Chapter 4
By the time morning dawned over the bloodied and trampled grass that made up their battlefield, the night elves had taken back a large chunk of the Horde's eastern front, past the first siege engines.
"General! I was sent by Kirge -"
"Sternhorn!" Leda recognized the tabard easily. "What are you doing here?!" The Braves weren't to let up in their assault until later that evening.
"The elves abandoned Stardust Spire, sir. They fled to Astranaar, but the city was too defended for us to attempt any kind of attack."
Leda thought carefully. Kirge might not have followed orders, but he had adapted them to ensure the same end. But just because she approved didn't mean he'd get off easily. "Longwalker…"
"Ishtem," the heavily armoured tauren supplied. "Sergeant Ishtem, sir."
"Sergeant Ishtem, tell Legionnaire Sternhorn that after you've rested, you'll have to hold the eastern line."
After rotating the troops again and under the bright new sun, the Horde began taking more ground. Leda was loathe to admit that the Braves were as capable in traditional battle situations as they were in their guerrilla assignments. The eastern front was now the furthest advanced toward the last night elven holdout.
An hour later - at midday - the elves began their retreat. Leda breathed a heavy sigh of relief. It was over. They had won. The General turned around counting the bodies laying on heavy linen; there were few casualties considering the length of the battle.
Across the battlefield, Leda could see Zeb gesturing emphatically to what looked like the tall orc in charge of the 129th, a very small company of warriors and a couple sorcerers. The orcs took off at a chase, charging toward the retreating elves.
"Your orders, General?" Leda could see Goggath's tick out of the corner of her eye.
She surveyed the battlefield, strewn with dead night elves, flaming boulders and charred grass. "Set up a pyre. Treat the dead with respect." It seemed Iyo was rubbing off on her, but the orc Captain said nothing and delivered the orders to another runner. "I'm sure there will be a large celebration tonight, but we will need two companies occupying the large building - one infantry and some spell casters. Another company will need to occupy the tower - archers. Half of the siege engine operators will need to remain as well. If they regroup or bring reinforcements, we will be ready."
"Lorana?"
"No no, Isfrael, its me - Aethalia," she whispered, careful not to wake the other wounded.
"When did you get here Lorana? I thought you were at home in Silvermoon," Isfrael smiled weakly at the elf hovering over him. He reached up slowly to cup her cheek, but the woman backed away awkwardly. His memory came crashing back. She was not his dead wife. "What happened?"
Aethalia smiled, happy to see him back in the present, "What do you remember?" He looked pensive for a moment before tentatively trying to flex his hand. A hiss of pain accompanied the movement and Aethalia grimaced, "Try not to move, Isfrael."
"The tower - the fire. I made it, but we - we needed the tower, needed troops in there. Zeb in there. I couldn't undo - I mean, the fire - it had to go somewhere. I absorbed it."
The priest nodded sternly and Isfrael braced himself for the lecture that was sure to follow, "Iyo said you were unconscious and not breathing. Thank the Light he had a frost lotus. What were you thinking doing that alone? I know for a fact that there were five other sorcerers capable of helping you, not to mention Iyo himself!" She growled in frustration, "Oh I could just-" it looked like she wanted to hit him, but Aethalia managed to remember her oath ("First, do no harm") just in time. After a deep breath, she pinned a loose hair back into her perfect bun. "Let me know if you need anything Isfrael, I'll need to tend to the others."
The hills between Hellscream's Watch and Maestra's Post were alit with firelight flickering off red canvas tents. Hundreds of little campfires with hundreds of trolls, orcs, tauren and blood elves celebrating around them. The ale flowed easily and Leda wouldn't be surprised if their entire month's shipment of the bitter brew was drank in that one night. The party was loud, but Leda was tired. She earned several sloppy salutes, slaps on the back and one awkward drunken proposition on her way through the expanded camp. But her tent was like a beacon in a storm and she stopped for no one.
Up in Hellscream's Watch proper, their little campfire was blazing cheerily, but none of the 43rd were around it. Leda tripped on her hooves on the way into her tent, she glared at the ground expecting a hairbrush or one of Aethalia's many pairs of shoes, but there was nothing there. The blood elf wasn't there either; her bed was still neatly made with a satchel of potpourri in the middle of a pink pillow.
The tauren flopped into her unmade bed asleep before she could pull the blanket over herself.
One tent over, her twin brother pulled on his Cenarion Circle tabard, smoothing out the silk with pride. His pack was quickly filled with books, experimental potions and a ratty stuffed bear. Apa trilled from his little nest and Iyo patted him on the head. It would be a long flight and they were already late to leave.
He hadn't been able to find Leda to say goodbye. The sun had long set and hundreds of soldiers were drunkenly stumbling around the camp. Iyotanka looked down at the scrap of parchment in his hand. A dragon with closed eyes was drawn at the top and beneath it a large, horned bird flying toward a massive tree.
Apa followed him out of the empty tent before getting distracted by the fruit bowl outside. Iyo left him there and slipped inside Leda's tent. She had been here all along, but to wake her would mean they'd be even more late. It would be difficult to explain to her how important this was to him. He left his note in the space between the two beds, next to her outstretched hand.
Aethalia's bed was still made (or perhaps re-made?) by the time Leda awoke the next morning. She stretched out, a little thrown off by waking up as a tauren. Above her, the shadows cast on the canvas danced as the wind swept through the trees. The General lay there for a few more minutes, reluctant to leave her bed and don the weight of her responsibilities again. Already, they were creeping up on her still-sleepy mind.
Leda rolled out of bed, her hoof crunching on something on the ground. Parchment. She carefully smoothed it out, the dragon and tree becoming clearer. She glared angrily at the raven. Iyo had left for Hyjal, for Ysera and that stupid Nor-whatever tree. A low growl began in her chest and the note was crumpled in her fist. He had left without saying goodbye. He had abandoned her and flew off into god's knew what kind of situation! She threw the note, satisfied to see it disappear behind her pillow into a corner.
In an angry snit, Leda flung back the tent flap only to come face to face with a surprised troll hunter carrying a plate of syrup soaked pancakes. "Uh… 'morning dere Ledabuhr."
"Zeb," she nodded and pushed past him, stomping toward Iyo's tent. Leda glared at the bowl of fruit in front of the tent. Her hoof connected with the side of the wooden bowl and it went flying, fruit landing across the campsite. "He left!" she snarled. "He left, Zeb! He left without saying goodbye! Without saying anything!"
The troll didn't respond, but waited for Leda to run herself out.
"I can't believe him! Hyjal! What could possibly - Hyjal is overrun! Everyone knows its overrun with fire!"
"Dat migh' be why Iyo …"
"I don't care why he left! He's gone! He'll never be back! He can't -" she growled, pushing his empty tent over; the canvas fluttered and folded into itself.
"Iyo can handle 'imself. Ya be knowin' dat Leda." The tauren sighed, crossing her arms defiantly. "C'mon, mon, da pancakes be gettin' cold now." She accepted the plate gratefully, sitting down on a log-bench and digging in. They smelled heavenly and she hardly minded her fingers getting sticky with syrup. Zeb could only grin and sit down next to her, taking advantage of her mouth being full. "Ya can't be leavin' Ledabuhr." Leda opened her mouth to argue, but the troll plowed on. "T'ink of what Garrosh be sayin' when he be findin' out dat his General be away in Hyjal. Iyo be takin' care of 'imself. Ya know dat Leda. An' he not gonna be alone. Dere be lotsa druids in Hyjal, defendin' it."
She nodded, satisfied for now that Iyo was safe.
When they landed at the Sanctuary of Malorne, it was dusk and the giant alabaster stag was bathed in gold from the setting sun. Birds called to one another, their songs echoing off the mountains and cliffs. A general quiet and calm had descended over the sanctuary, the kind of quiet which only comes at dusk.
Cenarius stood at the base of the statue of his father, offering advice and suggestions to any who were brave enough to approach the demigod. Iyo nodded respectfully at him, but was not brave enough. Instead, he chose to approach the tauren female who appreared to be in charge. She smiled at him.
"Welcome to the Sanctuary of Malorne, brother. Did you hear Ysera's call?" He nodded and she continued. "I am Matoclaw Thornhoof; I coordinate the defense of Hyjal from here at the Sanctuary."
"I am Iyotanka Savagedawn," he supplied distractedly, his eyes following Apa who had wandered off toward Cenarius, but was currently gazing up at the statue of the god he was named after. When Iyo's eyes returned back to Matoclaw (who didn't appear to notice the little moonkin) she looked confused.
"We thought –" she paused and then began again, "Your sister did not come with you?"
Now Iyo looked confused, "General Savagedawn is in Ashenvale and fights for the Horde in Garrosh's name."
Matoclaw nodded, turning to look at a night elf behind her and then shaking her head in the negative. "No matter," she addressed Iyo again, "What are your strengths Iyotanka Savagedawn?"
"Research, diplomacy, languages – I can speak 17," Iyo thought for a moment and then added, "battle tactics."
Iyo's eyes slid over to the base of the statue where Apa had been and he panicked for a second when the little moonkin wasn't there. A quick glance to his right and Iyo relaxed again. Apa was waddling up to Mylune and the laughing sister hadn't noticed him quite yet.
"Battle tactics?"
"My sister – she and I would formulate the offensive and defensive strategies for her postings."
Matoclaw only nodded in response, "The Grove of Aessina is –"
"Ooooo my goodness! Aren't you the cutest wootest wittle bitty moonkin?"
The two tauren turned toward the laughing sister who had picked Apa up under his wings and was cuddling him in her arms. Apa trilled when she tickled under his beak and the dryad giggled. They were both way too adorable.
Matoclaw cleared her throat turning back toward the other tauren. "The Grove of Aessina is now home to the majority of our research-oriented brethren. It is much removed from both the offensive and defensive fronts, but if you should choose to join them that can be arranged later as well."
"Night elf patrols have been sighted near Maestra's Post."
"Well where are they coming from Goggath!" she roared.
"I - they say from the west. The 82nd are standing by if you think that would be a good…" he trailed off at the furious expression on her face.
"I'll go," Leda growled, "Where's the 82nd?" She was gone from the command tent before Goggath could reply.
Iyo and Apa reached the Grove just as the stars were beginning to twinkle in the dark night sky. It was quiet here too, much quieter than the Sanctuary. Perhaps the birds had gone to bed. A few night elven lanterns were hung from various obliging branches overhead and the moonwell in the centre of the grove glowed its bright blue-grey light.
The tauren reached down and picked the little moonkin up and the two set off to find whomever was in charge of the intellectual front.
They found her in a large alabaster building, circular and tall with long elegant pillars typical of night elven design. Inside, Iyo was momentarily awed by the sheer number of shelves and books and scrolls and ... knowledge. The unassuming temple-like structure had clearly been magically altered to be larger on the inside and there were various corridors of shelves branching off the main domed room, corridors which hadn't been visible from the outside. He marvelled at the magical feat, instantly distracted by the new puzzle before him. His hand reached out to touch a tall alabaster wall that shouldn't be there and he could feel the coolness of the stone.
"Long time no see."
Iyo spun around and the little moonkin chirped happily. The night elf before him was beautiful, her posture bespoke grace and education. The smile around her amber eyes increased as he blushed and stammered a greeting.
"N-Nara... How...? Earthmother be with you," he mumbled feebly, bowing slightly at the waist. He was assaulted with memories – of Stormwind, of warlocks... of Leda coughing blood up into the dewy grass, of the once-beautiful Park District.
"You learnt Darnassian; your accent is perfect."
"You learnt Taura'he." Her accent was less than perfect and he hoped she wouldn't notice his lack of compliment.
"My accent could use some work," she shrugged, the pale blue silk robe shifting slightly across her shoulders. He wondered if her skin was as soft as the silk. "We usually speak Common, I haven't had much chance to practice since Matoclaw left."
"Matoclaw sent me," he blurted out awkwardly, she nodded politely.
"You must be weary from your journey. Let me show you to your quarters," Nara set off down another long corridor that shouldn't be and Iyo followed respectfully behind.
