Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War

26

Garrosh had ridden as fast as his dire wolf would carry him to Bladefist Bay as soon as he understood all the troll had told him. The ships had not yet arrived, so he commandeered the goblin vessel that seemed permanently moored there, to the surprise and pleasure of the small green captain. The craft chugged out to rendezvous with the other vessels approaching from Northwatch, with Garrosh, Malkorok, and many others on board.

It did not go unnoticed, but fortunately the Alliance was not yet within range. “Faster!” demanded Garrosh, but there were no shaman aboard to make the oceans obey. Garrosh itched to pull alongside one of the vessels, leap onto the deck, and start slaughtering Alliance, but he could not. Not yet. He roared with frustration as the Alliance quickly and brutally dispatched the first brave Horde ship. He watched it go down, blasted in twain and licked by fire, and let his anger fuel him.

Garrosh had been taken by surprise by the news but had recovered quickly. The Horde fleet might have been scattered over Kalimdor, but its secret weapon could be employed anywhere. Despite being so greatly outnumbered, he knew that vengeance would shortly be his.

As the goblin ship chugged valiantly toward the Alliance fleet, Garrosh laughed as several of the Alliance craft were suddenly swathed in fog. “Let them fear what is out there,” he told Malkorok. “Let them feel the terror of not knowing what we do—until they behold our true power.”

“Would that I could engage Varian myself, on his own vessel,” growled Malkorok. “He would not taste a swift death, nor an honorable one.”

“He deserves only to outlive the rest of those who accompany him, and watch them despair and die,” Garrosh said in agreement. Some of the Alliance ships had managed to evade the fog or else had been out of range. They were bearing down hard now on the three remaining Horde vessels, but as the goblin vessel finally pulled alongside the Bonecracker and Garrosh and the others leaped easily to the other ship’s deck, the war chief was calm, even anticipatory.

“Summon them,” was all he said to the captain. The troll took up the cry, and soon the call of “Summon them! Summon them!” was passed from ship to ship. The battle continued on and the air grew thick with smoke from cannon fire. On nearly every deck, Horde fighters were bleeding or dead, impaled by cruel splinters of wood the size of a human’s forearm. Healers rushed about, tending to those they could while trying to avoid being casualties themselves.

The ocean’s surface, already surging fiercely with the violation of cannonballs, shamanic enforcement, and the flotsam and jetsam of the battle, began to churn in earnest. White froth boiled, and then something exploded up from the depths.

The crew of the unfortunate Alliance ship only had time to gape in horror as the creature struck. Huge tentacles whipped about the mighty vessel, closing around it in a parody of a loving embrace. The kraken—for such it was—began to tighten the coils, squeezing, and the ship splintered. Garrosh threw back his head and laughed.

Other monsters arose from the cold heart of the ocean, angry and hostile at their enslavement but unable to vent their rage upon their masters. They turned their fury instead upon the Alliance ships, snaking out tentacles to seize and shake and sometimes fling the pieces they had made. Alliance soldiers of all races tumbled, screaming, off their broken ships and into the churning waters, where the kraken devoured them.

“Come, Malkorok!” cried Garrosh. “Let us take a few Alliance lives for our own. The kraken are powerful tools, but I do not wish all my foes to simply become food for the fish!”

“I am with you as ever, my warchief,” Malkorok said. Up ahead there was one Alliance ship that had, thus far, evaded the grasp of the kraken. It had pulled about and, instead of firing its starboard cannons at the remaining Horde ships, was turning its full attention to blasting one of the kraken.

“Captain, take us there!” he cried. “I have a thirst for Alliance blood!”

Only too grateful to oblige, and with an uneasy glance at the blue-black, shiny, half-submerged things churning in the water, the captain pulled along the port side of the Alliance ship the Lion of the Waves. The crew cried a warning, but most of the attention was focused on the starboard side. With a grace belying their great size and muscular weight, the two orcs leaped the short distance between the vessels, and the fight began in earnest.

Malkorok was swinging as he sprang onto the Lion’s deck. A draenei priest, engrossed in healing the ship’s crewmen, was cut down without even realizing the threat. Gorehowl sang its eerie song of slaughter, announcing Garrosh’s presence and chopping off the furry head of a worgen. Sensing something behind him, the orc whirled, swinging, and Gorehowl collided with the oversized axe of a looming demon. The felguard’s hideous gray face split in a yellow-toothed grin.

Garrosh laughed. “My father slew a demon far greater than you.” He sneered.

The felguard laughed in return, a dark, sinister sound. “Enjoy it while you can,” he rumbled.

Axe clashed with axe. The felguard was massive and powerful, but Garrosh was fueled by familial pride. He thought of his father fighting Mannoroth, one of the most powerful pit lords that had ever lived, and the tusks he wore in memoriam on his own brown shoulders. The felguard’s laugh halted abruptly and he began to frown as Gorehowl struck home on his gray torso. Another strike, then another, and the felguard toppled in chunks to the deck.

“Warchief!” shouted Malkorok. His blades dripped scarlet, and there were no fewer than four bodies at his feet. “Behind you!”

He barely turned swiftly enough to get Gorehowl up between him and the large, black-haired, nearly impossibly fast human who came at him, wielding a massive sword—Shalamayne. Varian uttered a loud, furious howl, more suited to the ghost wolf for which he had been named than a human. Garrosh grunted as the unique blade bit his arm and drew blood. He parried in time to halt the blow from cutting deeper, and shoved hard. Varian staggered back, but Shalamayne descended again.

“The ancestors bless us indeed!” shouted Garrosh. “I knew you would die today, but I did not hope to have the luck to be the one to slay you!”

“I am surprised you have the guts to take me on,” Varian snarled. “You’ve grown cowardly since we last met. First magnataur, then elementals, then kraken to do your dirty work. Did you run and hide when you dropped the mana bomb? I’m sure you were a safe distance away!”

Gorehowl sang again, sweeping low in a blow designed to cut off Varian’s legs. The human jumped and whirled in midair, only to have Gorehowl nearly slice off his head as Garrosh followed through with the axe’s movement.

“You are slower than you were the last time we met,” sneered Garrosh. “You are growing older, Varian. Perhaps you should let that sniveling son of yours be king. I will march on Stormwind when the kraken have reduced your mighty ships to kindling. I will take your precious boy, slap him in chains, and parade him through Orgrimmar!”

He had thought to so anger the king of Stormwind that the human would explode in fury, fighting wildly instead of well. To his astonishment, Varian merely grinned, dodging the swing of the axe, measuring his next step. “Anduin might surprise you,” he said. “Even lovers of peace despise cowards.”

Garrosh suddenly grew tired of the taunting. “Thrice before have we fought,” Garrosh snarled, “and it is three times too many. This time, you die—and so does all that you love.” Garrosh charged, swinging Gorehowl, and Varian danced away. Garrosh followed, all finesse and strategy gone. The world had narrowed to this one man and his impending death. As the two closed in tight, their faces mere inches from each other, they were abruptly hurled into the air.

Garrosh flailed, holding on to Gorehowl by sheer will. He landed hard on the deck and then was suddenly sliding down it. He heard a massive cracking sound and then was falling toward the blue surface of the ocean. His armor was no friend now, and he sank like a stone as bits and pieces of the Lion of the Waves threatened to pin him to the ocean’s floor.

Stubbornly, Garrosh refused to surrender to what seemed to be certain death. Still clutching his father’s weapon, he used the sinking wreckage to his advantage, climbing up piece by piece as each one drifted. His lungs burned but he continued on, his face up toward the light until at last he burst through the surface and gasped sweet air, coughing violently.

Hands reached down and pulled him up, guiding him toward rope ladder that had been tossed down the side of one of the ships—he knew not which—and, still holding Gorehowl, hauled himself up until he stumbled onto the deck.

“Warchief!” It was Malkorok, who had also survived. The two clasped each other’s arms.

“V-Varian,” gasped Garrosh. “What of him?”

“I know not,” Malkorok said. “But look!”

Still coughing up seawater, Garrosh turned to gaze where Malkorok was pointing, and pride swelled inside him.

Everywhere he looked, Alliance ships were broken, burning, or desperately engaged in attacking the kraken. The water was littered with the debris of dozens of vessels. Garrosh threw back his head, roaring his victory.

“Behold the might of the Horde!” he cried. “Four ships against dozens! And it is we who triumph! For the Horde! For the Horde!”

Kalecgos held Jaina gently in his right forepaw, while she cradled the Focusing Iris next to her body. They headed north. Jaina was unsure why she wished so fiercely to see the Horde capital, but Kalec clearly trusted her change of heart and did not speak a word of objection. Did she want to reassure herself that there were indeed still innocents there and her choice was the right one? Did she wish to see if she could somehow spy Garrosh and blast him to pieces? She was uncertain.

Below them, following obediently and keeping pace with the swift flight of the dragon, were the bound water elementals. She could summon and dismiss them as she wished; Kalec had not asked for the Focusing Iris back, either. Jaina was more grateful for his unspoken, and apparently unshakable, trust in her than he could ever know.

Up they went, past the Echo Isles and the aptly named Scuttle Coast, where Jaina summoned a few angry, out-of-control elementals to join with their kin. The wreckage, though old, saddened and angered her, and she wished she knew where Varian had chosen to direct the Alliance attack.

As they approached Bladefist Bay, Jaina gasped, her eyes wide with shock and horror. The fleet—she had thought it would be attacking Feathermoon Stronghold or Darkshore, but it was here. Here… and under attack.

I would have destroyed the fleet, she thought. If I had sent the tidal wave… I would have destroyed both Orgrimmar and the whole Alliance fleet…

Nausea swept over her, and gratitude to both Thrall and Kalecgos. But now was not the time to feel faint and weak. She had to act. For the fleet was not under attack from mere Horde warships—Garrosh, it would seem, had summoned kraken to dispatch the fleet for him. As he had done with the molten giants in Northwatch Hold and the mana bomb in Theramore, he was acting in a cowardly and dominating fashion—wrenching the natural world or magic artifacts to obey him.

“Fly closer!” she called to Kalecgos. Kalec folded his wings and dove, opening them just in time and almost anointing them with seawater as he skimmed swiftly over the waves. Jaina held the Focusing Iris close with one arm and, murmuring the incantation, moved the fingers of her free hand.

Varian shoved the soaking mass of wet hair back out of eyes that stung from seawater. He clung to the wreckage of a ship—which one, he didn’t even know—and tried to assess the situation.

So many ships had gone down, victims of the angry embrace of the kraken. He had watched, helpless, as sailors made it to the surface and struck out for shore or ship, only to have a gleaming, slimy tentacle reach out and pull them down into the creature’s hungry maw.

He had no idea what had happened to Telda, or the white-haired warlock, or indeed any of the brave crew of the Lion of the Waves. Bitterly he amended that. It wasn’t entirely true. He knew, had seen impotently, that some of them had met their violent ends. He could only hope that Garrosh and that hulking Blackrock orc were keeping those good people company in the bellies of some kraken.

A few ships were still intact and firing upon the sea beasts. But Light, there were so many of the cursed things, and each one wreaked such horror. Screams and the sounds of cracking timber filled the air. He recognized panic and despair trying to overcome him, and ruthlessly pushed the useless feelings back. They would not serve him now; even anger would not serve him now. He leaped to another remnant of a ship, his eyes now fastened on one of the few surviving vessels. He would be an easy target for a misplaced cannonball from one of his own ships, and only a morsel for a kraken. But he was one man and did not attract the notice of the great monsters, and by sheer will he made his way close enough to the ship called the Ocean’s Lady. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he called out.

A worgen racing about on the deck heard him, sharp ears swiveling. He loped over to the side of the ship and leaned over, waving one of his powerful lupine arms. “Majesty! We’ll send someone to—”

“Retreat! Now!” Varian shouted. If they stayed and fought the kraken, all that would remain of the once-mighty Alliance fleet would be a list of names and grieving families. “Those are my orders! Retreat, every last one of you!”

“We can send out a—”

“No! I’ll make it to shore, as will the rest of us,” Varian cried. “Take the ships and get to safety while you can!”

The worgen looked stricken and flattened his ears unhappily, but nodded. A few moments later, the Ocean’s Lady began to turn slowly to port—heading east, back home to Stormwind.

But the kraken would not let them. As Varian watched, unable to stop it, the kraken followed the fleeing ships. The Horde victory would be complete after all.

Varian arched his back and let out a primal howl of fury and grief. This could not—should not—be happening! There had only been four ships! And yet Garrosh had won again.

Varian would not, as he had reassured the worgen, go quietly ashore, to live to fight another day. He would have done so if the fleet had survived. But now—now there was nothing left. No hope. Only a glorious death, achieved while taking as many of the enemy with him as possible. The kraken would not feast solely on Alliance flesh.

He still had Shalamayne, and now he drew it, clutching it tightly. He looked around, searching for any Horde fighter who, like Varian, had found reprieve in a piece of a broken ship. There—there, a sodden tauren was clinging to a curved chunk of wood that looked like part of a hull. He was attempting to clamber up atop it but failing. Snarling, Varian sprang, catlike, landing squarely on the floating debris, and brought his blade down. Blood spurted up, pattering him and adding a copper tang to the salty taste that was in his mouth.

One.

The king of Stormwind searched for another target. At that moment, a shadow fell over him. He looked up and saw the silhouette of—

A dragon?

The water around him surged upward, taking on form and shape. It bobbed up and down on the waves, a blue-green being with a small head, baleful eyes, and two manacled arms. A water elemental—no, no, hundreds of them, all suddenly dancing atop the surface of the ocean.

They flung themselves on the kraken attacking the Alliance fleet. One of the monsters had surfaced so that its huge flat eyes were visible, and it let out a horrific, eerie wail as it was set upon by dozens of determined elementals. Varian suddenly leaped clear as a frantic tentacle slammed down on the water with an ear-splitting crack. Realizing he was safer in the ocean than on its surface, Varian filled his lungs and dove.

It was an astounding spectacle. The gargantuan kraken flailed with their massive tentacles while the smaller elementals swarmed around them. Incongruously pretty ribbons of dark red began to tinge the water as the elementals literally ripped the kraken apart. Varian swam away from the wreckage, into more open water. Another kraken struggled for its life, its sluggish brain no doubt more surprised than fearful that anything would dare to attack it. Still another floated on the surface, two of its limbs bobbing near it.

Varian’s lungs burned and he struck upward, swimming strongly. As he broke the surface and gulped in air, he was suddenly seized and borne aloft. He started to struggle, but a familiar voice called out to him.

“Varian!”

Of course—the water elementals… He turned in the grip of the blue dragon to see her clasped in the leviathan’s other forepaw. Her white hair was whipped about by the wind, and her eyes still had the strange arcane glow. But there was something about her—a sorrow, a resignation on her face, and yet a sort of peace that had not been there previously.

She pointed down, and he shook his head at the spectacle. There was not a single Horde ship, although he could now see that plenty of them were gathered on the shore, thinking to take the battle there if any stragglers survived. The kraken—fully eight of them—were no longer a threat. Their massive corpses bobbed on the waves, glistening in the sunlight. Varian felt a stab of loss as he saw how many ships the grotesque creatures had destroyed, but many yet remained.

Still obedient to Jaina’s will, the water elementals, tiny from this vantage point, awaited their new commands.

“You attacked the kraken,” Varian said. “Not Orgrimmar.”

“No,” Jaina said. “Not Orgrimmar.”

He smiled faintly. “You saved the fleet, Jaina. Thank you. And now, if this good dragon will set me down on one of my ships—on to Northwatch!”