Chapter One: The Day Our Lordaeron Died
There have been many difficult times in my life, but this was the toughest. It was getting cold, I had been two days without sleep, and fighting almost every hour for my life. And worse than that, my King was dead, and my kingdom fractured. We never saw it coming.
Arthas had returned. But it was not to declare victory against the undead, in the name of Lordaeron. The Prince returned a new man, if you could even call him that. That day, he became a king-slayer, and a kin-slayer. That was the day my kingdom died.
My name is Wraecwulf, son of Ranulf. Which would make me Wraecwulf Ranulfson. My father, like my brothers, my mother, and the people I knew are dead. They died in what is now known as the Eastern Plaguelands, back when the Plague of Undeath ravaged so many towns and cities. I was one of a few who survived that hell, along with my lord, and several others of his household troops.
And now we were running for our lives again. Rather, retreating in an orderly fashion. Lordaeron was dead, and it's people fractured. Or dead. You could still see the flames from Capital City as we marched southward. We were refugees now—Men, women, and children without a kingdom. All were headed South, and if fate was kind, we would reach Stormwind.
My lord, Aelfric, had dedicated himself and his household troops to the rearguard actions providing cover and safety for the non-combatants. We were not the only soldiers, however. Many men in the plate armor and tabards of Lordaeron had survived the Scourge onslaught, and were doing what they could to allow the civilians to reach safety.
Ambushes and head-on attacks happened numerous times, daily. And it had been like that for three days now. Aelfric's housecarls had taken heavy casualties, and where we had numbered fifty, we were now thirty. Always, we made the center of the line in head-on attacks, as that was our specialty. We were trained in the way of the shield wall, and it was always the housecarls who stood in the center, oaken shields defiantly facing the tides of dead flesh.
"Been quiet today."
Startled, I looked up and found my lord, Aelfric walking beside me. I have met many nobles in my time. Living in a kingdom, you cannot avoid it. And the one thing that I've learned is that real fighting men are a rarity amongst the nobility. Where most nobles are aloof and prefer to let others shed blood for them, Aelfric was right there in the heat of battle. I had known the man since I was a boy, and though he was ageing, he still had a lot of fight left in him.
"Aye." I replied, still unused to the companionship Aelfric was displaying. It was not uncommon of him, but as a common born man, talking with a noble-born man as an equal was strange for me. It still is. "But that means we'll be hit harder than ever before the day is over."
Aelfric nodded in response. He seemed ancient in that moment, and his hair and beard seemed grayer than I remembered it being just a few days ago. We continued on in companionable silence for some time, throwing wary glances over our shoulders every few minutes. Finally, my lord stopped, and turned around. I did as well, and watched as he stared off into the distance, towards the pillars of black smoke smearing the horizon.
"I wish I had known what would happen—The grain, I mean. I had no idea. Had I know…" Aelfric stopped, running a hand through his long, graying brown hair. I despaired, as it seemed like my lord would break.
"But you didn't. There was no way any of us could have known. You and I, and the others, were fortunate enough not to have eaten the bread. You did what you could, Lord. And you're doing what you can now, protecting these people." I gestured towards the caravan trundling up ahead of us.
Some of the other Housecarls had noticed us, and stopped, expecting trouble. Aelfric gave them a weak smile and waved them on. I could understand my Lord's pain. I had lost my family in those early days of the Plague, as well as all my neighbors and friends. There was nothing left of the handful of villages Aelfric ruled. He lost a wife and five children to the plague as well. And more than that, our king was dead. As loyal servants of Lordaeron, that hurt more than anything else.
"You're right, Wulf, I know you are. It doesn't help much, though I thank you for your words."
I nodded in response, and turned as my lord did, to rejoin the caravan. I made the mistake of yawning. Aelfric looked at me for a long moment, then slapped me on the back.
"Get some goddamn sleep Wulf. You're dead on your feet."
I stammered. "But Lord, you need it more than—"
"Bah!" He waved his hand dismissively, and I could see some of the old fire in him flaring. "I'll be fine. Besides, someone needs to keep watch. Tell the rest of the men to get what sleep they can on the wagons as well. I'll take some soldiers to stand watch with me."
I wanted to protest, but because I felt like I was going to pass out on the roadside, I reluctantly shuffled off to the nearest wagon, after passing the order on to the rest of the Housecarls. As I lay in a bed of hay, staring up at the dead gray sky, I remember thinking we might actually get out of this alive.
Never count your chickens before they hatch.
Maybe two hours later, I was torn from a dream involving a certain tavern wench I had fancied back home by an ear splitting shriek. Within seconds, I was out of the wagon, pulling on my mail shirt, strapping my shield to my arm, and slamming my helmet down on my head. It was dark, very dark, but ahead of me torches were burning where the rearguard was mustering. I felt as exhausted as I had before I fell asleep, and the weight of the war-ax across my back felt like an anvil. I pushed my way through plated soldiers until I found my own group.
Aelfric was standing with his Housecarls, and I was the last to arrive. I returned greetings from my comrades, and took my place in the huddle. Aelfric looked grimmer than usual, which was saying something, as he'd been nothing but grim since Lordaeron fell.
"This looks to be the big one, boys. We're almost out of Lordaeron, and something out there wants us, bad. No trickery, no ambushes, it'll be a head-on attack. That shriek you heard, that was out scout. He won't be coming back. You know what that means?"
Grumbles and exaggerated groans answered Aelfric. We were in surprisingly good spirits. I guess it was the fact that the waiting was finally over, and now we'd get to do something, anything besides walk.
"Exactly my thoughts. So we're in the center. I want a ten man shield wall, three lines deep. I'd make it bigger, but the press we're about to face would break a larger wall. I've advised the soldiers—" He gestured to the plated warriors all around us. "—To do the same. They'll form up on either side of us, I'll take center spot in the line. Beornoth, I want my standard behind me."
So we had our plan, and within five minutes, our meager forces were drawn up in a shield wall. I reckoned our total number to be maybe a two hundred. It seemed what little there was left of the command structure of the military forces accompanying us had taken Aelfric's advice, and had drawn up a shield wall, joined to ours, three ranks deep. It was awkward joining the walls because these men were not trained as well as we were at such tactics. Not to mention their bulky armor made the close quarters of the shield wall difficult to maintain, and their shields were shaped differently. But for better or for worse, we'd have to hold.
Word was passed around within our own ranks. Aelfric expected the soldiers to falter first. Not for lack of courage, but because it was difficult for them to maintain a shield wall. When that happened, we were ordered to make a fighting retreat, to catch up to the caravan, which was at least three miles ahead of us by now.
I have fought in many battles over the years, in the Third War, in the Outlands against the Burning Legion, and in the frozen climes of Northrend in repayment for Arthas' crimes. But no matter how many fights I'm in, the waiting beforehand never changes. The silence before the enemy shows it's face, the fear, and the moment that stretches forever where all you can do is grit your teeth and hope you make it out alive.
And there I was, standing amidst a line of warriors, the faceplate of my helm obscuring my vision of everything not directly in front of me. I thought about my family, about my village, my childhood, and what I would do if I lived. My limbs felt like lead, and my shield like a boulder. I thought our pitiful thirty men looked strange amongst the soldiers of Lordaeron, for we looked so different.
I remembered the time I spend wearing that same plate and tabard, fondly remembering how much I hated the clumsy steel shell. I remembered the honor that position had brought as well, and how it had led me to where I was now, serving a good lord in a desperate battle in what seemed to me at the time like the end of the world.
Mercifully, my thoughts ended there, because at that moment, the enemy appeared. I find it strange that we never heard them approach. We should have, and perhaps we did, and my memory is faulty. But come they did, and quietly nevertheless. Hundreds of rotting corpses, still wearing plate armor, peasants clothes, and even the livery of the noble-born. Some looked fresh, only a day old, others were bloated and black, dripping necrotic fluids as they walked. Behind the mass of undead came giant patchwork monstrosities wielding massive hooks and cleavers. I was about ready to decide the battle was hopeless when my mind was made up for me.
The horde of undead parted, and a large figure, cased in black plate armor rode to the head of the battle line upon what looked like a horse birthed in hell. Murmurs ran up and down our shield wall. Death Knight the men said. I was familiar with the name, but I had never seen one. The ghouls, even the patchwork giants I had encountered since the plague had come to Lordaeron, but never a Death Knight. And this one lived up to everything I had heard about them. Man or woman, whatever it was, was huge, at least a head and a half taller than me, and I am a tall man. It was twice as broad as a soldier in plate armor, and it had a massive mace strapped across it's back.
"Who commands this rabble?" It said in a voice that seemed both near and far away at the same time. The hellsteed came to a halt ten feet from our shield wall, and I remember the air becoming frigid as the Death Knight neared our lines.
Silence greeted the Knight, and it was a long handful of seconds before someone answered.
"I reckon I do." I recognized the voice. It was Aelfric, who broke ranks stepped a couple feet out from the wall.
The Death Knight remained silent, and I suppose it was sizing Aelfric up. The horse screeched impatiently, and the Death Knight turned the horses' flank towards us. "And you are?"
Aelfric crossed his arms, and lifted his head. "Aelfric Haraldson, formerly a baron in service to the King of Lordaeron. And you?"
The Death Knight ignored the question, and slid off its horse. Without a command given, the hellsteed ran off into the darkness, trailing blue flame. "You've done an admirable job of keeping us away, Baron Haraldson. But make no mistake, we will crush you tonight, and we will catch your precious caravan. They will never reach Stormwind. Regardless of your answer to what I'm about to offer you, you will serve the Lich King. But I offer you willing servitude, power…the immortality of undeath!" It hissed, taking several steps towards Aelfric, who refused to waver in the presence of such power.
"You mean, become you?" Aelfric replied, loading his words with as much scorn as he could muster.
A harsh rasping, coughing sound filled the air, and I realized that the Death Knight must have been laughing. "Something like that, yes. As I said, you will serve no matter the answer. But you can either profit from it, or become one of those." The creature gestured towards the mass of mindless ghouls standing opposite of our shield wall.
Aelfric glanced at the ghouls, back to the Death Knight, and then towards us. We remained defiant, grim determination written on our faces. All of us, Housecarl and Soldier alike had seen what horror creatures like this one had brought to our homeland, and though death was a surety, we refused to bend a knee. I don't think our faces made any difference in Aelfric's decision, and indeed, most of our faces were hidden behind our helms anyways.
My lord smiled at us, winked, and turned back to the Death Knight, his expression blank.
To our astonishment, Aelfric went down on one knee, and said in a solemn voice. "My Lord, I wish to swear fealty to your king."
Murmurs and cries of indignation ran through our shield wall, though us Housecarls remained silent. They must not have seen Aelfric's wink.
The Death Knight hissed, which I took to mean it was pleased. It stepped forward, until it was less than a foot in front of Aelfric. It's hand moved slowly to the mace strapped across it's back. "You will not regret your decision, Baron Aelfric. The Lich King will be pl—"
That was about as far as the Death Knight got, before Aelfric barreled into the creature, his mailed shoulder slamming into the Knight's midriff. As mighty as it seemed, it still toppled over in a chorus of screeching metal meeting hard earth. Cheers filled the air, along with scorching insults and jeers.
But Aelfric was not finished, and neither was the Death Knight.
Seeking to finish the job quickly, Aelfric had advanced on his foe, and sought to stab his sword down through the gap in the Death Knight's demonic faceplate. We roared, smelling victory, but as the blade slammed home, it found only the earth to sink into. I do not know how the creature managed that feat of agility in such a bulky suit of armor, but managed it had, and it was back on it's feet.
Aelfric barely had the time to raise his shield as the massive ebon mace hit him. The shield splintered, spraying the area with deadly slivers of wood, several of which stuck into my shield. My lord was thrown head first into our wall, and men instinctively parted to make his landing less painful.
Swearing like a drunken sailor, Aelfric was helped to his feet. Large splinters of wood were embedded in his arm, which was clearly broken. But, being the tough bastard, he had a man strap a new shield to his arm, and his arm across his chest.