On this return trip to Gilneas, Rex wanted to save time. Rather than travel through the Hillsbrad Foothills, he planned to take the shortcut through Ambermill.
The mountain road from Ambermill to Dalaran was rugged and steep. A path less than five meters wide had been cut through the dense woods, winding around the peaks and stretching onward.
Dalaran was not far from Ambermill. On a flying mount, the journey would take only an hour, but flying mounts were still something quite unfamiliar in Azeroth. Across the entire human Alliance, the only Gryphon Riders had been formed using gryphons contributed by the Dwarves. Apart from them, the High Elves, who had withdrawn from the Alliance, also had Dragonhawk Riders.
The High Elves certainly lived up to their reputation for deep reserves. Dragonhawks were their symbol, found among no other race, and the High Elves maintained extremely strict control over them.
If Rex had been traveling alone, he could have indulged in the luxury of returning on a flying mount. Dalaran had flying mounts, and his status was enough to secure the use of a gryphon. Yet the vast human Alliance had only a few hundred Gryphon Riders, which showed just how scarce flying mounts were. This was not the era more than twenty years later, when fleets of flying ships would roam the skies.
The one-hour journey by flying mount followed a direct route, while Rex and his companions had to take the long way around. A road ran through these sprawling mountains, but it was difficult to traverse. If bandits ambushed you here, even an army of a hundred thousand would be helpless because of the terrain. Still, this place was close to Dalaran. Dalaran had already suffered for its lack of a standing army when Gorefiend had destroyed the city while it was still under construction, so Antonidas had since established one.
This stretch was very close to Dalaran. The road was steep, but safe. No one would tolerate a threat on their own doorstep. If bandits operated so nearby and Dalaran ignored them, those mages would have to be out of their minds.
These thoughts had barely passed through Rex's mind when something happened up ahead.
"Enemy attack!" A ringing shout rose from Ulysses, who rode at the head of the group. His keen eyes had spotted enemy figures moving through the woods in the distance. He drew his weapon and shouted, putting the caravan on alert.
"Form a defensive formation where you are!" Rex reacted quickly. In his previous life, he had been nothing more than a shut-in, utterly useless in this world. But the Rex of this life had been different. King Genn had done a good job of training his successor, sending Rex to gain experience on real battlefields while he was still young. Rex had now inherited all of that. Gripping his two-handed greatsword, he kept his gaze steady as he directed the Knights of the Round Table to form a defensive position around the caravan's wagons.
Rex grabbed the guide in front of him and asked, "Has anyone traveled this road recently?"
The guide was no youngster, probably in his forties, with deep wrinkles on his face. He was powerfully built and nearly two meters tall, still in his prime. Anyone willing to lead strangers along this rugged mountain road had to have some ability. He, too, gripped his weapon tightly. Glancing at the figures moving through the woods, he answered in a low voice, "Yes. Just three days ago, a circus traveled from Ambermill to Dalaran. I believe you know of it as well, Prince Rex."
Rex nodded. That circus had come from Lordaeron by way of Ambermill. He had gone to see it with Jaina, and the memory was still fresh.
What troubled times! Rex sighed inwardly. The road between Ambermill and Dalaran had always been perfectly safe, no matter who traveled it. Yet on his very first trip, something had gone wrong.
An uneasy premonition stirred within Rex. Bandits appearing in the mountains between Dalaran and Ambermill was no good sign. No bandit would choose to establish a camp here as a base; that would be asking for death. Even with treacherous terrain that was easy to defend and difficult to attack, angering the mages of nearby Dalaran would still lead to certain death. This was a world of supernatural power. In considering anything, one had to account for more than the terrain—supernatural forces had to be factored in as well.
If they angered Dalaran, the city could simply send an Archmage to open a Portal. Then all this treacherous terrain would mean jack shit; it would be as good as an open road.
They emerged. After a quarter of an hour, the enemy figures stepped out of the woods. As Rex looked them over, his eyes narrowed. This was actually a force made up of several races, a complete hodgepodge. Among them, he saw orcs, Ogres, kobolds, and gnolls.
The orc among them was nothing like the dull-eyed, listless Orc Slaves Rex had seen at the Lordaemir Internment Camp. He looked fierce and formidable, his eyes glinting with a sharp, cold light. Bare-chested, he held a keen-edged greataxe, his two curved tusks giving him the look of a predator ready to devour someone. He stood in the center of the group, making it clear that he led this mixed-race force.
Although the orcs had lost the war against the humans and most had been imprisoned in internment camps, they were still a race that had once rivaled humanity, as well as the leaders of races such as the ogres.
"Hand over all your goods, and you can leave." The green-skinned orc's deep voice rang in Rex and his companions' ears. Rex's expression changed, surprise showing in his eyes. This was the human language. Countless languages circulated throughout Azeroth. There were innumerable races, and almost every one had its own language. Only races like the kobolds, who had always lived at the very bottom of the world's hierarchy, lacked a language and culture of their own.
Others, such as trolls and gnolls, had their own languages, and even quilboar did. After all, the quilboar had once known glory, with a Demigod emerging among them in ancient times.
Orcs generally spoke their own language, perhaps also learning Common, the shared language of Azeroth. Yet this orc before him had a fluent command of the human language. Rex would not have been surprised if the orc had spoken Common, but the crucial point was that he was speaking the human language. From an orc's perspective, this one could certainly be considered talented.
The situation was far more complicated than Rex had imagined. These were no ordinary bandits. An orc who took the initiative to learn the human language was hardly someone to be trifled with.
(End of chapter)
Before you continue