon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He had seen women before, of course, and nothing about his Order forbade relationships or even marriage. But the elven ranger made every other woman he had ever met seem both weak and rough at the same time. She was so confident, so graceful, and so lovely his mouth ran dry every time he saw her, and he often found himself trembling and sweating like a horse that had just run a hard race. And judging by the glint in her eyes and the half—smile when she said anything to him, Turalyon suspected she knew and enjoyed his discomfort.

Now at least he had something to distract him. Signaling his unit leaders, Turalyon gave them the go—ahead gesture. They in turn gave an order to their heralds, who sounded the advance on their battle horns. Within minutes the entire Alliance force was in motion, marching and riding slowly but steadily down the hill and toward the shore.

As they closed the distance Turalyon made out more details. He saw the first of the ships beach itself, and dark figures swarm over its side, stomping up the rocky beach and toward the foothills. Even from here he could see they were broadly built, with thick chests and long, powerful arms, and bandy legs that ate up the distance. They brandished weapons, axes and hammers and swords and spears. And there were a lot of them.

"They have reached the land!" Lothar shouted, drawing his massive greatsword with a single sweep and holding it aloft, the gold runes along its blade catching the light. "Charge! For Lordaeron!" He spurred his horse and it leaped forward, past the Alliance ranks, the golden lion on his shield catching the light.

"Damn!" Turalyon kicked his own steed into a gallop and took off after his commander, snatching up his hammer and dropping his helm into place as he moved. He saw soldiers scrambling out of the way, and others hastening to catch up, and then he was past them and in the narrow stretch between the two armies. But soon enough that vanished and he crashed full—force into the orcs, reaching them just as Lothar's first swing took down several and others advanced toward his horse, determined to pull the Champion down and tear him apart.

"No!" Turalyon swung as soon as he was within reach, his hammer catching an orc full in the head. The creature dropped with barely a sound and Turalyon knocked a second one aside with his shield, battering the orc away long enough to bring his hammer back around and smash at that one as well.

By the Light, they were ugly! Lothar and Khadgar had described them but it was not the same as seeing them firsthand, with that vivid green skin and those glowing red eyes. And those tusks! He had seen such things on boars before, but never on anything that walked on two legs and carried a weapon! They were strong too, he saw, as an orc's warhammer clashed with his own and almost drove his weapon back into his helm, the creature struck with such force. Fortunately they seemed to rely more upon strength and aggression than skill—he was able to twist his weapon free and bring it back around, its haft catching the orc a glancing blow across the cheek and stunning it long enough for Turalyon to strike again properly.

Lothar had cleared the orcs from his side with a vicious sword swing, and Turalyon guided his horse beside the commander so they stood side by side, hammer and greatsword in constant motion. Uther was right behind them now, his own mighty hammer crushing orcs left and right, a visible glow surround him and his weapon and making the orcs turn away, shielding their eyes. A cheer arose from the Alliance forces as they saw the Paladins' prowess. Turalyon was not surprised. He had trained alongside Uther and knew the older Paladin's faith was incredibly strong, strong enough to manifest visibly. He wished his own was as solid.

Now was not the time to think of that, however. More orc warships were reaching the beach, and orcs were pouring from them by the thousands. Turalyon saw at once that they would be overwhelmed if they stayed. "Sir!" he shouted at Lothar. "We need to move back to the rest of the army!"

At first he thought the Champion had not heard him, but Lothar skewered another orc and then nodded. "Uther!" he shouted, and the Paladin turned. "Back to the others!" Uther raised his hammer in salute and wheeled his horse around at once, bludgeoning a path back through the gathering Horde. Lothar was right behind him and Turalyon brought up the rear, laying about him with hammer and shield to keep orc hands and weapons at bay. One orc reached for him, a massive axe held ready in its other hand, only to fall with an arrow through its throat. Turalyon risked a quick glance around and saw a slender figure back on the hill raise a longbow in salute. He could just make out the gleam of her hair from here.

Several times he thought they would fall but he, Uther, and Lothar all made it back to the front lines safely. The Horde was right behind them.

"Form up!" Lothar shouted. "Raise spears. Link shields! Repel them!" The soldiers hurried to obey—they had been standing ready but separately, individuals rather than a unified force, but that would not work against the Horde's superior numbers. Now they moved together, forming a solid shield wall that bristled with spears, and the Horde crashed into that. In several places the wall fell, a defender overpowered by an orc's charge, but much of it held as orcs fell back, clutching new wounds. Some dropped and did not rise again, though their fellows quickly swarmed over and past them.

A second wave struck the shield wall, collapsing more sections, but again the orcs took heavy casualties. Turalyon signaled the nearest unit leaders and was pleased to see them respond quickly, a second shield wall already forming behind the first. They could build wall after wall, and if each one cost the orcs as heavily they could whittle away the Horde until it was small enough to face the creatures directly.

But the orcs were clearly not stupid. After the third collision they held back, as if waiting for something. And Turalyon soon saw what. A handful of heavily cloaked figures advanced. Each wore a cowl low over its face, so only the eyes were visible deep within, and each carried a strange glowing truncheon. These creatures rode strange, heavily barded horses with glowing eyes, and charged forward, directly toward the shield wall, and raised their truncheons as they approached. Turalyon felt as much as heard a strange buzzing, and the soldiers directly in front of the creatures collapsed, clutching their heads as blood poured from their mouths, noses, and ears.

"By the Light!" Uther was standing near Turalyon and bristled at the sight. "The fiends! They wield dark magic against us!" He raised his hammer high, and its head glowed silver like the moon. "Stand fast, soldiers!" he shouted. "The Holy Light protects you!" The glow spread from the hammer, shining down upon the warriors and bathing them in its light, and when the cloaked figures raised their hands again the soldiers winced but did not fall. Then Uther came crashing down upon them, the shield wall opening long enough to allow him and the other Paladins—including Gavinrad, who Faol had happily inducted into the order—through. Again Alliance soldiers cheered, heartened by the Paladins' surprising skill and power. Turalyon felt torn. As a Paladin his place was beside them, but as Lothar's lieutenant his place was here, overseeing the men.

The Paladins and the cloaked figures were battling now, neither able to gain the upper hand. Turalyon saw one of the strange invaders clamp a hand on Gavinrad's arm, darkness radiating from the grip. But Gavinrad's holy aura shone brighter and drove the darkness away, causing his attacker to shrink back and duck a blow from the Paladin's hammer. Meanwhile the orcs continued to batter at the shield wall, tearing holes in the defense only to have another soldier step up and fill the gap.

Then a movement caught Turalyon's eye and he saw several new figures approach, towering above the orcs. Ogres! The massive creatures advanced, swinging rough clubs that were little more than uprooted trees, and whole sections of the shield wall collapsed, soldiers crushed by the powerful blows. The Horde poured forward through the gaps, sweeping in among the Alliance soldiers.

"Change tactics!" Turalyon shouted at the nearest herald, knowing the man would relay the orders with his horn. "Small shield units! Pull back to the hills and regroup!" The soldier nodded and raised his horn, blowing a short burst and then another. At the sound the unit leaders began shouting orders of their own, gathering their soldiers and retreating while keeping the orcs at bay. The Horde tried overrunning them but the Alliance soldiers were clumped too close together and kept their weapons up, jabbing at any orc that came too close. Each unit had its shields linked as well, forming a small shield wall all around. The orcs overwhelmed several units by sheer numbers, crashing into the warriors again and again until they faltered, but most of the Alliance soldiers were able to pull back successfully.

Turalyon rode along the ranks at the base of the hills, organizing them. He set up another shield wall there, and as each unit retreated to it the wall opened to allow them in, then closed behind them. Those soldiers then reinforced the wall themselves and helped bring other units through safely. Turalyon tasked the archers with keeping the orcs away from the wall as much as possible, harassing any creature that came too close to pulling down a defender. They were taking a heavy toll upon the orcs, but the Horde was still beaching ships and adding more to the battle with every minute.

"We cannot hold them for long!" Turalyon shouted to Khadgar, who had just done something to make a strange orc collapse near the boats. The orc had been dressed in robes rather than armor and had carried a staff instead of a sword, so Turalyon guessed it was a warlock, their equivalent to a mage. "We need to do something to keep them from reaching the hills! If they do get past us they'll advance straight north to Capital City!"

Khadgar nodded. "I will do what I can," he promised. The young—old wizard concentrated and the sky above them darkened. Within minutes it went from a clear day to ominous black clouds. The sudden storm centered upon Khadgar, the mage's white hair dancing about him. Lightning flickered in the sky, and an answering spark danced across his outstretched fingers. Then there was a shattering boom, and a lightning bolt leaped forth, not from the sky but from Khadgar's hands, its light splitting the darkness. It struck just shy of the shield wall, in a cluster of orcs, and they went flying, burnt to a crisp by the powerful bolt. A second one struck, and a third, and Turalyon used the magical attack to his advantage. He regrouped his men, shoring up the shield wall, and also sent soldiers forward with brush and tinder. They laid fires in the orc's path, creating a raging blaze that stopped the Horde from advancing to the west. That reduced the risk of their surrounding the Alliance forces, and made them easier to contain and block.

Nor were the orcs slow to notice. Several of the creatures stepped forward, trying to put out the fire, but elven archers shot them down before they could reach the flames. One fell into the fire instead, and screamed as it consumed him. That made the others shrink back again.

The ogres were a problem, however. One lumbered through the flames, burning its legs but otherwise not slowing down. Turalyon directed a full unit against it, and targeted it with ballistae as well. But the ogre downed many warriors before it finally fell, and others were approaching behind it.

"Target them!" Turalyon told Khadgar. "Take out the ogres!"

Khadgar glanced his way, and Turalyon saw that his friend looked truly exhausted. "I will try," the mage agreed. "But drawing forth the lightning is…taxing." An instant later a lightning bolt burst from his fingers and struck the lead ogre, killing it at once, but even as its massive, blackened corpse fell Khadgar shook his head. "That is all I can do," he warned.

Turalyon hoped it would be enough. The other ogres hesitated, even their small brains able to comprehend the danger, and that gave his men time to target them with arrows and more ballistae. The shield wall still held but the Horde was massing again, and before long it would be able to simply roll over the defenders, its losses barely diminishing its bulk. Uther and the other Paladins had not returned, and Turalyon could only assume they were still keeping those cloaked figures at bay.

He was still wondering what to do when Lothar appeared beside him. "Ready the cavalry!" the Champion shouted. "And sound the charge!"

Charge? Into that? Turalyon stared at his commander for an instant, then shrugged. Well, why not? Their defenses could not hold out forever. He signaled the herald, who blew a might blast. Then those warriors on horseback were forming up, and Turalyon swung in with them, placing himself just behind Lothar, who rode at their head. The shield wall parted for them, and they crashed into the Horde's front ranks, carving a path back through the orcs. After a minute Lothar signaled and they wheeled about, the archers providing cover as they swung clear. Then they struck again.

They were readying for a third charge when a drum beat from somewhere within the Horde—and the orcs fell back!

"We did it!" Turalyon shouted. "They're retreating!"

Lothar nodded but did not turn away, watching as the orcs turned and ran a short distance, then regrouped. Then the creatures turned and began moving again, at a fast march—to the right of the Alliance forces.

"They're heading east," Lothar said quietly. He made no move to chase them. "Into the Hinterlands."

"Are we going after them?" Turalyon asked. His blood was still racing from the charges and he wanted to run after the orcs and smash them all. "We have them on the run!"

But the Champion shook his head. "No," he corrected. "We blocked them, and held. But they are not running from us. They are going around us." Now he did turn to Turalyon, and smiled, a grim, weary smile. "Still," he said, "that is something."

"But we should go after them before they can find another place to stand," Turalyon urged. "Shouldn't we?"

"We should," Lothar agreed. "But look behind you." Turalyon turned and saw at once what the older warrior meant. Their forces were sagging now that the battle was over, and he saw men collapsing where they stood, both from wounds and from sheer fatigue. The battle had lasted for hours, though it had not felt like it at the time, and he found himself aching as well now that it was done. Plus they had destroyed many weapons, emptied most of their ballistae, and used up most of the army's firewood and tinder as well.

"We need to resupply," Turalyon admitted out loud. "We are in no shape to pursue them now."

"No." Lothar turned his horse back toward their own lines. "But we have tested their forces now, and our men have seen that they can stand against the Horde. That is good. And we have kept them from the capital. Also good." He glanced at Turalyon, and nodded finally. "You did well," he said quietly before nudging his horse back toward their troops and the command tent that lay beyond.

Turalyon watched him go for a moment. The simple praise had filled him with pride. And, he realized as he brought his own horse around to follow his commander, Khadgar had been right. He had not had time to be afraid.