Chapter II: Argent Pride Beneath a Frozen Sky
Every archer's bow was nocked. Every dwarf's rifle was armed. Every sword was drawn, every shield held forth, every mount's reigns in hand. Every soldier held his breath, his senses alert, ready for the chaos to come. Yet noone moved. The Argent Crusade awaited, everyone afraid of the battle to come, but everyone too brave, too proud, too desperate to let it interfere with their morale. This was all – or nothing.
"Listen to me." Tirion said, standing in front of the Crusade's forces. "Don't do anything foolish. Only the Ashbringer has enough power to stand up to him." The sacred blade was raised, pointing against the Lich King's chest from afar – Jaina noticed the Paladin's hand tremble, as if he wanted to thrust the sword from that range into his nemesis' heart. Well, he probably did.
"We know that already, Paladin." Tyrande Whisperwind said coldly. "You will deal with the Lich King – we will keep the rest of his forces off your back while you fight." The leader of the Night Elves seemed not to enjoy the fact that she had a lesser role to play today, but at least she understood that it had to be that way. Jaina herself understood. Despite the unbearable responsibility she felt haunting her, prompting her to confront Arthas with her very own hands, she had to stay back. She was not powerful enough – she had no delusions about that – but there was also another reason. Even if she was the one to defeat Arthas, was she strong enough to do what she had to? Was she determined enough to kill him, when she still felt the guilt for his fate tormenting her? Jaina was not ready to answer those questions, and if the answer was the wrong one, all could be lost. All would be lost. So, she would stay back and support Tirion as best as she could.
"Are you finished plotting, Paladin? Come against me as you will, if you are ready. The grave will devour you whole." Arthas' frozen voice broke Jaina's thoughts. It was the first time Jaina had a chance to gaze at the Lich King from so close. His form was terrifying, but to her, like any other person here with a high attunement to magic, the power of the sword and helm was much more terrifying. It was as if staring into an abyss, yet two spots were darker than black. What untold energies from the Twisting Nether and beyond had been bestowed upon the Lich King when he first came to this world? How much had they grown, once he was able to free himself from the confines of the Frozen Throne? How much of Arthas' power lay now at the Lich King's disposal?
How was victory possible at all, in the face of such odds?
"Oh, I am ready, Arthas. I've been ready for a long time." Tirion said, and suddenly, Jaina felt hope return to her. Yes, the odds were overwhelming. Yes, the Lich King was powerful. Yet Azeroth had never seen such a large army united into a common end. The greatest heroes of the Alliance, of the Horde – most of them, at least; Jaina's thoughts traveled to Wrynn and the foolish war he was preparing to wage, and Thrall who had to stay behind and defend his people against this madness – had gathered together, under the banner of the Argent Crusade and the might of the Ashbringer. Only half that much had vanquished Archimonde – at great costs, but still – several years ago. Yes, all was not lost. Hope could still be found even in their darkest hour.
"We are all ready." Tyrande said firmly, her Nightsaber roaring.
"The time has come for you to pay, Arthas." The dwarven King growled, the injustice of his brother's near-death and suffering from the fallen prince's exploits still grinding at his nerves.
"You have caused much pain to these lands with your vile corruption." Cairne added, his tone reflecting the sadness for the suffering all beings of Azeroth had been forced to endure. "It has to end."
"Your crimes against my people – your people – will not go unpunished." Mograine said coldly. "You lead us to our death, but only staged your own demise with your treachery." The Death Knights' cold stares, dead as the grave, were almost as frightening as the ones from the opposing side of the battlefield. What would happen to those people, if ever peace was restored? Was there a place for them in the lands, or would they suffer prejudice and hatred until their final day? Jaina couldn't provide a realistic solution, but she knew one thing: the Lich King was responsible for their fate. For all the fates of the countless of people sacrificed to the undead. He had much to answer for. Silently, softly, she repeated Cairne's words.
"It has to end."
The entire army moved as one, Tirion at its head. The Undead Scourge responded, and the two gargantuan masses broke to a run, rushing to meet each other in battle.
"FOR THE CRUSADE!!" Tirion yelled. "FOR THE LIGHT!!" And then there was chaos.
---
Metal clang against metal, sword against hammer, each pushing, slashing, smashing, but none able to gain ground. Regardless, Varian Wrynn did not hesitate for an instance, following up on each strike with another, and another. The Orcs would fall today, and the man before him, their accursed Warchief, would be one of the first.
"Foolish human!" Thrall growled, fending off Wrynn's furious blow with his hammer. "Can't you see this is madness? We shouldn't be fighting against each other – we should be supporting the Crusade against the Lich King!"
"Oh, there will be plenty of time to deal with that traitor, orc. Once I'm done with you, that is." The human king, deploying the skills he had learnt as a gladiator in the arena of the orcs, raised the blade overhead before swiftly bringing it down. Thrall's hammer was too heavy, too cumbersome to move in time, and the cold steel carved a deep wound into the orc's forearm.
"Have it your way, then. I will not let you kill my people!" Thrall's mount stepped backwards, and the warchief raised his hammer – though the distance was too great for him to use it. Cautiously, Wrynn raised his own weapon as defense. Would he throw it? That would be a reckless maneouver – it could mean the end of the fight if it hit, but if he missed, he would be defenseless.
The sky cackled with electricity as a jolt of lightning was flung from the hammerhead, too fast for the eye to follow, striking Wrynn head-on. The former gladiator screamed as the powerful current ran through his body, conducted by his metallic breastplate. Those accursed shamanistic powers! He had forgotten about them. So the orc was too much fo a coward to take him head-on. Very well. Varian Wrynn had not earned the name of Lo'Gosh for nothing. With a roar, he shrugged off the shock and paralysis, ignoring the charred patches of his skin and his blackened breastplate. What must be overcome can be defeated.
"Is that all you've got, Horde dog?" He taunted, closing the gap in two steps – this time his slice was aimed at the wolfhound that Thrall rode. Fast as the Warchief was, he did not manage to completely avoid the blow by steering the creature out of the way, and Varian's blade cut open a narrow slice along the beast's side, which howled in rage and pain. At the same time, from behind the warchief, a gargantuan form towered – Broll had slipped in unnoticed behind the line of warriors that were clashing around their leaders, trying to gain ground over each other, and, now transformed into his bear form, was ready to fell the orc in one swift blow.
Something barely visible, like something just on the edge of sight, blocked Broll's attack – another similar shape was thrust against the druid's chest, throwing him on his back. After blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the sight, Varian Wrynn recognized the shapes of two Ghost Wolves, vile spirit beasts that could be called upon by shamans. So Thrall was not completely unprepared. But the Kor'Kron elite guard, fighting around their their leader, had already noticed the invader in their midst – decapacitated, even in his deadly bear form, Broll would die in an instant if Varian didn't interfere. Grinding his teeth – why had the fool jumped in like that? – he prepared to charge, but arcane fire suddenly took one of the Kor'Kron's in the chest, searing him whole and bringing the rest to a halt. Right next to Varian, Valeera Sanguinar, his blood elf companion during his gladiator days, appeared, her hand still aflame from the spell she had cast. Quickly recovering his focus, Broll shapeshifted again, this time into a tiger, and rushed between the Kor'Kron warriors, dodging the spirit wolves vicious attacks to stand on Varian Wrynn's other side, changing back into his humanoid shape.
"What now, Varian?" Valeera asked, as the trio confronted the orc leader and his powerful guards. Fire was still blazing in her hand, ready to be unleashed in another deadly strike. "Can we really win like this?" Varian didn't need to follow the direction she had nodded towards to know that Marcus Jonathan and his charge were being held at bay by the Trolls, who had managed to gain the high ground and were tossing boulders, boiling oil and even spears at the valiant knights. He ground his teeth. Thrall was right in front of him, but surrounded by his minions, he was out of reach. For now.
"Retreat!" The king ordered, and the human army began pulling back. Retreat – but not from the war. Not even from the first battle. They would regroup and charge again, and this time, he would definitely bring his hated foe to his knees.
---
"Stand fast!"
"For the Alliance!"
"Elune, guide us!"
Different warcries, but all meant for the same goal – empower the Crusade's forces as they faced the overwhelming might of the undead. The throng of warriors had formed a gigantic circle with a tiny hole in its midst – in that space, Tirion Fordring and the Lich King was dueling, and noone wanted to be too close to where two of the greatest swords of all times, wielded by two of the greatest warriors of all times, clashed against each other. The ice, thick beyond imagining in this heart of winter, had already began cracking beneath the two champions' feet, and each time the runeblade collided with the greatsword, the air filled with sparks, the aftermath of two powerful magics forced to their limits to destroy one another.
Jaina looked around her. She was standing in the middle of the human army. Five ranks in front of her, the frontlines of the champions of Theramore and the undead beasts were fighting, the ice painted crimson and green with blood and the vile insides of the slain undead. She was mostly supporting her troops, blasting the most dangerous foes with her magical staff from afar, and protecting them as well as she could with barriers when an arcane assault came their way, but she was holding back on her real power. As much as it pained her to see her people die in desperation, she knew that if she wasted her mana here, she would be unable to help in a critical situation.
Such a situation arose sooner than Jaina expected. Abruptly, the already deathly low temperature dropped beyond freezing point. Jaina's spellbound cloak shielded her from the cold, but it did not affect her troops – many began screaming as their skin suddenly crystallized into ice, freezing them on the spot. Suddenly, the frozen humans shattered into pieces, opening a trail of ice shards that led straight from the undead ranks to Jaina. However, the charge of ghouls and skeletons she had expected did not come. Instead, from within the depths of the army, a single figure walked forward to meet her from afar – no, hovered forward. He had changed much since she had last seen him, and much more since their days in Kirin Tor, but still she had no trouble recognizing the once renowned magician, now undead Lich.
"Kel'Thuzad." She whispered, venom dripping from his voice. It was he who had began the path that would lead Lordaeron to its doom.
"Why yes. I'm surprised you remember me." Kel'Thuzad replied. His voice was a whisper as well, although that was most likely his natural tone now that he had turned into this abomination. "You have grown well, Jaina. I am proud of your progress. But unfortunately, I have to end your life now." His skeletal hand rose, and Jaina felt the cold that had receded since Kel'Thuzad's strike sharpen again.
"Bring it, Lich." She growled, raising her staff.
---
Cairne glanced worriedly towards the west, where Jaina's troops were stationed. Something had happened, but he was too far to see clearly. He could only pray that Jaina was safe. If there was ever to be peace for the Horde and the Alliance, she was needed there. She shouldn't have come here. But what was done was done.
Not unlike Jaina, Cairne had taken a role of support to his soldiers. The Tauren were few in number, but fearsome, and they had been bolstered by the addition of Pandaren and even some of their former enemies, the Centaur, that had joined their ranks against the Lich King's undead. Cairne was maintaining totems which served to protect and empower the brave warriors that fought in the frontlines, saving his own strength for where it would truly be needed.
A commotion ahead drew his attention, and with great pain his eyes watched the head of one of his fellow Tauren fly into the sky, completely separated from his body, before it fell down next to him. That was Harutt Thunderhorn, one of the greatest warriors of the Thunderhorn clan, and by extension of the Tauren as a whole. As much grief as Cairne felt for his death, he would have to mourn him later. Few things could cut a Tauren's head clean off – fewer still could achieve this with a warrior of Harutt's caliber. This threat had to be addressed with before the front broke under the pressure. Lifting his battle-axe off the ground, Cairne moved forward to face this horrible foe.
Though he clearly had the feel of death about him, the man looked very much like a human. Mounted on one of the Scourge's undead horses, he was swinging an axe of his own, easily parrying and deflecting another Tauren's attack. As he prepared to deliver his final blow, Cairne raised his weapon.
"Enough!" He bellowed, and with the fury of the Earth, unleashed a shockwave of primal energy that carved a path of destruction on the frozen battlefield, separating the two duelists. The horseman's mount, unfazed, stepped back to avoid the blast – the Death Knight himself turned his head, encased in a terrible horned visor, to gaze upon the interference.
"You dare step between Salanar and his prey?" He said quietly, his words a promise of death. "Then your soul will be claimed first."
Cairne prayed to Mother Nature, a silent, short expression of gratitude for the life that had been gifted to him, should it end here, and moved in to attack.
---
King Magni Bronzebeard's forces were slowly gaining ground. The King himself was fighting in the very front, his twin hammers smashing ghoulish skulls and nerubian carapaces with a single strike. Just to the west of where the duel between Arthas and Tirion was taking place, the dwarves were positioned in full force, gaining ground against their unholy foes.
"Dwarves! To me! Push them! Break them!" Magni yelled, consumed by the rage of battle. The encouragement was hardly necessary – each and every one of the dwarves that were with him had been waiting for this moment, and whether swinging his hammer, shooting his rifle, or launching mortar shells, he was doing the best he could to crush their vile foes.
"King Magni! Watch out!" A scream echoed to his left, and he felt something push him out of the way. Even as he turned to see the cause of this disturbance, spikes that seemingly spawned out of the ice below them impaled one of his dwarf guards, presumably the one that had just saved his life, and retreated immediately back beneath the surface, leaving the dwarf a bloody mass on the floor.
"Yeh bastard!!" Magni yelled, turning around and tossing his warhammer, with all the formidable might he could muster, in the direction the row of spikes had come from. A prolonged, screeching dull thud roared above the sounds of battle, and the Thane of Ironforge could only watch in awe as his weapon was deflected against the thick carapace of a nerubian spider.
Even had Magni not been a dwarf, he would have found the creature's size impressive. Looming over the rest of the undead at a size larger than that of an Abomination, the Crypt Lord made Magni's warriors look like miniatures. Against such a creature, Magni only had one chance. Taking advantage of the moment of stunned confusion his strike had inflicted upon his foe, he grabbed his remaining hammer with both hands.
"ATTACK!! FOR KHAZ-MODAN!!" He roared, brandishing his axe as he called upon the great power of the mountainlords, feeling the strength of the entire dwarf race boiling in his veins as he charged against Anub'Arak, the Nerubian champion of the Lich King.
---
Around the area where the Lich King fought Tirion Fordring, the elite of the elite of each side's fighting forces had assembled, warring for one small inch of control over the battlefield. To the east, the Paladins that stemmed from the previous Order of the Silver Hand under Nicholas Zverenhoff and Maxwell Tyrosus held the undead at bay. Barely. On the other side, though, the Order of the Ebon Blade, the former champions of the Scourge, were faring quite well against their undead counterparts. Familiar with the fighting style and power of the Death Knights, the Highlord Mograine had no problem strategizing in order to defeat them.
Even without the Ashbringer, Mograine's power as a Death Knight was more than frightening. Two of the Lich King's best warriors had been felled by his runeblade. As it was, in the entire front of the battle, Mograine's assault had gained the most ground against the undead, having almost circumvented the spot where the deathmatch between the Lich King and the Paladin was taking place. In this battle of no hope, they would prevail, or they would find redemption in death. This, Mograine had sworn.
"What ferocity you fight with, Highlord. Is it redemption you seek, or simply vengeance?"
Mograine had been expecting this ever since he found himself on the opposing side of the battlefield with his former associates, the Death Knights who had not defected into the Argent Crusade.
"Valanar." He addressed the Scourge's overlord. "I was waiting for this moment."
"So have I." Came the cold response, feint mockery left behind, as runeblade was drawn against runeblade, and the Highlord of the Ebon Blade clashed swords with the Dark Prince of Naxxanar.
---
Tyrande Whisperwind had lived many years, even by Kaldorei standards, yet never in her entire lifetime had she witnessed a battle as grand and gruesome as this one. The Night Elves and the Tauren had been given the westernmost and easternmost flanks to man, as they had been judged the least likely to break under overwhelming pressure and most capable of holding their ground, preventing the Crusade's army from being surrounded and decimated. Shapeshifted Druids of the Claw were holding the front, assisted by cumbersome Mountain Giants and supported by the more agile of the Huntresses, while the High Priestess and the bulk of the sentinel forces, as well as the Dryads and Druids of the Talon that had come to assist them in this dark hour, rained down arrows and magical strikes from afar, thinning the attacker's ranks. To the east, the Dwarves were fighting, slowly but steadily pushing the undead – the charge had stopped now, though, and with the corner of her eye, Tyrande could see the giant shape of a Crypt Lord; but, she did not have the luxury to distract herself from the battle for long. Further still, around the core of the battlefield where the duel between Tirion and the Lich King, the Knights of the Ebon Blade and the human Paladins were fighting the Scourge Death Knights, and beyond that, out of sight for even the sharp-eyed Tyrande, the humans of Theramore and the forces of the Horde, as well as the remainder of the allied troops, were holding out. Holding still, else they would all have been dead by now. The dragons and the flying creatures the Scourge had set against them were also fighting overhead, but for now, they were content with staying at range and unleashing their attacks from afar, resulting in a sort of aerial stalemate.
The draenei are supposed to be here by now. Tyrande was obviously not the only one to have noticed that the draenei had not arrived as arranged to support them, and she was also not the only one to not have the time to wonder about what had interfered with the plan. Last, she was also not the only one to question whether the difference that their absence made would be enough to determine the outcome of the battle.
Divided as her attention was between shooting her arrows and worrying about the draenei, the only warning Tyrande had was the swooping sound of wings and claws slashing through the sky, far below the altitude where the dragons were flying. She only had time to force Ash'alah, her Frostsaber, out of the way of the white-winged spectre of a woman that descended from above against her, aiming to cleave her head off with her hand-held scythe. Other Sentinels were not so lucky, and at least a dozen of them perished before they turned to face this new airborne foe in the face five of the ghastly female warriors.
Tyrande had only heard rumors of the Val'kyr, female Vrykul of Valkyrion that have been willingly turned into undead by the Lich King, and were chosen to fight by his side. It was a shame she did not have the chance to study their combat style and techniques before having to fight them, but it was too late for regrets now. Moving her Frostsaber in position, she nocked another arrow to her bow and aimed.
"Scary reflexes you have there, Night Elf." The harbinger of death said, her voice as that of an undead banshee. "Let's see how you fare against Olrun, the Battlecaller of the Scourge."
---
While the cataclysmic battle above shook the entire continent to its very foundations, far beneath the frozen surface of Northrend, an ancient evil stirred. Sealed away but not destroyed, the Old Gods of Azeroth, hailing from an era before even the Titans, were preparing for a new age.
An age of chaos.
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Author's Notes: The second installment is here already, although the pace will slow down later, probably. Thanks for the reviews so far, I sincerely hope everyone who read this story enjoyed it. All comments, notes etc are greatly appreciated.