…Bats and Trolls have associated with each other since ancient times; they find each other useful.
Trolls ride upon them, and they help in the hunt—
the bats have keen ears!
Or if some decoction is needed to drive away an illness—
they run to the bat again, for their droppings, they say, are healing.
Without bats, life for the Trolls would be much harder,
and that's the whole story for you…
"Why did the ancestors send me specifically you, Menu shirumund?" Looking up to the sky, but encountering the twin balloons of the airship instead of the blue, I stop the theatrics, sitting closer to the edge of the deck. The damned beardless boy had already managed to annoy me in less than a day of travel. "When will Khaz return my Elven women to me?! Why are there only sweaty and smelly men around!?"
Ignoring my tirade, Danath Trollbane stubbornly sat down next to me, pulling a large bone flask from his tunic. Bubbling with its contents, he handed me this glorious bribe... A gift, a glorious gift, to appease the wrath of the first of the Avengers!
"I actually wanted to ask too," accepting the half-empty flask, Danath respectfully pursed his lips, nodding to his own thoughts, "where did you manage to lose your pointy-eared harem that followed you everywhere?"
"Bah," waving my hand, I lean against the railing separating the deck from the abyss overboard, "my dear sisters saw fit to return to Quel'Thalas... The Ranger-General called her sister back, and Narochka didn't want to leave her alone. Eh... Narochka..."
Visually depicting the Elf, paying special attention to her extremely impressive and voluminous forms, I let out another sad sigh. Since the day we killed the red lizard, the progenitor of dragons, my pointy-eared escort had taken off for their homeland, not going into much detail.
Oh, the lectures there were before the parting; they fussed over me like a child, I swear by my mother's milk! They talked my ear off, so much so that the words of the oath almost rubbed off my head! Don't go there, don't jump into battle, don't spoil every woman you meet... I could guess what the last one was about, of course, but I didn't harbor any special hopes; I'm no Menu shirumund youth who just picked up a hammer.
The most annoying thing was that along with Narandiel, all the Elven wizards who participated in our adventures also left, which, by the way, added a whole heap of questions about the true identity of this mysterious beauty. Apparently, she wasn't so simple, since they all rushed off after her in a single impulse without a single protest.
"Eh, Narochka..."
My sad sigh was met with a chuckle from the bearer of the royal surname. Taking a swig from the flask, Danath turned red from the effort, barely handling the strong and tart Dwarven swill that pierced and "burned" his insides.
"Oh, that's some strong shit..." Finally unable to hold back, Danath choked under my amused gaze, but without even giving me a moment for another joke at the boy's expense, he returned to the already tiresome topic. "So, what about the second one? She's the younger one, right..."
He even smiled in such a vulgarly knowing way, and to my shame, I didn't pay attention to this pantomime, which I immediately regretted.
"What about her..." The irritation was not feigned. I had long since discovered that the mere presence of the sisters was enough for my thirst for Orc blood to take a backseat, allowing me to use my brains much more than my fists. "Nothing. Sarochka was the one called to Quel'Thalas. What are you even listening with?"
"I'm not talking about that, you hollow-head!" Before I could even get indignant at such a statement, I received another "blow." "I'm talking about her backside. It's good, isn't it? Or did you never get to try it?"
"Why you... I..." Gasping with indignation, a drop of regret because of the truth and just from embarrassment... though the latter was the most surprising. Grabbing my beard, I turn my gaze overboard, not wanting to look at the smug face of the younger Trollbane. "We didn't have time for that... Dragons, Orcs... all that business."
"M-hm," Danath's face was just asking for a good kick, "I see..."
"Metun menu caragu..."
"Did you say something, Master Rodgirn?" This beardless boy is even posturing! Clenching my fist tighter, I was seriously considering giving the arrogant youth a good wallop, but Trollbane clearly had his uncle's honed instincts, so the kid immediately changed the subject. "Will the Systems Alliance manage to arrive in time? Right now, practically all our people are trapped in Stromgarde, I..."
"Easy, boy," placing a hand on Danath's shoulder, I squeeze it firmly, showing support, "Terenas isn't an arrogant prick, even if he loves silk and fanfare much more than a good axe. He will definitely help you..."
"And the others?" Involuntarily looking away, the boy hung his head, quietly muttering to himself, but so that I could hear him. "There's not much hope for Alterac; they'll be lucky to stand against the advancing The Horde themselves right now... But Gilneas, Kul Tiras..."
"Boy, there are no fools sitting there. They understand perfectly well that if Stromgarde falls, they'll be next," the rising nephew of the king was sat back down by me with one light movement of my hand, "yes, it sounds unpleasant... but it's better this way."
And I wasn't lying. The alternative to even such help was terrifying. And if the other members of the Systems Alliance simply abandoned Stromgarde, it would be the first, but most significant stone in the avalanche called: "The Fall of the Systems Alliance."
I didn't want to think about such things.
"I hope the message to the west has already been sent," those words echoed with a sense of wrongness. Something was gnawing at the edge of my consciousness, like a small rodent in a bag of oats, "and the message reached more than just us."
"Could it have been any other way?"
"You bet," snorting, Danath sat for a couple of seconds with a crooked smirk on his face before his emotions began to shift sharply. Doubt, realization, fear. They skipped like a kaleidoscope, giving away all the boy's thoughts and feelings. "Only if..."
"Don't keep me in suspense, boy!"
"Uncle..." Correcting himself instantly, though Danath usually only allowed himself such things in the presence of outsiders, which clearly hinted at his anxiety. "King Thoras is currently in the northeast, in the former Amani territories. Together with the most combat-ready part of the Systems Alliance army. They were pushed back to Fort Shield..."
Swallowing thick saliva, the king's nephew stared in that direction, as if hoping to see them hundreds, if not thousands of kilometers away.
"And most of the mages who arrived from Dalaran were with them..."
"Are you saying they couldn't request help from Stromgarde?" I muttered, frowning, still nervously tugging at my beard.
And the longer I thought about it, the more real this grim assumption seemed to me. There are many Shamans and other sorcerers among The Horde who could block the messages of the weaklings. And since the city was besieged on all sides, the messengers might simply not have made it through the patrols and hunting parties...
"Only one thing is strange... The dragons are no longer on the side of The Horde, and I know for a fact that several Wildhammer Clan members remained in Stromgarde with their important birds."
There was something strange about all this. Somehow the messenger reached us, which means things aren't that bad, and it's quite possible that the rest of the Systems Alliance is also aware of the siege of Stromgarde. Which is exactly what I told Danath.
"True, you're right, Master Rodgirn... Dragon-slayer," breathing a sigh of relief, it was as if a multi-ton weight had been lifted from the boy. "I think it's not all that bad."
"Exactly," slapping the poor fellow on the shoulder, nearly knocking him to the floor, I stood up to my full height, gazing at the distant outlines on the horizon, "besides, we'll be there soon and find out everything firsthand... but for now... Tim, bring the mushroom-brew, we need to relieve the stress!"
***
"Port side! Cannons to battle!"
Captain Gorbin's thunderous voice rang out across the deck while I, along with the others, rolled the guns to the edge, simultaneously trying to load them! Normally you shouldn't do it this way, but...
Khagam menu penu rukhs!!!
The filthy Troll and Orc spawn caught us with our pants down! The sun had already begun to dip toward the horizon when a piercing, almost deafeningly painful squeak rang out from nowhere. The first wave of flying riders descended upon our heads from the heavens.
The brutes tried to tear the balloons, but I swear by Khaz's scrotum—I reinforced those damned helium spheres so well that now only a cannon shot could pierce them!
So we had a little time to realize the threat and prepare for defense.
"Coming in for an attack," someone's shout was drowned out by a series of shots. The musketeers had already lined up along the sides and were now fiercely peppering the approaching creatures with everything they had, but it wasn't enough, "Take cover!"
The first wave of spears and axes swept away a good dozen of the crew. Due to their gained speed and weight, the projectiles pierced through Humans and Dwarves alike—pinning them to the deck. The first death cries and groans of the wounded were heard, followed by a triumphant victory roar that filled the air.
Huge, bull-sized creatures, somewhat resembling overgrown bats—carried their riders away from our response, heading back for another combat run.
"They're turning around!" Gorbin was fiercely wrinkling his balding head, his bald spot glinting in the last rays of the sun. "Master Rodgirn! We need the cannons!"
I didn't bother to answer—I continued loading the gun.
"They're already close, Master Rodgirn!" A first note of anxiety began to slip into the stern captain's voice. He was a tough man, but getting hit in the face by tusked freaks without a decent chance to respond... that would make anyone's nerves start to fray.
A pinch of gunpowder, or rather a whole handful in a paper packet.
The wad all the way to the very bottom of the barrel.
A fragile shell with grapeshot, to make sure I hit.
And another wad for fixation.
A bit of powder in the touchhole...
"Three heartbeats!" A new shout, but now instead of irritation, a smile crept onto my face.
Snatching the red-hot soldering iron hook from Tim's hands, I finally light it.
"Send these brutes into oblivion!" The nimble Dwarves in charge of the guns did no worse than me, and some even better. As soon as the command was shouted, the airship lurched noticeably, carrying us a couple of meters to the right. "Fire!"
Thunder struck the ears. Gunpowder smoke shrouded the deck for a couple of seconds, cutting off the view. From the port side, shrieks and death wails could be heard. As soon as the first plumes of smoke cleared, I could watch with pleasure as the bats fell to the ground. The huge brutes had tasted their fill of good old dwarven steel!
The bastards writhed in the air, trying to level out... or rather, those of them who didn't immediately plummet like stones. For a few moments, droplets of blood and guts hung suspended in the air, adding crimson tones to the sunset.
"Again! Quick-quick-quick!"
A new portion of grapeshot was already waiting for its hour. Tim and his boys were briskly hauling us gunpowder, wadding, and cannonballs, which were stockpiled in the ship's belly. The Beer Lord, as if sensing spilled enemy blood, roared with its engines, banking us in an arc against the swarm of these Giant Bats. The Trolls—their cursed riders—tried to calm the enraged animals, but they had little success. Clearly not prepared to bring a knife to a gunfight, the bats refused to make another pass, carrying their disgruntled masters away from us.
"Yes! Khazad ai-menu!"
Raising a fist, I yell at the top of my lungs so the bastards would definitely hear us. The others gave in to my impulse—not just my glorious kin, but our comrades among the Humans as well. Shaking our fists, cursing and insulting the cursed Troll tribe, we stood along the deck in a single surge.
And gradually our cries grew quieter and quieter until they fell completely silent. Humans and Dwarves exchanged awkward and frightened glances, not knowing what to say. A shiver ran through everyone's body...
For having flown out from behind the mountains, the Beer Lord had finally reached Stromgarde and, most importantly, the army of The Horde that was besieging it.
The endless camp, seemingly stretching to the horizon and sprawling around the ancient fortress, inspired true terror. In the past, we had already encountered Orc troops and heard of their numbers, but this...
"Ancestor Spirits..." Pulling the cap from his head, Dumat stood beside me, staring over the ship's side with bulging eyes. "There are so many of them..."
I didn't have the strength to answer, and likely no one else did either. Words were unnecessary here. The Horde's ground camp spoke for itself, and this was only the beginning.
Having fully cleared the mountains, we could see with our own own eyes a massive fleet blocking the small harbor and the approaches to the capital. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of ships, over which the creatures we had recently encountered flew in abundance. Huge bats patrolled the coast and mountains, vigilantly watching for anyone trying to escape or send a message.
"Master Rodgirn!" Turning at Captain Gorbin's shout, I saw him pointing a finger, not just toward the sea, but at The Horde camp itself, where an unhealthy stirring was now beginning. Orcs, Trolls, Ogres—they were all pointing fingers at us, even trying to throw their spears or other primitive projectiles, but right now I was far more concerned about something other than these damn savages. "The brutes are returning!"
And not just them, I finished the sentence for Gorbin in my mind.
Not only was a literal swarm of bats rising from the ground, but Goblin zeppelins were slowly ascending into the air with them—vessels we hadn't noticed before because the green-skinned Midgets' contraptions had been hovering at low altitude, clearly saving resources.
Dozens of crooked airships were rapidly overtaking us. Far lighter, more numerous, and decently armed, they surrounded the Beer Lord from all sides, threatening to catch us in a pincer movement.
"Gorbin, give it full throttle, don't spare the engine!" Pushing through the agitated onlookers, I was the first to grab a nearby rope, tying it tightly around my left arm. "Everyone, tie yourselves down!"
I'd heard a saying among Humans that if you light even one candle in a dark basement, the cockroaches living there will scatter instantly... Well, not the best comparison for my brothers-in-arms and friends, but right now we resembled exactly that—cockroaches.
The panicking people scurried across the deck, desperately tying themselves with whatever came to hand. Some particularly unhinged smart-alecks tied themselves by the torso to a makeshift mast that served as the main mount for a couple of balloons above our heads.
"At your command, Master Rodgirn..."
Before Gorbin could finish, a roar of shots erupted from the port side. Several small cannonballs struck the hull and swept a couple of people off the deck, leaving only bloody halves of torsos where living Humans had stood.
The Goblin vessel, having crept dangerously close, was pelting us generously without much aiming.
"Go, Gorbin!" A new salvo from the other side knocked most of the crew to the floor. The Beer Lord groaned indignantly and long, tilted, but still leveled out, steadfastly taking the enemy's blows. Likely, several shots had landed near the engines. "Get us out of here!"
I wasn't even allowed to finish. The lurch was sharp, daring, and terrifying. The planks underfoot creaked, and the mast holding the balloons tilted dangerously, in no hurry to level out. The scent of mercilessly burning fuel hit my nose, and all the screams, shots, and swearing were drowned out by the roar of the turbines, from which flames poured in a torrent.
Thudding onto my backside, swearing and hissing under my breath, I struggled to stand, hanging onto the side railings. With eyes watering from the wind currents, I stared at the approaching Stromgarde.
Dangerously and, damn it, extremely rapidly approaching Stromgarde!
"Gorbin! Brake!"
Attempting to shout to the airship captain, I quickly realized the futility of the endeavor, for the turbines roared with such force it was like a dying dragon in one's ear.
The first walls flashed past us. Descending—though I would rather call it falling—the Beer Lord took out a couple of roofs, collapsing them onto empty streets. Several spires punctured the left balloon, and a true uncontrolled fall began. Spinning around its axis, our glorious airship flew toward a perpendicular wall and, after skidding a good hundred meters, rammed into one of the towers.
***
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