his ax and forced his mount to continue on.
Then a peculiarity about his present surroundings struck Brox. He twisted in the saddle, carefully looking around for one hint that his suspicions were correct.
But nowhere did he see any sign of even a single body. No night elves, no demons. Even the likely corpses of the three missing soldiers and their mounts could not be found.
What had happened to them? Brox wondered. How had this street remained unsullied by the deaths of innocents?
The slight sliding of rocks caused the green-skinned warrior to jerk to his right. A figure slowly coalesced in the mist-a soldier, but on foot, with his weapon drawn.
'Where's your mount?' the orc rumbled.
The soldier trod awkwardly toward him. There were splotches on his armor, and his mouth hung open.
As his face came into better view, Brox saw with consternation that part of it had been ripped open. One eye was completely gone, and the jagged gap descended all the way to the center of the throat…or what remained of it.
And as he neared the orc, the macabre figure raised his weapon. Behind him, Brox suddenly noted other shapes following the soldier.
Although no coward, the green-skinned fighter pulled hard on the reins, turning the night saber about. As it moved, the cat swung one clawed paw at the oncoming soldier, batting him away like a toy.
The others rode up just as he started back. Jarod glanced beyond him, to where the soldier had fallen. 'What did you do to him? You made your beast strike him dead-'
'Already dead before! Hurry! More coming!'
The night elf started to argue, but Rhonin put a hand across his chest. 'Look into the mist, Shadowsong! Look!'
Jarod did-and shook his head in horror. The soldier arose, his face and chest now even more terrible to behold. Still wobbling, he gripped his sword and headed toward the party. Behind him, the first of the other shapes grew distinct-night elves, but in even more monstrous shape than the soldier. Several were ripped open from head to toe and others missed limbs. All wore the same empty expressions, and moved with the same deathly determination.
'Ride!' the captain shouted. 'Back through the city gates! Follow me!'
With Jarod and the wizard in the lead, the party pulled away just before the first of the ghoulish figures could reach them. They sped up the way that they had just come, but when they reached the intersection, Jarod had everyone turn in the opposite direction.
'Why this way?' shouted Rhonin.
'A shorter and smoother path to our goal…I hope!'
But as they rode, other figures began to emerge from the ruins. Brox growled as what had once been an elder female in the blood-encrusted remains of a once-glittering silver, turquoise, and red gown snatched almost hungrily at his leg. He kicked her back, and for good measure severed her head with one mighty swing of the enchanted ax. Even after that, her body grabbed wildly for anything it could reach, but, fortunately, by then the orc had ridden away.
Rhonin suddenly pulled up short. 'Watch out!'
His warning came too late for one of the soldiers nearest him. A mass of clawing, tearing hands pulled the night elf off his mount. He slashed one with his sword, but he might as well have been stabbing the air for all the good it did.
Jarod started to come to his aid, but before he could reach his comrade, the hapless victim vanished beneath the shambling corpses. His scream cut off almost immediately.
'It's too late for him!' the wizard insisted despite Jarod's clear intention of still trying to retrieve the soldier. 'The rest of you, keep riding! I've some notion what to do here!'
'We can't leave you!' argued the captain.
Brox steered his mount next to Rhonin. 'I stay with him!'
'We'll only be a few moments behind, Shadowsong! The way looks clear a little after this! You should be able to get out of the city!'
The night elf did not want to leave, but to stay would risk more lives. Of them all, Rhonin had the best chance for survival.
'This way!' the captain called to the rest of his command.
As they pushed off, the riderless night saber behind, Rhonin turned to face the oncoming mob. 'Brox! I need a few seconds!'
Nodding, the orc pushed forward. With a battle cry, he slashed back and forth, his ax sweeping out before his mount with deadly accuracy. Grasping hands, gore-encrusted chests, torn throats…all he chopped at with every iota of strength that he could muster.
Just as Brox began to flag, Rhonin called, 'Enough! Pull back!'
No sooner had the orc done so than the wizard tossed a small vial at the encroaching horde. As it flew, it somehow managed to arc along the front row, splattering each of the undead.
And the moment the spilling liquid touched its targets, the ghouls burst into blue flame.
An inferno quickly blossomed. The corpses behind the first row walked mindlessly into the flames, igniting themselves. Some of those already ablaze teetered into others, spreading the fire to them.
'Something I once used against the Scourge,' the human remarked with grim satisfaction. 'Come on! We've got to-'
A fiery figure rushed forward and collapsed into Brox's mount, setting it, too, ablaze. The orc struggled as the night saber abruptly turned and raced madly away from the source of its agony…in the process dragging its rider deeper into Suramar.
Rhonin called out after him, but Brox could not stop his animal. Crazed by the smoldering flames, the panther charged wildly through the streets.
The orc tried to smother the fire, but only made his situation worse. His night saber suddenly slowed, then threw itself on the side that burned. Brox barely had time to fling himself to safety lest his leg be crushed under the beast's immense weight.
The night saber rolled over on the affected area, then, seeming unsatisfied with its attempts, ran off before the orc could stop it. Brox whirled around, expecting to be attacked on all sides by the horrific mob. Breath coming out in heavy pants, he swung his ax again and again, only gradually realizing that he was not in any imminent danger.
Of course, he was also without either a mount or the presence of the wizard.
Eyes wary, Brox started back the way from which he thought the night saber had come. Yet, as the brawny fighter proceeded through the ruins, he saw nothing that gave any hint as to whether his path was the right one. The injured cat had run with such manic swiftness that it had clearly dragged its rider farther than first imagined.
The orc smelled the air, but caught no scent of either the human or the night elves. Worse, his usually infallible sense of direction failed him here. The mist had a headiness to it that played with all of his senses.
Growing more confused as to his whereabouts, Brox turned down what seemed a vaguely familiar avenue. Ruined trees, scorched landscape, and the crumbling remains of dwellings appeared out of the haze, but none did he recognize with any certainty.
Then, something momentarily assailed his nose. The hulking orc hesitated, sniffing the air again. His heavy brow crushed together and he ground his yellowed teeth.
With new resolve he headed to his right, every other step smelling the air again. His new path demanded that he climb over the tangling roots of an upturned giant oak and across the crushed shell of a night elven home, but Brox would not be deterred. He climbed cautiously, trying not to make the slightest sound-a difficult task considering that he also refused to free his other hand by putting away his ax.
As he reached the top of the shattered domicile, Brox caught a fresh scent. It made his nostrils wrinkle in disgust, but urged him forward.
And when he peered over, it was to see the demons at work.
There were four of the Fel Guard and one Doomguard soldier, as well. However, they were not so much of
