CHAPTER 31: Dragonfire Ambush, Paladin Problems?
Something dire had occurred on the front lines. A squadron of orcs, mounted on enslaved red dragons, had bypassed the Alliance defenses and struck at their rear supply lines. While they only razed a few isolated villages, the real damage was to the transport caravans—destroyed entirely, leaving the main army without critical provisions.
"We must contact the Wildhammer Dwarves," Lothar declared firmly. "Their gryphon riders are our best counter to those dragonmaw orcs. Gryphons can match dragons in the skies, at least until we deal with the source of this threat."
Gryphons were formidable beasts: lion-bodied with eagle heads, ravenous eaters that devoured half a cow daily in peacetime and a full one during battle. They were irritable, hard to tame, and expensive to maintain, but their combat prowess was unmatched. Without the overwhelming might of fully grown dragons pressuring them, gryphons would tear apart anything in their path.
Arthas pondered the situation for a moment, then pulled Uther aside for a hushed conversation. Afterward, he leaned in to whisper his plan into Lothar's ear.
Lothar's eyes widened. "No, Your Highness—it's too risky. This isn't a task for a prince."
Uther, overhearing, nodded in agreement. "He's right, Arthas. My duty is to protect you as much as it is to fight. We can't afford to lose you on a gamble like this."
But Arthas stood his ground. "No, Uther—I believe it's feasible. War demands surprise and audacity. We can't let too many know about this; secrecy is key. I'm the best suited for it, and we won't need a large force—just a small, elite team. Uther, I appreciate your concern, but I'll bring Muradin along. Everyone has their strengths, and the front lines need you here more than ever."
Uther opened his mouth to protest further, but Lothar raised a hand to silence him. "Uther, when the orcs sacked Stormwind, it was my old friend Medivh pulling the strings from the shadows. Do you know what I did? I led a small strike team straight into Karazhan and ended him. Arthas is proposing something similar here: infiltrate Grim Batol, eliminate the orc shamans controlling the dragons, and free the red flight from their bondage. With dragons turned against us, this war becomes unwinnable. Sometimes, a leader must take the bold path."
Lothar left the rest unsaid—he couldn't reveal too much without risking leaks. But his own experience raiding Karazhan had taught him the value of surgical strikes. Arthas's plan aligned with that: disrupt the Dragonmaw Clan's hold on the red dragons, particularly their queen, Alexstrasza, whose enslavement fueled the Horde's aerial dominance.
At this point, Arthas knew he was altering the timeline by seizing the Demon Soul earlier than fate intended. But he didn't care. As long as the bronze dragons didn't intervene, he'd press every advantage from his foreknowledge. Knowing the plot was worthless if you didn't act on it—better to bend events to your will and reap the benefits.
Human nature was inherently selfish, after all. People grabbed what they could in the moment, consequences be damned.
Arthas selected a lean team: Muradin for his dwarven resilience and combat expertise, Onyxia (in her human guise as a noble ally) for her draconic insights, and Alleria Windrunner for her ranger skills in scouting and stealth. This quartet was ideal—Muradin to charge and tank threats, Alleria to detect enemies from afar, Onyxia to handle any dragon-related complications (unbeknownst to the others, as Deathwing's daughter, she had her own agendas), and Arthas to lead with his tactical acumen.
"Falric," Arthas instructed his captain of the guard, "take the five frigates Lady Ashvane lent us and position them near the Hillsbrad River. Be ready for our signal."
Falric saluted without question, a model of unwavering loyalty. "As you command, Your Highness." Unlike Uther, a guard captain's role was obedience, not debate.
Alleria had initially hesitated, but the mention of dragons piqued her interest. As a ranger-general who'd spent centuries battling trolls in Quel'Thalas and Silverpine Forest, she craved novelty. This mission promised excitement, especially after the unexpected events with her brother and her impulsive encounter with Arthas.
After a night of preparation, the team slipped out of the Alliance encampment under cover of darkness. They boarded the Ashvane frigates—private vessels from Kul Tiras, not beholden to Alliance command—and sailed northward along the coast, skirting the Sador Bridge to enter the Twilight Highlands undetected.
The sea voyage was swift and uneventful, taking just two days. The Horde was too preoccupied with their assault on Stromgarde to patrol these waters, and no one would suspect a tiny infiltration team striking at their rear. With only four members, they were a ghost in the machine of war.
"Your Highness, we've reached the inlet," Captain Lancy reported with a crisp salute. "The fleet can't proceed further without risking detection. We'll hold position here."
"Good. Stay concealed, Captain. We'll rendezvous when the job's done. Muradin, let's move."
Arthas left even Falric behind with the ships, opting for pure stealth. More bodies would only increase the chance of discovery; this was a precision raid, not a siege.
The four disembarked onto the rugged shores of the Twilight Highlands. Solid ground felt reassuring after the rocking waves. In this era, the region was free of the Twilight's Hammer cult's influence—Deathwing hadn't fully descended into madness yet, and alliances with his flight were still tentative. The hills bloomed with wild vegetation, fruit trees swaying in the breeze, making it seem almost idyllic for a raid.
"That way," Muradin grunted, consulting his compass and a weathered map. Dwarves were natural explorers, their sense of direction honed by generations of delving into ancient ruins.
"I can smell the orcs already," Alleria muttered, her elven senses sharp. "Those greenskins must be mad to enslave dragons. No sane creature would attempt it."
Arthas drew his sword, leading the way. He wore a small spatial ring—a rare artifact, enchanted by master mages and scarce even among high elves. It held essentials like food and potions, its creation demanding exotic materials and immense skill.
"Not all are sane," Onyxia replied, her voice laced with disdain. "If you've encountered centaurs, you'd understand true madness. Those beasts have been known to ambush and rob dragonkind itself."
Arthas chuckled lightly. "Madness varies by individual, not race. Centaurs roam the Dragon Isles too, and not all are feral raiders. Every people has its villains—humans, elves, you name it. Scoundrels tarnish the whole group's name."
His casual mention of the Dragon Isles—a forbidden, mist-shrouded archipelago known only to a few—hung in the air like an unintended revelation, but the group pressed on, focused on the looming shadow of Grim Batol ahead.
--- END OF CHAPTER 31 ---