“Red dragons . . . ” Haldrissa at first gasped before recognizing that these were more bestial in appearance, and more primitive of form. “No . . . red proto-dragons . . .”
She had only heard of them in Northrend, but there had been rumors that the Horde had attempted to bring them to other regions. Savage creatures with stouter, toothy muzzles, they raced along the sky with clear intent. Their wings had sharp points to them, and the proto-dragons roared with monstrous eagerness as they closed.
Too late, Haldrissa realized that she had played exactly into the Horde’s hands. With an attack already under way, they had expected her to try to send another warning to Darnassus.
Haldrissa had just sent the riders and their mounts to their doom.
The Horde could not have many proto-dragons. These were likely most if not all. However, these were all they needed. Almost double the number of hippogryphs, the proto-dragons broke off in pairs to pursue the as-yet-unsuspecting riders.
A horn blared, Denea seeking to warn the scouts. Yet, even though some clearly reacted, it was too late. The proto-dragons—and their orc riders—had been waiting in hiding so near that it did not take them much time to overtake their quarry.
Hippogryphs were hardly defenseless, and those working with the Sentinels were especially adept at battle. Unable to gain enough distance on their pursuers, most of the hippogryphs turned to face the proto-dragons. The scouts readied their bows.
One fortunate scout got off a shot that swiftly dealt with the orc astride one proto-dragon. The dead warrior tumbled off the side of his mount and dropped like a rock toward Ashenvale.
Two proto-dragons caught a hippogryph between them. The hippogryph slashed with his talons, raking the snout of the nearest proto-dragon. The orc rider tried to aim his own bow, but the wound made his shot go wide. The hippogryph’s rider fired back with success equal to the previous scout, sending another Horde corpse falling to the ground.
Unfortunately, in focusing on the one proto-dragon, the hippogryph by necessity had to pay little attention to the other. The scout tried to nock another arrow in order to deal with the second, but in the process left herself open to the axe of that proto-dragon’s rider.
The orc struck hard, the axe blade crushing through armor, flesh, and bone. With a cry, the scout clutched the bleeding stump of an arm. The night elf was put out of her misery by a second swing of the blade, leaving the hippogryph to fend for himself while still bearing the dead rider.
The brave creature managed another good swipe, this time at the underbelly of the second proto-dragon. The beast let out a pained roar and tilted to the side. The orc tried to cling on, but with one hand still gripping the axe, he could not.
What saved him was the first proto-dragon, which appeared as if by silent command under the dropping orc. Grabbing hold, the orc repositioned himself on his new mount.
Both the badly injured proto-dragon and its comrade closed on the hippogryph. Fangs tore into a wing. Claws ripped at a neck.
The hippogryph made one last lunge at the most wounded of his adversaries. He tore into the throat of the proto-dragon. The proto-dragon planted its nails on one of the hippogryph’s wings.
So entangled, both plummeted to their doom.
In an attempt to see their mission to fruition, two of the hippogryphs attempted to flee west. One did not make it far, and although the scout tried to aid by firing at their pursuers, a proto-dragon managed to cut the creature off. Unlike in the previous struggle, the hippogryph and night elf were unable to put up much of a defense before both were ripped to shreds by the combination of teeth, nails, and axes.
The full aerial combat quickly began to shrink as the trapped defenders fell one after another. Two more proto-dragons perished—as did their orcs—but soon there were only the one scout and hippogryph still seeking to outrace the two mounted proto-dragons slowly but surely closing. The trap had been set well, and Haldrissa felt personally responsible for each death she witnessed.
Worse, there was nothing she could do but watch as the last was trapped. The scout and his hippogryph fought as valiantly as their comrades, even bringing down one of the other proto-dragons and its rider, but in the end, they, too, fell. The entire struggle had taken place over perhaps four minutes, though to Haldrissa it had seemed a horrific eternity.
The Sentinels had not simply stood by as this all happened. Lancers astride nightsabers readied to lead the charge out the gates. Sentinels on foot held their glaives steady. Archers held off their fire, now awaiting the word that the Horde was finally attacking in earnest.
The guards on the walls cautiously peered through carved gaps, waiting for the first rush of orcs.
But nothing happened.
13
Jarod’s Hunt
Although Velen’s arrival had not been expected, there was no question as to his staying as an honored guest, just like the rest of those representing the Alliance. However, the Prophet was not one who desired much in the way of accommodations, and insisted on a simple chamber. Tyrande saw that he received one that still faced him toward the temple proper.
The tranquility of the Temple Gardens appealed to Velen, and so the present moment found him meditating there. The draenei sat with legs crossed, facing the center of the gardens, his concentration on the Light. The two honor guards the high priestess had assigned to him he had requested to stay behind at his quarters, their presence surely not needed in this of all places.
He suddenly sensed the presence of someone else approaching him—someone who also had a tremendous affinity for the Light. It could be only one person. Without looking, Velen quietly said, “Welcome, Anduin Wrynn.”
The human did not seem at all surprised that Velen sensed him, a further sign that the Light was very strong with King Varian’s son.
“Hello, Prophet. I—I’m sorry if I disturb you.”
“Please, the title is one given to me by others. I prefer simply Velen.” The draenei smoothly rose. “Your father does not know you are here.”
“No . . . he thinks I’m asleep. . . . ” Anduin could not hide his guilt.
“It is not for me to judge whether you should have stayed in your quarters or not. That is for you to decide.”
This statement seemed to put Anduin at ease a bit. “I’m old enough to make my own choices, despite what my father thinks. I love him, but he fears so much to lose me again—or to lose me forever, as he did Mother—that he nearly smothers me. I can never be out of his sight for more than a few minutes.”
“One can understand his concern . . . and your difficulty with it, as well.”
“Proph—Velen, you know why I’ve come here.”
“You wish to speak more of the Light. I am happy to tell you what I know, if you respect that I will not seek to guide you from your father.”
Anduin nodded, at that moment looking to Velen much like the king. “I wouldn’t ask it. I only want to learn more.” He put a hand to his heart. “I feel the Light here. I feel it more every day. It’s as much a part of me as anything else is.”
“Yes. It is extremely strong where you are concerned.” Velen glanced around the gardens, but there was no one else about. “We can talk for a time, if you like, so long as you promise me you will return to your quarters afterward.”
The gratitude with which the youth radiated was almost as strong as the Light within. “I promise.”
As they walked, Velen studied the boy closely. Yes, I must teach him all I know, if that is possible. This one has a destiny with the Light. . . .
Velen ever remained aware of just who walked with him. Anduin was heir to Stormwind, and the draenei knew how important Stormwind was to this troubled world just now. The Alliance needed Stormwind, perhaps more than even its king realized. Anything that threatened the stability of Stormwind threatened the long-term stability of the Alliance, especially in the face of a resurgent Horde.