Richard Knaak: Wolfheart

Narrow of face and with a persistently wrinkled brow—as if she were always deep in thought—Haldrissa had just prior to the Cataclysm been promoted to overseeing night elf forces in Ashenvale. Although far from Teldrassil and Darnassus, Ashenvale, located in the northern half of the continent of Kalimdor and stretching across much of its width, was not only sacred to her people but of significance to the preservation of their civilization. The night elves and their allies carefully harvested only select areas of the vast forests, making certain not to disturb nature any more than necessary.

Haldrissa squinted as she peered into the forest ahead of her party. Like the others, she rode astride one of the muscular cats called nightsabers after their long, curved fangs. Both night elves and nightsabers were, as their names suggested, nocturnal creatures, but circumstance more and more demanded that they move about during the day too. Most of the other races with which they dealt were diurnal, day dwellers, which did not preclude their being active at night . . . which presented her with the most complicated and potentially deadly aspect of her role here.

There had been no sign of nearby activity by the Horde, but Haldrissa knew better than to trust the orcs and their allies to stay in the eastern side. Bad enough that they had a foothold in Ashenvale at all.

“What do you see, Xanon?” she asked of the male night elf to her left. He was not the most senior of her officers, but he was known for his sharp eyes, even among the Sentinels. “Anything amiss?”

Xanon leaned forward a moment, then replied, “All clear to me, Commander.”

No one else indicated otherwise. Haldrissa signaled the party to move on. The commander led a contingent of some fifty night elves on the way to inspect one of the foremost posts. Haldrissa made it a point to do regular inspections herself; nothing kept post commanders on their toes better than the knowledge that she would be checking on them.

The post was only another hour’s ride. The reason for the halt had been what thus far appeared to be a lapse on the part of the officer in charge. Haldrissa insisted that guards be set up to face not only the directions from which the Horde could be expected to attack, but also those from which it could not. If Haldrissa could imagine successfully sneaking past a post and either attacking it from behind or moving on to attack locations deeper within night elf territory, then surely the orcs’ new warchief could.

A short distance later, Haldrissa turned to Denea, her second-in-command. “I want two scouts to ride to the post, then report back . . . without being seen.”

Denea summoned the riders needed, then sent them off. Haldrissa watched the pair first become two blurs, then vanish into the distance. She hid a moment of frustration; her vision was not as sharp as it had been only a few months before. In fact, it seemed to have worsened in the past few days.

“Weapons at the ready,” she ordered the others. Denea, who already had her bow out, repeated the order.

They moved on, noticing nothing and growing more suspicious because of that. Haldrissa estimated the time the scouts would need to reach the post and get back to her, and knew that there was still quite a wait.

Thus it was that the growl of a nightsaber racing toward them only minutes later sent her and her fighters into preparations for immediate battle.

The beast was sorely wounded, arrows pin-cushioning its hide. That it had gotten this far was a credit to its stamina. Blood stained its claws and teeth, showing that it had not left the struggle without inflicting pain on its attackers as well.

And astride it, very dead, was one of the scouts.

Xanon let out an epithet and looked all for urging his cat forward. He was not the only one, either. Haldrissa waved the eager ones back, not that she intended to hold off pursuit. Denea already had the dying nightsaber beside hers. She looked over the rider and scowled.

“We will have to leave her here for the time being. We can retrieve her on the way back so that she can receive a proper burial.” Haldrissa nodded to her second. Denea and another Sentinel swiftly dismounted and removed the body from the suffering cat. Gently setting their comrade beside the nearest tree, they returned to the nightsaber.

The cat panted heavily. Up close, the intensity of the wounds was more evident. There was blood everywhere. The nightsaber peered up at Denea with eyes filled with pain. One of its sabers was broken.

The wounded mount coughed violently, throwing up more blood. It was clear that nothing could be done to save the beast. Drawing her dagger, Denea leaned down and murmured to the animal. The nightsaber gently licked the hand that held the weapon, then calmly closed its eyes in what was clearly expectation.

Gritting her teeth, Denea expertly slit its throat. The animal died instantly.

“Spread out!” Haldrissa ordered as her second-in-command mounted again. “Xanon . . . you take those up that way. Denea, take your group to the south. The rest, with me.”

Moments later the night elves cautiously moved into the area in question. Haldrissa’s nightsaber sniffed the air and snarled low. The commander quieted her beast with a touch of her hand to its head, then slowly reached for her bow.

An arrow struck the warrior beside her. The strike was a perfect one, piercing the throat.

It had also come from above.

Quickly nocking an arrow, Haldrissa raised her bow to fire. Before she could, though, two swiftly spinning glaives shot up in the direction from which the arrow had come. The arched, triple-bladed weapons cut a deadly swathe into the foliage.

A pained grunt escaped from the treetop. One of the glaives darted back out of the tree, returning to its wielder.

The other reappeared a second later—buried in the chest of an orc. The enemy archer dropped like a stone to the ground, his slashed body sprawling.

But even before the orc’s corpse had the opportunity to settle, from out of the forest ahead charged nearly a dozen of his fellows, many astride powerful black wolves. Axes, spears, and swords raised high, the orcs plunged toward Haldrissa’s group.

The night elves wasted no time in meeting the charge. Haldrissa fired once at the first orc approaching, but what should have been a clear shot ended up only piercing the shoulder. The wound was not enough to even slow the brawny orc, who then tried to bury his axe in the skull of her mount.

Another shot from above hit a nearby nightsaber in the neck. The animal stumbled, sending its rider flying forward. An opportunistic orc leapt from his wolf and swung at the fallen night elf. The Sentinel turned, trying to defend herself, but was too slow. The orc’s axe bit into her chest near the collarbone.

The wounded nightsaber sought to attack the orc, only to be confronted by the warrior’s wolf. The two great beasts tore into one another with fang and claw, each seeking an opening. The nightsaber had some advantage in size, but the wound slowed it.

Steering around the monstrous pair, Haldrissa fired at the orc. Up close, she could not miss. The force of the bolt as it sank into the orc’s chest sent the dying attacker flying back several feet.

Another arrow whistled past the commander’s ear. Cursing, Haldrissa fired back at where she thought it had originated. Her arrow evidently missed, but it forced the orc in the tree to move more into the open, where a bolt from the south finished him.

Waving her bow, Denea let out a triumphant cry, then led her group in against the orcs. At the same time Xanon’s surged in from the north. Steel met steel. Nightsabers clashed with wolves.

Denea had changed her bow for a glaive. She slashed through the throat of a slavering wolf as it seized her by the leg. Her sleek, raven-colored hair, bound in a tail, darted like a whip as she looked this way and that for her next foe.