Chapter Four: Creations and Planning...
Early Winter 590, First Azerothian Army Camp, New Azeroth
"To sum it up, sir, it doesn't look good."
That statement, given in a tense but even tone of voice, was probably the rethoric of the year to any of the generals seatedaround the large conference tent of the First Army. Still, as spacious as it was, it was cramped to capacity by all the commanders and generals who were fighting hard to keep the Orcish Hordes from the southern shores. There sat the grim and determined Azerothians, the proud and foppishly-armored Lordaerils, the smug but tense Gilneasians, and the blank-faced Dalars. Even a few of his Kul Tiran officers had shown up for this extraordinary meeting of the Alliance High Command. It was a time to make plans and assess the situation. A time to be honest about it all.
And if there was one thing Regent-Lord Anduin Lothar was honest about, it was warfare.
Dealin Proudmoore, King of Kul Tiras, Grand Admiral of the Alliance Fleet, sat on the first row of seats as indicated by his position. He was surrounded by the most distinguished lords and generals, men who had either risen through prowess, intelligence and the iron determination to fight to the bitter end. He knew many faces, knew even a few names, but they weren't the only ones who interested him. In fact, there were three who interested him far more than any of the the others.
One was a man, young by his looks, but with an hardened face and eyes that seem to gaze through the large and detailled map Lothar was pointing at with alacrity. He wore a purplish cloak denoting a high noble rank, but he didn't strike him as a noble-born. The symbol on his shoulder also spoke of some position - Regional Commander, a position just below the generals themselves. There was something about this one, something in the way he held himself that seemed to say he would find a way to do what he had to, even if it seemed impossible. A very interesting one, even though the sea king couldn't completely understand the why of it.
The second was also a man, whose name he also did not know. He was dressed in the black, polished armor of the Black Bolts, the elite, strongest band of Knights in the Kingdom of Gilneas, a group justly feared by its enemies and just as justly detested by the populace for their callousness. He had the rank of a Battalion Commander, but his smug face, his twinkling eyes as he looked around himself with his dark-bearded, wiry face, told of an arrogance far beyond his position. If the man's ambition was in any way equal to the conceit emanating from him, this man could be dangerous, the king decided. The Alliance didn't need backstabbers as it was.
But it was the third who intrigued him the most, seated regally three seats from himself, a woman dressed in the garnments of a noblewoman, of undertermined age yet with a face full of carefully guarded wisdom. Her name, he knew. Esai Dreenhart, an extremely powerful sorceress of Dalaran, one who had once sat in the Kirin Tor, and retained contacts with nearly all mage groups in the known world. A very important and potentially hazardous personage. But Esai had always been the one who was perfectly happy in total loneliness - she was legendary for her habit to shun all interest that didn't have to do with magic. Proudmoore could only guess as to why one of the most high-level mages in the land had chosen to break her solitude. And the theories weren't all good, either.
With an effort, Proudmoore turned his thoughts away from these peculiar individuals and fixed them on Lothar again as the old knight was finishing his update on the situation.
"...the eastern lands are in trouble, granted, but we can't send much manpower until the shores are secured. That cannot happen until we have defeated the main force we know are amassing just off our shores. If we can break or destroy that build-up, we'll be able to pick up the smaller groups and send help at the same time." he was saying, tapping a finger on the map to emphasize some of his points.
"You pardon, Lord Lothar." a middle-aged man Proudmoore recognized as Tillion Velladar, General in the Lordaeron Army interjected at this point. "But the forces of the southern shores far outnumber the orcish wargroup, and we can draw off some forces to send east."
Lothar frowned, shook his head. "Not as long as that main force is still ready. We are strung in every direction to keep the war groups at bay. The only way to eliminate them is by destroying that group."
"Isn't that a bit useless a position? I don't see how this will change anything to the situation."
General Duraz of the Second Azerothian Army snorted at that, his face lining in contempt. "The basics, General. Orcs always have all their brains in the biggest bunch, they don't spread it around like we do - a weakness. The expression "Cut off a snake's head and the body will die" applies here far more than you seem to think."
A younger, noble-looking commander reinforced this outburst immediately, but in a milder tone. "The orcs planning this attack isn't all that bright, from what we can tell, but they're savage. But if we kill those orcs, we'll momentarily disorient the rest for, say, a few days. More than enough to strike at them and obliterate them while they're dragging their feet. Which is why we need the overwhelming manpower."
The Lordearon general subsides - a little sulkiliy it seemed - but Proudmoore had seen this firsthand when engaging an Orcish fleet. If the flagship went down, there was a short time of confusion which his forces always applied to get the advantage. He saw Lothar raising his hand to forestall a continuation to the argumentation.
"Please, gentlemen, the point is made. Now, the main goal is to destroy that main force, which our scouts have managed to acertain as being in the Zul'Dare Islands, although not exactly where. That discovery and the fact it wasn't, in itself, discovered has given us an opportunity, and the weapons to carry out our task." he paused. "Six days ago, as you know, the first wave of elven ships have arrived near Southshore, as well as three companies of elven warriors - archers mostly. Lord Proudmoore will explain in more detail." he nodded to Proudmoore, who sighed, nodded and rose, facing the assembled mass.
"The elven destroyers are faster than our own ships, excellent for recons and quick strikes. And we know how well elven archers shoot. In addition to this, the foundries of Kultiras have built a new kind of transport, sturdier and faster than any before, with a greater military capacity to boot. Usin this, we have the perfect tool for a sneak naval strike." he said.
"And which army will have the job." one voice asked. Proudmoore didn't exactly know whom, but it didn't matter, as they had been waiting for this very question.
"None of the present armies will take part in this engagement." Lothar announced, his voice continuing over the gasps, mumurs and grunted protests. "Three weeks ago, the twelvth army suffered a defeat and lost nearly a fourth of its mean, as well as its commanding general. We have taken what remains of this army, reinforced it with a few fresh recruits, and mingled a full company of elves into. In short, we created the First Alliance Army, freed from any allegiance to a nation except the Alliance as a whole."
The murmurs and buzzing increased, and even Esai Dreenhart raised her eyebrows at this announcement. Proudmoore felt strangely satisfied by the stir he, Lothat and Terenas had caused with this new little plan. Once again, they waited for the burning question to be spewed. They didn't wait long at all."
"And who will command this new army?"
Lothar opened his mouth, but before he could utter any sound, Silphord Duraz rose quickly and addressed the generals. "This is a new army, and a new concept, and for that we need the best man we have who is not yet a general. I think I can be safe by saying the man I will propose will be of satisfaction, for the man has proven himself a flawless strategist and a great leader in and around Taren Mill." he turned his almost-arrogant gaze to the first man whom Proudmoore had singled out. "I propose Aerth Swiftblade as the General of the First Alliance Army."
Shocked silence filled the room, and the most shocked was probably this alleged Swiftblade, who looked utterly drained of color. But before the man had even uttered a single word, heads began nodding, and many of the commanders and officers began throwing in their support at the idea. Not really surprising. He had heard of that man. Taren Mill was a very safe region, safer than any of the others, and it was mostly due to this man's effort. He could readily see such a name attached to the new army. He turned to Lothar, and was surprised to see him give a suspicious frown at Duraz, before turning to the would-be General.
"Commander Swiftblade, will you accept this new promotion and duty to the Alliance?" he intoned.
Still white-faced, the young man nevertheless rose fast enough, and elegantly bowed. "My Lord Lothar, I will agree to serve." he responded ritually.
This was all to the good. A new, potent and advanced army ready to face up with Zul'Dare, led by a man who had gained some renown already despite his age. Yes, this would be perfect, Proudmoore reflected.
There was just one itch to it: why had Lothar frown so suspiciously at Duraz.
The possibilities almost made Admiral Proudmoore shiver, but he kept his peace and his tongue.
* * * * * * * * * *
Early Winter 590, First Azerothian Army Camp, New Azeroth
'Men are such weak creatures,' Esai Dreenhart contemplated idly as she walked to the nightblue tent which stood not far off the great conference tent, from which Lothar and Proudmoore were still conferring with the new general they had named 'They are all big words and sword-rattling, minds who rarely follow logic and common sense.' That was so sadly true, even of the sorcerers she had met. Certainly they were more cultured, but in the end, they were base, dull and as full of themselves as the ones she had just left.
A footman, looking on his side, was walking directly towards her. She smirked. Men had no sense of manners as well. However she did. Soft words came to her lips, and a quick gesture from her hand brought the man's haed swiveling towards her in confusion. The foot man blinked, his rough, ordinary features tightening as he deviated from his route with a muttered apology. She didn't heed him, continuing on her way, barely noticing the men grouped around cooking fires, talking and boasting. Even the women amongst them were ignored. She had no use for uncultured, unintelligent version of her gender.
Still, the great meeting had been an interesting niche of information. Even the old man, Lothar, had been interesting to listen to from time to time. And the Lord Duraz, that arrogant general, had played exactly like it had been said he would. She couldn't repress a low chuckle, as she entered her tent.
She didn't use a light spell to light up the room - that would come later, after she had finished with a meeting of her own. She went to stand in the exact middle of the room, and lifted her arms in incantation.
"Sarhja Ope Kh'Jenla Lah Sybas! Irrgo Gi'Kenla Lah Sybas. Kh'Jenla-Gi'Kenla Lah Sybas-Nohr!"
At her commant, the energies came from the place of all life, the Manaflow, and created a barrier which would prevent all from being heard from outside. Nodding to herself in satisfaction, she quickly produced an emerald, which she activated with a soft word of command, dropping it in front of her. Immediately she was engulfed in green fumes which wafted from the magical gem around her. All was ready. She only had to wait.
The one she was to meet never dallied - it was in fact dangerous to do so with her - and the flowing, unformed womanly image formed in what seemed to be only in front of her. She, who had sat on the Kirin Tor, and was one of the strongest sorceress known, then bowed her head in obedience.
"My Lady Magenta," she intoned, using the only name by which she knew this strange woman. "I come to this hour as you commanded."
"So I see, and most carefully Esai." said a musical voice emanating from the blurry figure. "You are a very ponctual one, my child, and I must admit to like this greatly."
She only bowed, awaiting Magenta to begin giving the information.
"Speak at your will."
"Yes, My Lady. The meeting of the Alliance High Command has just ended, and many decisions were made, most concentrated on keeping the Horde guessing human movements. There is also the matter of Southshore, which is rapidly constructing new naval facilities to accomodate the large elven fleet that Quel'Thalas is said to be sending as we speak. There was also some thought as to the situation of the eastern lands-"
"All of this is known to me. I was aware of Lothar's plans long before the man brought them to this table. However, I must know how Silphord Duraz acted. Did he carry the deed as we surmised he would?" the musical voice suddenly was expectant. Esai wet her throat by swallowing, then nodded.
"Indeed he did, My Lady. Lord Duraz stood and presented Aerth Swiftblade, Regional Commander of the Taren Mill region as General of the new First Alliance Army."
"And it was accepted by the seats of the High Command?"
"In a great majority, My Lady. Lord Lothat and King Proudmoore sealed the proposal once the young Lord Swiftblade assented to his new command."
A musical laughter wafted through the green air, strong and yet gentle. "Excellent!" Magenta purred "Indeed most excellent! The situation is unveiling exactly as it should be. That is good tidings for our plans."
Esai couldn't help but wonder at this. As far as she was concerned, the creation of a new, untried army commanded by an untried general couldn't bode any good. Yes, she had felt the focus of the man, and new that he had a greater rein than most males did on his lust and his need to see violence done, but she was uncertain as to what it would all accomplish as time went by. And aside from that, she was left wondering...
"Wondering why Lord Duraz was in such a hurry to give this command to a man he had opposed so venomously before?" came the musical voice all around her. The female form had vanished, and now it was as if the very air was speaking to her "That young fool, he has his reasons. Swiftblade stole something he craved and intends to reconquer whether the laws of the Church agree with him or not. A petty goal for one whom, underneath the great strategic mind, is pathetic to behold. But let him! That is not our concern. The important event is that Swiftblade was named."
"But My Lady, I cannot understand why...he is young. Indeed he has great talents but they..."
"They are only at their beginnings,and can expand to make him the greatest military commander in the entire Alliance. It will be magnificient to forge this man, to make him into what he needs to become. He is a rough diamond now - and already he is renowned somewhat. With my help, he will become honed, revered and powerful, commanding vast armies who will nearly worship him as he brings them from victory to victory!"
The powerful sorceress could barely repress a shiver. There was a new quality to the voice now. It sounded full of an emotion that she couldn't fully comprehend, she who saw emotions were easy to analyze. There was so much anticipation in this, but also some kind of twisted lust, and an anger which bordered on the manic. It was the first time she had felt Lady Magenta like this, and hoped she never would again.
But she didn't shiver. She didn't show her discomfort. Born from the farms on the hills of Lordaeron, she had gone to study in Dalaran when a chance meeting with a sorceress had revealed her great potential. There she had learned to control herself, to show others only calm and silk-covered steel. This iron will couched in niceties had made her rise in position and power quickly, until she had become what she was today. She would never show being intimidated. Not even to someone as Magenta.
"It might be so, Lady Magenta." she said instead "But to mold, one must always be at a man's side, or he inevitably errs." she couldn't keep the contempt from her voice as she uttered this - men were like they were.
"You speak the plainest of truth." the voice danced in the air, no longer taken and manic, but calm once more. "But this I had thought of long ago, and I have prepared the perfect helper for the young Lord Swiftblade. He will never know he is being watched by someone who will report to me regularly, while I prepare other events which will unfold as time goes by. Ironic, the this great war might give us exactly what we want - more power, more knowledge, and more control than we ever had."
Esai knew when not to speak, and she didn't voice the doubt she had about this plan, burying it deep within her heart. Greater knowledge, that was what she wanted. Enough to surpass even the Nielas Aran - nay the Dark Sorcerer Medhiv himself. Yes, that was what she wanted.
"And so you shall have. One day. I will reward all those who follow." The voice suddenly turned harsh "And destroy those who oppose.
With that, the green fumes wafted downward, and Esai slumped as they returned inside the emerals. That spell of communication always took a lot out of a spellcaster, but it was a very effective means. At least today she had learned a bit about the Lady Magenta's plans. A little. Not enough to make the pieces fit, but a little.
Still, what she had learned today made her doubt the wisdom of her abandoning the Kirin Tor laws as she had done. There was something...amiss that she had detected in what her Lady had said. But she couldn't quite see what.
It did not bode well, whatever it was.
Withing her heart, deep beneath her apparent emotions, the flicker of doubt took root.
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 591, Karal Tor Ruins, Azeroth
"Is all ready?" Inquired Gul'Dan in a gruff voice. "Are the necrolytes ready to give what must be given?"
The black-robed necrolyte bowed before him, his stature slight for an orc, but his face gleaming with a lust and an anticipation that would have made even the cursed Wolf Riders - whom he had arranged to have disbanded - proud. "All are ready. Every necrolyte has answered your call and - but me - they are waiting at the base of the tower."
Gul'Dan nodded. "Good." he said as he surveyed the altar he had had arranged for this event. Here, if all went well, he would create the powerful undead spellcasters he had promised that wretched fool Doomhammer. He smiled in grim irony at the materials used.
For here, barely thirty leagues from Stormwind, had stood the great tower of the Karal Tor. Much like the grey towers which the mages had used in the cities and in their hidden valleys, but only on a much grander scale. High it had climbed, high toward the sky, a bastion of magic that even he, Gul'Dan had found somewhat daunting. Even Medhiv himself had given it a grudging respect. Taking that tower had been one of the hardest battles they had fought against Azeroth. Hundreds of orc spellcasters and thousands of troops had died trying to take the place, and the exchange of spells and the explosions of power had lighted the countryside for days upon days.
But, just like Northshire with its faith and Stormwind with its might, it had fallen to their hands. And the crystal, the great globe of crystal on top of the tower, designed to gather arcane energies, was his. With blood taken from a still-beating heart he had drawn intricate shamanist symbols around it, nearly three hundred of them. A very painstaking affair, but he had none other he could trust to do them properly than himself - Cho'Gall's ability with runes was simply restrained to destructive ones, and the necrolytes had no knowledge of runic magic. But after what seemed an eternity he had done them, and on these he had commanded be lain the dead, rotting corpses of the Knights of Azeroth who had died in Stormwind. Next to each was a staff of power, slightly modified by the necrolytes to receive larfe amounts of necromantic power.
All was ready. He gestured to the necrolyte. "Come. We still have one last things to do." he walked to the crystal, his robes whispering in the slight wind. He heard the necrolyte following him, and smiled again, unseen.
He stopped with the other orc right in front of it and pointed to the crystal. "To activate the crystal, it will need to draw off your mystical energy. Simply put your hands on it." he saw the worried mien cross the necrolyte's normally loyal face and made his voice reassuring. "No need for worry, I have read that the conjurers who lived here did it often. It will simply draw off your magical energy, it will not kill you."
Gul'Dan knew his power of persuasion was strong, nearly inresistible. It had been this that had allowed him to coax lessons on forbidden shamanist spells out of his old master, Ner'Zhul. It had been what had allowed him to strike bargain after bargain with demonic entities, what had allowed him to head the young order of warlock out of loyalty rather than fear. It had allowed him to create the necrolyte order when no one else had thought such a force of channelers necessary. Even that self-satisfied idiot Doomhammer, who openly mistrusted all channelers, had been convinced to build this undead order. It was as such no surprise to him that his gentle and calm tone convinced the necrolyte he was speaking the truth. The orc shivered, sighed, his raising his slightly shaking hand. While Gul'Dan watched in anticipation, the hands came in contact with the smooth crystal which awaited its donation.
At once the drain was perceptible in the orc necrolyte,s face, in the way his teeth gritted and his look hardened. The older warlock could feel the magical power the other possessed - a paltry thing really - become weaker as time went by. The crystal was hungry, in moments it would require more, much more.
He was about to give it what it wished.
He glided behind the necrolyte, who never noticed him doing so as his magic powers were rapidly diminishing. He never saw Gul'dan raise a long dagger and, with a smirk of utter contempt, drive it into the orc's back. The orc jerked and gasped as pain coursed through his body, glancing at the former master of the Shadow Council in fear and shock. He open his mouth to say something, when another choke took hold of him, and his gaping mouth formed in a terrified, silent scream. The wound had been a fatal one. Some of his life-force had ebbed and touched the energies of the crystal, which hungrily fed on life, taking it all.
Forgetting the trashing, dying necrolyte, Gul'Dan went to stand on a circle of power he had created for himself, raising his hands above him, calling forth all of his concentration and power as he wove his magic towards the crystal. The sheer force of the power gathered made him stagger as it pierced like so many steel blades, but he had come to far now. He let the pain enter him, used it to achieve control by learning its extent, and raised his hands.
"Oh, Great Beyond, Keeper of Souls, Damnation's End, Virtue's Begining, let my mind enter thy womb, let me recall that which is thine! Alesagrema Velar Grataboroum, Behiok-Fel Karath, Sakh Notk Velarak!"
From his ends, his mind, his whole being, the energy shot out, energy augmented by the crystal of the Karal Tor, and lanced through the heavens, tearing at the infinite barriers which separated life from death, delving into it in a way that the necrolytes had barely brushed. His mind became immaterial, it didn't seem like he had a body anymore, only a spirit barely protected by his shield of magic. He did not fear. The Twisting Nether, where souls who lingered remained, he had visited many a time and he had never lost his way. He pressed on, sending a call he hoped would be answered, a call that only those like he knew.
'What do you seek of us in our damnation, Gul'Dan?' a voice whispered in his mind and he jerked, knowing he had been heard, and that THEY were listening. To him. Perhaps for the last time. This was his only chance.
'I seek you to come with me, my brethren.' he said to them through his mind, as he had no mouth here. 'I seek you so that you might take vengeance and regain power!'
'You seek us to inhabit these rotting carcasses - these former humans? Why should we, why should we agree to this farce.'
He alsmot snorted. Even dead, they still had their disproportionate pride. He could relate to that. 'Would you not do so, if only to be able to earn Doomhammer's trust? To strike him down when he relaxes his guard? You burn with lust for revenge, lust for power! This can give those back to you! Will you not grasp it?'
A long silence ensued, and he felt as if the spirits of his dead brethren were conferring, and he held his tongue, while he felt a tug starting to draw him back. The rift was closing. 'Brethren, the time to choose is now! I cannot keep this open. Come back in undeath, or do not come back at all!' His last words were screamed as he was sharply pulled back to the real world, to a wondstorm of dangerous proportion.
He looked around, hoping, praying, and for long moments noting appeared. His breath ragged, his powers drained by the expense, he could do nothing but stare in impotent fury. So close...so close..
And then beams of etheral lights struck each rotting corpse, and the crystal grew brighter, as it sought more life energy to keep up its power to sustain this onslaught, and found it on the ground below. Tremendous amounts of life and necromantic magic was drawn from the ground, and Gul'Dan felt, even thought he didn't hear, the screams of the dying necrolytes. There powers were taken and drawn through the truncheans, and their lifeforce used to anchor the souls of those returning. Dead eyes open on rotting faces, rusting armor creaked, and one by one, as the gale abated and the magics and screams gave way to silence, three hundred or so forms stood on legs given artificial life, commanded by minds who had been beyond only moments before. One of the most preserved corpses opened his mouth at last.
"You have called. We have come."
And for the first time since his coma, for the first time in what seemed an eternity, Gul'Dan laughed in triumph. He had done it! But was there ever any doubt that he would succeed. At last, he was free of his obligations to Doomhammer!
"Welcome, Warlocks of the Shadow Council!" he called in a strong voice. "Welcome...Death Knights! The time has come for us to start regaining what was taken from us all!"
Yes. And it was time for him to finally gain what he had wanted. What Medhiv had promised him. The eternal power he had craved.
"Sargeras' power." he whispered in longing. And only the wind answered. He looked over at the assembled Death Knights, their eyes glowing, their wands filled with necromantic energies. He grinned. Power and vengeance. He would get both. He was Gul'Dan. No one would stop hsi destiny.
No one.
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 591, Southshore, New Azeroth
The city of Southshore was a beacon to Sea-Captain Fielesi Arrasal of the Quel'Thalas Fleet Viedanore. The city, in itself, wasn't much to look at - like most human cities. Houses of stone and timber stood close side by side on dusty streets filled with people. Packed with people. In Quel'Thalas, the number of people on the most active day would have made a walker uneasy. Here, the cacophony and the sheer throng he was seeing as his ships approached the enlarged docks was mind-boggling.
Wherever he looked, there were people talking, people arguing, shoving each other, laughing. There, wagons squeezed past people debating a price for this or that object, children were running here and there, some getting into trouble, but most watched by the amused but benevolent eyes of older humans. In the forest, winter was a time of quiet and comtemplation, a time to think and reason out the seasons which had passed. He doubted the humans of Southshore even considered stopping to think - it might make them late for something.
Human recklessness shown in all of its colors. Mind-boggling, mind-boggling.
Fortunately, there were near the docks now, and he could turn back to his Sea-Captain's duties. He looked to his first, and the actual Captain of the ship he was on, who was waiting, standing as serenely as an aspen, and yet scanning the deck with the intensity of steel. Nothing escaped Captain Deilus' eyes, from bow to stern, on the ship that was his home. That was the reason Fielesi.
"Captain Deilus. Prepare the ship for docking." he said simply. There was a quick nod from the calm elf.
"Sir. Crewmen! Take positions, hard to port, slow the speeds to one-half ajlan. Prepare for docking procedure." Immediately, elven bustling erupted.
It wasn't human bustling. Although he acknowledged the humans he had seen sail the slow but dauntingly armed battleships that constituted the backbone of human forces did their duty with no small skill, it was nothing to the efficiency of those manning a Jade Reaver-class destroyer. Each man had an assigned duty, and not one wasted a breath, twitch or the batting of an eye while that duty was being executed. The slender ship shifted to port like it swam, closing in to the port like it was alive. He saw the human mariners on the port looking at the maneuver in open admiration and astonishment. Even the humans approaching his flagship stopped, clearly impressed, as it came to rest, secured before the humans on the shore had even taken a dozen breaths. Fieseli had expected no less. They were the descendants of the intrepid seamen who had driven through the Great Sea carrying the Kalimdoran elves who would found the land of his birth. They were the best at sea, although he grudgingly admitted the humans from Kul Tiras were becoming excellent adepts themselves.
A slender plan was fastened between the ship and dock, and Deilus nodded again, turning his slender face towards him. "The ship is docked, Sea-Captain."
"Quite a green docking, Deilus. Quite green. I commend you." the Sea-Captain answered.
"I am ready to serve, Sea-Captain."
He nodded as he knew that went without saying, for all elves, once anywere in the elven forces, were ready to serve for the good of Quel'Thalas, anywhere, at anytime and in anyway they had to. A tradition which had often meant victory over defeat in the many Troll Wars. And in this, this Second War, he was certain the need for it would only be greater. If, of course, Illadan was correct in assuming of the strength of this...Horde. Not that he truly doubted the renowned lord and ranger, but even rangers might err at times.
He walked to the plank and on the other side, dressed in purples and an heavy cloak to protect himself from the cold - Fielesi, like all elves, was barely bothered by it and wasn't wearing more than a normal cloack and the uniform denoting his rank - was a human of average age and built, his face squarish and not quite handsome, although lacking the usual human ugliness, flanked by uglier men dressed in steel armor and wearing cloack of less elegance. Knowing that humans always liked to welcome important people, he patiently waited for the man to present himself.
"Welcome to Southshore, Lord Fielesi." said the human, with a slight craning of the neck which must have seemed like a full bow to the man. "Your ships are a welcome sight to our ports, and we hope that you're stay will be to the good. I am Hilfregan Jekormio, regional commander of Southshore."
Ah, that explained why the man seemed so uncomfortable with his greetings - he was undoubtedly a man more suited to issuing vital commands than making fine talk, for the noble upbringing he seemed to show. He could deal with that. "An honor and a privilege, Lord Jekormio. I am quite certain I will enjoy my stay at this port."
He knew he was lying through his teeth with that last comment. Already humans had gathered to watch the ships of his fleet dock, and many humans were staring at the elves manning them. Many people were staring at him as well, which made himslightly uncomfortable, althought he refused to show it.
The human in front of him was a very quick man, for he detected the unease at once, and this time slightly bowed his head. "Forgive my people. They have been through much, and are only now beginning to rebuild their lives. The splendour of the elves is somewhat overwhelming to them."
The human went up in Fielesi' opinion - he could do fine talk after all. "There is nothing to forgive. I understand completely. If I may, however, see this city's governor."
"Ah, yes of course. The governor awaits in..."
The rest of the human's sentence was lost to Fielesi as he heard a soft chime that pierced over all the din. Silver bells were riging, shaken by the lookouts of the ships still at sea, and being relayed to those docked. Activity on the ships had gotten up to an almost human-like frenzy, and the Sea-Captain knew something grave was happening. He was barely a step back toward the plank he had crossed mere moments before that Deilus was at his side, his expression even more intense then before.
"Troll destroyers, Sea-Captain, at least six hands of them, followed by at least that many transports of a design we do not recognize. They come like the wind, heading straight for us."
Fielesi turned to the human, only to understand from the man's tight lips and paler shade he had understood the import of the steady and precise account what the situation was.
"Lord, I have to take leave of you and go restrain this onslaught as best I can. Use the time wisely, and arm every man you have to defend this city." He didn't wait to hear what the human would reply, no longer wasting any time in idle talk, but as he climbed aboard his ship, he could already hear orders being barked, and he saw a human soldier running to a tower, no doubt to spread the alert. The city, if nothing else, would not be caught unaware.
"Once more unto the sea, Captain. We will defend these humans with our lives and hope we can buy them enough time."
"We will, Sea-Captain. We must. There were children on those streets." Deilus stated as, as calmly as ever, he gave orders to cast off. As the crew moved with diligence, Fielesi stared a moment at the Captain, and nodded. Indeed there were children. That they were humans changed nothing. Innocence was to be preserved, and every elf would give his or her life to do so.
"You are as right as ever. Rejoin the fleet, relay message to go to unicorn formation, and have all cannons stand ready. All elf armed and ready to fight off boarding parties." He said, looking towards the south. Indeed, his vision, which did not need the glass viewers humans needed, could see many dark pinpoints on the ocean, fast approaching. Still far, but not that far. If he failed to stall them , the city of Southshore wouln't have the time to ready its defenses.
Which was why he had to make sure that would never happen.
The ships cast off, swiftly and silently, towards what they all knew was their doom. There were but seventeen ships, against thirty, if one did not count the transports. But that didn't matter to none there, he knew. There was a duty to be done, a goal to achieve, a people to protect.
"I stand ready to serve, Quel'Thalas!" he called, and heard his words echoed by the others on the ship, Deilus the loudest of them.
They were ready. And they would serve. One last time.
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 591, Curelli Village, Stromgarde
The village hadn't contained more than eight hundred people, and they had had few weapons to speak of, but they had been ready to defend themselves when Argal Grimfrost's vanguard had come thundering through on its northeastern path around the main civilized area of the human kingdom. The regiment had been only a small fraction of the massive warmachine which sighted the anihilation of Quel'Thalas, but it still had numbered many thousands. The villagers had been swept away in a short, bloody fight, their best defenses overrun in moments, the whole of the village slaughtered in merely a few more. Fire hadn't even been put to it, as the soldiers had only cremated the villagers in one great bonfire in the middle of the small village square. The human defiance in this place had been seen as naught, and treated as naught.
Borkom Grimfist, loyal captain serving the Blackrock Clan, grasped his chin and silently considered this as he stood amongst the houses which would never be lighted again. Night had come, and he as his scouting party had found themselves merely a mile from the destroyed hamlet, they had treked to it and made themselves comfortable. Most of the food the town possessed had been requisitioned by the army, but there were beddings aplenty, and the houses provided a far better shelter. Still, even though he knew he shouldn't feel this way, he felt a little saddened at the fact that this futile but brave stand had been so ridiculed. What were they becoming, that bravery was regarded so callously.
A movement nudged his senses, and his hand immediately strayed to his axe as he looked to the direction of the sound. He only relaxed when Keragsa Flaminghand emerged with her usual stealth. Although she would have been considered quite ugly by humans, he had always found her probing eyes, her natural grace and the easy way she had of tracking any prey to be very...interesting.
He wasn't in any kind of mood to entertain these kind of thoughts, however - he disliked having his musings interrupted after so long on scouting. "What is it, Kera?" he asked gruffly, using the short name all gave her "Have you come to see if I needed to be looked after like some lame peon?"
He easily saw her light shrug. "No, I know you better than that. I was concerned that you went off on your own, and came to see."
'She doesn't even see how she contradicted herself. Or did she? One never knows with that one.' he reflected, chuckling. "What do you think would happen? Humans? There's no human soildier for mile and mile, all of them are west of us. And humans brigands prefer to stay in richer regions. There really was no need to worry."
As if there was one to begin with. Over two thousand troops were marching with them or ahead of them, skirting the conflict areas where the humans and his brothers were locked in vicious combat day after day. Only one army had been encountered on their way, but it had been small and unprepared, and it had been crushed a bare day. except for the occasional village - which they destroyed - or farmstead - idem - there had been very little to see or to fear, and the entire voyage was turning out to be monotonuous, even witn the activities he undertook to alleviate the feeling he had.
This made Kera snort openly, and she walked a step nearer. The shadows hid her face, but he could easily saw the enticing smile she wore on it, "If there's nothing to worry about." she said in a low voice "We don't need to return to the others. There are many other places here where we can...sleep." her added chuckle gave the word 'sleep' a meaning which didn't surpise him coming from her. He grinned.
"Is that an offer?"
"You know damn well thats what it is."
"Its not supposed to happen in the same group of soldiers, you know."
"Hah! Like that stopped you before!"
"Are you calling me a grunt who can't control his lusts?" he challenged
"Yes, and if you give me a few moments with you, you won't even mind." was the purred reply.
Borkom threw back his head and roared in mirth, unable to stop himself. He and Kera had had that type of discussion on many nights, sometimes with a variance or two, always with the same goal in mind. He knew his people knew things by now, but they knew better than to start blabbering to other. Still, to do so in such a surrealist environment - the emptiness surrrounding him, the smell of fresh death filling his nose and senses were making the proposal even more endearing than it usually was. But before he had really considered the answer he would give the orc female, he heard a sound that distinguished itself from the usual sounds of the night.
A wail.
A distintively HUMAN wail.
He exchanged a look with Kera, and found that her posture matched what was assuredly his own: she was astounded. The fact that a human was here and hadn't been detected was one thing, but that it went so far as to make itself known in the middle of the night? That was new to both. Humans were usual much sneakier to hunt.
Still, it was a HUMAN wail., and that was enough to know that they had to act at once.
Borkom had his axe out, the heavy, double-blade gleaming under the light of the moon and the stars only by now. He heard Kera do the same with her smaller version of her weapong. With a sign, he gestured for her to follow him, and the both of them went to hunt after the still-going human sound.
They easily tracked it down. Whoever that human was, he was either crazy or in great pain. Borkom was rather surprised by the high pitch of the wail - perhaps it was a woman who was wounded durin the battle but mana ged to survive and had reopened her wounds. He found it highly improbable that there would be survivors, but the sound was there, there was no denying it.
The house had probably been of no importance to the town. There was little furniture to speak of, but the items present - besides the table, the small hearth and the bowls he saw, many of those being notched or broken, it was clear there had been a family here, with many children living and laughing.
No more. Why did it bother him so? It had never made a difference before that a few brats were no longer of this world. And yet, this time, it did.
The wail was losing its strength, but he knew by now exactly where it came from. Under the table, which he shoved away. He wasn't surprised to see a trapdoor hidden there under the old and tattered carpet. Nor was he any longer surprised at what he found when he opened it, safely enscounced in a grey woolcloth, packed in a fruit basket. A little human child, perhaps two seasons old. Starving. The wail had probably its desperate attempt to demand food. He heard Kera's sharp intake of breath behind him, a half-strangled sound. He didn't balme her. He felt much the same.
"I...I can't believe it." she said in a dismayed voice. "A human newborn...alive after all this time."
He nodded, eyes somebre in the darkness. "Believe it. A strong child, that one, being still alive after two days without food and water."
"What does it matter if he's strong or not? Now the only thing we can do is kill the brat and be done with it."
He found himself nodding at that on impulse - after all, any human had to be killed and cremated as the dictates of war spokw. Killing th infant, as a matter of fact, might well be a blessing for it - it wouldn't suffer anymore. And yet....
And yet, those humans had fought tooth and nail against a foe whose strength made them little more than bugs. Their bravery, their defiance, all of that had been spitted on and laughed at. And here the parents of this newborn, they had hidden their child in defiance of death, so that even after their death, something would live on. Someway. Somehow.
Was he to simply refuse that last act, to spit on it?
And yet, there was his duty to be done.
For a moment he stood sundered between these opposite feelings, between a breeding and training that was all he remembered and something which seemed to call from a time far removed. He stood at the crossroad of his heart and stopped to listen, and shook his head. No. To him, there was only one thing to be done, as a true orc. He reached for the newborn.
"Kera, here is what happens..."
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 591, First Alliance Army Base Camp, Turani Island
"So you two are certain of your numbers?"
"Oh yes!"
"No doubt about it!"
"No way, no way we could be wrong!"
"No way, no way! Just no way!"
"GOOD! Good. Point taken, gentlemen. So your information is certainly correct in that case."
The last statement came with a sigh as Aerth Swiftblade, General of the First Army, bowed his head and looked back down on the numbers with a look that spoke volumes of his strained patience and bleakness at the prospect he was facing. Ranil of Quel'Thalas was in perfect agreement with the emotions. He himself, who was used to many actions and many events, was starting to feel the beginnings of a frightful headache at the blabber the commanders of the army had been faced with for the past hours. It wasn't that the Glusenk brothers were bad people, but they always seemed to talk in unison, and always reinforced ludicrous points at the worst of time, which was why they had been refused as scouts.
Swiftblade, however, had had them drafted to his scouting unit as soon as he had known the proffessionalism and, even more importantly, the sheer memory of the twins. He had decided to endure their jabbering, and although many shook their heads at the sight at first, it had soon become clear that the decision had been very well-advised. It was just one of the few changes Aerth Swiftblade had brought with him to the army.
Although clearly reluctant to be put in such a pressured position, the young human lord had quickly found the perfect Island to move his army to while scouts searched the neibouring waters for the hideout of the Horde force the Alliance knew was forming. The shores, he had said, had no time for idleness or slowness of thought. He had quickly ordered a map room erected in one of the largest tent, and had gone up and down the army, talking to men, changing the positions and giving new ones, until he had made the command structure he wanted. With him stood those whom he had named his Rank Commanders, which stood above all but himself. The three Rank Commanders were served by three Captains, which were served by tree group leaders, who each headed a group of men, depending on their hard work and their general talents.
It was a very unusual and strict way of managing a force, but it had yielded results: the First Army was now more than ready for a fight, with a high confidence in its abilities.
Which wasn't superfluous, since it was very soon to have a fight many wouldn't be coming back from, no matter how good Swiftblade's capabilities as a strategist and leader of men. The man's broad shoulders seemed almost to sag as he reread the numbers he had been given.
"Fourteen thousand orcs with nearly one thousand trolls, all camped on Bogoldas Island, just thirty nautical miles from us to the southeast, with...forty-eight ships, counting transports and warships." he muttered, then grunted "This is a bad day. Ranil, Kelnam, Jurin, what do you think of this.
Ranil watched the two other Rank Commanders shift as they arranged their thoughts, and was amazed on the difference between the two men. Kelnam Pedran, the Rank Commander of Infantry, was an old veteran of many wars, scared and grey-faced, and somehow always seemed in a bad mood, while his counterpart from the Navy, Jurin Halfadas, was as young as Aerth was, with long, wavy brown hair and an air of eternal optimism. It was a wonder Ranil was the one chosen to lead Archery, but Aerth had been adamant.
"I need someone with skill, not pride." he had said. What a strange but interesting human he was.
The three crowded around their commanding officer, who sat, pensively looking at the map of Bogoldas Island, which hads been drawn by the army's cartographers by utilizing pre-existing maps and the specifications given by the scouts team. Before them, the Glusenk brothers looked at each other, blinked, shrugged and waited in a choregraphed follow-up of movements which almost had the elf shiver and thank the Light that elves did not produce twins. He studied the map, with its heavily wooded terrain in the north, the cliffs to the east, and the Horde base and docks built expansively and haphazardly in the southwestern part.
Jurin frowned at the map. "As far as my ships are concerned, I'm sure we can win, provided we can find a way to take a part of the fighting fleet by surprise. I propose circling in from the eastern cliffs, down south, and take the ships from the south while using a decoy to make them focus on the north.
Swiftblade nodded thoughtfully. "Its not a bad idea, not bad at all. But we can't assure ourselves of victory based on sea power alone."
"Winning on the sea would incapacitate them."
"They have food enough to wait out a naval blockade, and we can't afford to wait too long. Kelnam, can you see a way for us to get our troops to do a lot of damage?"
The older soldier looked grim and ready to surrender, but that was the way Kelnam always looked, and it belied the will which had carried him through many bandit raids and the horrifying battles of the First War. When he spoke, his grating voice seemed ready to take on the whole Orcish Horde by himself.
"We could attack from the south." he said in a tone of voice that seemed to mean that they should all see this suggestion as the only truth. Ranil frowned; he knew the old human wasn't aware of his patronizing tone, but the fact that a human might patronize an elf...he stopped the line of thought before trouble would erupt from it. "The good brothers reported just now that the northern woods are being cleared out by the peons of the base. I advise to cut through the lightest part, head south east and, before they fully realize what we are to do, attack from the height of the small hill near the cliffs. With our archers on one side, our ships on the other, a good infantry screening, speed and luck, we can even the odds."
"Ranil?"
"I agree with this plan." he said carefully. "The hill would allow the archers to use their maximum potential."
Swiftblade scratched his chin, his eyes carrying the far-away, absorbed determination that the elven commander had seen only on one other before - Lord-Ranger Illadan. Those were the eyes of a great military mind at work, assessing all that was said, comparing elements with one another, until a plan could be hatched from the pot of theories and facts.
They didn't get to know what their intelligent, stern general had in mind immediately, however, for at that moment a man in leather armor, smelling of seaweed litterally burst into the general's tent, with two startled and angry guards behind him. All those inside blinked, and then Swiftblade's eyebrows shot down into a grim line quickly. "What is the meaning of this, soldier?" he demanded.
As an answer, the panting soldier handed him a sealed scroll in a trembling hand. The young general looked at it for a moment, then snatched it almost angrily and snapped off the elaborate seal, reading the lines scrawled there quickly. As he read, his mouth became a thing line, his pupils dillated quickly. With a muttered curse, he trusted the message to a startled Kelnam.
"We no longer have time for chatter. Now, we must act." he said, then turned, grabbing hold of the twins quickly and pointing at the messenger. "You, stay where you are, I want to talk to you. You two, I want you to gather your scouts, and have them meet..."
As he stalked outside the tent, followed by two flummoxed guards and two even more perplexed scout leaders, Kelnam looked at the message written in the scroll, while Ranil and Jurin crowed next to him to see. The message was very simple.
General Swiftblade,
Hillsbrad and Southshore have come under attack. You must destroy the main force before it might be sent as reinforcements. Any such might mean the loss of both towns.
May the Light guide you to victory.
Anduin Lothar
High Alliance General
Hillsbrad
Jurin looked at the message grimly. "So its begun. No turning back now."
Ranil nodded, ignoring the ice he felt forming up and down his back. "Indeed, human. The Battle of Zul'Dare has begun.
The Light help them all.
Early Winter 590, First Azerothian Army Camp, New Azeroth
"To sum it up, sir, it doesn't look good."
That statement, given in a tense but even tone of voice, was probably the rethoric of the year to any of the generals seatedaround the large conference tent of the First Army. Still, as spacious as it was, it was cramped to capacity by all the commanders and generals who were fighting hard to keep the Orcish Hordes from the southern shores. There sat the grim and determined Azerothians, the proud and foppishly-armored Lordaerils, the smug but tense Gilneasians, and the blank-faced Dalars. Even a few of his Kul Tiran officers had shown up for this extraordinary meeting of the Alliance High Command. It was a time to make plans and assess the situation. A time to be honest about it all.
And if there was one thing Regent-Lord Anduin Lothar was honest about, it was warfare.
Dealin Proudmoore, King of Kul Tiras, Grand Admiral of the Alliance Fleet, sat on the first row of seats as indicated by his position. He was surrounded by the most distinguished lords and generals, men who had either risen through prowess, intelligence and the iron determination to fight to the bitter end. He knew many faces, knew even a few names, but they weren't the only ones who interested him. In fact, there were three who interested him far more than any of the the others.
One was a man, young by his looks, but with an hardened face and eyes that seem to gaze through the large and detailled map Lothar was pointing at with alacrity. He wore a purplish cloak denoting a high noble rank, but he didn't strike him as a noble-born. The symbol on his shoulder also spoke of some position - Regional Commander, a position just below the generals themselves. There was something about this one, something in the way he held himself that seemed to say he would find a way to do what he had to, even if it seemed impossible. A very interesting one, even though the sea king couldn't completely understand the why of it.
The second was also a man, whose name he also did not know. He was dressed in the black, polished armor of the Black Bolts, the elite, strongest band of Knights in the Kingdom of Gilneas, a group justly feared by its enemies and just as justly detested by the populace for their callousness. He had the rank of a Battalion Commander, but his smug face, his twinkling eyes as he looked around himself with his dark-bearded, wiry face, told of an arrogance far beyond his position. If the man's ambition was in any way equal to the conceit emanating from him, this man could be dangerous, the king decided. The Alliance didn't need backstabbers as it was.
But it was the third who intrigued him the most, seated regally three seats from himself, a woman dressed in the garnments of a noblewoman, of undertermined age yet with a face full of carefully guarded wisdom. Her name, he knew. Esai Dreenhart, an extremely powerful sorceress of Dalaran, one who had once sat in the Kirin Tor, and retained contacts with nearly all mage groups in the known world. A very important and potentially hazardous personage. But Esai had always been the one who was perfectly happy in total loneliness - she was legendary for her habit to shun all interest that didn't have to do with magic. Proudmoore could only guess as to why one of the most high-level mages in the land had chosen to break her solitude. And the theories weren't all good, either.
With an effort, Proudmoore turned his thoughts away from these peculiar individuals and fixed them on Lothar again as the old knight was finishing his update on the situation.
"...the eastern lands are in trouble, granted, but we can't send much manpower until the shores are secured. That cannot happen until we have defeated the main force we know are amassing just off our shores. If we can break or destroy that build-up, we'll be able to pick up the smaller groups and send help at the same time." he was saying, tapping a finger on the map to emphasize some of his points.
"You pardon, Lord Lothar." a middle-aged man Proudmoore recognized as Tillion Velladar, General in the Lordaeron Army interjected at this point. "But the forces of the southern shores far outnumber the orcish wargroup, and we can draw off some forces to send east."
Lothar frowned, shook his head. "Not as long as that main force is still ready. We are strung in every direction to keep the war groups at bay. The only way to eliminate them is by destroying that group."
"Isn't that a bit useless a position? I don't see how this will change anything to the situation."
General Duraz of the Second Azerothian Army snorted at that, his face lining in contempt. "The basics, General. Orcs always have all their brains in the biggest bunch, they don't spread it around like we do - a weakness. The expression "Cut off a snake's head and the body will die" applies here far more than you seem to think."
A younger, noble-looking commander reinforced this outburst immediately, but in a milder tone. "The orcs planning this attack isn't all that bright, from what we can tell, but they're savage. But if we kill those orcs, we'll momentarily disorient the rest for, say, a few days. More than enough to strike at them and obliterate them while they're dragging their feet. Which is why we need the overwhelming manpower."
The Lordearon general subsides - a little sulkiliy it seemed - but Proudmoore had seen this firsthand when engaging an Orcish fleet. If the flagship went down, there was a short time of confusion which his forces always applied to get the advantage. He saw Lothar raising his hand to forestall a continuation to the argumentation.
"Please, gentlemen, the point is made. Now, the main goal is to destroy that main force, which our scouts have managed to acertain as being in the Zul'Dare Islands, although not exactly where. That discovery and the fact it wasn't, in itself, discovered has given us an opportunity, and the weapons to carry out our task." he paused. "Six days ago, as you know, the first wave of elven ships have arrived near Southshore, as well as three companies of elven warriors - archers mostly. Lord Proudmoore will explain in more detail." he nodded to Proudmoore, who sighed, nodded and rose, facing the assembled mass.
"The elven destroyers are faster than our own ships, excellent for recons and quick strikes. And we know how well elven archers shoot. In addition to this, the foundries of Kultiras have built a new kind of transport, sturdier and faster than any before, with a greater military capacity to boot. Usin this, we have the perfect tool for a sneak naval strike." he said.
"And which army will have the job." one voice asked. Proudmoore didn't exactly know whom, but it didn't matter, as they had been waiting for this very question.
"None of the present armies will take part in this engagement." Lothar announced, his voice continuing over the gasps, mumurs and grunted protests. "Three weeks ago, the twelvth army suffered a defeat and lost nearly a fourth of its mean, as well as its commanding general. We have taken what remains of this army, reinforced it with a few fresh recruits, and mingled a full company of elves into. In short, we created the First Alliance Army, freed from any allegiance to a nation except the Alliance as a whole."
The murmurs and buzzing increased, and even Esai Dreenhart raised her eyebrows at this announcement. Proudmoore felt strangely satisfied by the stir he, Lothat and Terenas had caused with this new little plan. Once again, they waited for the burning question to be spewed. They didn't wait long at all."
"And who will command this new army?"
Lothar opened his mouth, but before he could utter any sound, Silphord Duraz rose quickly and addressed the generals. "This is a new army, and a new concept, and for that we need the best man we have who is not yet a general. I think I can be safe by saying the man I will propose will be of satisfaction, for the man has proven himself a flawless strategist and a great leader in and around Taren Mill." he turned his almost-arrogant gaze to the first man whom Proudmoore had singled out. "I propose Aerth Swiftblade as the General of the First Alliance Army."
Shocked silence filled the room, and the most shocked was probably this alleged Swiftblade, who looked utterly drained of color. But before the man had even uttered a single word, heads began nodding, and many of the commanders and officers began throwing in their support at the idea. Not really surprising. He had heard of that man. Taren Mill was a very safe region, safer than any of the others, and it was mostly due to this man's effort. He could readily see such a name attached to the new army. He turned to Lothar, and was surprised to see him give a suspicious frown at Duraz, before turning to the would-be General.
"Commander Swiftblade, will you accept this new promotion and duty to the Alliance?" he intoned.
Still white-faced, the young man nevertheless rose fast enough, and elegantly bowed. "My Lord Lothar, I will agree to serve." he responded ritually.
This was all to the good. A new, potent and advanced army ready to face up with Zul'Dare, led by a man who had gained some renown already despite his age. Yes, this would be perfect, Proudmoore reflected.
There was just one itch to it: why had Lothar frown so suspiciously at Duraz.
The possibilities almost made Admiral Proudmoore shiver, but he kept his peace and his tongue.
* * * * * * * * * *
Early Winter 590, First Azerothian Army Camp, New Azeroth
'Men are such weak creatures,' Esai Dreenhart contemplated idly as she walked to the nightblue tent which stood not far off the great conference tent, from which Lothar and Proudmoore were still conferring with the new general they had named 'They are all big words and sword-rattling, minds who rarely follow logic and common sense.' That was so sadly true, even of the sorcerers she had met. Certainly they were more cultured, but in the end, they were base, dull and as full of themselves as the ones she had just left.
A footman, looking on his side, was walking directly towards her. She smirked. Men had no sense of manners as well. However she did. Soft words came to her lips, and a quick gesture from her hand brought the man's haed swiveling towards her in confusion. The foot man blinked, his rough, ordinary features tightening as he deviated from his route with a muttered apology. She didn't heed him, continuing on her way, barely noticing the men grouped around cooking fires, talking and boasting. Even the women amongst them were ignored. She had no use for uncultured, unintelligent version of her gender.
Still, the great meeting had been an interesting niche of information. Even the old man, Lothar, had been interesting to listen to from time to time. And the Lord Duraz, that arrogant general, had played exactly like it had been said he would. She couldn't repress a low chuckle, as she entered her tent.
She didn't use a light spell to light up the room - that would come later, after she had finished with a meeting of her own. She went to stand in the exact middle of the room, and lifted her arms in incantation.
"Sarhja Ope Kh'Jenla Lah Sybas! Irrgo Gi'Kenla Lah Sybas. Kh'Jenla-Gi'Kenla Lah Sybas-Nohr!"
At her commant, the energies came from the place of all life, the Manaflow, and created a barrier which would prevent all from being heard from outside. Nodding to herself in satisfaction, she quickly produced an emerald, which she activated with a soft word of command, dropping it in front of her. Immediately she was engulfed in green fumes which wafted from the magical gem around her. All was ready. She only had to wait.
The one she was to meet never dallied - it was in fact dangerous to do so with her - and the flowing, unformed womanly image formed in what seemed to be only in front of her. She, who had sat on the Kirin Tor, and was one of the strongest sorceress known, then bowed her head in obedience.
"My Lady Magenta," she intoned, using the only name by which she knew this strange woman. "I come to this hour as you commanded."
"So I see, and most carefully Esai." said a musical voice emanating from the blurry figure. "You are a very ponctual one, my child, and I must admit to like this greatly."
She only bowed, awaiting Magenta to begin giving the information.
"Speak at your will."
"Yes, My Lady. The meeting of the Alliance High Command has just ended, and many decisions were made, most concentrated on keeping the Horde guessing human movements. There is also the matter of Southshore, which is rapidly constructing new naval facilities to accomodate the large elven fleet that Quel'Thalas is said to be sending as we speak. There was also some thought as to the situation of the eastern lands-"
"All of this is known to me. I was aware of Lothar's plans long before the man brought them to this table. However, I must know how Silphord Duraz acted. Did he carry the deed as we surmised he would?" the musical voice suddenly was expectant. Esai wet her throat by swallowing, then nodded.
"Indeed he did, My Lady. Lord Duraz stood and presented Aerth Swiftblade, Regional Commander of the Taren Mill region as General of the new First Alliance Army."
"And it was accepted by the seats of the High Command?"
"In a great majority, My Lady. Lord Lothat and King Proudmoore sealed the proposal once the young Lord Swiftblade assented to his new command."
A musical laughter wafted through the green air, strong and yet gentle. "Excellent!" Magenta purred "Indeed most excellent! The situation is unveiling exactly as it should be. That is good tidings for our plans."
Esai couldn't help but wonder at this. As far as she was concerned, the creation of a new, untried army commanded by an untried general couldn't bode any good. Yes, she had felt the focus of the man, and new that he had a greater rein than most males did on his lust and his need to see violence done, but she was uncertain as to what it would all accomplish as time went by. And aside from that, she was left wondering...
"Wondering why Lord Duraz was in such a hurry to give this command to a man he had opposed so venomously before?" came the musical voice all around her. The female form had vanished, and now it was as if the very air was speaking to her "That young fool, he has his reasons. Swiftblade stole something he craved and intends to reconquer whether the laws of the Church agree with him or not. A petty goal for one whom, underneath the great strategic mind, is pathetic to behold. But let him! That is not our concern. The important event is that Swiftblade was named."
"But My Lady, I cannot understand why...he is young. Indeed he has great talents but they..."
"They are only at their beginnings,and can expand to make him the greatest military commander in the entire Alliance. It will be magnificient to forge this man, to make him into what he needs to become. He is a rough diamond now - and already he is renowned somewhat. With my help, he will become honed, revered and powerful, commanding vast armies who will nearly worship him as he brings them from victory to victory!"
The powerful sorceress could barely repress a shiver. There was a new quality to the voice now. It sounded full of an emotion that she couldn't fully comprehend, she who saw emotions were easy to analyze. There was so much anticipation in this, but also some kind of twisted lust, and an anger which bordered on the manic. It was the first time she had felt Lady Magenta like this, and hoped she never would again.
But she didn't shiver. She didn't show her discomfort. Born from the farms on the hills of Lordaeron, she had gone to study in Dalaran when a chance meeting with a sorceress had revealed her great potential. There she had learned to control herself, to show others only calm and silk-covered steel. This iron will couched in niceties had made her rise in position and power quickly, until she had become what she was today. She would never show being intimidated. Not even to someone as Magenta.
"It might be so, Lady Magenta." she said instead "But to mold, one must always be at a man's side, or he inevitably errs." she couldn't keep the contempt from her voice as she uttered this - men were like they were.
"You speak the plainest of truth." the voice danced in the air, no longer taken and manic, but calm once more. "But this I had thought of long ago, and I have prepared the perfect helper for the young Lord Swiftblade. He will never know he is being watched by someone who will report to me regularly, while I prepare other events which will unfold as time goes by. Ironic, the this great war might give us exactly what we want - more power, more knowledge, and more control than we ever had."
Esai knew when not to speak, and she didn't voice the doubt she had about this plan, burying it deep within her heart. Greater knowledge, that was what she wanted. Enough to surpass even the Nielas Aran - nay the Dark Sorcerer Medhiv himself. Yes, that was what she wanted.
"And so you shall have. One day. I will reward all those who follow." The voice suddenly turned harsh "And destroy those who oppose.
With that, the green fumes wafted downward, and Esai slumped as they returned inside the emerals. That spell of communication always took a lot out of a spellcaster, but it was a very effective means. At least today she had learned a bit about the Lady Magenta's plans. A little. Not enough to make the pieces fit, but a little.
Still, what she had learned today made her doubt the wisdom of her abandoning the Kirin Tor laws as she had done. There was something...amiss that she had detected in what her Lady had said. But she couldn't quite see what.
It did not bode well, whatever it was.
Withing her heart, deep beneath her apparent emotions, the flicker of doubt took root.
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 591, Karal Tor Ruins, Azeroth
"Is all ready?" Inquired Gul'Dan in a gruff voice. "Are the necrolytes ready to give what must be given?"
The black-robed necrolyte bowed before him, his stature slight for an orc, but his face gleaming with a lust and an anticipation that would have made even the cursed Wolf Riders - whom he had arranged to have disbanded - proud. "All are ready. Every necrolyte has answered your call and - but me - they are waiting at the base of the tower."
Gul'Dan nodded. "Good." he said as he surveyed the altar he had had arranged for this event. Here, if all went well, he would create the powerful undead spellcasters he had promised that wretched fool Doomhammer. He smiled in grim irony at the materials used.
For here, barely thirty leagues from Stormwind, had stood the great tower of the Karal Tor. Much like the grey towers which the mages had used in the cities and in their hidden valleys, but only on a much grander scale. High it had climbed, high toward the sky, a bastion of magic that even he, Gul'Dan had found somewhat daunting. Even Medhiv himself had given it a grudging respect. Taking that tower had been one of the hardest battles they had fought against Azeroth. Hundreds of orc spellcasters and thousands of troops had died trying to take the place, and the exchange of spells and the explosions of power had lighted the countryside for days upon days.
But, just like Northshire with its faith and Stormwind with its might, it had fallen to their hands. And the crystal, the great globe of crystal on top of the tower, designed to gather arcane energies, was his. With blood taken from a still-beating heart he had drawn intricate shamanist symbols around it, nearly three hundred of them. A very painstaking affair, but he had none other he could trust to do them properly than himself - Cho'Gall's ability with runes was simply restrained to destructive ones, and the necrolytes had no knowledge of runic magic. But after what seemed an eternity he had done them, and on these he had commanded be lain the dead, rotting corpses of the Knights of Azeroth who had died in Stormwind. Next to each was a staff of power, slightly modified by the necrolytes to receive larfe amounts of necromantic power.
All was ready. He gestured to the necrolyte. "Come. We still have one last things to do." he walked to the crystal, his robes whispering in the slight wind. He heard the necrolyte following him, and smiled again, unseen.
He stopped with the other orc right in front of it and pointed to the crystal. "To activate the crystal, it will need to draw off your mystical energy. Simply put your hands on it." he saw the worried mien cross the necrolyte's normally loyal face and made his voice reassuring. "No need for worry, I have read that the conjurers who lived here did it often. It will simply draw off your magical energy, it will not kill you."
Gul'Dan knew his power of persuasion was strong, nearly inresistible. It had been this that had allowed him to coax lessons on forbidden shamanist spells out of his old master, Ner'Zhul. It had been what had allowed him to strike bargain after bargain with demonic entities, what had allowed him to head the young order of warlock out of loyalty rather than fear. It had allowed him to create the necrolyte order when no one else had thought such a force of channelers necessary. Even that self-satisfied idiot Doomhammer, who openly mistrusted all channelers, had been convinced to build this undead order. It was as such no surprise to him that his gentle and calm tone convinced the necrolyte he was speaking the truth. The orc shivered, sighed, his raising his slightly shaking hand. While Gul'Dan watched in anticipation, the hands came in contact with the smooth crystal which awaited its donation.
At once the drain was perceptible in the orc necrolyte,s face, in the way his teeth gritted and his look hardened. The older warlock could feel the magical power the other possessed - a paltry thing really - become weaker as time went by. The crystal was hungry, in moments it would require more, much more.
He was about to give it what it wished.
He glided behind the necrolyte, who never noticed him doing so as his magic powers were rapidly diminishing. He never saw Gul'dan raise a long dagger and, with a smirk of utter contempt, drive it into the orc's back. The orc jerked and gasped as pain coursed through his body, glancing at the former master of the Shadow Council in fear and shock. He open his mouth to say something, when another choke took hold of him, and his gaping mouth formed in a terrified, silent scream. The wound had been a fatal one. Some of his life-force had ebbed and touched the energies of the crystal, which hungrily fed on life, taking it all.
Forgetting the trashing, dying necrolyte, Gul'Dan went to stand on a circle of power he had created for himself, raising his hands above him, calling forth all of his concentration and power as he wove his magic towards the crystal. The sheer force of the power gathered made him stagger as it pierced like so many steel blades, but he had come to far now. He let the pain enter him, used it to achieve control by learning its extent, and raised his hands.
"Oh, Great Beyond, Keeper of Souls, Damnation's End, Virtue's Begining, let my mind enter thy womb, let me recall that which is thine! Alesagrema Velar Grataboroum, Behiok-Fel Karath, Sakh Notk Velarak!"
From his ends, his mind, his whole being, the energy shot out, energy augmented by the crystal of the Karal Tor, and lanced through the heavens, tearing at the infinite barriers which separated life from death, delving into it in a way that the necrolytes had barely brushed. His mind became immaterial, it didn't seem like he had a body anymore, only a spirit barely protected by his shield of magic. He did not fear. The Twisting Nether, where souls who lingered remained, he had visited many a time and he had never lost his way. He pressed on, sending a call he hoped would be answered, a call that only those like he knew.
'What do you seek of us in our damnation, Gul'Dan?' a voice whispered in his mind and he jerked, knowing he had been heard, and that THEY were listening. To him. Perhaps for the last time. This was his only chance.
'I seek you to come with me, my brethren.' he said to them through his mind, as he had no mouth here. 'I seek you so that you might take vengeance and regain power!'
'You seek us to inhabit these rotting carcasses - these former humans? Why should we, why should we agree to this farce.'
He alsmot snorted. Even dead, they still had their disproportionate pride. He could relate to that. 'Would you not do so, if only to be able to earn Doomhammer's trust? To strike him down when he relaxes his guard? You burn with lust for revenge, lust for power! This can give those back to you! Will you not grasp it?'
A long silence ensued, and he felt as if the spirits of his dead brethren were conferring, and he held his tongue, while he felt a tug starting to draw him back. The rift was closing. 'Brethren, the time to choose is now! I cannot keep this open. Come back in undeath, or do not come back at all!' His last words were screamed as he was sharply pulled back to the real world, to a wondstorm of dangerous proportion.
He looked around, hoping, praying, and for long moments noting appeared. His breath ragged, his powers drained by the expense, he could do nothing but stare in impotent fury. So close...so close..
And then beams of etheral lights struck each rotting corpse, and the crystal grew brighter, as it sought more life energy to keep up its power to sustain this onslaught, and found it on the ground below. Tremendous amounts of life and necromantic magic was drawn from the ground, and Gul'Dan felt, even thought he didn't hear, the screams of the dying necrolytes. There powers were taken and drawn through the truncheans, and their lifeforce used to anchor the souls of those returning. Dead eyes open on rotting faces, rusting armor creaked, and one by one, as the gale abated and the magics and screams gave way to silence, three hundred or so forms stood on legs given artificial life, commanded by minds who had been beyond only moments before. One of the most preserved corpses opened his mouth at last.
"You have called. We have come."
And for the first time since his coma, for the first time in what seemed an eternity, Gul'Dan laughed in triumph. He had done it! But was there ever any doubt that he would succeed. At last, he was free of his obligations to Doomhammer!
"Welcome, Warlocks of the Shadow Council!" he called in a strong voice. "Welcome...Death Knights! The time has come for us to start regaining what was taken from us all!"
Yes. And it was time for him to finally gain what he had wanted. What Medhiv had promised him. The eternal power he had craved.
"Sargeras' power." he whispered in longing. And only the wind answered. He looked over at the assembled Death Knights, their eyes glowing, their wands filled with necromantic energies. He grinned. Power and vengeance. He would get both. He was Gul'Dan. No one would stop hsi destiny.
No one.
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 591, Southshore, New Azeroth
The city of Southshore was a beacon to Sea-Captain Fielesi Arrasal of the Quel'Thalas Fleet Viedanore. The city, in itself, wasn't much to look at - like most human cities. Houses of stone and timber stood close side by side on dusty streets filled with people. Packed with people. In Quel'Thalas, the number of people on the most active day would have made a walker uneasy. Here, the cacophony and the sheer throng he was seeing as his ships approached the enlarged docks was mind-boggling.
Wherever he looked, there were people talking, people arguing, shoving each other, laughing. There, wagons squeezed past people debating a price for this or that object, children were running here and there, some getting into trouble, but most watched by the amused but benevolent eyes of older humans. In the forest, winter was a time of quiet and comtemplation, a time to think and reason out the seasons which had passed. He doubted the humans of Southshore even considered stopping to think - it might make them late for something.
Human recklessness shown in all of its colors. Mind-boggling, mind-boggling.
Fortunately, there were near the docks now, and he could turn back to his Sea-Captain's duties. He looked to his first, and the actual Captain of the ship he was on, who was waiting, standing as serenely as an aspen, and yet scanning the deck with the intensity of steel. Nothing escaped Captain Deilus' eyes, from bow to stern, on the ship that was his home. That was the reason Fielesi.
"Captain Deilus. Prepare the ship for docking." he said simply. There was a quick nod from the calm elf.
"Sir. Crewmen! Take positions, hard to port, slow the speeds to one-half ajlan. Prepare for docking procedure." Immediately, elven bustling erupted.
It wasn't human bustling. Although he acknowledged the humans he had seen sail the slow but dauntingly armed battleships that constituted the backbone of human forces did their duty with no small skill, it was nothing to the efficiency of those manning a Jade Reaver-class destroyer. Each man had an assigned duty, and not one wasted a breath, twitch or the batting of an eye while that duty was being executed. The slender ship shifted to port like it swam, closing in to the port like it was alive. He saw the human mariners on the port looking at the maneuver in open admiration and astonishment. Even the humans approaching his flagship stopped, clearly impressed, as it came to rest, secured before the humans on the shore had even taken a dozen breaths. Fieseli had expected no less. They were the descendants of the intrepid seamen who had driven through the Great Sea carrying the Kalimdoran elves who would found the land of his birth. They were the best at sea, although he grudgingly admitted the humans from Kul Tiras were becoming excellent adepts themselves.
A slender plan was fastened between the ship and dock, and Deilus nodded again, turning his slender face towards him. "The ship is docked, Sea-Captain."
"Quite a green docking, Deilus. Quite green. I commend you." the Sea-Captain answered.
"I am ready to serve, Sea-Captain."
He nodded as he knew that went without saying, for all elves, once anywere in the elven forces, were ready to serve for the good of Quel'Thalas, anywhere, at anytime and in anyway they had to. A tradition which had often meant victory over defeat in the many Troll Wars. And in this, this Second War, he was certain the need for it would only be greater. If, of course, Illadan was correct in assuming of the strength of this...Horde. Not that he truly doubted the renowned lord and ranger, but even rangers might err at times.
He walked to the plank and on the other side, dressed in purples and an heavy cloak to protect himself from the cold - Fielesi, like all elves, was barely bothered by it and wasn't wearing more than a normal cloack and the uniform denoting his rank - was a human of average age and built, his face squarish and not quite handsome, although lacking the usual human ugliness, flanked by uglier men dressed in steel armor and wearing cloack of less elegance. Knowing that humans always liked to welcome important people, he patiently waited for the man to present himself.
"Welcome to Southshore, Lord Fielesi." said the human, with a slight craning of the neck which must have seemed like a full bow to the man. "Your ships are a welcome sight to our ports, and we hope that you're stay will be to the good. I am Hilfregan Jekormio, regional commander of Southshore."
Ah, that explained why the man seemed so uncomfortable with his greetings - he was undoubtedly a man more suited to issuing vital commands than making fine talk, for the noble upbringing he seemed to show. He could deal with that. "An honor and a privilege, Lord Jekormio. I am quite certain I will enjoy my stay at this port."
He knew he was lying through his teeth with that last comment. Already humans had gathered to watch the ships of his fleet dock, and many humans were staring at the elves manning them. Many people were staring at him as well, which made himslightly uncomfortable, althought he refused to show it.
The human in front of him was a very quick man, for he detected the unease at once, and this time slightly bowed his head. "Forgive my people. They have been through much, and are only now beginning to rebuild their lives. The splendour of the elves is somewhat overwhelming to them."
The human went up in Fielesi' opinion - he could do fine talk after all. "There is nothing to forgive. I understand completely. If I may, however, see this city's governor."
"Ah, yes of course. The governor awaits in..."
The rest of the human's sentence was lost to Fielesi as he heard a soft chime that pierced over all the din. Silver bells were riging, shaken by the lookouts of the ships still at sea, and being relayed to those docked. Activity on the ships had gotten up to an almost human-like frenzy, and the Sea-Captain knew something grave was happening. He was barely a step back toward the plank he had crossed mere moments before that Deilus was at his side, his expression even more intense then before.
"Troll destroyers, Sea-Captain, at least six hands of them, followed by at least that many transports of a design we do not recognize. They come like the wind, heading straight for us."
Fielesi turned to the human, only to understand from the man's tight lips and paler shade he had understood the import of the steady and precise account what the situation was.
"Lord, I have to take leave of you and go restrain this onslaught as best I can. Use the time wisely, and arm every man you have to defend this city." He didn't wait to hear what the human would reply, no longer wasting any time in idle talk, but as he climbed aboard his ship, he could already hear orders being barked, and he saw a human soldier running to a tower, no doubt to spread the alert. The city, if nothing else, would not be caught unaware.
"Once more unto the sea, Captain. We will defend these humans with our lives and hope we can buy them enough time."
"We will, Sea-Captain. We must. There were children on those streets." Deilus stated as, as calmly as ever, he gave orders to cast off. As the crew moved with diligence, Fielesi stared a moment at the Captain, and nodded. Indeed there were children. That they were humans changed nothing. Innocence was to be preserved, and every elf would give his or her life to do so.
"You are as right as ever. Rejoin the fleet, relay message to go to unicorn formation, and have all cannons stand ready. All elf armed and ready to fight off boarding parties." He said, looking towards the south. Indeed, his vision, which did not need the glass viewers humans needed, could see many dark pinpoints on the ocean, fast approaching. Still far, but not that far. If he failed to stall them , the city of Southshore wouln't have the time to ready its defenses.
Which was why he had to make sure that would never happen.
The ships cast off, swiftly and silently, towards what they all knew was their doom. There were but seventeen ships, against thirty, if one did not count the transports. But that didn't matter to none there, he knew. There was a duty to be done, a goal to achieve, a people to protect.
"I stand ready to serve, Quel'Thalas!" he called, and heard his words echoed by the others on the ship, Deilus the loudest of them.
They were ready. And they would serve. One last time.
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 591, Curelli Village, Stromgarde
The village hadn't contained more than eight hundred people, and they had had few weapons to speak of, but they had been ready to defend themselves when Argal Grimfrost's vanguard had come thundering through on its northeastern path around the main civilized area of the human kingdom. The regiment had been only a small fraction of the massive warmachine which sighted the anihilation of Quel'Thalas, but it still had numbered many thousands. The villagers had been swept away in a short, bloody fight, their best defenses overrun in moments, the whole of the village slaughtered in merely a few more. Fire hadn't even been put to it, as the soldiers had only cremated the villagers in one great bonfire in the middle of the small village square. The human defiance in this place had been seen as naught, and treated as naught.
Borkom Grimfist, loyal captain serving the Blackrock Clan, grasped his chin and silently considered this as he stood amongst the houses which would never be lighted again. Night had come, and he as his scouting party had found themselves merely a mile from the destroyed hamlet, they had treked to it and made themselves comfortable. Most of the food the town possessed had been requisitioned by the army, but there were beddings aplenty, and the houses provided a far better shelter. Still, even though he knew he shouldn't feel this way, he felt a little saddened at the fact that this futile but brave stand had been so ridiculed. What were they becoming, that bravery was regarded so callously.
A movement nudged his senses, and his hand immediately strayed to his axe as he looked to the direction of the sound. He only relaxed when Keragsa Flaminghand emerged with her usual stealth. Although she would have been considered quite ugly by humans, he had always found her probing eyes, her natural grace and the easy way she had of tracking any prey to be very...interesting.
He wasn't in any kind of mood to entertain these kind of thoughts, however - he disliked having his musings interrupted after so long on scouting. "What is it, Kera?" he asked gruffly, using the short name all gave her "Have you come to see if I needed to be looked after like some lame peon?"
He easily saw her light shrug. "No, I know you better than that. I was concerned that you went off on your own, and came to see."
'She doesn't even see how she contradicted herself. Or did she? One never knows with that one.' he reflected, chuckling. "What do you think would happen? Humans? There's no human soildier for mile and mile, all of them are west of us. And humans brigands prefer to stay in richer regions. There really was no need to worry."
As if there was one to begin with. Over two thousand troops were marching with them or ahead of them, skirting the conflict areas where the humans and his brothers were locked in vicious combat day after day. Only one army had been encountered on their way, but it had been small and unprepared, and it had been crushed a bare day. except for the occasional village - which they destroyed - or farmstead - idem - there had been very little to see or to fear, and the entire voyage was turning out to be monotonuous, even witn the activities he undertook to alleviate the feeling he had.
This made Kera snort openly, and she walked a step nearer. The shadows hid her face, but he could easily saw the enticing smile she wore on it, "If there's nothing to worry about." she said in a low voice "We don't need to return to the others. There are many other places here where we can...sleep." her added chuckle gave the word 'sleep' a meaning which didn't surpise him coming from her. He grinned.
"Is that an offer?"
"You know damn well thats what it is."
"Its not supposed to happen in the same group of soldiers, you know."
"Hah! Like that stopped you before!"
"Are you calling me a grunt who can't control his lusts?" he challenged
"Yes, and if you give me a few moments with you, you won't even mind." was the purred reply.
Borkom threw back his head and roared in mirth, unable to stop himself. He and Kera had had that type of discussion on many nights, sometimes with a variance or two, always with the same goal in mind. He knew his people knew things by now, but they knew better than to start blabbering to other. Still, to do so in such a surrealist environment - the emptiness surrrounding him, the smell of fresh death filling his nose and senses were making the proposal even more endearing than it usually was. But before he had really considered the answer he would give the orc female, he heard a sound that distinguished itself from the usual sounds of the night.
A wail.
A distintively HUMAN wail.
He exchanged a look with Kera, and found that her posture matched what was assuredly his own: she was astounded. The fact that a human was here and hadn't been detected was one thing, but that it went so far as to make itself known in the middle of the night? That was new to both. Humans were usual much sneakier to hunt.
Still, it was a HUMAN wail., and that was enough to know that they had to act at once.
Borkom had his axe out, the heavy, double-blade gleaming under the light of the moon and the stars only by now. He heard Kera do the same with her smaller version of her weapong. With a sign, he gestured for her to follow him, and the both of them went to hunt after the still-going human sound.
They easily tracked it down. Whoever that human was, he was either crazy or in great pain. Borkom was rather surprised by the high pitch of the wail - perhaps it was a woman who was wounded durin the battle but mana ged to survive and had reopened her wounds. He found it highly improbable that there would be survivors, but the sound was there, there was no denying it.
The house had probably been of no importance to the town. There was little furniture to speak of, but the items present - besides the table, the small hearth and the bowls he saw, many of those being notched or broken, it was clear there had been a family here, with many children living and laughing.
No more. Why did it bother him so? It had never made a difference before that a few brats were no longer of this world. And yet, this time, it did.
The wail was losing its strength, but he knew by now exactly where it came from. Under the table, which he shoved away. He wasn't surprised to see a trapdoor hidden there under the old and tattered carpet. Nor was he any longer surprised at what he found when he opened it, safely enscounced in a grey woolcloth, packed in a fruit basket. A little human child, perhaps two seasons old. Starving. The wail had probably its desperate attempt to demand food. He heard Kera's sharp intake of breath behind him, a half-strangled sound. He didn't balme her. He felt much the same.
"I...I can't believe it." she said in a dismayed voice. "A human newborn...alive after all this time."
He nodded, eyes somebre in the darkness. "Believe it. A strong child, that one, being still alive after two days without food and water."
"What does it matter if he's strong or not? Now the only thing we can do is kill the brat and be done with it."
He found himself nodding at that on impulse - after all, any human had to be killed and cremated as the dictates of war spokw. Killing th infant, as a matter of fact, might well be a blessing for it - it wouldn't suffer anymore. And yet....
And yet, those humans had fought tooth and nail against a foe whose strength made them little more than bugs. Their bravery, their defiance, all of that had been spitted on and laughed at. And here the parents of this newborn, they had hidden their child in defiance of death, so that even after their death, something would live on. Someway. Somehow.
Was he to simply refuse that last act, to spit on it?
And yet, there was his duty to be done.
For a moment he stood sundered between these opposite feelings, between a breeding and training that was all he remembered and something which seemed to call from a time far removed. He stood at the crossroad of his heart and stopped to listen, and shook his head. No. To him, there was only one thing to be done, as a true orc. He reached for the newborn.
"Kera, here is what happens..."
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 591, First Alliance Army Base Camp, Turani Island
"So you two are certain of your numbers?"
"Oh yes!"
"No doubt about it!"
"No way, no way we could be wrong!"
"No way, no way! Just no way!"
"GOOD! Good. Point taken, gentlemen. So your information is certainly correct in that case."
The last statement came with a sigh as Aerth Swiftblade, General of the First Army, bowed his head and looked back down on the numbers with a look that spoke volumes of his strained patience and bleakness at the prospect he was facing. Ranil of Quel'Thalas was in perfect agreement with the emotions. He himself, who was used to many actions and many events, was starting to feel the beginnings of a frightful headache at the blabber the commanders of the army had been faced with for the past hours. It wasn't that the Glusenk brothers were bad people, but they always seemed to talk in unison, and always reinforced ludicrous points at the worst of time, which was why they had been refused as scouts.
Swiftblade, however, had had them drafted to his scouting unit as soon as he had known the proffessionalism and, even more importantly, the sheer memory of the twins. He had decided to endure their jabbering, and although many shook their heads at the sight at first, it had soon become clear that the decision had been very well-advised. It was just one of the few changes Aerth Swiftblade had brought with him to the army.
Although clearly reluctant to be put in such a pressured position, the young human lord had quickly found the perfect Island to move his army to while scouts searched the neibouring waters for the hideout of the Horde force the Alliance knew was forming. The shores, he had said, had no time for idleness or slowness of thought. He had quickly ordered a map room erected in one of the largest tent, and had gone up and down the army, talking to men, changing the positions and giving new ones, until he had made the command structure he wanted. With him stood those whom he had named his Rank Commanders, which stood above all but himself. The three Rank Commanders were served by three Captains, which were served by tree group leaders, who each headed a group of men, depending on their hard work and their general talents.
It was a very unusual and strict way of managing a force, but it had yielded results: the First Army was now more than ready for a fight, with a high confidence in its abilities.
Which wasn't superfluous, since it was very soon to have a fight many wouldn't be coming back from, no matter how good Swiftblade's capabilities as a strategist and leader of men. The man's broad shoulders seemed almost to sag as he reread the numbers he had been given.
"Fourteen thousand orcs with nearly one thousand trolls, all camped on Bogoldas Island, just thirty nautical miles from us to the southeast, with...forty-eight ships, counting transports and warships." he muttered, then grunted "This is a bad day. Ranil, Kelnam, Jurin, what do you think of this.
Ranil watched the two other Rank Commanders shift as they arranged their thoughts, and was amazed on the difference between the two men. Kelnam Pedran, the Rank Commander of Infantry, was an old veteran of many wars, scared and grey-faced, and somehow always seemed in a bad mood, while his counterpart from the Navy, Jurin Halfadas, was as young as Aerth was, with long, wavy brown hair and an air of eternal optimism. It was a wonder Ranil was the one chosen to lead Archery, but Aerth had been adamant.
"I need someone with skill, not pride." he had said. What a strange but interesting human he was.
The three crowded around their commanding officer, who sat, pensively looking at the map of Bogoldas Island, which hads been drawn by the army's cartographers by utilizing pre-existing maps and the specifications given by the scouts team. Before them, the Glusenk brothers looked at each other, blinked, shrugged and waited in a choregraphed follow-up of movements which almost had the elf shiver and thank the Light that elves did not produce twins. He studied the map, with its heavily wooded terrain in the north, the cliffs to the east, and the Horde base and docks built expansively and haphazardly in the southwestern part.
Jurin frowned at the map. "As far as my ships are concerned, I'm sure we can win, provided we can find a way to take a part of the fighting fleet by surprise. I propose circling in from the eastern cliffs, down south, and take the ships from the south while using a decoy to make them focus on the north.
Swiftblade nodded thoughtfully. "Its not a bad idea, not bad at all. But we can't assure ourselves of victory based on sea power alone."
"Winning on the sea would incapacitate them."
"They have food enough to wait out a naval blockade, and we can't afford to wait too long. Kelnam, can you see a way for us to get our troops to do a lot of damage?"
The older soldier looked grim and ready to surrender, but that was the way Kelnam always looked, and it belied the will which had carried him through many bandit raids and the horrifying battles of the First War. When he spoke, his grating voice seemed ready to take on the whole Orcish Horde by himself.
"We could attack from the south." he said in a tone of voice that seemed to mean that they should all see this suggestion as the only truth. Ranil frowned; he knew the old human wasn't aware of his patronizing tone, but the fact that a human might patronize an elf...he stopped the line of thought before trouble would erupt from it. "The good brothers reported just now that the northern woods are being cleared out by the peons of the base. I advise to cut through the lightest part, head south east and, before they fully realize what we are to do, attack from the height of the small hill near the cliffs. With our archers on one side, our ships on the other, a good infantry screening, speed and luck, we can even the odds."
"Ranil?"
"I agree with this plan." he said carefully. "The hill would allow the archers to use their maximum potential."
Swiftblade scratched his chin, his eyes carrying the far-away, absorbed determination that the elven commander had seen only on one other before - Lord-Ranger Illadan. Those were the eyes of a great military mind at work, assessing all that was said, comparing elements with one another, until a plan could be hatched from the pot of theories and facts.
They didn't get to know what their intelligent, stern general had in mind immediately, however, for at that moment a man in leather armor, smelling of seaweed litterally burst into the general's tent, with two startled and angry guards behind him. All those inside blinked, and then Swiftblade's eyebrows shot down into a grim line quickly. "What is the meaning of this, soldier?" he demanded.
As an answer, the panting soldier handed him a sealed scroll in a trembling hand. The young general looked at it for a moment, then snatched it almost angrily and snapped off the elaborate seal, reading the lines scrawled there quickly. As he read, his mouth became a thing line, his pupils dillated quickly. With a muttered curse, he trusted the message to a startled Kelnam.
"We no longer have time for chatter. Now, we must act." he said, then turned, grabbing hold of the twins quickly and pointing at the messenger. "You, stay where you are, I want to talk to you. You two, I want you to gather your scouts, and have them meet..."
As he stalked outside the tent, followed by two flummoxed guards and two even more perplexed scout leaders, Kelnam looked at the message written in the scroll, while Ranil and Jurin crowed next to him to see. The message was very simple.
General Swiftblade,
Hillsbrad and Southshore have come under attack. You must destroy the main force before it might be sent as reinforcements. Any such might mean the loss of both towns.
May the Light guide you to victory.
Anduin Lothar
High Alliance General
Hillsbrad
Jurin looked at the message grimly. "So its begun. No turning back now."
Ranil nodded, ignoring the ice he felt forming up and down his back. "Indeed, human. The Battle of Zul'Dare has begun.
The Light help them all.
