"What is it, sir?" one of them asked finally, as Lothar glanced up, balling the parchment between finger and thumb and flicking it away like a troublesome insect. "Is there a problem?"
Lothar nodded, still digesting the information he had just received. "The Horde has made its way to Lordaeron," he said softly, eliciting a gasp from several soldiers. "They are probably attacking the capital even now."
"What can we do?" One of the men—one of those from Lordaeron, Lothar remembered—asked urgently. "We need to set out right away!"
But Lothar shook his head. "There's too much distance between us," he told the soldier sadly. "We'd never reach it in time." He sighed. "No. We need to finish our work here, to make sure the orcs they left in the Hinterlands are dead or driven off. We cannot allow the Horde to retain a foothold here, where they could then sweep back up or down to anywhere else on the continent."
His men nodded, though they did not look pleased about the prospect of wandering the woods seeking strays while their friends and families faced the rest of the Horde alone. Lothar could hardly blame them. "Turalyon and the rest of the Alliance army are already on their way," he assured them, making several warriors look up hopefully. "He will come to the city's aid." He gripped his sword tightly. "And when we are done here we will march to Capital City and mop up any orcs that have fled his attack."
The men cheered at that, and Lothar smiled though he still felt cold. He knew they liked the idea both of helping after all and of the Alliance being so victorious all that was left was the cleanup. He hoped it would be that easy.
"Enough distractions," he warned his men after allowing them a few seconds. "Let's make sure there aren't any other orc bands near here, and then we'll head back to Aerie Peak to regroup." The soldiers obediently nodded and raised their weapons, falling into rough ranks. Lothar took the lead, and together they set off into the trees again, the messenger walking in their midst.
"Here they come!"
King Terenas glanced down and grimaced. The orc Horde had crossed the lake—sharp—sighted archers assured him they had built rough bridges but from here it had looked as if they'd simply swarmed across the water like ants—and were now rapidly approaching the city's walls. He was still amazed by their sheer numbers. And from what he could see up here on the ramparts, they were massive brutes as well, easily as big as the largest of men and broader, with powerful muscles and large bestial heads. He did not see any siege weapons, at least, other than a thick log that was clearly intended for a battering ram, but the orcs carried what he thought were large hammers, axes, and thick swords, and he was sure they had ropes and grapples as well.
Well, Capital City 's walls were as sturdy as ever. No foe had ever breached its defenses, and Terenas was determined to maintain that record.
They had not been able to prepare fully, of course. The people had been easy enough to gather, since most lived within the walls already. Livestock had been more problematic and some animals had simply been abandoned to their fate, as had all but the smallest and most precious possessions. The guards had done their best to make sure everyone and everything was inside before closing and sealing the gates, but most people had fled with little more than the clothes on their backs and whatever tools and other possessions they'd had to hand. Their homes would surely be destroyed by the Horde, and Terenas knew it would take some time to rebuild them afterward. Assuming they drove the orcs back and were able to leave the city once more.
He glanced along the ramparts, where his guards and soldiers stood ready. So few men to defend such large walls! But most of his soldiers had marched off with Lothar and the rest of the Alliance. Nor did Terenas regret that decision. The Horde had needed to be stopped, and Lothar had needed every soldier that could be spared for his army. Of course, he had not expected the Horde to strike at them here, and certainly not without the Alliance forces either blocking their path or marching after them to aid in the city's defense. But even if Capital City fell, if the Alliance won in the end it would be a small price to pay.
That did not mean he was about to surrender the city, however. Terenas glanced down again, and judged the orcs close enough now. He could see their tusks from here, and the tassels and bones and medals that hung around many of their necks and arms and heads, clearly trophies of previous battles. Well, they would find this fight more challenging than their previous encounters. No matter what happened, the Horde would remember this fight.
"Hot oil!" Terenas shouted, and down the line Morev and others nodded. They tipped the large cauldrons over the ramparts, letting the boiling oil pour down in sheets just beyond the walls. The leading orcs had almost reached the walls by then, and the oil spilled across them, drenching them utterly. Many screamed in pain as it burned away their flesh, and the entire front rank crumpled, writhing and twitching. A few staggered away but most did not get up again.
"Prepare more oil!" Terenas ordered, and servants scurried to obey, using stout poles to lift the heavy cauldrons and carry them away. It would take time to refill the cauldrons and then reheat them and bring them back up to the ramparts, but he doubted the Horde was going anywhere. This would not be a quick skirmish or a fast conflict—it would most likely be a long siege, and he thanked the Holy Light they had sufficient stores of food and water for several weeks. Oil they would run out of after another dousing or two, but it was merely the opening move in their defense. Terenas had other tricks to show these unruly orcs who dared attack his home.
Thoras Trollbane stalked across the mountains as easily as if he were one of the region's sturdy rams, his heavy hob—nailed boots finding solid purchase on the rough gray granite. His men moved behind him, each one as well—versed in mountaineering as in combat. Stromgarde was a mountain kingdom, and its children grew up learning to climb the rock faces and scale the peaks.
Ahead of him lay the first of the Alterac mountain passes. Trollbane could already see figures moving through the falling snow, large heavy—set figures marching steadily but awkwardly. Clearly the orcs of the Horde were not accustomed to the altitude or the peaks. The passes themselves were chiseled carefully out of the mountain range for just such people, allowing trade and communication with both Alterac and Stromgarde's lower neighbors. For themselves Trollbane and his people did not need such conveniences. They preferred to scale the heights wherever they wished, rather than being trapped in a long chute like the one before them. The passes were far too easy to blockade—and to ambush.
Gesturing to his men, Trollbane crouched, his axe at the ready. Not yet, not yet…now! Leaping over the edge he landed solidly in the pass between two orcs, taking them by surprise. His axe flashed, carving one's head from its body and then catching the other in the throat on the backswing. Both fell, and the orcs on either side of them stumbled and snarled, raising their own weapons. But four of Trollbane's warriors dove into the pass just then, two on either side of him, and hacked apart the next orcs in line. Then more of his men jumped down and attacked the orcs beyond those already falling, and so on. In a matter of minutes two dozen orcs lay dead and the pass was clogged with bodies.
Trollbane and his men pushed the dead orcs, already stiffening from the cold, into a single stack that rose to the top of the pass. Then he stationed ten of his men there to guard the makeshift blockade and climbed back out, taking the rest of his warriors with him.