A cry went up and lights were lit in buildings. Humans and dwarves poured forth from seemingly nowhere, and Fenris realized they weren't going to be able to escape without a fight. He attacked fiercely, hoping to end it quickly. His orcs rallied around him, and soon cleared the immediate area of humans. But Fenris knew the docks would be overrun before long.
"To the boats!" he shouted, raising his axe high. They clambered into the three boats, one Bonechewer dropping his victim's remains back on the pier, hacked free the anchor lines, and cast off. It was clumsy, but the orcs managed to get all three boats pushed away from the docks and out into the bay beyond. Even as they left the harbor behind, however, a beacon fire flared to light.
"This is Baradin Bay," Ragnok said, "and the fleet of Kul Tiras patrols it regularly. They will see the beacon and be here within minutes."
"Then we should be gone before they arrive," Fenris replied grimly. He pulled a pair of oars from the long case set between the benches lining the boat and tossed them to the nearest warrior. "Row!" he shouted, grabbing more oars and distributing them as well. "Row with all your might!" The other boats followed his lead, and soon they were skimming across the water, their powerful arms lending the boats speed.
But it was not enough, Fenris realized as he saw other, larger boats racing toward them. "Kul Tiras naval vessels!" Ragnok confirmed, studying their outlines. “Admiral Proudmoore hates orсs — he will stop at nothing to destroy us!"
"Can we fight them?" Fenris asked, but he knew the answer even before the death knight shook his head.
"They are trained for ship-to-ship battle. And they can outrun us as well. We do not stand a chance!"
Fenris glanced up at the star-pocked sky and nodded. "Perhaps we don't. But then again, perhaps we do. Keep rowing!"
Their boats moved quickly, but as Ragnok had predicted, their pursuit was faster. The human boats drew closer, until Fenris could make out the grim men clad all in green who stood ready at the taller ships' railings. Many of them had bows ready, while others had short swords and axes and spears in hand. He knew his warriors could defeat a larger number of humans if they were on land, but here at sea they were at a serious disadvantage.
Fortunately, they had not come alone.
Just as the first human boat came close enough for Fenris to make out the men's faces, a dark shape dropped out of the sky between them. Massive wings flapped hard enough to drive the boat back and knock the men off their feet. Then the dragon's jaws opened wide and fire shot forth, engulfing the ship's prow. The tar-coated wood caught at once, and soon the entire boat was alight. The sounds of screaming and crackling fire lifted Fenris s heart.
But the humans did not flee. Again their boats closed in, and again a black dragon intercepted it and charred timbers and crew alike. A third time the humans tried, their weapons bouncing off the dragons' tough hides, and a third boat was reduced to ash and bone. After that the human ships fell back, letting the three orс-captured boats pull away. A cheer rang out from the orсs.
"They're giving up!" Tagar cried from the prow of the boat beside them.
"They're no match for the dragons and they know it," Fenris corrected. "But I would not think they are giving up."
"Any sign of smaller fires on the other ships? Controlled ones?" asked Ragnok.
Fenris studied the retreating vessels. "Yes, I see a signal fire, and smoke," he said finally.
"They're warning the rest of their fleet," Ragnok said. "They'll be waiting for us."
Tagar laughed from the prow of the boat beside them. "The warnings will come too late," he proclaimed, licking blood from his axe blade. "By the time the humans have gathered their courage to come after us again, we will be long gone with our prize."
Fenris nodded. For the first time, he hoped that the Bonechewer was right, and that he was wrong.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Antonidas, archmage and leader of the Kirin Tor, sat in his study examining a recently arrived scroll. The news was grave indeed: Admiral Proudmoore reported that a group of orcs had stolen several ships from Menethil Harbor. Worse, when he'd pursued them, Proudmoore's ships had been driven back … by dragons. Black dragons. Antonidas felt a vein throb in his temple and rubbed it. During the Second War the Horde had somehow enlisted the aid of the red dragons, and now that the portal had been restored it seemed they had allied with the black dragons as well. It was almost unbelievable. Two dragonflights? How could the Alliance hope to stand against that?
A soft tap came at his door. "Enter, Krasus," Antonidas called out, his magical skills already telling him who was calling at this late hour.
"You left word that you wished to see me?" the other mage asked as he entered and closed the door behind him, keeping his delicate features deliberately bland. Antonidas suspected it was to stop him from losing his temper, but if so it did not succeed.
"Yes, I left word," Antonidas replied, all but spitting the words through his long gray-streaked beard. "Months ago! Where have you been?"
"I had other business to attend to," Krasus answered evasively, perching himself on the edge of Antonidas's desk. Lamplight caught the hints of red and black lingering in his silver hair and turned the whole into fire and gleaming metal.
"Other business? You serve on the Kirin Tor, Krasus, a fact I should not have to remind you of!” Antonidas pointed out, frowning. "If you cannot make time for such duties, perhaps it would be best if another was appointed in your stead."
To his surprise, the slender mage bowed his head. "If that is truly what you wish, I will step down," Krasus stated quietly. "I would prefer to remain, however, and I promise you that Dalaran and the Kirin Tor currently have my utmost attention."
Antonidas studied him a moment, then finally nodded. He didn't really want to lose Krasus — the enigmatic mage had surprising stores of both power and knowledge. And despite the man's occasional evasiveness, Antonidas did feel his colleague had all their best interests at heart.
"Take a look at this," he said, thrusting the scroll into the other man's hands. He watched as Krasus read, shock and growing horror on his face.
"The black dragonflight!" Krasus whispered when he had finished, rerolling the scroll and placing it carefully on the desk as if the very words might attack. "My research leads me to believe the red dragons have no love of battle or bloodshed, and only served the Horde under duress. But the black! That pairing seems more logical and deliberate — and much more dangerous."
"I agree," Antonidas said. "Krasus, you are our resident expert on dragon lore. Do you think there is any way to stop them, or at least limit their effectiveness?"
"I—" A sharp keening cut through the still night air. The two wizards locked eyes for a moment. They knew what that sound meant — it was an alarm. Krasus stayed silent while Antonidas tried to identify it. Which of the old spells was it — was it that one, or…
"The Arcane Vault!" he said at last, eyes widening. "It's been breached!"
Krasus looked as frightened as he felt. The Arcane Vault stood near the heart of the Violet Citadel and was protected by the strongest magics the magi could devise. It held many of the city's most powerful artifacts, as well as some items the magi could not use themselves but could not risk allowing to fall into anyone else's hands.
Standing, Krasus held out his hand. Antonidas grasped it and without a word the two teleported to the Arcane Vault.