Chapter 10

In Tarren Mill, a week later…

Sylvanas Windrunner expressed no emotion as she surveyed the empty town with her glowing red eyes. Her white blond hair spilled out slightly from the dark red hood she wore. The still flawless, though undead, gray elven skin of the terrifying yet hauntingly beautiful features of the Sindorei huntress turned banshee queen couldn't be read by those others present, though her face did not look pleased. Next to her, an Orc commander stood with thirteen armored grunts. Around these were posed a contingent of Dark Rangers with bows in hand. These undead female Sindorei archers whose own corpses were as perfectly preserved as their mistress's due to their race had been trained by Sylvanas personally long before the Scourge had come to Azeroth. They stood waiting for her next word, gesture, or any response she might give.

When the Orc and his grunts had demanded from the Deathguards to see her immediately in Grommash Hold just two days before, Sylvanas had honestly believed the warrior's brains to have rotted at first. She had been in council with Saurfang, the de facto leader of the Orc race, and Lor'themar, her counterpart in Silvermoon, in the war room behind closed doors looking over maps, hearing reports from Ashenvale, Northrend, and the Barrens as she had been doing for several days. Having heard the commotion on the other side of the doors, she herself had opened them to see thirteen Orcs about to cleave her Forsaken guards in two.

"Warchief!" Sylvanas had heard him say, and he and his men saluted her deferentially. "We must speak to you, now!"

"And what is so important that disrupt your warchief's council? Give me a good reason not to order you all dismembered for wasting my time." She had responded, irritation evident on her face.

"There has been an incident at Tarren Mill, warchief. It was one which we believed you should know about immediately." Krusk had responded.

"What incident?" She had questioned skeptically.

As the Orc then related to her the unbelievable events she quickly stopped him from speaking, very aware her own undead guards could hear it too. There was no realistic chance that it could have been true, but she couldn't risk her own people hearing of the nonsense regardless and having rumors spread. But then there was always the annoying "what if?" Could she take the chance and do nothing? She had looked from the Orcs back to her fellow leaders quickly. She also couldn't just leave the war room to deal with the situation right then, and if the Orcs were insane it would have been for nothing.

"Escort these grunts to the next chamber." She told the Deathguards. To the Orcs she said, "Tell no one until I speak with you again. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Warchief." Krusk had responded, saluting with his fist against his chest.

Several hours later she met them again, attempting to decide whether or not to put them down for good, or whether the details of their story had any merit. One delusional Orc commander was easily solved, but when all thirteen soldiers reported exactly the same thing, she realized she could not ignore it. She would have to travel to Tarren Mill herself to investigate and put an end to it.

It had taken days for the Orc and his grunts on wargback to reach a portal trained mage either because of the lack of foresight of her lieutenants in Hillsbrad and Silverpine, or because of their incompetence. Either way, they had lost time. Those mages that they would have made use of had been stationed here in Tarren Mill when the "incident" had happened, and were among the "affected." It had been Krusk's intention to portal to the Undercity and report to her directly, and that was what they had done at first. Except she had not been in the Undercity at the time as they had believed. She had been in Orgrimmar going over troop strength and tactics, attempting to sway the other Horde leadership in the direction she wanted them to think, and planning for a war with the Alliance she had been carefully orchestrating since the Legion's defeat.

Stormwind would pay for their decades old betrayal of her people. Vengeance would belong to the Forsaken, and then the southerners would finally understand once they awoke from the undead graveyards. She would replenish her own population and troops by absorbing her enemies' dead bodies just as the Lich King had.

Krusk couldn't have known what was happening or where she was. He and his grunts had reported the news directly to her as quickly as they could have under the circumstances, refusing to confide it to an underling who might not have understood its importance. At least the Orc had the wits to grasp that she would want to know it as soon as possible if "immediately" wasn't.

Still, a week had been lost.

"Tell me again what happened." She instructed him. "Every detail. Act it out where it happened if you have to. I want to see it for myself."

Krusk then began recalling once more for her (for the fourth time since his first report he thought) exactly what had happened. He detailed for her where the prisoners had been brought in, how many there were, what races, who had captured them, where the Deathguards had been, when the Demon Hunters had intervened, what he had heard pass between her assassin and the human Priest, and then the human's responses, his actions, his "prayer", and what had happened next. He acted it out as best he could, kneeling, saying the words he remembered, all of it attempting to leave nothing out.

"You saw all of this with your own eyes?" She asked him again, taking all of it in pensively. Calculations and theories moved quickly behind her eyes. "You and your men?"

"Yes, warchief." Krusk replied. The Orc warriors behind him also added their agreement. It had happened exactly as Krusk described.

"And you did nothing to stop him?" She asked. Her tone of voice was even, but Krusk could feel the accusation like a knife thrust.

"The Demon Hunters surrounding him made a powerful argument with their glaives, Warchief." He told her without irony. "I saw nothing before it happened that would have suggested that it could have happened. The man looked like a homeless pauper. His companions were not much better." Krusk answered, not knowing if they would be his last words spoken.

She considered this again. Demon Hunters were fearsome warriors, and she knew as well as he did that Krusk and his grunts would have been cut to ribbons had they attempted to cross them. Krusk had been bright enough to know it too. She still would have lost her people here, and possibly Orc grunts who had more than half a brain in their heads, and would not have known until much later. And, if Krusk was telling the truth, they had offered to deal with the prisoners themselves if the man had been a fraud.

The problem she couldn't reconcile in her mind is that what Krusk was describing she knew to be impossible. Priests, Druids, and Shamans from across Azeroth had been searching for a way to reverse the undeath for decades since the Scourge first came to their world. Tauren alchemists in particular had spent years exhausting their considerable skills in conjunction with her own people. Nothing had ever been found which would work without severing their souls completely and damning them for eternity in the void. And she had been told of what had occurred with the Naaru Xe'ra and Illidan Stormrage. Cleansing the Illidari seemed just as likely after that.

But the fact remained, Tarren Mill was empty. There were no bodies to be collected. Krusk's story, as impossible as it was, could not be contradicted by the evidence at the moment unless the entire town of Forsaken had just decided to go on holiday all at once.

Which left her with a quandary, and a potentially huge problem. There were now around two hundred fewer Forsaken among her people's population. Two hundred potential fewer troops to draw on when she was close to needing them for the next phase of her plan, and there were now around two hundred more humans, many if not most of them capable of fighting, within her lands if they hadn't gone east into the Highlands. She had received no reports of a throng of people passing through Thoradin's Wall so they still had to be within her reach. This man Jeshua had the capability of raising an army for the Alliance from among her own people if what Krusk had told her was even remotely true and that was a threat which had to be dealt with.

"Rangers!" She called out. Immediately, fifteen hooded, undead elf women armored similarly to their mistress appeared from where they had been standing, observing the town and the surrounding area, at her side waiting for instructions, quivers full and bows in hand.

"Track them." She then told them. "Find our missing people. I want every person that was here accounted for no matter what state they are in, including this man Jeshua. You have his description from the Orc."

"And when we find them mistress?" One of them, Aiyana Deatharrow, asked. There was no question in her voice that they would find them.

"Keep them under observation. Report directly to me. Go."

All fifteen women then disappeared in an unnatural blur without a word. Loyal to her even beyond the grave, they, she knew, would not fail her.

A cure for the undeath. The unruly thought itself teased her and toyed with what emotions she had remaining to her. The possibility of turning Forsaken back to living humans was a threat she couldn't ignore, but the possibility of a cure... She couldn't ignore that either. Salvation from what Arthas did to us after all this time. If it's really possible…

"Do you have instructions for us, warchief?" Krusk then asked her, waiting.

She briefly toyed with the idea of felling him and his men herself for failing to stop this Jeshua, and for what they knew. If word of this got out among her people it could potentially destabilize everything from Silverpine to Eversong.

No, it's been a week. She then told herself. There are too many of them. This is already out of control and needs to be reined back in. Any direction they would have gone, word will already have spread among the Forsaken. Krusk has a brain and can follow orders. I hate to waste good resources.

The real question in her mind was, "which direction did they go?"

"Take your men and head into the mountains, see if they might have taken the pass north." She then told him. "If they did, there will be a trail of bodies one way or the other. It will be a trail even a child could follow."

She didn't have to explain. The Alterac mountain passes were inhospitable, snowbound and frozen over. They were also inhabited by a tribes of ogres and yetis. Strahnbrad, yet another stronghold for the Syndicate, lay on that road as well. There would be corpses one way or the other if they had gone that route. The people here would have known this all too well, but she still had to make certain.

"Yes, warchief." Krusk saluted her unemotionally with his fist, and then took his men and left for the road north.

A cure… It would destroy everything I've planned and worked for. She thought. But it could save my people… And me also.

Wheels continued to turn in her mind as she calculated her next course of action carefully.

Days earlier…

Strong, virile human men and women wearing the plate armor of Sylvanas Windrunner's own Deathguards went in front of and behind the mass of people making their way north, guarding them as best they could from whatever might attack them. Their numbers were supplemented by six Sindorei and Kaldorei warriors wielding Illidari warglaves, human assassins that scouted ahead of the party for trouble, and common folk who had armed themselves with old swords, hunting rifles, pistols, pitchforks, daggers, and whatever else they could find whether or not they knew how to use them. Two Mages in torn purple robes, daggers at their sides, conjured food and drink whenever the group needed to rest.

At the center of the armed crowd, distinct from them in that they carried no weapons of any kind, were Jeshua and his eight apprentices. One more than they started the journey with had been added to their number; Thaddeus Jude, a mousy brown haired man sporting new beard growth who spent much time speaking with his friend, Mathaius, and paying attention to every word the teacher said.

"I didn't understand the message before. I'm not going to make that mistake ever again." He had said when asked about it.

They had started from Tarren Mill later in the day after "the miracle" had occurred. The entire town had been stunned and shaken by the transformation which had come over them. It was something they all had longed for. It was also something they had given up hope on long, long before, and then suddenly it had just happened in seconds. Many of them couldn't speak for some time for the changes which had been made, and stared in awe and gratitude at the man who had caused it. But soon enough, they began to realize what it meant for them in the here and now as heartfelt expressions turned to the realities of their new situation.

By virtue of their race, they were now enemies in their own land and among their own people. It was a consequence of what had occurred that they couldn't stay where they were in Tarren Mill without the certain threat of reprisal against them and the man who had brought the miracle to them.

The debate in the town hall had been heated and passionate about what they were going to do now that they were no longer "Forsaken". Not understanding the northerners, the suggestion had been offered by one of the former Illidari, a Night Elf man, that they should head east towards Refuge Point and then south to Alliance lands where they would be welcomed, but it was vehemently shouted down by the townspeople.

"They abandoned us and tried to steal our lands!" Craig Hewitt, a farmer, had shouted. "I don't care if my heart's beating or not, that ain't never gonna happen!"

"Why should we trust them? They left us to rot and hunted us like vermin!" Aranae Venomblood, the town's herbalist, had added.

The anger and pain which they expressed at the southern kingdoms was real, decades old, and deeply ingrained. Many more shared stories of being hunted by Paladins and Priests wearing Alliance colors in addition to the Scarlet Crusade, the fanatical group that had never distinguished between Scourge and Forsaken. No, they wouldn't be joining the Alliance any time soon. None of them.

Jeshua and those with him had remained silent during the debate, though he would have been welcome to speak. The choices had to be theirs as to where they would go and what path they would follow. He had given them what they had always wanted, but would not take their free choices from them.

Then, after seeming to go nowhere, Mathaius Levi had spoken up, "What about Hearthglen to the north?"

The others had quieted down and all eyes turned to the younger looking man.

"Tirion Fordring and his Argent Crusade have never attacked our people, and don't even take sides between the Horde and Alliance. They accept everyone as a recruit, regardless of where they come from. We could go there." He told them.

Several voices murmured at once with the idea. Several more heads had nodded, though one of the Sindorei spoke up and said, "But Tirion Fordring is dead, and he had no living heirs. The Argent Crusade was absorbed into the Silver Hand at the beginning of the Legion War along with the Blood Knights and Sunwalkers. You need to know who controls those lands now."

"Maxwell Tyrosus, one of the former Argent Crusade lords." Thaddeus had answered, making use of his former employment gathering intelligence. "According to reports, he's a fair man, and holds fast to Highlord Fordring's ideals. Nothing's changed in Hearthglen. Even some of our own Forsaken brothers and sisters can be found among them there at Light's Hope in the Eastern Plaguelands."

The decision then had been made quickly. Unable to remain, and with no other refuge, they gathered any supplies they could carry with them, food, clothing, any medicines they had, weapons, any bedding they could roll up and carry in sacks or backpacks. What extra any of them had they shared with Jeshua, his apprentices, and the former Illidari so that no one was left without what they needed. When they left Tarren Mill, they looked a rag tag but prepared host.

Jeshua and his apprentices had been invited, even urged to go with them. They all wanted to know more about the man who had redeemed them from the undeath they thought would damn them for eternity, and all wanted to hear what he had to say. Under the circumstances, Jeshua had agreed.

The debate about which route to take had been quicker than the one deciding where they would go. The northern pass near Alterac would be too dangerous most of those in the town knew right away. Instead, they chose to head north along the bank of the river which flowed just to the east of the town. They made camp at the base of the hills that night along the riverbank, each of the townsfolk taking watch during the night to guard the others while they slept. The next morning, working out that they'd traveled far enough past both the mountain pass and Strahnbrad, they headed up through the woods and into the hills until they reached the old road that headed north towards Andorhal, the entire party stopping again for the night at a small Argent Crusade controlled settlement called Chillwind Camp which consisted of little more than a few houses and an Alliance run Gryphon service.

That night was spent around several campfires as there wasn't enough lodging in the tiny village for everyone. The story of "the miracle" had been told again and again to those residents of Chillwind Camp who also gave looks of shocked disbelief at the newcomers, especially those wearing the armor of Sylvanas' own guards. All eyes would eventually turn to the strawberry blond bearded man who sat around one of the campfires with his apprentices and those who wanted to hear him. One raven haired man with intelligent, cunning eyes and scruffy beard paid special attention to not only the fantastic tales, but the size of the scruffy army which had descended on Chillwind, where they were headed, and the man they credited with their transformation.

This man had quietly slipped away from the rest into one of the houses. Pulling out a white stone with a sapphire blue swirl embedded in it, he said quietly, focusing on his destination, "Stormwind." And then he vanished from the house in a flash of blue light.

With the next day came renewed tension as they knew their next night would be spent crossing the ruins of Andorhal which lay farther down the old highway and across the bridge. At one time, before the plague and the third war, Andorhal had been one of the largest cities in Lordaeron, but after had been a constant battleground. Most of the city had been reduced to ruins and rubble in the conflicts.

The fighting in Andorhal, first against the Scourge forces, and then when those had been destroyed between the Forsaken soldiers and what remained of the Alliance troops there, had been finished for well over a decade. Several of those among Tarren Mill's refugees had fought there for their Dark Lady themselves, and when it was done, the Forsaken had overrun the city, driving the remaining Alliance forces out and into retreat.

But there was no way around it. A deep river, difficult to cross even by swimming separated the southern stretch of land from most of the province north of them from the mountains in the west to Darrowmere Lake in the east. Two bridges, one to the west and one to the east of Chillwind Camp were the only way to continue towards their goal, and both led straight through Andorhal's rubble strewn, undead patrolled streets.

They would have former friends and comrades trying to kill them.

In the afternoon, as the townspeople approached the gates of Andorhal from the western bridge, guns were loaded, swords were drawn, and eyes were kept open. They knew they might lose some of their own in the attempt, but their own choices were few in the matter. In front of them, Deathguards had been posted to either side of the entryway and were already raising the alarm at the encroaching horde of armed humans and elves.

"We're under attack!" The cry went up among the Forsaken, and an alarm bell began to ring as more Deathguards rushed to the western gate to defend it from the armed mob, holding a line behind a barricade of wood and stone rubble that looked to have been there from one of the previous conflicts and never moved.

The mass of people began to move forward and then stopped twenty yards from the Forsaken barricade, at least twenty or so armored Deathguards holding their own position, swords and shields at the ready.

"I ain't no cowards, but are we really going to do this?" Craig Hewitt asked one of the Deathguards from Tarren Mill. "Those are our own people no matter what's happened; our own brothers and sisters."

The Deathguard's own restored face looked pained as he looked down at the tabard he still wore depicting the distorted features of an undead woman's face in dark purple and black. "If you've got any other solution..." He replied, trailing off.

"What about just talking to them and telling them what happened?" The farmer then asked. "What could we lose from it if some of us are going to die from the fighting anyway?"

"Would you have believed it?" The Deathguard asked skeptically.

"No." Craig replied. "No, I wouldn't have, but what do we have to lose? The teacher back there keeps talking about 'loving your enemies' and not fighting back when someone tries to hurt you. These folks ain't even really our enemies. Hell, I fought here myself twenty years ago. Least we could do is talk to them first before we all try and kill each other."

"As did I." The armored man replied in agreement, remembering the battle.

The Deathguard took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he considered the farmer's words. When he made his decision, he sheathed his sword in it's scabbard and lowered his shield so that his tabard and colors could be clearly seen by the other side.

He then began walking towards the barricade by himself, gesturing for everyone else to hold back where they were. When he got close enough for the opposing Deathguards to hear, he called out, "Dark Lady watch over you, brothers!"

The looks on the Forsaken Deathguards' faces changed to confusion at the human dressed in their colors and armor, and greeting them in such a manner. After a minute, one of them called back, "Victory for Sylvanas!"

"Indeed!" The human Deathguard replied in agreement. "May our queen reign eternal!"

"Who are you that speaks like this about our queen, human?!" The Forsaken Deathguard responded back across the distance between them.

"I am one of you, brothers, in spite of my transformation. My heart, and the hearts of those who now beat with mine, beats for the Forsaken." The Deathguard called back. "We come from Tarren Mill and are traveling to Hearthglen! We seek safe passage through the city!"

"Turn back, Alliance fools! Do you believe us that stupid?!" The Deathguard replied after he understood what the human had told him. "We will show you no mercy!"

"It is the truth!" The human insisted. "I fought here too against both the Scourge and the Alliance! None of us have any more love for Stormwind than you do, brothers! We only want to pass through the city!"

Then the guard behind the barricade spoke to one of the other soldiers who then fell back and disappeared through the gates. He then called back to the human, "Hold where you are! I have sent for the High Executor! He will know what to do with you!"

The human Deathguard nodded and waited. The truth was though, he was a soldier not a negotiator. He followed orders in service to his queen and had no experience with diplomacy. The whole process was disturbing and painful to him. He respected and honored his queen, Sylvanas. She had freed them all from the Scourge's grasp and given them all back their free will to do as they please, to join her cause or just go and live their undeath in the way they saw fit. He had chosen to serve her willingly. He bore neither the men in front of him, nor her any ill will, even in spite of what he knew they would do to himself and the rest of his people.

It took several minutes, but eventually a balding, undead man in armor and wearing sigils of rank riding a skeletal horse emerged from the gate and passed by the barricades to draw up next to the strangely dressed human that spoke like one of them.

"Speak, human, and don't try my patience." The military officer told him.

The human Deathguard bent down on one knee in deference to his superior.

"My lord," the Deathguard began, "My people and I are loyal Forsaken citizens from Tarren Mill. A miracle occurred there which restored to us our living flesh. We are seeking safe passage north through the city to Hearthglen."

"Do you believe me a fool, human? Nothing cures the undeath." The High Executor replied. "I see at least two hundred people following you, elves among them. Do you expect me to believe that the entire town was cured?"

The Death guard nodded his head, expecting the officer's response. "Every word is the truth, my lord, I swear it on Sylvanas Windrunner herself."

The High Executor appeared uneasy at this last statement and then looked out at the people again. "What caused this 'miracle'? How did this happen, Deathguard?"

"My lord, it was a human whom I believe to be a renegade Priest of the Holy Light, but a Priest with powers unlike any I have ever seen. All he did was say a prayer and touch the ground of the town and we were all healed." The Deathguard replied. "I believe it… he is the answer, the cure we have all been seeking since the Scourge tore our nation apart. The elves you see were Illidari that were present at the time. As we were restored to living flesh, so the demon was cleansed from them."

The High Executor looked from the Deathguard to the crowd of people again, searching their frightened expressions. Some appeared defiant, most though appeared uncertain as to what would happen next.

"Where is this human now?" He asked.

"My lord, he and his followers travel with us. He teaches and speaks like no one I have heard or seen before." He said.

The High Executor then appeared to be thinking, the wheels in his mind turning almost visibly. He then asked the question which hung in the air between them, "If you are all loyal citizens, why do you flee north? Why did you abandon Tarren Mill?"

The Deathguard didn't hesitate, "For the same reason the guards here raised the alarm at our approach. We were afraid of our brothers' response when we were no longer undead. We hate the Alliance as much as you, but could not stay where we were. Hearthglen has always remained neutral."

The high ranking officer stared at the Deathguard kneeling before him long and hard for several minutes with cold, dead milky eyes deciding what to do with him and the rest of his people. He could not honestly brand them traitors yet. Faced with the decisions they had been given, what would he or any of his people have done?

He then told the Deathguard, "Swear your allegiance to the Dark Lady here before me."

"I so swear my allegiance and my sword to Sylvanas Windrunner and to the Forsaken people." The human Deathguard replied proudly and without hesitation having drawn his sword and planted the tip of it in the ground before the High Executor as he knelt.

"I will grant your safe passage on one condition." The officer told him. "You and your people leave your weapons here on the bridge. The roads north of Andorhal are clear, and the passage all the way to Hearthglen has been safe for some time. You will not need them. Do this, and I swear on the Dark Lady that you and your people will walk through Andorhal unmolested. But you must not stop here at all. You must leave the city this day, and I must report this to the Undercity."

A kind of shock had gone through the Deathguard as he realized what had just happened. For several seconds he could not reply.

"Do you agree to my terms, Deathguard?" The High Executor waited expectantly.

"A.. Allow me to confer your terms to the rest of my people, my lord." The human told him, rising.

"Don't take too long." The officer replied, watching the man intently as he walked back to the mass of people.

The High Executor could hear some commotion coming from the crowd, some arguments as well. He did not blame them. He might not have believed the offer either, but he had meant it. If there was finally a cure, it was his responsibility to his people to protect it as well and see that as many of his people could have access to it. It had been impossible up until now, but if there was even a chance, it was one he would gamble true death on if only his people might be restored, and he himself. The truth was as well, he did not have enough troop strength in his city's garrison to repel the size of army these people presented for long. This was the best solution for both parties.

Finally, the Deathguard returned and told him, "We are in agreement."

The officer nodded then turned towards the soldiers behind the barricades and called out, "Stand down! These people are under my protection! They are to pass unmolested! The first man to kill one of them will have his head on my table!"

The undead soldiers cleared quickly from the barricades and made a path through the gates and into the streets of the city. The humans and elves on the bridge looked on in amazement and still disbelief.

"Now, I believe we had an agreement." The High Executor told the Deathguard expectantly. If they really were loyal citizens, they would lay down their weapons.

The human turned and motioned to his people. The response was immediate as swords, daggers, pitchforks, and guns were placed on the worn stones of the bridge. The only ones to remain armed were the former Illidari who still held the warglaives in their hands, their expressions uncertain as to what to do.

Then the High Executor saw a poorly dressed man with reddish blond hair and beard turn to one of the elves and speak to him, though he could not hear what he had to say. He could not place his finger on it, but the vagabond man looked familiar to him like a picture or a portrait he had seen at one time. It took several seconds, but the elf laid down his weapons and then motioned for his comrades to do the same.

Satisfied, the officer called to the people, "The Queen welcomes you to Andorhal!" Then to the Deathguard he added again, "See that you don't remain long. My protection only extends so far until the queen hears of this, and she must hear quickly, as must all of our people."

The Deathguard nodded his understanding.

And with that, the imposing undead man rode back through the gates of the city himself, and the way for the people was clear.

It had taken several hours for the mass of people to pass through the city and out onto the northern highway that ran all the way from the ruins of Lordaeron in the west to Light's Hope chapel far to the east. The High Executor had been true to his word, and the rest of their exodus had been uneventful as they crossed the region north, reaching the gates of Hearthglen the fifth day from their departure from Tarren Mill. They had lost not a single person in the journey.

Lord Maxwell Tyrosus had been informed and met with the speakers of the host of people and allowed them welcome and resettlement for the moment into the Argent Crusade stronghold. They all came under the Paladin's protection, the strange man Jeshua in particular intriguing the older, one-eyed warrior.