Chapter 14
Two days later, the hammer fell.
The Orcs, expecting a night attack, were not taken completely by surprise. The Elves attacked just after sunset, ranks of huntresses pouring over the edges of the snow banks and down into the settlement proper. A few panthers foundered when the crust of ice cracked, but most skated up and over with ease. Behind them came the archers, scampering lightly over the snow. They took up positions on the inside of the hill, where they could fire down into the camp.
Then came the spellcasters. Two druids of the claw, two druids of the talon, and two dryads lined up along the crest of the bank, furthest from the watch towers.
None of it was unexpected. The peons ran for the burrows, the warlocks clustered near the great hall, and the grunts and raiders ran to engage the foe. Rokhyel Shadebreaker stood with the warlocks. Glaive disappeared.
Veren Redmorning stood behind the warlocks with his new bodyguards. He counted carefully as the panthers and wolves charged toward each other, both sets of riders grimly silent.
Looks like about thirty huntresses and twenty archers, plus the others. Not good odds.
He glanced at his guards. Kev'ran stood quite still, eyes bleak and dark as always. Veren could read no expression on Loudwhisper's face. The huge Orc stood steady as a stone, his club held easily in one hand.
---
Shel'yin shouted a command. Fireballs roared toward the archers just as the first volley of arrows flew. Flame and wood met in midair, with predictable results. Most of the arrows were annihilated. Some of the fireballs went out. Many continued on toward their destination, and the archers scattered in the face of falling death.
---
Rokhyel Shadebreaker held his fire. Most of the warlocks did not notice. Shel'yin did, but he said nothing. Shadebreaker knew exactly why he had placed the Undead next to himself in the formation. He does not trust me.
The old knight leaned on his sword and waited. He had seen Night Elves fight before, and his memory of all that had passed since his death was as perfect as his memory of life was lacking. And I have seen neither hippogryphs nor glaive throwers yet today.
"Won't that harm the steel?" Shel'yin asked from beside him. The Orc stood waiting for his mana to recharge, turning his staff in his hands. He looked at the Shadebreaker's sword where it rested point-down in the snow.
"This blade has not been sharp for more than thirty years," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said. "No rust may dull it. Nor can any armor turn back its edge."
He hated the sound of his own voice, though he had no recollection of what it had sounded like in life. His only memory of life was pain, and then the tearing of his soul from his flesh. That soul, and that pain, was still with him, though the flesh was long gone.
---
Glaive crept silently up the back side of the snow bank, belly to the ground. Above her, she heard the soft ringing as a druid of the claw cast rejuvenation on one of his sister warriors. Two Orcish raiders already whirled in the air at the top of cyclones, and the druids of the talon spun pale faerie fire over every Orc within reach. She could hear the dryads' soprano battle cries as she moved closer.
None seemed to have noticed the Elf creeping up behind them. She moved very slowly, to avoid attracting attention. She would stand out against the white snow, and she did not want them to see her before she was ready.
Glaive selected a short, thin-bladed knife from her belt. Then she crawled up next to the first dryad, rose silently to her feet, and plunged the blade into the soft spot at the base of the Elf's skull. She caught the spear as the dryad dropped it, turned smoothly, and neatly skewered the second one between her faun-ribs. A druid of the claw turned at the dying shriek, just in time to receive the broken glaive in his throat.
The remaining three Elves turned to stare at Glaive, shocked at the killing of three Elves in as many seconds. She squatted to retrieve her weapon, ignoring the resultant spurt of blood over her hand.
Two of the druids were unknown to Glaive. One was not.
"You!" hissed a druid of the talon. "What are you doing here?"
"The Orcs showed mercy, when you showed none," she said, in her own language. She wiped the broken blade on the dead druid's cloak, then rose easily to her feet. Her expression might have been a smile. But then, Fel stalkers are also known to smile.
"I am the blade of the clan now. I am the Glaive of the Tattered Banner."
---
Rokhyel Shadebreaker did not wait for long. Battle had been joined for perhaps three minutes when he heard the first distant flap of leathery wings. Then a shadow fell over the watchtowers some yards away, and peons ran for cover as a dragon with two heads swept down upon the camp. Both mouths spat, and a hissing and a stench rose from the nearest tower as its roof began to melt.
Then a second chimaera glided in from the opposite direction, heading for the melee of Orcs and huntresses. Some of the warlocks turned their attention to the giant reptile, but it was still too far away for their spells to reach it.
The Shadebreaker lifted his sword in one hand, drawing on a strength that knew nothing of muscle and sinew. He stalked around the edge of the group. All of the Orcs had better armor than he did. He knew, even as he began to wrap the dark mana around him, that the breath of the chimaera might so destroy his body that it could no longer anchor his undying self.
He had never known a lasting death. Nor had he known a day free from pain since the repossession of his body. Perhaps his time had come.
The chimaera, its attention fixed on the multiple prey below, did not notice the ragged skeleton as he stepped carefully through the snow. He stopped between the warlocks and the cavalry battle, heedless of the magic flying through the air around him. He raised the sword, letting it fall back over his shoulder. The Shadebreaker bowed his head as he drew up the mana into a tight helix around the notched blade. The magic hissed and fumed, bound in place by a will made powerful in its grim and grieving fury.
And then, when the power was wound so tightly that his entire body vibrated with it, he snapped the blade forward. The green-black coil shot through the air, opening as it went. The whipping strands curled around the chimaera's two heads.
No eye could see the single thread that led back to the Shadebreaker, but everyone heard the great beast's scream. It hurtled over the settlement and ploughed into the trees at the other side, snapping off trunks as it went. Nothing rose from the place where it came to rest.
---
"Twisting bloody Nether," Veren Redmorning said. "Did he just kill that thing with one spell?"
"I think so, Chieftain," Kev'ran said. "But… From what Shel'yin has told me, that should not be possible."
"He's obviously not like other Undead," Redmorning said thoughtfully.
A single archer ran swiftly around the edge of the group of warlocks and started to take aim at Redmorning. She shouted something in her own language, which was cut off abruptly as Kev'ran's fireball hit.
I still know what she was saying, Veren thought. Kill the leader.
It was difficult to tell how the battle was going. There were obvious casualties on both sides, and the grunts in particular had suffered in what was primarily a cavalry battle. He could see that Darksun and Bladeleaper had both managed to avoid any clever individuals like the one to whom Kev'ran had just set fire. Who, Redmorning noted, was still screaming.
"Loudwhisper," he said. "Will you - "
The giant Orc stepped forward and brought his club down in a short, swift arc. The screaming stopped.
"I see Glaive has been busy," Redmorning said, surveying the carnage on top of the bank. His warriors no longer had to concern themselves with the spellcasters, it was clear. I count five bodies. I could swear there were six up there.
He supposed it was dimly possible one Elf could have deserted. It's possible. But I doubt it. These are not a cowardly folk.
---
None of the Elves were inclined to take the dead one's advice. They were far too busy trying to stay alive in the face of an Orcish force with unexpectedly powerful armor. And now there was no one to heal them, and no one to dispel the crippling mana thrown at them by the warlocks.
The surviving chimaera heard. And if its intelligence was slightly less than human, it was certainly more than animal. It turned its attention from the watchtower it had just finished demolishing, seeking a suitable target.
---
Rokhyel Shadebreaker saw the second beast turn toward the great hall, its great wings working furiously as it cast about with both heads and all four eyes.
He had used nearly all his mana. What he had left would not be enough to kill another such creature. He thought, as he began to wind up all the power that was left to him, that he was probably about to come to the end of an unlife that had been longer than his mortal one.
I bound myself to this Orc, the Shadebreaker thought. And in all of Azeroth I have nothing but a living soul and a dead body. I will not dishonor one to keep the other.