Night raid

On their third day in Thelsamar, Diago Asnar and Masley Bearhide once again left the quiet, peaceful town. The latter was very unhappy about this. He had become enamored with the dwarves' various fine brews and was showing signs of turning into a drunkard.

"Kharanos Brewery at the foot of Ironforge has the best spirits in all of Azeroth," Diago remarked casually. That immediately shut the Night Elf up. He gazed expectantly westward, though he could see nothing there but snowy mountains.

They had not bought dwarven rams to ride, because at their height, their feet would not even clear the ground. More importantly, they did not have enough money. Even the cheapest of these expensive mounts from Coldridge Farm cost a hundred gold coins. Not even every dwarven household could afford one.

Masley Bearhide had paid the bill when they left the Spirits Inn. The hunter had spent all his money on the bow of Chinese mulberry wood on his back, without a single copper left over.

Following the road west, the two headed toward Ironforge. Thelsamar was about two days' journey from South Gate Pass. Along the way, Diago kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. He knew this stretch of road was unsafe, but the Night Elf clearly thought nothing of it, remaining casual and unconcerned.

When they made camp on the first night, they arranged watches at Diago's insistence: Diago would take the first half of the night, and Masley the second.

When it came to keeping watch, Druids were undoubtedly the best choice. Close to nature-or rather, part of it-they had countless plant and animal allies, making them almost perfectly at home in the wilderness. In fact, Druids could communicate with their animal allies at any time, but they seldom did so, because it often disrupted the animals' habits and had unpredictable effects on them. To Masley, their current situation did not warrant it. He believed Diago was undoubtedly worrying too much.

With such a trustworthy guard, Diago slept soundly. As a precaution, however, he had kept his clothes on and left his leather armor and weapons within easy reach.

In the middle of the night, he was suddenly awakened.

"Get up, friend. Something's not right." The Night Elf poked his head into the tent, his expression serious. "It's too quiet out there."

"What happened?" the hunter asked quietly, rolling up from his blanket. He was not surprised at all-or rather, he had expected this. He methodically put on his leather armor, picked up the longbow beside him, slung his quiver onto his back, then hung his hatchets from his belt.

"Nothing yet, but I have a bad feeling," the Night Elf said cautiously. "The trees are sending me signals of danger, but you know, they aren't animals. They can't speak as clearly."

Diago stepped out of the tent. To guard against an attack, they had chosen a relatively open campsite some distance from the woods, so no one could sneak up without their noticing. Masley had immediately smothered the campfire in the middle of the camp with sand. Otherwise, on a night like this, the two of them standing beside the fire would have made the most conspicuous of targets.

Diago scanned their surroundings warily, but saw nothing-it was a day when both moons were in the sky, but it was also overcast, and dark clouds hid both the White Lady and the Blue Child.

"Fine weather for murder and arson," he muttered, then concentrated, straining his ears for sounds in the distance. Eagle Eye was ill-suited to nighttime use. The spell imitated an eagle's eyes, not an owl's. His vision was actually worse than Masley's. Though it could not compare to the infrared night vision of the cave-dwelling troggs, a Night Elf's low-light vision at least allowed him to see a little more clearly at night.

Silence surrounded them. No insects chirped, no night owls beat their wings. Only the swaying trees rustled in the night breeze. This was not normal. Clearly, the animals in the woods had also sensed danger approaching and fallen silent.

Diago stared into the distant darkness. Though he could not see them, he knew full well that the enemy was there, sharpening their claws and fangs, ready to attack at any moment. What he had been worrying about all along had finally happened. The Dragonmaw Orcs were clearly not so willing to let the matter rest. They had sent pursuers to take revenge.

Just then, a sound came from the distance. It was not loud, but it made the hair stand on end on both men beside the campfire. Both recognized it as the sound of metal striking metal-to be precise, the clink of metal armor plates knocking together.

Diago pulled a piece of wood with embers still glowing on it from the extinguished campfire and hurled it into the distance. It spun through the night sky, the rushing air fanning the nearly extinguished wood into fierce flame. Sparks scattered from it like a meteor. By its light, before it hit the ground, Diago saw the cold gleam of blades flashing in the distant darkness.

Perhaps realizing they had been exposed, the attackers in the darkness simply launched their assault.

"Lok-tar ogar!" With a roar, an Orc in red armor charged out of the darkness first, followed by more Orcs surging forward like a tide. These Orcs from Grim Batol were clearly stronger than those at Ragefang Outpost, and much better equipped. Their heavy plate armor clanged loudly as they ran.

A burst of red flame suddenly erupted from the ground, engulfing the Orcs passing over it. Immediately afterward, frost spread across a wide stretch of ground. More than one fully armed Orc slipped on it and could not get back up. Their sturdy steel armor offered them no extra protection now. Instead, it made them clumsier, sliding about on the ice like overturned turtles, looking utterly ridiculous.

These were the traps Diago had set before nightfall, and they were proving more powerful than he had imagined. To his regret, however, he could not control more traps-a hunter's crude mental control could not compare to a mage's. He could control no more than three traps, and in practice, only two-Diago had not caught enough venomous snakes to make a snake trap.

The moment he saw the attackers, Masley Bearhide completed his transformation into a great bear. Roaring, he charged at the Orcs like a reef standing firm against a raging tide.

Diago kicked hard at the campfire half-buried in sand and dirt. Pieces of wood with embers still glowing at their bases scattered everywhere. With ample oxygen, they burst into fierce flame again, bathing the entire battlefield in fiery red.

Now both sides were out in the open.

Diago's left hand was steady as a rock, while his right moved without pause, almost becoming a blur. Arrow after arrow shot from his fingers toward its target.

This time, however, he did not achieve the spectacular results he had at the Ragefang camp. Most of those Orcs had worn no armor, and many had even been bare-chested. These attackers were fully armed and armored.

Still, the power of his arrows could not be underestimated. Despite their helmets and armor, the arrows slipped like venomous snakes through gaps in their defenses, felling one Orc after another. Over a distance of just fifty meters, more than ten Orcs fell along the path of their charge.

A clear hollow had formed in the Orcs' skirmish line, but ahead of that bowl-shaped depression, the red-armored Orc had already closed in. Diago drew his bow again, and arcane energy began gathering around the arrow. He had not attacked this Orc at the outset. One glance told him that the red-armored Orc would be difficult to deal with and would cost him a great deal of time.

Diago released the taut bowstring, sending the arrow imbued with arcane power flying. After a brief flight, it struck its target, but failed to achieve the intended result. Before the arrow reached him, the Orc managed to shift slightly. The arrow pierced his left shoulder, far from his heart.

Diago was somewhat startled, but he no longer had time to fire another arcane arrow. He had to wait for the seething arcane energy within him to cool down. Yet the Orc was already fewer than ten paces away.

He realized he was in serious trouble, but did not lose his composure. Instead, he slipped his mulberry-wood bow into the bow case on his back, then drew two hatchets from his waist and faced the Orc.

The Orc chieftain's charge was ferociously swift, but Diago was clearly more agile. With a sidestep, he evaded the Orc's violent, full-bodied collision. The Orc had charged so hard that, after missing, he ran another three or four steps before stopping.

The red-armored Orc turned around, breathing heavily, and stared fixedly at the human, who stared back at him.

This Orc was called Gorfork Nuya, and Diago knew of him. The Orc Warrior clad entirely in red plate armor was the leader of Ragefang Outpost. When Diago and Masley raided the outpost, he might have accompanied a supply convoy to Grim Batol Fortress. He had not appeared.

Black-and-white stripes were painted across the Orc's brown face, making him look as fearsome as an evil spirit. It was the predator pattern that represented vengeance. According to legend, the Orcs had always maintained this tradition: when avenging their kin, they painted this pattern on their faces. It meant the act of vengeance would never end until either their enemy fell or they themselves died.

In fact, Gorfork Nuya was already the last Orc of the Ragefang Clan. Half a year earlier, as its leader, he had secured the lucrative assignment of garrisoning the outpost for this small tribe among the Dragonmaw Orcs. He had never expected it to bring utter destruction upon the Ragefang Clan.

The Orc attacked first, swinging his double-bladed axe diagonally downward. If it landed, Diago's leather armor could never stop the sharp weapon, but he raised the hatchet in his left hand and knocked the double-bladed axe aside. It struck the ground, cutting a deep trench, but that was not the end. Using the rebound from the ground, the Orc swung his weapon back in the opposite direction, disrupting the swing of the hunter's right-hand hatchet and forcing him to retreat.

The two clashed again. After their initial probing exchanges, both the pace and intensity of their battle clearly rose a level. Their weapons collided constantly with deafening crashes. The Orc had the advantage in strength, while the human excelled in agility. They fought without either gaining the upper hand. Perhaps a single unexpected occurrence would upset the balance.

More Orcs charged over. Even the ferocity of the Druid's great bear form could not stop them all. They surrounded the two combatants, putting Diago at a disadvantage. In fact, given enough space, hunters could take on any opponent alone. Now, however, he was confined within a small circle.

"Get out of the way!" Gorfork kicked aside an Orc who tried to help-as the leader of a clan, he wanted no one interfering in this sacred vengeance, not even the reinforcements he had borrowed from his parent clan. He would cut off this human's head himself, carve it into a drinking cup, and place it beside his throne. He would also have a Warlock imprison the human's soul inside the skull cup, to wail all night and never know peace.

He thought he had given his opponent a fair chance to fight, never considering that, to a hunter, distance was life, and the circle of Orcs was itself unfair. Diago, however, did not dwell on this. It was a fight to the death, and he was not so naive as to beg an enemy for fairness. He stood ready with both axes in hand, the thorium hatchets scattering pale green light in the firelight. He did not know how the Night Elf was doing, but judging by the roars outside the circle, things over there might be going a little better than they were here.

The Orc launched another fierce attack, but the human stubbornly resisted his assault, occasionally delivering sharp counterattacks that kept him from ending the fight quickly. Diago made full use of his advantage in agility, avoiding direct clashes with his opponent as much as possible.

Several minutes later, the two fighting figures separated again. This exchange had once more ended without a victor, but it was clear that the Orc Warrior had gained the upper hand. After all, close-quarters combat was not the human hunter's specialty.

The surrounding Orcs began to grow impatient. Their thirst for blood made them clamorous, and many jeered. This drove the Orc chieftain into humiliated fury.

"Trk'hsk!" Gorfork let out a tremendous roar. Driven by some mysterious power, his body began to swell, his entire frame growing huge. Then he lunged forward even more fiercely.

Diago raised his axes to block the Orc's chop, but the Orc immediately followed with another blow. His attacks were more than twice as fierce as before.

"Bloodlust!" Diago immediately realized what had happened. Out of habit, he leaped backward to put distance between himself and his opponent, intending to avoid the brunt of his assault for the moment. But he had forgotten the Orcs behind him. They braced their hands against his back and shoved him hard forward.

"Die, human!" Gorfork roared as he swung. Under Bloodlust, he retained only his fighting instincts. Fairness and the like had long since been thrown to the back of his mind.

But Diago avoided the blow with a somewhat clumsy forward roll. The Orc Warrior was clearly more familiar with close-combat techniques, however. His battle-axe, having missed, deftly traced a semicircle and chopped down again. With nowhere left to dodge, Diago could only raise both hatchets to parry the powerful blow.

Under the tremendous impact, Diago finally lost his grip on his weapons-the Orc chieftain's strength had increased greatly under Bloodlust. His battle-axe seemed to carry an immense weight, knocking the hatchets to the ground.

Not only that, but both his arms were in agonizing pain. Perhaps the bones were broken; he could not even move a finger. Diago knew what would happen next. He closed his eyes and waited for the battle-axe to fall again.

That really was a short trip to another world. Looks like I'm not the protagonist of the story, Diago mocked himself inwardly.

But at the last moment, Gorfork twisted the haft, striking the human with the flat of the axe rather than its edge-he had changed his mind and decided to make this human suffer more before he died. Simply killing his enemy would not satisfy him. Even so, the tremendous impact sent Diago flying, and he landed heavily on the ground.

The Orcs erupted in cheers. Gorfork raised his battle-axe, savoring their praise, then proudly approached his opponent, intending to torment the human thoroughly. He saw that the human's chest was still rising and falling. It seemed he had merely lost consciousness.

For an instant, Gorfork had almost tasted the sweetness of revenge. But in the next second, a huge black shape rushed past him, knocking him stumbling aside.

The great bear charged through the circle toward the human. With a gentle scoop of his enormous paw, he tossed the hunter onto his broad back, then broke through the Orcs' encirclement again and ran into the distant darkness.

The Orcs were stunned by this sudden turn of events. They stood dazed for a short moment before roaring and giving chase to the great bear, who had already run far away.