called. Now!
The blare of a new horn heartened her, as did the battle cry of the rushing Sentinels and the deadly hiss of the protecting archers. Into the river raced the lancers, their nightsabers undaunted by the water or the enemy ahead. Shandris had utilized the knowledge of Ashenvale’s defenders to know where the shallowest areas were, aiding the momentum of the charge.
From the other side, there came the bleat of a horn. Still blinded, the Horde fighters shuffled back as best they could.
They will be slaughtered, Tyrande thought with some guilt. She knew that she did the right thing, but still she also prayed that perhaps the enemy would see fit to either keep running or wisely surrender.
The first of the lancers reached the other side, the crumbling lines of the orcs and their allies only a few yards ahead now. The expert aim of Sentinel archers downed several brutish warriors who refused to retreat with the rest. Orcs, by far the bulk of Garrosh’s expedition, lay strewn everywhere, their fearsome tusked faces often still seeming angry in death. Some had more than half a dozen bolts sticking out of their thick hides and even more stuck in their armor and shields. The orcs had done their best to protect themselves, but against so many arrows, even the best of armor proved inadequate.
Yet, even despite the deadly downpour, several orcs—arrows deep in legs, arms, and torso—survived to keep some order as they dragged more severely wounded comrades back from danger. Two grabbed banners from fallen comrades, waving the Horde flags in defiance as the Sentinels moved in after them.
Despite the surviving orcs’ bravado, it appeared that the destruction of Silverwing would soon be avenged. However, of even greater import was the growing hope that the liberation of all Ashenvale seemed possible . . . if Garrosh’s ambition could be crushed here and now.
Again, the enemy horn sounded . . . yet, this time in a more fearsome, defiant manner. Tyrande had to assume that Garrosh intended a stand on safer ground. The only trouble was, the moonlight followed the Horde, continuing to blind them even as the lancers drew within striking range. The warlocks and other casters could not even give proper cover, as they were also unable to face the moonlight. That, in turn, gave more advantage to the Alliance spellcasters, who worked in earnest to put an end to the Horde’s magical threat. Fearsome blasts bombarded the warlocks nearest to the front.
The Horde horn blared once more, its signal not at all seeming to call for retreat. Rather, it encouraged attack in its tone, promised victory.
But instead of turning to face their foes again, the orcs and other fighters remaining from the front lines did a strange thing. They scattered to the trees as if trying to get out of the way. How they hoped to escape the nightsabers by fleeing, she could not say. Night elves were more forest creatures than orcs, tauren, or even trolls. Their cats were just as wily and quick in such areas, and the riders knew well how to handle their lances even among the trees.
Shandris must have suspected something, for a horn sounded on the Alliance side, one that signaled for a regrouping rather than a continued hunt through forest. With so many of the enemy now turned from the direction of the battle, the high priestess finally chose to cease the prayer.
Even as the moonlight faded, she urged her mount forward. If there was danger to her people—and to her Shandris—Tyrande needed to be nearby.
The first wave of foot soldiers had made it to the other side behind the lancers. Some threw their glaives at retreating targets, but most already began regrouping. Watching them, Tyrande breathed with relief. Garrosh would find the advance line able to hold against his warriors.
A monstrous roar rumbled through the region.
A massive rock appeared in the sky, then dropped down hard on a band of lancers just about to join their compatriots. The hapless riders never even realized their doom. The rock crushed some, and the fragments from its shattering slew the others.
More rocks came flying through the air. Ashenvale’s defenders had warned about hidden catapults, but Tyrande had never witnessed anything like this. There was something different. She was reminded of her own near death and how that assault, too, had seemed not quite what it appeared.
The first rock had done the most harm. Now warned, the Alliance army better avoided the areas