Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War (27 page)

“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!”

“
H
e 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, leaping 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 would 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.

And then his eyes widened in horrified comprehension.

Garrosh continued to rant, almost screaming to be heard. “We waited. On my orders, we waited. We waited until the 7th Legion’s fleet, almost in its entirety, came to Theramore Harbor. We waited until the greatest generals of the Alliance—Marcus Jonathan and Shandris Feathermoon among them—came to the aid of poor Lady Jaina to offer their best soldiers and their brilliant strategies. We waited until Kalecgos of the blue dragonflight came, until five members of the Kirin Tor, including their leader, Rhonin, came. Ships and soldiers, magi and generals, all at Theramore. We threw ourselves at the gates, which our friend Thalen Songweaver weakened for us—and his loyalty was rewarded. While the Alliance focused on us, a small team infiltrated Theramore. Their accomplishments were twofold—they rescued Thalen and were able to cripple the Alliance aerial defenses. And now—we shall wait no longer!”