Overnight, Northflow Town had been reduced to ruins. The last tongues of the dying fires still flickered through the vast pine forests surrounding it.
In early spring, the coast of Silverpine Forest lay beyond the reach of the cold currents sweeping down from Northrend.
The sea was windless. Thick smoke mingled with sea fog, shrouding a harbor patrolled by only a handful of demons.
After Southshore, the Burning Legion had seized another major seaport.
Moss watched the coast through his spyglass. Yesterday's bombardment had been reasonably effective. At least the Burning Legion's Gan'arg engineers dared not install teleportation marks or Tower Engines on the open ground surrounding the harbor.
Farther inside the town, however, the Legion's teleportation installations lay beyond the range of the Combined Fleet's naval guns.
Of course, there was little land east of Northflow Town. Those unpaved roads and stretches of earth would become the greatest obstacle to the Burning Legion's construction of a new teleportation base.
"Have we made contact with the Order of the Silver Hand's scouts?" Moss asked William.
William scratched his head and answered sheepishly, "The Order of the Silver Hand has its own independent intelligence network. President Lucille's intelligence officers don't have a designated contact. We can only search the edges of the battlefield for scouts to make contact with."
"Then retrieve every letter I wrote as quickly as possible. Not a single one can be missing."
Moss did not hold William responsible.
The Order of the Silver Hand had maintained its standing as the Alliance's strongest ground force precisely because of its discipline and lofty faith.
The order's high-ranking paladins would never sell intelligence.
And its lower-ranking paladins lacked clearance for high-level intelligence.
Of course, maintaining such an entirely independent intelligence network during wartime could easily cause serious problems.
Moss did