where the missiles dropped.
Trees began shaking farther into the forest ahead. Another roar thundered across the landscape . . . and this time was answered by several more, all from the same direction.
What seemed initially a series of rhythmic explosions accented the roars. Tyrande frowned. Not explosions. It was as if they were hoofbeats—but for such, the animals would have to be gigantic. . . .
The tree line flew away, entire oaks tossed as if nothing. A humongous shape, with some resemblance in outline to a centaur but much bulkier, burst out among the stunned defenders.
“Elune, preserve us!” the high priestess blurted.
The giant creature seized a lancer and mount with one hand and tossed both casually over his shoulder. Night elf and cat went screaming to their deaths. The behemoth stomped at the closest Sentinels on foot, crushing one beneath his sturdy, elephantine feet.
Indeed, the lower half of the body had much similarity to such a creature—or rather, to its larger, more deadly cousin from Northrend, the mammoth. Yet, where the head and shoulders should have begun, the upper torso of another fantastic creature roughly akin to a human began. The towering monster, two long tusks arching down from the sides of his mouth, eagerly searched the ground before him for more victims.
And as the one behemoth stomped among the scattering defenders, another broke through the forest elsewhere, sending trees down on the fighters and seizing other victims in his thick, four-fingered hands. As the second monster crushed the life out of his prey, the rest of the trees exploded and identical fiends fell upon the would-be victors. The battle had turned into a catastrophe of proportions as terrible as the legendary creatures loose among the tiny night elves.
They have set magnataur upon us! the high priestess marveled grimly. They have dared set magnataur loose in Ashenvale!
The danger to the Horde itself surely should have been obvious to Garrosh, but he had taken the risk and thus far had chosen well. To bring the savage giants of the wastes of Northrend to Ashenvale had surely been a mighty test in itself. Tyrande could not imagine how even the Horde could have managed to bring them without some sacrifice already on its part.
With heavy thumps, the magnataur wreaked havoc merely by moving. Tyrande counted eight in all—every one of them bulls—and though a small number, it was astonishing to see them together. So violent were magnataur that males such as these lived isolated from one another, or else they constantly came to blows.
The beasts crushed and tossed about their victims as if the mighty Alliance army was little more than ants. A nightsaber lacking its rider attempted to bite at the heavy, cylindrical leg of one of the magnataur. For its bravery, the cat was taken up in one hand, then torn apart with both. The magnataur then threw the mangled pieces into the river, which already ran red with blood.
Somewhere out there, Tyrande knew Shandris was trying her best to save her troops. The high priestess yearned to continue her own charge, but knew that she had to try to stop the magnataur first.
Reining her cat to a halt, she called upon Elune’s aid in that regard. As it always did, the light of the Mother Moon shone down upon her. Tyrande prayed for guidance—
Yet another huge boulder soared above her. Too late, Tyrande realized that the magnataur were the “catapults,” and for them Garrosh evidently had one particular target in mind. The glow of Elune had actually pointed her out to them. The magnataur, for all their savagery, were intelligent enough to understand what was needed. Garrosh wanted the glowing target destroyed. If it was another priestess, that would be one fewer to aid Tyrande.
And if they slew the high priestess . . . they knew that they would deal the night elves and the Alliance a devastating blow.
The shadow of the boulder passed in front of her. The high priestess pulled hard, turning her mount away from the oncoming crash and the deadly spray that would follow.
As she did, though, a sharp pain caught her near the shoulder blade. Another did near the lower part of her back.
Two arrows had struck the high priestess.
Tyrande knew that she had been tricked. Whether by the magnataur or one or two daring archers, Garrosh wanted the night elf ruler dead. In this case, the boulder had been the decoy the archers had needed.
And as the monsters from Northrend tore through her