World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,7

had strapped to his hip and pointing to the west. At once the Horde members moved in that direction, hacking at the undead creatures as they went. Some of them didn’t make it, decapitated or gutted by the double-bladed and very corporeal axes of the Kvaldir. Even Cairne was hard pressed to keep moving forward, and at one point a pale hand closed upon and twined about the runespear, threatening to tug it from his grasp. Cairne did not resist the pull, instead letting the hideous thing haul him to itself.

No enemy would be permitted to abscond with the runespear.

He shouted a battle cry and stabbed.

It sank deep. The Kvaldir’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, spat blood, and sank to the earth. Cairne stared. Flesh and blood and bone! Garrosh was right to be skeptical of the tuskarr stories. The ghostly spirits were nothing more than living beings. And anything that lived … could die.

The revelation fueled Cairne as he moved steadily toward the great hall, partially obscured now by the strange mist that was nothing more sinister than a cover for the vrykul—for so they had to be. Some of the others had gotten there before him. Cairne saw with dismay that two of the three doors had been damaged. One was gone completely; the other hung by a single hinge.

His eyes fell upon a table where once, in pleasanter times, the soldiers would gather for a repast. Indeed, a weather-beaten lantern, mug, and bowl still sat on the table. With a single sweep of his huge arm, Cairne sent them flying, then grasped the table in both hands. Grunting slightly, he lifted the table, attached benches and all, and hurried to the doorway as fast as he could.

Garrosh grinned. “You are smart and strong, old bull,” he said with admiration that, while grudging, was nonetheless genuine. “You! Grab those crates! Everyone else, hurry, inside, inside!”

They obeyed. Cairne waited, singlehandedly holding aloft the table, until the last one, a troll bleeding badly from a sliced-up leg, hobbled into the great hall. The second he was inside, Cairne ducked in after him and slammed the table into the doorway at a slight angle so that it wedged in firmly. Not a heartbeat later, the makeshift door shuddered under the thump of an attack. There was more pounding and the moans of the “undead.”

Cairne gulped in air as he continued to barricade the door. “They are foes, but they are living foes!” he told them. “Garrosh, you were right. The Kvaldir are no more or less than vrykul. They use the mist and costumes as weapons to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies before they attack. It fooled me at first, too—until the runespear impaled one of them and I realized what they were doing.”

“Whatever they be, we cannot hold much longer,” gasped Cloudcaller, leaning his broad back against the “door” as it shook. Others braced against it. The shaman and druids among the group were desperately trying to attend to the wounded, of which there were many—too many. Fully a third of the already diminished group was injured, some of them seriously. “The crates—any weapons in them? Anything we could use?”

It was a good idea, but one without hope. Most of them had dropped the supplies as they turned to battle their attackers. Carrying the heavy crates with them as they headed for the safety of the great hall would have been foolish.

“We have nothing,” Cairne said. “Nothing save our courage.”

He had just taken a deep breath, hoping to say a few words to inspire his and Garrosh’s people as they fought what would doubtless be their last battle, when Garrosh interrupted him.

“We have our courage, yes,” said Garrosh, “but we also have something more. And we will show these false ghosts the price they must pay for attempting to trick us. They think we are vulnerable outside of the hold. And they want to take back this landing. They will know the wrath of the Horde!”

He strode to the center of the hall and flipped back a woven rug that had been lying on the floor. Beneath it was a trap door. With a grunt of effort, Garrosh slowly tugged it open. The trap door fell back with a clang, revealing a small, hollowed-out area.

And in that area, piled high like watermelons, were grenades.

Some of the warriors cheered. The others looked at Garrosh, confused.

“You left them here, just in case, did you not?” Cairne asked, surprised.