Two days later, Lothar found he had nothing to smile about. Alleria's scouts had returned, as had Proudmoore's, and both had the same news to share. The Horde had taken Khaz Modan and used the dwarven mines to craft ships of their own, massive ungainly vessels of iron and timber that moved awkwardly but could carry thousands of orcs in their deep holds. These ships had carried the Horde swiftly across the water, and they had indeed aimed at the southern coast of Lordaeron. Not as far as Graymane's domain, however. It looked as if the Horde would come ashore in the Hillsbrad region, halfway between here and Gilneas. If the Alliance moved quickly, they could be there waiting when the Horde arrived.
"Gather the troops!" Lothar bellowed. "Leave everything nonessential—we can send people back for it later, if we survive! Right now we need speed more than anything else. Go! Go!" He turned to Khadgar as his other lieutenants ran from the command tent to muster their own troops, the kings right beside them. "And so it begins," he told the young—old wizard.
Khadgar nodded. "I thought we would have more time," he admitted.
"So did I," Lothar agreed. "But these orcs are impatient to conquer. That may be their downfall." He sighed. "At least, I hope so." He stared at the maps of Hillsbrad a moment, trying to envision the coming battle, then shook his head. There were things to do, many of them. And the battle would come soon enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"A re we ready?"
Turalyon gulped and nodded. "Ready, sir."
Lothar nodded and turned away, frowning, and for a second Turalyon worried the expression was because of him. Had he given the wrong response? Had Lord Lothar wanted more detail? Was there something else he was supposed to say or do?
Stop it, he warned himself. You're panicking. Again! Calm down. You're doing fine. He's frowning because we're about to go into battle, not because you've disappointed him.
Forcing himself not to think about it any more, Turalyon gave his gear one more inspection. The straps of his armor were all good and tight, his shield was steady on his arm, his warhammer was slung from the saddle—horn. He was ready. As ready as he could be.
Looking around, he studied the other figures nearby. Lothar was talking to Uther, and Turalyon envied both men their poise. They looked slightly impatient but otherwise completely calm. Was that just something you picked up as you got more experience? Khadgar was looking out over the plain, and must have sensed Turalyon's gaze because he turned and gave him a weary smile.
"Nervous?" the mage asked.
Turalyon grinned despite himself. "Very," he admitted. He had been raised with the typical sense of respect but wariness toward magi but Khadgar was different. Perhaps it was because they were near the same age, though the mage looked decades older. Or perhaps it was simply that Khadgar didn't hold himself above non—magi the way Turalyon had seen other wizards do. They had struck up an easy conversation that first day, after Archbishop Faol had introduced all of them, and Turalyon had found himself liking Khadgar. He liked Lothar as well, but was in awe of the Champion's experience and martial skill. Khadgar was probably more powerful personally, but somehow he was more approachable, and he and Turalyon had become fast friends. He was the only one Turalyon felt safe telling about his fears.
"Don't worry about it," Khadgar advised. "Everyone is. The trick is just to work past that."
"You're nervous too?"
The mage grinned. "Scared spitless would be closer," he revealed. "I have been every time we've been in combat. And it was Lothar who told me, after one encounter, that you should be scared. Because the man who isn't afraid gets careless, and that's when he gets hurt."
Turalyon nodded. "My instructors said much the same thing." He shook his head. "It's one thing to say that, though, and another to believe it."
His friend patted him on the shoulder. "You'll do fine," he assured. "Once it starts you'll be too busy to think about it."
They both turned and looked out again. The Hillsbrad region was so named for its rolling foothills, and the Alliance army was spread across the last line of those hills, facing Lordaeron's Southshore and the Great Sea beyond. The Horde ships were approaching even as they watched, massive unwieldy vessels of dark metal and blackened wood, without sails but with row upon row of oars. Lothar intended to meet the Horde as it emerged from the water, before the orcs had a chance to find their footing. Proudmoore's navy had already assaulted the ships during their passage, destroying several vessels and sending thousands of orcs to the bottom of the ocean, but the Horde was so numerous they had merely picked off the outermost ships while the rest sailed on past. There would still be fighting aplenty when they landed.
"They are almost ashore," Alleria reported, her sharp elven eyes seeing farther than theirs. She turned toward Turalyon. "Best ready your men for the attack."
Turalyon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He had seen women before, of course, and nothing about his Order forbade relationships or even marriage. But the elven ranger made every other woman he had ever met seem both weak and rough at the same time. She was so confident, so graceful, and so lovely his mouth ran dry every time he saw her, and he often found himself trembling and sweating like a horse that had just run a hard race. And judging by the glint in her eyes and the half—smile when she said anything to him, Turalyon suspected she knew and enjoyed his discomfort.
Now at least he had something to distract him. Signaling his unit leaders, Turalyon gave them the go—ahead gesture. They in turn gave an order to their heralds, who sounded the advance on their battle horns. Within minutes the entire Alliance force was in motion, marching and riding slowly but steadily down the hill and toward the shore.
As they closed the distance Turalyon made out more details. He saw the first of the ships beach itself, and dark figures swarm over its side, stomping up the rocky beach and toward the foothills. Even from here he could see they were broadly built, with thick chests and long, powerful arms, and bandy legs that ate up the distance. They brandished weapons, axes and hammers and swords and spears. And there were a lot of them.
"They have reached the land!" Lothar shouted, drawing his massive greatsword with a single sweep and holding it aloft, the gold runes along its blade catching the light. "Charge! For Lordaeron!" He spurred his horse and it leaped forward, past the Alliance ranks, the golden lion on his shield catching the light.
"Damn!" Turalyon kicked his own steed into a gallop and took off after his commander, snatching up his hammer and dropping his helm into place as he moved. He saw soldiers scrambling out of the way, and others hastening to catch up, and then he was past them and in the narrow stretch between the two armies. But soon enough that vanished and he crashed full—force into the orcs, reaching them just as Lothar's first swing took down several and others advanced toward his horse, determined to pull the Champion down and tear him apart.
"No!" Turalyon swung as soon as he was within reach, his hammer catching an orc full in the head. The creature dropped with barely a sound and Turalyon knocked a second one aside with his shield, battering the orc away long enough to bring his hammer back around and smash at that one as well.
By the Light, they were ugly! Lothar and Khadgar had described them but it was not the same as seeing them firsthand, with that vivid green skin and those glowing red eyes. And those tusks! He had seen such things on boars before, but never on anything that walked on two legs and carried a weapon! They were strong too, he saw, as an orc's warhammer clashed with his own and almost drove his weapon back into his helm, the creature struck with such force. Fortunately they seemed to rely more upon strength and aggression than skill—he was able to twist his weapon free and bring it back around, its haft catching the orc a glancing blow across the cheek and stunning it long enough for Turalyon to strike again properly.