22 – A Strategic Consideration

The bombardment had continued all day. The Horde pelted the defensive wall heavily with massive boulders and launched a myriad of burning missiles into the city. Lordaeron's defenders worked relentlessly keeping the fires at a minimum and ensuring their own weaponry hit their targets with equal indomitability.

For all their valiant efforts, the air was thick, heavy with smoke. The fetor of sodden, blackened and charred timbers rose on ghost-like tendrils. They danced on the evening breeze before wafting throughout the streets permeating areas otherwise unaffected by the flame-ridden assault. Unidentifiable mounds of rancid matter lay splattered across cobbles, public gardens and even on rooftops and walls of buildings which had, somehow, withstood the onslaught.

With the relentless pounding from catapults, trebuchets and ballistae there had been no one-to-one combat on that first day, at least not of the melee kind. The magi had provided protective shields to the parapets, their occupants and weapons. The thaumaturgy held for a while but even that was put to the test. The orcs had their own sorcerers and they attempted at deflecting the wizardry which the magi conjured. The air was filled not only with fire and ash from the weapons of war, but bright flashes of amethyst, silver and azure as the sortilege crackled and hissed between the opposing sides.

As of yet, the defence wall had not been breached although it had undergone a considerable battering. The Horde's attempt at mining their way under the gate tower was also a slow, laborious task for the orcs, not made any easier with the occasional cauldron of flaming oil being poured from the battlements. The liquid defence would have to be used sparingly, however, for effective as it was, to run out too soon could be detrimental to the Alliance' war effort.

Although they were tiring by late evening, both Alliance and Horde showed no abatement of hostility. Both needed to harness their manpower for the final push, but when that would be, was debatable, for neither side's reinforcements had yet arrived. Quite how long their resilience and courage would last was anyone's guess at this stage. Thankfully though, the siege for that day drew to a close; the armies needed to rest.

With the noises of battle diminished, citizens cautiously emerged from alleys and adjoining streets. Some ran frantic, searching for loved ones who had been in the fray. Wives threw themselves into their husbands' arms, children clinging around their parents' legs as once again families were reunited.

Food and drink were brought out for the brave defenders, the citizens picking their way through the filthy streets to offer nourishment to all who wanted and needed it. Exhausted mumbles of gratitude carried in the air.

The injured were huddled under makeshift shelters manufactured from salvaged planks and shop canopies. Individuals who were badly burned received potions and elixirs to stay the pain until the priests tended their wounds. The Light eased their agony sufficiently, but it would take time for their seared and blistered skin to heal completely. Others had suffered broken bones and cuts from being caught amid the collapsed buildings when the heavier missiles had pummelled the streets. They bade their time for the healing power of the priests. Throughout the night the pained cries of the wounded would be a forlorn lullaby.

Gasps and mournful cries also rose amid the destruction indicating some of the less fortunate had been discovered under stones, scorched timbers and fetid creatures.

A battered helm, rolling from side to side, lay near a collapsed building, its owner buried beneath the bricks. The armour had offered little protection for those caught in the demolished structures; plate and mail covered limbs poked out from piles of rubble. Occasionally fingers flexed, a sign that someone was still alive beneath the carnage. People worked together to rescue them; some survived, others - it was just too late.

The rogues had aided in the preservation of the city grounds, helping with fetching water to douse flaming buildings and assisting the injured. They had also helped with the onerous task of moving fallen comrades and soldiers from the plaza. All they could do at that time was pile the bodies to the rear of the battle zone. Ceremonies would have to wait, and depending on how long the siege lasted, they may not even happen at all. It would quite possibly end up as an enormous pyre on which all the dead would be consumed at once. For now, the priests uttered blessings on the departed souls. As a mark of respect, they then circled the dead and cast an expanding gossamer blanket of Light over the bodies, shielding the living from having to look upon their ashen, disfigured faces.

The rogues and magi's efforts had been greatly appreciated by the king who had determined that defending the inner city as well as the fortifications was the priority. But, it had not been the way of the rogue; they were not accustomed to being mere rats in a cage. They wanted to do something far more cogent than mop up the mess the orcs created; they wanted to put a spoke in the wheels of the Horde's war machine. Sa'themar, therefore, had ordered his people to rest when they could; their work was going to start in the dead of night.

For now, they huddled in groups enjoying some food brought to them by kindly city folk. A woman and her two children had come around offering stew, bread and drinks to soothe parched throats. She had smiled as she ladled out the hot meal and handed it to the half-elf and his colleagues. He nodded his thanks, apologising for the dirtiness of his hands as she passed a large loaf of bread around. Again, she smiled telling him it was of no matter, she was just happy she could give them sustenance in exchange for their bravery. He accepted the more than welcome food with an appreciative smile.

He had not realised just how hungry he was, the day's events having absorbed his attention completely. The stew therefore, was the finest he had ever tasted. As he sat eating from the tin plate and mopping the gravy with a chunk of torn bread, he looked out over the broken streets and gardens surrounding the plaza. He watched as the people tended their families, friends and even strangers out of sheer gratitude and kindness.

A good number of defenders took shelter in some of the nearby buildings which had remained largely unscathed while others preferred to remain in the open, gathered round small campfires which crackled and spit, offering heat and light as the night rolled above them. Weary though they were, the men and women who bravely defended the city would rally again in the morning or indeed, during the night should the Horde try a devious tactic and attack under cover of darkness. Low murmurs continued to ripple through the small groups; quiet conversations loaded with exhaustion yet bolstered with a tenacious loyalty to king and realm. More distantly, the soft weeping from those whose loved ones had perished in the first onslaught was a painful reminder of the true cost of war.

Darkness was settling, wrapping long obsidian fingers around the battle-weary inhabitants. Movement of one figure, nevertheless, captured Sauren's attention. Inexplicably, he was drawn by the somewhat conspicuous individual. It was male, he gathered, going by the build and the slow, yet deliberate stride. A full-length hooded cape fluttered and billowed at the hem as the man stepped around bricks, rubble and burnt down timbers. He slowed now and then to peer through broken windows and behind shattered walls and in doorways, then he moved forward, nudging rubble with his foot.

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth Sauren put down his plate and watched, fixated like a cat focused on a mouse.

Accustomed now to Sauren's acicular manner when his attention honed in on something, Reed inched nearer. "What's wrong?"

Sauren remained focused on the mysterious figure. "I'm not sure," he whispered back. "But, I sense something odd about that person." He jutted his chin in the direction of the hooded individual.

Don moved closer now, his eyes also fixed on the man. "We could pretend we need to relieve ourselves," he suggested as an excuse to investigate.

Reed snickered. "All three of us? Girls do that, Don, not men."

"They do?" Don asked.

Reed just shook his head. Sauren's attention had never wavered from the man navigating his way through crumbled stone and burnt out shells of small buildings.

"Are we all clear on what must be done?" Sa'themar's voice sounded above the rogue troupe. They answered with a unified "Aye", all except Don and Reed, who jumped slightly at the interruption. Sauren didn't even flinch. His father said his name a little more forcefully. The half-elf acknowledged he had heard, quickly glancing at his father before returning his focus back to the hooded man.

"Good. We will move out in an hour." The guild leader announced and moved along to speak with Belo'vir.

Another voice suddenly spoke behind the half-elf. "You have noticed him too, yes?" Alaen hunkered down beside the three boys and pointed to the man who had grabbed their attention.

"Yes. What is he doing?" Sauren whispered.

The young mage inhaled lengthily before answering. "Nothing good, no doubt."

His tone drew Sauren's attention. "You know him?"

"Not one of my close associates no, but I know of him. I wondered actually if he would be poking around here."

"Who is he?"

"He is Archmage Kel'thuzad. He is one of the Council of Six from Dalaran."

"They oversee all matters that are magic do they not?" Reed asked.

Alaen scowled. "Put simplistically I guess, yes, but he is under scrutiny."

"Why?" Sauren asked, his interest piqued.

"He is suspected of dabbling in the forbidden magic which the Council does not tolerate."

"Forbidden magic?"

Alaen held the half-elf's gaze, an unformed question swimming behind his eyes as he inexplicably wondered if he had said too much. Sauren did not relent, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow encouraging the mage to continue.

"Necromancy," Alaen said finally in a rushed breath. Don and Reed shuddered.

Sauren's eyes widened and turned back momentarily to the hooded man who still seemed to be sifting through the wreckage. "You think he is looking for subjects, don't you?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes, I do. Although I may be wrong..." His face, however, clearly stated he believed his own assumptions.

The half-elf narrowed inquiring eyes. "And how is it you know of this?"

The fair lashes blinked slowly as Alaen fought the urge of a petulant retort. A prideful look then adorned the mage's features. "Rogues are not the only ones with networks, Sauren."

The half-elf nodded in understanding as Alaen stood to take his leave. "Do not cross that man, gentlemen. He is undeniably influential, highly intelligent, well learned and ..."

"Powerful," Sauren finished, once more drawn to the man in the ruins.

"Yes. Although I was actually going to say he is also considered dangerous."

Don guffawed. "As if we don't have enough problems beyond the wall, now we have one in beside us?"

Alaen looked down upon the three young rogues. Gone was his usual mischievous demeanour and soft smirk. His eyes drifted back to the Archmage whose myopic focus rendered him ignorant of the group's scrutiny. "Hmm. Just stay alive," Alaen said before moving back into the main group.

Reed shuddered at the mage's ominous parting words. "Suddenly the orcs seem friendlier," he muttered.

Sauren scoffed. His eyes continued to follow the Archmage as he wandered through the plaza. Nodding an occasional greeting to those huddled around campfires and in doorways no-one seemed to pay much heed to the man.

A few priests stood guardian over the dead, so there was no threat of the magus stealing away with any of the fallen defenders through a portal. After a while, he disappeared behind a mass of tumbled bricks. It seemed he had given up as the darkness was pierced by a soft silvery flash; the signifier he had left the area.

"Well, I really do need to pee now," Don announced.

"Yep, me too," Reed concurred. They waited to see if Sauren also needed to answer the call of nature. He shook his head and off they trundled in search of a place to relieve themselves without offending anyone in the vicinity.

Before long, the woman and her two children who had served their meal made the rounds once more, this time collecting plates, cutlery and mugs. The troupe thanked her for the food again, complimenting her cooking. She tilted her head in a modest but appreciative manner as she placed the items in big baskets which her children carried. A few of the rogues ruffled the kids' hair or just smiled and passed a coin or two into the grateful little hands.

Sauren noted the look in Lina's eyes as the girl and boy thanked her for her generosity. She seemed reluctant to let go of the little girl as she folded the tiny fingers over the silver she pressed into her hand. There was no doubt she was thinking of her own children, wishing she was with them instead of sitting amid the burnt and bloodied surroundings. He found himself wondering if her sons looked like Yathas while their daughter was perhaps the image of her mother. Lina stared after the little girl as she moved along with her family through the rest of the rogues.

Unexpectedly, her eyes turned to Sauren and for a moment he was oblivious that she was staring at him. The instant he became aware, he felt the heat rise from his neck, embarrassment at having been caught watching. Inwardly, he cursed the flush but he forced a smile of understanding. A memory crossed his mind and with it came a distant longing for a mother he had never known. It took all he had to maintain composure as Lina rose and carefully stepped between her colleagues to make her way towards him.

"How are you, Sauren?" she asked as she planted herself down beside him on an upturned crate.

"I am well, thank you, Lina," he replied, slightly agitated and a little vulnerable. "And you?"

She smiled, exhaling lightly. "Fine, thank you, but that's not really what I was asking, was it?"

He dropped his eyes to the ground, looking at nothing in particular, just feeling awkward.

"You have worked well today," she said softly. "Your father is proud of you."

It was Sauren's turn to exhale. Inexplicably, this conversation was causing his chest to tighten and he was a loss as to understand exactly why. He kept his eyes averted and flinched as she placed her hand on his knee. "Be careful tonight, young man. It will be dangerous out there."

"I know," he replied, his voice husky, strained.

A crystal silence followed, broken only by the sound of the troupe preparing to leave. He lifted his head and Lina was looking straight at him. He stilled, painfully aware of how beautiful the woman was and also how genuinely concerned she was for his safety. "I know how your father must feel. He loves you very much and he will worry about you, as I do for my children - every day. I know you are a very astute and able young man, Sauren, but please, abide by your father, follow his lead. Do not try to be heroic."

The platinum-haired half-elf suddenly felt very humble. His chance to respond was stolen as the rogues all gathered in front of him. With one last smile, Lina stood then joined her husband. Don and Reed trotted back, taking their place beside Sauren, now upstanding and facing his father who addressed the troupe again.

"We need to work diligently and skillfully. Use your cunning to trammel any threat in your path - we do not want to waken the entire field army." He scanned the assembled rogues. Heads nodded and soft acknowledgements sounded. His eyes flitted to the mages and priests and his tone held an air of regret. "We go out there alone. No magic and no Light to protect us. We cannot risk the mages nor the priests' lives, we do not have the resources to both protect them and do what needs to be done. And - " he glanced at Belo'vir, a mixture of respect and humour in his eyes. "Your methods of offense and defence seriously risks awakening them all." A modest ripple of laughter ran through the assembly.

Belo'vir smirked. "Point taken. We will, however, remain just as vigilant upon the battlements and if need be, we will teleport you out. You will be 'tagged' by our magic before you leave so just try to remain grouped then we will be able to lock onto you."

Sa'themar nodded and turned back to his rogues. "So, I re-iterate - be observant, careful and thorough. We are assuming their weapons are similarly constructed to ours, but we do not know for sure. They will no doubt be guarded, by how many - again, unsure. That is all."

It was already agreed mages would teleport the troupes, thus 'tagging' them, to the far side of the south-facing wall. It would take longer certainly as only two at a time could be transported by this means, but at least it reduced the risk of detection by the enemy for it did not light up the night sky, as would fluorescent, whirring portals.

Quietly, they proceeded to a deserted courtyard and the teleports commenced. Belo'vir assigned two mages per rogue squad, himself being one of them. Oddly, it was an art which many mages did not employ. The conjuring of portals, which required more skill to open 'doorways' to other locations, was favoured by the majority and therefore mere teleporting was often pushed aside, forgotten. It did, however, demand another skill-set, for primarily it was intended for a mage's own personal method of travel and not the transporting of others. Furthermore, unlike portals, teleporting could enable one to track those ferried as it left a residue of the hermetics involved.

Squad leaders awaited their troupes' arrival and once all were assembled the rogues moved out towards the now quiet, slumbering Horde. The land between the two factions was strewn with all manner of obstacles created from the days' battle. Enormous boulders that had been harvested as ammunition sat amid shale and rubble from areas of the defending wall which had been hit repeatedly. Corpses, both Horde casualties and who or whatever they deemed useful to set alight and fire at the fortifications all lay haphazard, limbs in grotesque, normally impossible positions. The malodorous night air was heavy, thick with the result of war; the coppery stench of blood, ammonia of urine and faeces and the still-smouldering, charred flesh of people and creatures alike.

Sauren, Don and Reed followed Sa'themar's squad, keeping close and quiet. They moved nimbly but with due care as determined by the terrain. Moonlight afforded them the outline of their targets - the Horde's weapons of war. The squads split on the guild leader's signal. Each group of rogues moved towards their designated marks.

With Sa'themar leading, the three boys continued onward. The night offered many pockets of shadow in which to disappear, caution nonetheless, was still required. They needed to give campfires a wide berth for even in stealth, they could be detected if they cast a shadow when caught by the light. It was a predicament which Sauren was expert assessing and he deftly avoided areas which would betray his presence. Don and Reed followed his path to the letter and so made safe progress.

Most of the orcs were asleep, only a handful remaining on watch, their sights being focused on the city walls. As suspected, others were based around the rogues' targets - the giant catapults and trebuchets which wrought so much damage to the city.

Stopping a few yards from the first machine, Sa'themar drew his squad in. "We want to disable these weapons," he whispered. "We kill the guards as swiftly as possible. Remember these orcs are insanely strong." He eyed his son and the two boys by his side. "You three concentrate on the weapon, the rest of us will see to the orcs."

Sauren was stunned. "But..."

His father held up a hand, forbidding him to question his authority. The half-elf snapped his mouth closed but was clearly incensed at being denied the chance to fight.

Sa'themar signalled for the others to take up position and for the three boys to proceed with the disarmament. Reed leapt onto the trebuchet with ease, shimmying his way along the beam to the guide chute. Once he reached the apex he dislodged the pin which held one side of the sling while Don and Sauren focused on the trigger for the counterweight. The sling itself would also be destroyed but it was important the mechanics were sabotaged first. They were thankful the machine had not been cocked for that would have made the task nigh on impossible without waking every orc within the camp.

Sauren looked down from the beam. He saw his father and colleagues kill the orc guards easily enough. The enormous tusked warriors had not stood a chance, the skills of the rogues being superior in light of the perhaps overly confident, musclebound menace from Draenor. Still, he knew they could not afford to become cocky. There were still a number of weapons to decommission and more orcs to defeat before the night was through. He glanced across the fields towards where the rest of the elites had gone. It was hard to be sure with only occasional moonbeams piercing drifting clouds, but it looked like they too had success.

The three of them descended the trebuchet and once more, they were on the move. Entering deeper into the camp, they came across makeshift shelters where some of the enemy slept. The rogues proceeded with caution. Other than the odd belch or fart in between snores, there was nothing to indicate the orcs were awake.

Only those guarding the artillery were alert. Their unintelligible orcish mumblings oft gave way to low laughter before resuming their conversations.

Another machine rose above them and Reed and Don ascended, sabotaging the various mechanisms. Sauren climbed slower, his attention drawn to the receding back of an orc a few yards away from the others. He was heading to a thick crop of ferns at the edge of some trees. The half-elf surmised he was going to relieve himself.

Checking with his friends, he indicated his intentions. They glanced in the direction of the tree line. Reed vigorously shook his head, pointing to Sa'themar. Don started to move back down the beam towards Sauren. He attempted to grab his shoulder but the half-elf swung around the beam and landed on the platform just below.

He hunkered down and peered over the frame to where the rogues were readying to attack. He deduced they had their hands full with the five orcs remaining on guard. If the other one came back to find his fellow soldiers slaughtered or in the process of being dispatched, he would warn the camp and all would rise. The troupe would not stand a chance.

Sauren leapt down, ignoring his friends' silent protestations. Keeping himself in the shadows he made his way to the trees.

He covered the ground quickly and soon found the orc squatting in amongst the soft undergrowth. Gauging his path so as not to betray his presence, Sauren neared the gigantic target, realising even when crouched the beasts were massive. He shimmied silently up the tree behind the orc. Studying the sheer bulk, he knew hand-to-hand with this thing would result in him being pummelled into the forest floor, so he needed to call forth all he had learned about the art of surprise and points on which he could render the orc incapacitated.

Like a spider, he lowered himself down the trunk on a vine until he was about three feet above his mark. He grinned, noting the obvious discomfort the orc was in - rations in the Horde camp could not have been particularly nutritious. Nonetheless, he would have to act quickly, for not only would his father wonder where he had disappeared to, but the stench from the orc's shit threatened to cause an algospasm.

He inched to his left searching for access to the vital point behind the orc's jaw and underneath its ear. The beast shifted, grunting as he strained. Then Sauren found the area he needed. If he could jab there and also below its cheekbones it would collapse in considerable pain. This would give Sauren ample time to slit the orc's throat. It was now or never.

Releasing the tension of the vine he slid down, closing the gap - and attacked. As he hit the mastoid the orc had just managed to turn opening the way for the half-elf to jab at the second pressure point. Dropping to the ground in front of the orc he watched as it collapsed on its side, the fiery eyes wide with shock and pain.

Sauren shifted, stepping from the shadows. A grin of utter satisfaction crossed his lips as the orc saw its tall and agile attacker. The thick lips juddered around yellowed tusks as it tried to call out but Sauren unsheathed his blades and drawing them across either side, silenced the orc for good.

"What do you think you are doing!" His father's voice sounded.

Even the ire in Sa'themar's voice could not deflect the rush Sauren was feeling at that point. He turned fearless eyes to the guild leader. "I am preventing the tables turning on us, father," he said, his voice bold, confident almost daring Sa'themar to scold him. "You said 'use your cunning to trammel any threat in your path'. That is exactly what I have done. Had this one come back to find what we had done, you would have had the entire Horde army to face."

Even in the dark, the high elf's eyes flashed dangerously. "A strategic consideration, I grant you, but you will not score points with me for disobedience, regardless. Abandoning your troupe is unforgivable."

Angered, Sauren wiped the blades on his shirt sleeves. Sliding them back into the scabbards strapped to his back he pushed past his father. "Would you rather I lay dead with you all for the sake of protocol?" Concealed once more in shadow, he crossed the expanse and rejoined the troupe. There he stood waiting, his annoyance with his father causing him to breathe hard as he tried to suppress a sense of hurt that his quick thinking had not even been commended.

The troupe remained until the guild leader rejoined them. Without so much as a glance at his son, Sa'themar signalled them forward.

"Did you kill it?" Reed asked.

"Yes!" Sauren replied, taut.

Both his friends congratulated him with amiable pats on his shoulders. Sauren stared straight ahead, still irked. Biting the inside of his cheeks he dutifully did as his father expected of him when they reached the next machine, but he was seething. He knew he had to contain his emotions, they could lead to mistakes and that would give Sa'themar another reason to humiliate him. Yes, he needed to calm down - there was still much to do before the night was over.