Chapter 27: The Long March 2: Reunion
The North Eastern Barrens
"Mulgore is straight up this path. We seem to have gotten past the worst of the centaur lands. If our luck holds, and with the Earth Mother's blessing, my tribe will reach Mulgore by nightfall." Cairne announced.
The trek had taken almost three weeks through the harsh Barrens. Centaur attacks, harpy nests, and other dangerous wildlife had made things all the worse. Both the Horde and tauren had barely lived off the scattered and sparse waterholes, and though there was a river to the far west, it was out of the way and unreachable by the path they were taking.
For now though, the tauren would depart. Already the kodos and bullmen had begun to separate themselves from the orcs, whom they had immersed themselves with over the past few weeks. The two races had become allies through battle, brothers of war and hardship.
"Are you sure you won't be need us anymore, Cairne?" Thrall asked as he saw to the tauren's departure.
"Hah, don't coddle me, boy. I may be old, but I'm quite capable of leading my people." Cairne replied.
"My apologies, Cairne. In any case, the rest of my people, the main body of the Horde that is, should pass through the Barrens in the coming days. Could you make sure that they are properly led through this wilderness?"
"You saved my tribe and escorted us to the safety of Mulgore. Of course I will help in all ways possible. Azok! Jeddeck! Come here!" Cairne turned his neck to his best warriors.
"Yes, chief?" the two black furred tauren approached.
"You will remain with the orcs until they reach the Oracle. You will guide our friends to Stonetalon, as I will leave one from my own family to guide the rest of the orcs through the Barrens."
"Yes, chief!" Azok, with his beady blue eyes replied excitedly. Jeddeck was less inclined to the mission.
"We are to leave our people and travel with the greenskins? We barely know of them, chief." He said.
"The orcs are the only reason our tribe remains! We must repay them somehow, and if you don't have the spine to do so, then you shame us all." Cairne chided. Jeddeck stalked off with Azok, sullen.
"Jeddeck is young and wants to stay with his people to protect them, so forgive him if he is a bit rash when speaking to your orcs. Both Azok and Jeddeck will prove invaluable allies to you. I'll send another six of my best fighters under their command and my finest kodos to aide you against the perils of Stonetalon, though it will still not even the debt we owe you."
"It is no matter. All help to the Horde is welcomed." Thrall replied.
"Now you are free to continue your quest, Warchief. Legends say that it saw the strands of fate as they were woven by the Earthmother. It alone can show you your destiny. You will find the Oracle in the hollow of Stonetalon Peak, the greatest mountain of the land besides Hyjal."
"Thank you, Cairne. I, nor the Horde, will forget you." Thrall gave the sign of orcish salute and turned his frostwolf.
"Go with honor, young Warchief. May the Earthmother smile upon you, and let us meet again when the time comes."
And so all but the eight tauren promised by Cairne departed, leaving for the lush plains of Mulgore. Another week or two of heat and sweating followed, though eventually the advanced guard of the Horde approached the great red peaks jutted into the sky. There had been almost nothing to eat through the rest of the journey, so they'd had to revert to the stale bread brought from the ships.
"There lies the Stonetalon Mountains." Azok mentioned as Jaddeck led the van past a shallow riverbed. The land was getting drier by the step, and the yellow grasses gave way to red dirt.
"Took long enough tha' did, mon. The sun was killing my skinnn." Thrall turned to see Vol'jin, surrounded by a band of his Darkspear trolls. "Least there be shadow under those mountains."
The Darkspears had joined forces with the Horde ever since the two had met on that island long ago, during the initial flight from Lordaeron. So far the troll's scouting and ambushing abilities had proven invaluable. Thrall now saw why Doomhammer had spent so long trying to recruit the forest trolls of Azeroth to his cause.
The heat had put all the orcs on edge as well. They had had nothing to fight but quillboars and raving harpies. One time a disgruntled grunt had even come up to him and urged the him that the orcs needed some real enemies to test their mettle. It was just another example that showed that the boredom and hunger long march was getting to them all.
One day as the long winding column made its way between two perilously slanted mountains, one of the troll came dashing back through bush and jumping atop rock.
"Warchief! There be a fight up ahead!" the troll spoke quickly, matting down its Mohawk.
"What?" Thrall slowed his mount, letting the ranks of warriors pass by.
"The Warsong clan is up ahead—all of it, and probably more—and they're battling humans!"
"Humans!? The hell? Show me!" The troll dashed off and Thrall followed.
The two rushed through the squat trees and scraggly vegetation that clung to the ground, coming upon an escarpment that led into a bowled valley. Smoke was rising from what seemed like a camp. Orcs and humans were clashing, and though there were orc corpses lying about, the humans were definitely on the losing side.
Other orcs began to arrive, cramming together behind Thrall. He saw the eagerness on their faces, and suddenly felt it within him too.
"Lok-tar ogar warriors! Aid Hellscream! For the Horde!"
Central Lordaeron
Durin Acherton stared beyond the weedy cornfield. At the cropping of the forest which bordered the old farm a line of pickets moved forward, weapons in their hands.
"Oi, you're on my field. Get off." Durin called out.
"Like hell it's your field. All the farmers were run off this land a long time ago." A craggy faced man said, dropping out of line. "Besides, in times of war when marshal law is declared, the respective plots of peasant lands under the rule of nobles will be reverted to the King and military's use."
Durin blinked. Who the hell were these people? The soldiers were all supposed to have been killed or run away by now.
"In any case, this field is now under military jurisdiction. However, if you sign your name with the quartermaster he'll ration you a good four week's food and water. I can tell you're an old timer, so I can't press you into service. However, if you enlist willingly, you can continue to receive rations on a regular basis.
"And if I don't?"
"Then we let you on your merry way, however dangerous the countryside may be these days. But who am I to talk? I'm sure you've done a bit of banditry yourself. All crimes will be written down and punished when the marshal law is lifted, so if you wish to confess your sins you can find a priest near the quartermaster and a scribe who will write down your crimes and or grievances. However, due to the harsh times, if you enlist, all former incidents will be forgiven." The craggy faced man seemed to smile under his pointy beard.
Indeed, Durin had done some stealing here and there, even before the war. One time though, he'd even killed a man for stealing from him, however hypocritical it was. But fighting a war that was lost…? It was madness.
Durin let out a deep guffaw. "In a time when undead roam the land and demons fly from the skies you tell me that old King Terenas' ghost wants me for the army? To march north instead of fleeing south? If I had any wits about me, I'd head to Southshore and steal ashore to Kul Tiras or Stormwind!"
"Listen here, I'm just the one picked out of my company to give out information like this to any survivors we come across. As you can see-" he pointed back to the woods "we have quite a few more soldiers coming up with women and children in tow. We send them off with escorts to the south when we have the manpower, but we can't ever fully get rid of them all due to our shortages, so they stick around. We need all the help we can get. You will be paid at the end of your tenure and service."
"Ha! Haha! Ducats and crowns! What good will they do me? But very well. Where is your quartermaster? I'd be even more out of my mind to wander about these parts without my own escort, and an army is probably the closest thing to safe as I can get right now. I've lived on my own for months now. Some hot food and a sword in my hands will make me feel so much better." Durin gave a sly smile.
"You can find the quartermaster, scribe, and priest in a horse drawn cart coming up this way. They should pass through the woods soon."
"Fine, fine. Now, it seems you have quite a sizable force here. What army are you? I served with the 2nd during the last war."
"Army? We're not an official army. We're the Dogs of War."
Base of the Stonetalon Mountains, One Day Earlier
The endless journey had finally ended. Through storm and beating sun the ships had made it through the sea, landing on what Jaina Proudmoore assumed was Kalimdor. Only, the journey wasn't over. It seemed it had just begun.
The fleet had been separated in the storm, one heading north, one south. Jaina's group landed far to the south, in some kind of dank marsh. Leaving a small force to secure the area, she'd then sailed north along the coast with what other ships that could be salvaged and regrouped with the rest of the fleet.
"This is Kalimdor, yes?" Balon Swiftmane had questioned time and time again. Sometimes Jaina was beginning to think he'd intentionally sent his section of the fleet away from hers on purpose during the cover of the storm. Either way, it turned out bad for him when his force got utterly lost in the vast savannah and ended up marching in circles for days on end until she'd found him.
"Yes, now we march north west to those mountains." She pointed at the great looming peaks of red which hung over the western sky.
Swiftmane had tried to get the other lords to gang up on her when they'd gotten lost in the thin valleys of the mountains, though she wasn't in the mood for philandering and politicking. Even though she'd always been humble in speech, she felt fire boil in her throat and shouted out for the man to simply shut up, stating that he was the one who wanted to take the southern course which would have led the fleet straight into the Maelstrom. He'd fallen silent since, opting to keep his distance.
So they marched: ten thousand swords with thrice that many civilians. From the landing zone to the mountains it hadn't taken more than a week to pass through the savannah. They'd spent another two weeks getting lost in the canyons and crags that crisscrossed and stretched out like a maze in all directions. All that time the Peak had haunted her.
Seek out this place. The prophet had told her. He gave her a vision, past the swirling vortex of the Maelstrom, through the shifting sands and strange alien landscapes, all the way to the peak of a great mountain. There you will find the answer.
She remembered falling to the ground, dazed with the information that had been crammed into her head. Still though, he hadn't given any information on how to reach this place. She'd had no clue where to go until Cyrus Faim'las had entrusted the ancient elven maps to her.
And the Prophet had left here there, amidst the burning ruins of Stratholme while Arthas sailed to Northrend and Uther the Lightbringer rushed to gather the forces of Lordaeron against the undead. That made her question his integrity, or was it perhaps because he knew that Cyrus would give her the maps?
In the war, not even Uther could stop the Scourge. Nothing could, it seemed. They'd swept through Lordaeron, crushing all opposition. Lordegarde, Andorhol, Stratholme, had already been devastated when the demons arrived though. She'd been warned of that as well.
Though for days and weeks before, Jaina could feel their sinister presence growing closer and closer. They had waited until the very last moment, when word of the Legion's arrival had come, and then departed. There was no way she'd risk her people to stay any longer.
And here they all here: denizens from all seven nations of humanity save Stormwind, a large contingent of high elves, and even a group of hardy dwarves who'd maintained the ships through the thick and thin of their voyage.
The fleet had been assembled into certain groups, each under their own elected command. Each of those commanders would be under Jaina's (and her personal officer's) authority though. Together they would form the Expeditionary Council.
The groups were the Stromgarde Brigade under the lordship of Peril Swiftbinder, a fellow mage, and Balon Swiftmane, the conceited nobleman from Hammerfall. The Gilneas Brigade was led by Gilian Kytso, a Duke from one of the border cities who'd been able to get out of the country before Greymane instituted put an embargo on the world. The dwarves were led by a sturdy mountain chieftain called Bor Stonebreaker, and the elves by the a scholar named Elaror Sunbreak. The Lordaeron Corps was jointly commanded by the paladin Ballador the Bright and the court mage Conjurus Rex. Jaina commanded her own personal force while the Kul Turas Elite Marines were led by a long time friend, Captain General Foxhymn.
The force had been assembled at the base of the great mountain, though each had taken to fielding their own camps, just in case of an attack by the strange horsemen who'd plagued them since the initial landings.
Jaina stood still, staring up at the peak of the great mountain. She'd been there for at least thirty minutes now, contemplating how to climb the massive thing.
"Just how do I conquer you?" she said.
The sun was beginning to fall slowly, and a few puffy white clouds had gathered. She suddenly was caught up in the past, remembering the first dance she'd had with Arthas. Pushing the thoughts out of her mind, the young mage took a step forward, and then another, reaching for the peak, almost as if it were that easy.
And then a horn had cried out. It wasn't any human horn however.
Twirling back, she rushed towards the ridge where her command tent was. A stone tower had been hastily erected next to it, so it was easy to spy things from afar. She saw the other officers arriving en masse.
"Is it the horsemen?" she asked.
"No! It's something else! I can't tell through all the smoke!" the man in the lookout tower shouted back. "It's coming from the Stromgarde camp!"
That damn Swiftmane. What has he gotten himself into this time? He has specific orders not to engage unless there was no choice.
"I—I can see something moving! There's of them coming from both the east and west. They have…green skin! Lady Jaina, they're orcs! The orcs are here!"
"Orcs!? She heard herself exclaim.
"Lady Jaina! Orcs!" she heard one of her officers cry out.
"What?! Impossible!" another one spoke.
Whatever was possible or not wasn't the question any more. There were orcs on Kalimdor. That meant only one thing in the eyes of her comrades: war. If things were her way though, she'd probably have parlayed with their leader and found common ground, but if the orcs had already spilled blood…
The Stonetalon Mountains, Present
The wall of green crashed into the kite shields of the humans, axes flailing and war cries resounding.
"Riders! Take the flank! Crush them amongst the rocks!" Thrall shouted out his orders. The contingent of wolf riders broke from the main formation, arcing around the main battle line and disappearing from view.
Thrall saw that the Warsong orcs had already taken care of most of the humans here, though there were bound to be more. A mage was up ahead, surrounded by footmen and casting fire spells that were searing through the Warsong orcs.
Thrall called upon the spirits, releasing a gust of wind that knocked the wizard from his horse. The grunts suddenly pushed past the wall of shields and hacked at the wizard's body, sending plumes of blood into the air.
Thrall witnessed Jaddek and Azok rush into battle, easily dealing with the humans. Their mighty totems swept aside all opposition, and even the pike men had no chance against them. Impressed, Thrall allowed them to continue their own battle.
Another contingent of soldiers, these ones with long halberds, suddenly appeared from the south. They pushed began to push the orcs back, but just then the wolf riders reappeared from behind some rock spires and crashed into their flank, rolling them up into the perfect target.
Almost as soon as the orcs and trolls from the main Horde had come into battle, the human lines had broken. The remnants of their force fled north, through a narrow pass uphill.
Thrall paraded through the battlefield while his orcs took their prizes of victory; human weapons, armor, and tools.
"You showed up just in the nick of time, little brother." A voice said from behind Thrall.
Turning, he saw Grom Hellscream, Warlord of the Warsong Clan, the Hero from Draenor, and one of the last original clan leaders. His eyes were unsettling. They carried the same red taint that the rest of his clan did. The demon blood still burned in their veins, especially during battle. The Warsong banner hung from his back, purple and glorious.
Thrall turned aside that worry however. "Grom, what the hell was this about? And how did these humans get here?"
"Not the greeting I expected, but responsible one nonetheless. Hail, Warchief." Grom bowed deeply, his fist over his heart.
"The same way we did. They're led by a frail girl named Proudmoore and have taken positions along the heights. My clan was searching for a way to occupy those heights when we stumbled upon these ones. We attacked, though they were fierce in their defense." Grom replied, shaking his head so that his long black braid would fall from his shoulder to hang behind him.
"Hmm…we need to get through that pass. I'll send trolls to scout the passes while we establish a base of operations here. Where is your clan's concentration?"
"We managed to steal through to the tops of that plateau over to the east, but haven't had the strength to push any further."
"Good then. We'll be in the perfect position for a pincer attack. However, until I give the signal after we've scouted the passes, you will not attack the humans. Do I make myself clear, Grom?"
"Whatever you say, Warchief."
Thrall looked as deeply into Grom as he could. Since he'd discovered his heritage in the internment camps, he'd always heard the name Hellscream and how he'd evaded capture from the humans. The name Hellscream had given him hope, and it was the Warsong who'd found him after he'd originally escaped from Durnhold. Grom had been like a brother ever since, aiding him in gaining the freedom of the orcs and was an integral part in rebuilding what the orcish people had lost. With his experience and Thrall's idealism, together they'd forged the New Horde.
Grom and his Warsongs were still afflicted with the curse of the demons, placed upon them long ago on Draenor. Thrall decided he'd best keep an eye on Grom. He tended to act out of place when his blood was up, and he'd rather reason with the humans then have to wage war with them out here in this new world.
Grom stalked off with his warriors, returning to their encampment to await further orders. Thrall set about building his own base, as more and more orcish forces poured through the valley and into the basin.
By sunset, almost all the forces were accounted for and Thrall awaited the return of his scouts. Despite telling Grom that he would attack when the time was right, he decided to parlay with the humans. He would apologize for the mishap on the Warsong's side, and offer what he could to repay them. The Warchief doubted that any good would come of it, just as back home, especially when he heard remembered that the name Proudmoore was from the royal line of Kul Tiras. The messenger would go through nonetheless and try to secure passage for Thrall and his guards to the Peak of Stonetalon.
However, before the first scout could even return, he heard the sounds of battle coming from atop the heights. The clash of steel and screams of both orc and human were unmistakable.
"What the hell is going on up there?" he demanded to know. It took nearly fifteen minutes for him to get an answer.
It came from a troll scout, the first one to return, who quickly reported to him. "Warchief, the Warsong be attackin' the humans against yo' direct orders."
"Grom…just what the hell are you doing?" he spoke out loud, looking at the ridge where the sound was coming from.
"Damn you. We have no choice now. Ready our men! We're storming those hills!" Thrall shouted out. It couldn't be helped now. There would be blood.
