"Never!" Nekros held up the Demon Soul, and the approaching dragon screamed in pain, twisting to stay aloft as its body trembled and spasmed. The other dragons backed off slightly, though they continued to wheel about overhead.
"Your mother is our captive, as are her mates," Zuluhed shouted, knowing the dragons could hear him despite their altitude. "They will remain so. You and all their children will serve us, serve the Horde, or she will die screaming from the same pain you just felt. And with her your flight will die, for without Alexstrasza there will be no more red dragon hatchlings. You will be the last of your kind."
The dragons cried out in anger, but Zuluhed knew they would obey. He had seen the bond between mother and child and it was strong, strong enough to force them to obedience. As long as Alexstrasza thought there was hope for her children she would serve them by producing litter upon litter of dragon eggs. And as long as she and three of her mates were their captives her children would serve as well, in the hopes of one day freeing their mother.
Zuluhed grinned, watching the young dragons soaring above him. Even now his orcs were hard at work, fashioning leather straps and reins and seats. Soon they would bring the first red dragon down into this cave, and fit him with a harness and a saddle. He would hate that, of course—the dragons were fiercely independent, and no one had ever dared ride them before. But his clan would.
This was what he had promised Doomhammer, and the Warchief had been enthused about the project. This would be their secret weapon. The humans had troops and cavalry and ships, but they could not take to the air. With the dragons under his control, and loyal orcs astride them, Zuluhed could strike at the humans from above and then swoop back out of their reach. The dragons were powerful foes physically, with their claws and their jaws and their tails, but it was their fiery breath that would truly devastate the humans. Fire would rain down upon them, destroying them and their equipment, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. With the dragons on their side, the Horde would be invincible.
And he, Zuluhed of the Dragonmaw clan, was responsible. Without those visions he would never have found the Demon Soul, or sensed that it was somehow linked with the dragons, and without its powers—and Nekros to unlock them—they could not have enslaved Alexstrasza. But they had, and soon the first dragon—riders would take to the air, joining the rest of the Horde and awaiting Doomhammer's commands.
Zuluhed grinned. All was going according to plan.
CHAPTER TEN
"There, Thane! Look there!"
Kurdran Wildhammer wheeled Sky'ree about and peered down where Farand pointed. Yes, there! His sharp eyes spotted movement, and he tapped Sky'ree lightly with his heels. His gryphon mount cawed softly in response before tucking in her wings and diving down, the wind tugging at them both as they descended.
Yes, now he could make out figures traipsing through the forest below. Trolls? They were as green as the forest trolls his people hated, certainly, their skin blending in among the foliage, but they walked the ground rather than skimming the branches. And their footsteps were too heavy, too careless, to be the trolls, who knew the ways of the forest almost as well as an elf might. No, these creatures were something different. Kurdran caught a clear view of one as it passed through a small clearing, and frowned. Heavily built but big, as big as a human, with thick muscles and long legs. And heavy weapons, massive axes and hammers and maces. Whatever the creatures were, they were equipped for war.
He pulled back on the reins and Sky'ree lashed her tail, reared back on her leonine haunches, spread her wings and leaped upward once more, clear of the trees and back into the sky. Farand and the others were circling, their weathered skin blending into the tawny pelts of their mounts, and Kurdran rose to join them, his braided beard and hair streaming behind him, enjoying the sensation of flight even under these grim circumstances. Off in the distance he could see the massive stone carving of an eagle at rest, peering alertly and confidently out at the world, which was his own home and the heart of his domain. Aerie Peak. Yet the sight did not fill him with the usual pride and joy, for it seemed far too close for comfort given the activities occurring below him.
"Ye see, Thane?" Farand asked. "I told ye! Uglies in our forest!"
"Aye, ye were right," Kurdran told the scout. "They are ugly, and they are intruding. There be a lot o' them, though. And they'll be hard to hit as long as they stay beneath the trees."
"Are we just to let them traipse across our lands, then?" one of the other scouts demanded.
"Oh no," Kurdran replied. He grinned at the other Wildhammer dwarves. "We'll just have to be scaring them out into the open. Come on, lads, let's get back home. I have a few ideas. But don't worry, we'll soon be making it clear to those greenskins that they're not welcome in the Hinterlands."
"You there! Paladin!"
Turalyon glanced up as the elf slowed to a stop beside him. He hadn't seen the ranger approach, but that didn't surprise him. In the past few weeks he had learned how quickly the elves could come and go, and how silently. Alleria, in particular, delighted in startling him by suddenly speaking in his ear when he hadn't even realized she was back in camp.
"Yes?" He had been cleaning his gear but he paused respectfully.
"The orcs are in the Hinterlands," the elf reported. "And they're meeting up with the trolls there." That last was said with utter disgust. Turalyon had learned that the elves hated the forest trolls, and apparently the feeling was mutual. It made sense—both were woodlands creatures, and the forests here were not big enough for two such races. They had been enemies for thousands of years, too, ever since the elves had driven the trolls from part of the forest and established their kingdom there on that conquered land.
"You're certain they're allies and not just crossing paths?" Turalyon asked, setting his armor off to the side. He rubbed absently at his chin. If the orcs and the trolls really had formed a partnership, that could be trouble.
The ranger snorted in reply. "Of course I'm sure! I heard them talking. They've got a pact of some sort." The elf actually looked concerned for the first time. "They're planning on striking at Aerie Peak — and then moving up into Quel'Thalas."
Ah, that explained his agitation. Quel'Thalas was the elves' own homeland, and the trolls hated them. If they'd joined the Horde it made sense they'd direct the orcs there.
"I'll let Lothar know," Turalyon assured him, standing up. "We'll stop them before they can get anywhere near your homeland." The elf nodded, though he didn't look convinced, and turned away, jogging back into the trees and disappearing once again. But Turalyon wasn't watching. He was already making his way toward the command tent.
He found Lothar inside, along with Khadgar, Terenas, and a few others.
"The orcs are targeting Aerie Peak," he announced as he entered. Everyone turned toward him, and Turalyon saw several eyebrows raise in surprise. "One of the rangers just told me," he explained. "The orcs have allied with the forest trolls and they're planning to strike Aerie Peak."
Terenas nodded and turned to the everpresent map covering the tent's large table. "Makes sense," he admitted, tapping Aerie Peak 's location. "The Wildhammer dwarves are strong enough to put up a fight so they'd not want to risk an attack from behind. And if the trolls are with them, they'd want the dwarves out of the Hinterlands altogether."
Lothar was staring at the map as well. "It'll be tough taking the fight to them in the forest," he commented. "We can't deploy properly in there, and we'll be forced to leave our ballistae behind." He rubbed a hand over his forehead, thinking. "Then again, they'll not be able to marshal their forces well either. We can pick off smaller groups of orcs and not worry about them sending the full army to any one location."