Lothar smiled at him. "Yes, we can do it," he agreed. "It will be challenging, but anything worth doing usually is." He was about to say something else when they heard the unmistakable sound of plate mail creaking, and turned to see a man striding toward them. His armor was battered but still gleamed and on its breastplate was the same symbol Turalyon wore, the image of the Silver Hand. As the man drew closer to them, the light of the campfire shone off his flame—red hair and beard.
"Uther!" Lothar stood and offered his hand to the Paladin, who clasped it firmly.
"My lord," Uther answered. He clasped Turalyon's hand as well, and nodded to the others. "We came as soon as we could."
"Lordaeron is clean?" Khadgar asked as Uther lowered himself onto a rock beside them. He looked tired.
"It is," he replied, quiet pride shining in his storm—blue eyes. "My fellows and I have made sure of it. No orcs remain within that land, nor are there any in the mountains alongside." For a second Turalyon felt a strange pang, as if he should have been with the rest of his order. But he had been assigned a different task by Faol himself, and was doing his duty the same as Uther and the others.
"Excellent." Lothar smiled. "And you have arrived at a good time, Sir Uther. We have just learned the orcs' final position, and we will reach it within—?" He turned to the dwarven brothers next to him. They were the most accustomed to this region and would best know the distances involved.
"Five days," Brann replied after pondering a moment. "Provided they have left us no surprises along the way." He glanced at his brother and nodded. "And if ye're going to Blackrock, we'll be going with you. We'll not leave ye to face that lot alone."
"I dinna see any ambushes," Kurdran said, frowning as if the question were a slight to his scouting ability. "The entire Horde, such as it is, is moving in a solid mass back to the Spire." He glanced at Lothar, as if sensing the Champion's next question. "Aye, the Wildhammers will stay with ye as well. And altogether we outnumber them, though not by a large margin," he confirmed.
"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.