This was the first time Varok Saurfang had observed up close the cavalry that had struck fear into the heart of the Horde.
Unlike the powerful human knights he had seen near Northfold Manor before, these cavalrymen, just as the intelligence had described, wore light leather armor, carried bows on their backs, and had longswords or dual blades at their waists, none of which were ideal weapons for mounted combat.
Though there were a few warriors clad in heavy armor wielding two-handed weapons (paladins), clearly their numbers were far too small to constitute a cavalry force capable of launching a proper charge.
"Is this really the kind of force that's caused us so much trouble?" Varok's tone held a trace of disappointment. "Their light gear may be suitable for long-range operations, but what use is such feeble cavalry besides cowardly ambushes? They're no match for wolf riders."
He waved his hand and roared at his men.
"Wolf riders, advance! Tear them apart!"
At his command, the wolf riders, mounted on towering wolves and wielding long blades, rushed forward in loose formation like a pack of predators launching a hunt, charging toward the high elf cavalry ahead.
These strong, bloodthirsty soldiers, like true wolves, needed only a single encounter to completely annihilate the relatively weaker high elf rangers.
However, after following Alaric for dozens of days of pillaging and raiding behind Horde lines, the high elf rangers had long since grown accustomed to fighting orcs. Even those who had once been the most fragile among them now had at least two or three orc lives to their name. Such a trial by fire had molded these rangers into warriors unafraid of their opponents, in fact, they seemed eager, even excited, treating the orcs as prey.
They all turned their gazes to Alaric, the man who had led them to miracle after miracle, awaiting his command.
Looking at the rangers under his command, unflinching even in the face of a wolf rider charge and unwavering in their trust, Alaric was filled with emotion.
In this period of time, through brilliant tactics and impressive victories, he had built tremendous prestige among this group of high elves. At the same time, he had forged this ranger unit into a superb cavalry archery force through relentless combat.
If they survived to the war's end, the high elves would gain a new kind of elite unit previously unseen in their history.
Ultimately, though, this development was also to his advantage.
According to his plan, although Quel'Thalas had, thanks to his intervention, avoided the devastating losses of the original timeline and now faced no real threat from the Horde, the Sunwell, so long as it remained in their possession, would continue to attract demonic attention. Quel'Thalas's fall was almost inevitable.
At that time, with his current "Revered" reputation in Quel'Thalas, Alaric would have ample opportunity to intervene in high elven internal affairs and, through the Windrunner sisters, gain influence over the reins of power.
And by then, these so-called rangers, actually cavalry archers,would be his most loyal followers, a vital force helping him achieve his goals.
After all, even Alaric coveted much of what the high elves controlled, like the Sunwell, for instance.
Though he wouldn't stoop to deception or treachery just to get his hands on it, taking advantage of favorable winds was well within his means.
But now was not the time to consider such things. What Alaric needed to do now was give his cavalry archers one final lesson,a practical drill of their core tactic.
He scanned the surroundings, then nodded at Alleria beside him, raising his voice.
"Gentlemen, do you still remember the tactic we set in place?"
"Of course we do!" At the mention of what was essentially a mounted version of ranger tactics, everyone grew visibly excited.
"In that case, follow my command. Match the speed of the front line and start running!"
With that, Alaric was the first to turn his horse and gallop away in the opposite direction.
The other rangers followed his lead, turning their mounts and charging into a retreat.
Watching the enemy turn and flee, Varok's adjutant burst into laughter.
He truly hadn't expected the enemy to run without even engaging. So this infamous Alliance force that had terrified the Horde wasn't all that formidable after all? Perhaps their fearsome reputation was nothing more than exaggerated rumor.
Even the usually composed Varok let out a cold chuckle and bellowed, "Cowards of the Alliance, and I treated them with such caution… Pathetic. They dare show their backs to the wolves? After them! Run them down!"
Varok's wolf riders were now even more invigorated.
To hunt such feeble prey,what could be easier? They whooped and shouted, accelerating with enthusiasm.
Alaric turned back and sneered, adjusting his unit's speed to maintain a distance of just under two or three hundred meters from the Horde forces.
Compared to horses, the wolves ridden by orcs,being carnivorous predators,had far greater short-burst speed. However, because orcs were larger and more muscular than high elves, they placed a greater load on their mounts than human cavalry.
Overall, the wolf riders were slightly faster than the high elf cavalry.
As a result, the distance between the two forces gradually shrank.
Seeing that they were close to catching up, the wolf riders became increasingly excited. They believed that once they closed in, a glorious victory would be theirs.
In truth, this was nothing more than a dangerous illusion.
Although wolves were faster than horses, they had far less endurance. The wolf riders had already traveled from ten miles away to ambush Alaric's army, an exhausting journey. As the chase wore on, their wolves began to show signs of fatigue and slowed.
Unfortunately, in cavalry warfare, it was not easy to accurately judge the relative speed of the two sides. Even Saurfang himself hadn't noticed the shift.
By this time, many orcs had begun shouting vulgar curses.
They hoped to provoke the high elf rangers into turning back and engaging them directly.
However, except for Alaric, none of the Alliance troops could understand the orcs' language. The rangers didn't even know what the orcs were yelling about.
Unlike the orcs, who relied purely on experience to judge movement, Alaric, as a mage, could use magic to precisely analyze the status of both forces.
When he sensed the enemy's waning stamina, he deliberately slowed his troops slightly, allowing Saurfang's forces to edge closer.
Seeing the enemy within reach, Saurfang rallied his men for one final push, urging them to accelerate again.
But now, the wolves were burning through what little stamina they had left and were falling behind.
At last, Alaric gave the final command.
Beside him, Alleria gradually slowed, drifting to the rear of the formation. She turned to face the wolf riders now less than fifty meters away, drew a feathered arrow, nocked it on her artifact longbow, Thas'dorah, and took aim at the enemy commander.
The bow bent like a full moon; the arrow flew like a shooting star.
The arrow, brimming with arcane energy, reached Saurfang in the blink of an eye.
But Saurfang, a veteran of countless battles, sensed something was wrong the moment Alleria drew her bow. The instant the arrow was loosed, he was already diving forward.
Burying his face into his mount's neck fur, the arcane arrow skimmed over his head, knocking his helmet clean off.
He had narrowly escaped death. The arrow struck the wolf rider behind him, detonating in a violent arcane explosion that threw several of them into the air.
Yet Saurfang felt no relief.
Because that single arrow had finally made him realize something was terribly wrong about the enemy in front of him.