World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,8

“In case Warsong Hold fell?”

The orcs were not overfond of contingency plans, Cairne had learned. They did not like to even conceive of possible defeat. And yet it was obvious that Garrosh had done exactly that—left a crate of valuable weapons buried in the sand, in case at some later time, when the orcs were in full retreat, they would have need of them.

Garrosh nodded shortly. “It is not a pleasant thought.”

“But it is the mark of a leader, to hold all possibilities, even the unpleasant—even the unthinkable.” Cairne said. “It was well done, Garrosh.” He inclined his head in a gesture of respect even as a particularly vigorous assault nearly caved his door in.

What was left of the Warsong offensive all scrambled for the small but lethal weapons. The pounding had not ceased all this time. The crates that had been piled up were being pushed ever forward, and the table that served as a door was starting to splinter before the onslaught. Cairne shifted his hooves and repositioned his back to keep up the support as the others loaded themselves down with grenades. Garrosh rose and nodded to Cairne.

“One, two, three!” cried Cairne. On “three” Cairne and the orcs guarding the other two doors stepped back, Cairne dropping the table and the orcs swinging wide the doors. Garrosh was there, a massive battleaxe in each hand, screaming his father’s war cry and slashing at the false ghosts, all violence and death. Cairne stepped back, allowing the others to precede him in their race for the ship. They threw the grenades into the cluster of Kvaldir. There were several explosions, and then the path was clear—save of bodies. They had a few precious moments before the next wave of Kvaldir came.

“Go, go!” he urged, turning back to where his spear lay. He quickly strapped it to his back. If he needed to fight in the next few minutes, all would be lost anyway. The real fight would have to take place on the ship. His hands free, he scooped up a badly injured orc as if the warrior weighed nothing at all, and began running as fast as he could toward the ship.

Mannoroth’s Bones had been damaged and was under attack, but it looked still seaworthy, at least to Cairne’s eyes.

He felt a tug of pain in his heart as a troll fell not four paces in front of him, an axe in his back. There would be time to honor the fallen later, but now there was nothing Cairne could do but leap over the body and keep running.

His hooves sank in the sand. He felt slow, and not for the first time cursed what age had done to his body. There was a hideous cry, and one of the Kvaldir lunged at him, swinging his axe with both brawny arms. Cairne dodged as best he could, but he was not swift enough and grunted in pain as it sliced his side.

And then at last he was there, delivering his charge into one of the small skiffs. It pushed off immediately, crammed to overflowing with wounded. Immediately it became a target, and Cairne had to stand in the small, rocking boat and fight off the Kvaldir while two orcs rowed furiously. At one point, he looked back at the shoreline, dotted with the corpses of “ghosts.”

And the corpses of brave members of the Horde.

But some of those “corpses” were still moving. Cairne narrowed his eyes and leaped out of the boat as it pulled up alongside Mannoroth’s Bones. He turned back, half-swimming, half-wading, slogging onto the shore toward the injured. Cairne intended to do everything he could to keep that number from increasing.

Six times back and forth he went, bearing those who could not get themselves to safety. Garrosh’s group had exhausted their supply of grenades, and the shore was equal parts blood and sand now. The horrific, muddy concoction sucked at his hooves as he ran. He heard Garrosh’s war cry through it all, the sound heartening his warriors and even Cairne until at last all who could be rescued had been.

“Garrosh!” shouted Cairne.

Bleeding from half a dozen wounds, his breath ragged, Cairne looked about for Garrosh. He was over there, whirling his two axes, shouting incoherently as he severed limbs and was spattered with blood. So lost in the battle haze was he that he paid no attention to Cairne’s cries. The tauren hastened over to him and grabbed Garrosh’s arm. Startled, the orc whirled, axes