Chapter Eleven: Woods and Traps
Late autumn 593, First Alliance Army Headquarters, Stromgarde
"We shouldn't be so surprised, in the end." Rellon Minvare said in his even, brooding voice, carefully sipping wine from his goblet "We should have known the Horde would be able to trick us. The Light knows they did plenty of time a few years ago." Yet there was a note of anger underneath this calm, a fury on things beyond one's control.
Swiftblade stared once more at the message they all had received, telling of an immense Horde army having entered Quel'Thalas. Lord Lothar had told them to stand their ground in the south yet, but there had been a feeling of stunned despair in the firm words. The assumed numbers, from elven scouts, had also been given to all commanders, and that alone had sobered them all.
He leaned back on the simple wooden chair he had taken with him and used since the day he had become General. "Four hundred thousand, my friends." he breathed "Four hundred thousand orcs despoiling the elven woods."
"A first step." Minvare nodded. "Weaken and despoil Quel'Thalas, cutting off any help from the capital of Lordaeron. They plan to crush the elves beyond hope of recovery, perhaps. That's not certain. I think they only want to hurt them until they see only the hurt. Enough to paralyse them. More than enough time to come and finish them later, when the humans are crushed."
Jenalla Ironhorse, who had stayed silent until now, gasped at the cold résumé. "You are talking like the end is in sight! Humanity isn't beaten yet. We have the forces here - two hundred thousand, which isn't negligible. As for the northern provinces-"
Swiftblade grinned without humour. "The north has insufficient forces for such a task. If they take all available forces - and I mean everything! - maybe they'll be able to round up a quarter of the enemy forces. That's not enough, Jenalla. This is Argal Grimfrost commanding them, and he isn't incompetent or rash. He will fight his battles intelligently, and crush both forces. Then it will be the capital. Without that the morale in our forces will crumble. And then the north of us will be destroyed." Including Taren Mill, and Eira. Oh Light, Eira!
The words seemed to render the female general furious. "I can't believe I'm hearing such words, especially from you two." she got up from her seat and glared at them both, a stare so powerful it would have sent an ogre running for its life. She strode to the tent flap, pulled it open, and stared at the First Army as its soldiers began a new day. Early as it was in the morning, breakfast odours - meals made in cook pots, coarse bread and cold - wafted strongly, twitching Swiftblade's nose. Outside, men were busy gathering woods, repairing weapons, practicing. Even gambling. The usual noise from a confident veteran army.
"Are you telling me that you are willing to turn over and die? To let the end come before we appear outmatched? I thought the Azerothian people never lost hope, no matter what happened!"
"I will lose hope for victory the day that I die, Ironhorse!" Minvare spat in an unusually cold voice. Swiftblade, surprised at the outburst, only nodded his agreement. "I said what would happen in the worst case. We must be prepared for it. However, it might not happen, and even then, I will never let the Horde take human lands without a bitter struggle. The Light knows they already took too much!"
There was an odd way to the man's voice as he said it, catching even Jennalla's attention. It was a very personal feeling, reminding Swiftblade of a rumour, the rumour that Minvare's wife and children had been taken and tortured by the Horde, then sent to the man in bloody sacks. Rumours, ugly rumors. But looking at the esteemed general's sombre face, reminded of the constant brooding and the darkness he often saw in the man's eyes, he wondered if this gruesome story might not have an edge of truth to it.
That was something he would probably never learn. Still, vendetta or not, Minvare was a very competent military commander, and right more often then not. His words, in the particular case, were the essence of truth.
"I agree. The woods of Quel'Thalas are tricky, so I'm told. The Elves can hold the orcs long, spring countless ambushes; slow their destructive streak in the north to a much slower pace. I believe Lothar, Alleria and Lightbringer will find a way." he took a deep breath. He had to believe that. Eira had to be safe in the end. Eira, their first child, everything he had built for her, for the future, would be swept away unto torture and death if the Horde has its way. He wouldn't allow it. "Now, we must look to our own plans. Right now we can't help the people in the northlands."
Jennalla turned from studying the brooding Minvare to him and nodded unhappily. "Truth. We can't send anyone. We are barely holding them back as it is."
"But if we use your plan, we could push them through the Land Bridges. Then we fortify the northern banks, and call out a strong naval support."
"That will never work now!" Jennalla exclaimed. "We needed support from Voss and Highkill for such a campaign, and they refused to lend their forces to the task. What can we do now that they have refused?"
That was true, such as it was more complicated than that. Voss and Highkill had been against the attempt, but their reasons, including the scenarios they had explained in order to make these plain, made sense. Neither man was a coward. Both men had seen their share of battles, and had won sound victories. They had seen the plan and had found it unworkable in their opinion, and Swiftblade couldn't blame them. It WAS a very very risky ploy, and they hadn't the strength to waste on something like this, more less now with Quel'Thalas and the future of the entire Alliance possibly in the balance.
Still, something inside him nagged, a sensation he had felt strongly twice - one in Hillsbrad, one in Tol Barad. An idea was forming out of bits and pieces of myriads of lesser thoughts, ideas, and impressions. Something about the Horde...the Horde army in the north. It was nagging him.
He spoke on the spur of it, not fully knowing if the pieces were fitting or not. "How did that huge army get passed us? How could we not notice its passing?" he asked them both pointedly, causing them to look at him with curious expressions.
Minvare put his goblet down on the oak table, which served as Swiftblade's desk and leaned back, not seeming to notice the plate and mail he wore, so casually he wore it. As for Jennalla, she sat down and rubbed her chin in thought. Her eyes were alight with possibilities and plans, exactly what he was looking for.
"They obviously split their army into two parts, and threw the lesser one at us. That was probably already part of the plan. The army they sent, although less skilled, was so large it kept us fully occupied. With our attention fully focused, and this is something I can only assume, they probably trickled it from small eastern staging points..."
"Assembling it in the northeastern part of the kingdom, where few habitations exist." the older general finished, probably deciding whether or not he should be getting another drink. "They took us pretty easily, after that."
"At least they won't be able to do it again. four hundred thousand...they can't afford to send more if they intend to keep their conquered lands." Swiftblade muttered. Staging points, eh? Very interesting. Very...
"Much good it does us now, if the north falls." Minvare reminded him.
"It hasn't fallen yet. I trust Lothar won't let them have an inch without making them pay for it dearly."
"Agreed. Absolutely agreed. But Lothar isn't the Light or anything divine. If pressed too hard - and Grimfrost can press VERY hard - he might break no matter what he did."
It was then that the pieces, which had been faintly shifting in Aerth Swiftblade's mind, started to put in place, forming a picture and a coherent mind frame. He didn't understand why they came to him this way, or so vividly, but he had learned to trust his instincts when it happened.
"Its impossible to send aid unless we push the Horde on the other side of the Land Bridges." looking at his fellow commanders, he grinned. "Then that is exactly what we will do."
Jennalla blinked. "We cannot. Remember that we don't have the cohesion to launch such an assault, not between only our three armies."
"No, and so I wasn't think about that. We won't need more than luck for this. We will take them by surprise by doing what they would never expect - by striking at their regional headquarters in Dun Algaz!"
Grinning, partially pleased that he had managed to throw two such admirable peers into stunned silence, the General of the First Army began to tell of his plan.
* * * * * * * * * *
Early Winter 593, Violet Citadel, Dalaran
The Violet Citadel was beautiful. Carved long ago by magical spells, the sanctum of the Kirin Tor was all soaring ceilings, which should never have held themselves aloft, slender stairways, which should by all rights crumble under the weight of a child. Globes of permanent magical light illuminated the splendour and the impossibly perfect feeling one had from the place. Adorned with flags, statues and the richest carpets, it was a place designed for both ambition and comfort - perfect for any wizard.
Khadgar was striding through this wealth without seeing it, however, his frown drawing his face like a pall. His posture was that of a man with no worries, his step even and easy. But added to the frown were occasional tensing of his hands, as if he wished to clench them, and barely made it so they wouldn't. To a man who wasn't one of the Karal Tor or the Kirin Tor, he would have seemed like a man dealing with a slight trouble. To anyone who knew better, he was enraged enough to go fry some orcs on the spot. It didn't go unnoticed by the one who walked beside him.
"You look like a fool." The whispered words shook him a bit, and he looked beside him, to the greying woman beside him. The words, although spoken in the most serious fashion, hinted at mirth. "A fool who does not know how to stop being foolish."
His frown fixed on her. "I hardly think so. You've seen what has happened in the council. I can't be anything else but exasperated at the situation."
"Even if you must look like a child who has been refused a toy?"
He grumbled under his breath - there was no stopping the woman, once the mood took her. "I wouldn't mind you tell me I am acting like a very young man, but a child seems excessive." He tried to put an angry expression on his face, but was unable to, smiling for a moment despite himself. He knew anger would never work with someone like Rena Delado anyway. Whether it was fake or not.
"Excessive? You have not looked at yourself."
"I am concerned. Very concerned."
"You're not the only one, Khadgar." she huffed without huffing, a feat the powerful wizard had always found astounding. How did the woman manage to be angry while appearing calm, and make everyone know she was angry without showing it as a visible fact? He raised an eyebrow at her. "I've heard the same things you have heard, haven't I? Do not doubt that I do not share your disquiet. However, doing so much pushing and prodding as you do seems to complicate matters rather than make them clearer."
He nodded firmly, not budging from his private position. "I understand what you're saying, but I think we've waited long enough. The warriors have been fighting for years while we squabble. Our magic would be of immense help in the elven homeland."
She looked at him soberly. "Do you truly think that the Kirin Tor cares what happens outside Dalaran's borders? Their own interests begin and end with themselves. Like all humans, only worse. They do not see the danger as the Karal Tor did, long ago." her lips thinned firmly "But then, the Karal Tor soon had direct reasons to be concerned."
He was unsurprised by the surge of whirling emotions he felt when he was reminded of the reason the Karal Tor had contributed to the First War so quickly. Medhiv. Who else but him? Who else was there? The son of the famed conjuror Nielas Aran and a mysterious woman, Medhiv had been Khadgar's final teacher before madness overtook him and he had fled his presence, only to return after his former master - the son of his first master Nielas - had opened the portal and unleashed the Horde upon Azeroth. The man's madness had convinced the order to stop him and the savages he had brought as quickly as they could. With the Kirin Tor, it was different.
The mages of the Kirin Tor didn't share the Karal Tor's views, and so refused them some of the resources that would allow them to take the fight to the enemy. They recognized the need for eventual magical aid, but a large majority, led by the Kirin Tor's excellent spokesman Antonidas, preferred to keep sending soldiers, archers and knights to the battlefields instead of sending that which was so much more effective. Thus far, they were floundering, and tonight wasn't anything different.
The realization of it wouldn't be hurting Khadgar so much if he wasn't certain someone was purposefully stalling things. He didn't think that Antonidas, Kelzuthad or any of the ones on the council was a traitor, but how could he be sure? Something was wrong here, however, which had prompted old Gerath in telling Khadgar to look beneath the surface and see what plots he could dig up. He had done so, and found many unsavory threads.
Names were attached to these threads. Anduin Lothar, Alonsus Faol , King Terenas, even Uther Lightbringer. And other names, which were starting to ring in the same awed tones, people like Jennalla Ironhorse and Aerth Swiftblade, perhaps the two most proficient generals in the eastern theatres. Digging deeper was becoming more and more difficult, but one thing was becoming uncomfortably certain: someone was out to destroy those who held the Alliance. That was dangerous. It was potentially catastrophic.
"Tell me, Rena." he asked mildly. "Has anything odd happened around you? Anything out of the ordinary."
"Not that I remember." she shook her head "I have been locked away trying to train you apprentices in spells of war most of my time." she flashed him a good-natured glare "I do not have your cushy little assignment, I may say!"
His eyes widened. "Cushy?" he spluttered "If you so think that doing such an assignment is all mirth and..." he noticed the slight grin she had on her face, and stopped dead. She'd tricked him again. Light, she was good at making one go around in circles around her tone and her innuendos! "That's right, make fun of your peers." he muttered with a sheepish chuckle, glad for the lightening of the atmosphere despite it all.
"Make fun of you? I would never dare!" she said, her voice barely betraying her.
"Of course not! How could I ever have thought of something as horrid as this? The hour is late, I suppose. I will retire before I am overcome by senility."
He had barely taken a step towards his private chambers when she stopped him with a slight touch on his arm. He turned to find her wearing a perplexed expression. "What is it?" he asked, knowing he might not like it.
"Just something I've heard...you've been digging into the affairs surrounding some of the most powerful figures in the Alliance, right?"
Although it wasn't supposed to be discussed, he nodded. It was impossible to lie to someone as skilled as she was for picking out half-truths anyway.
"Including Aerth Swiftblade?"
The sensation of dread deepened. Oh no, he certainly wasn't liking the prospects as they were revealing themselves. "The Bold General, as they call him in the High Command. Yes, I am. He has become a powerful player in the hierarchy. Rumors even say that he might be promoted to the High Command soon. However, I've found nothing around him which would indicate..."
"Him, perhaps not. But that wasn't whom I meant. I meant his wife, Eira Fregar Swiftblade. I've heard something, once, from one of our apprentices. It seemed like nothing, but even so..." she hesitated, and he turned to look at her with keen interest. After a moment, she continued, her eyes troubled "I heard that, at one point, she had been followed by a person, at a distance. Not followed. The words the apprentice used were 'being stalked'. I thought it was nothing more than youthfulness at the time, but when I think about it..."
He understood what she meant. Eira Fregar, heir to one of Azeroth's most ancient bloodlines, now married into a fledgling house rapidly growing in power. How could he have overlooked her? The tension must be getting to her. Either that or he was having a case of very early senility. He would have to check things off right away. "Thank you for this, Rena. I will look into it as soon as I am rested, he assured her."
As he walked away, he heard her call to him. "I hope it is nothing!" she sounded slightly worried, and he raised his hand in a calming gesture, not stopping. He had a new lead, and he intended to follow it wherever it may send him to. It was, after all, his assigned duty.
He might have been less enthused about things looking up if he'd taken a look at his old friend. Farther away from him, watching him resolutely step away, the woman he had known since being a simple apprentice smiled a smile born of smug frost.
"Perfect. Just utterly perfect." she whispered, and then slowly turned towards her own chambers.
But he neither saw nor heard this.
* * * * * * * * * *
Early Winter 593, Hiljenaia-Alsavre, Quel'Thalas
The Hiljenaia-Alsavre was amongst the most beautiful, most dense woods in the southwestern parts of the elven queendom. Lightly inhabited all through the millennia of elven occupation, it used to be nothing but a battlefield. Thousands of years before this day, the elves and the trolls had waged intense battles in the area, struggling to retain mastery as both forces swayed by and forth. The Elves had lost the first battle, but returned a century later and, with the aid of a large human army, routed the trolls in what would be the final chapter of the costly First Troll Crusade.
Today, however, there were no humans. Only elves, waiting in the trees, waiting for an enemy, which boasted numbers, and power that overshadowed what the trolls ever had by themselves. They knew that this forces could easily have slaughtered the allied forces, which had stood there so long before.
However, there was something that has changed on the elven side as well. Over the centuries, they had learned the art of stealth and camouflage up to the point that it was nothing short of perfect. Moreover, it was a tradition for and elf to learn how to handle a bow as soon as he is able to. This made all of the elves there extremely proficient in shooting targets from afar, whether they were soldiers or not. Which, for very many, wasn't the case.
This invasion, Alleria decided, couldn't have come at a worst time. She personally knew that if the entire elven forces had been in the Queendom, they might have held the horde off, or at least slowed their advances to a crawl, by using lightning strikes and guerilla tactics with experienced soldiers working in many small, determined groups. The present times wouldn't allow it, however. For the majority of their homeland's armies had left, and were busy fighting the Horde alongside the humans far to the south. The forces hastily assembled were little more than a ragtag militia, albeit a steady one.
"Consequently they are now pushing us a little more each ten-day." she muttered voicelessly "Even worse, we're cut off from the Runestone. Humans and their plans of unification! They should have left the realm alone! She clucked her teeth at the tone she was wearing. This wasn't the human's fault of their homes were being burned or destroyed. Had they stayed out, she was certain the humans would have lost that much quicker, and they wouldn't have been able to stand against the entire Orcish Horde by themselves.
She had always believed the Alliance was the right thing to do in response, especially since it was more effective than what any nation could have done alone by itself. However, it didn't change the fact that it had weakened her realm to the point where it could barely defend itself.
She sensed faint movements near her, and tensed imperceptive, ready to draw a dagger and attack if any threat presented itself. A mere precaution, for she felt the elven nature of the presence even before the voice spoke with the quiet and the hard determination of a ranger.
"We have placed the troops as you ordered. All know that your signal will command the beginning of this strike."
"Have you seen them?"
"Three hundred, most of them orcs with fifty or so trolls and a dozen ogres. They should be upon us soon."
It was the truth. The ranger's voice had barely the time to leave his mouth that she heard the sounds of an approaching force, directly heading towards the trees where nearly five hundred militia were watching. Yes, they seemed roughly three hundred by the sound, give or take a few. A shift behind her, and the ranger was gone without a trace, to be in position in seconds.
The Horde group was striding around the trees, led by troll which sniffed and looked everywhere with their piercing eyes, eyes unable to see an elf if said elf didn't want o be seen. Behind them came orcs, dozens of them, looking wary, almost nervous. She even saw the huge ogres, with their two stupid-looking heads, stumbling around in a fashion, which indicated discomfort. She smiled to herself, unslunging her bow and taking an arrow out noiselessly. She didn't have to know if the others in the militia had acquired their respective target; she knew they had. All she had to do was to say the word.
And just as she was about to say it, one of the trolls looked up a tree near her, shouted shrilly and had launched a throwing axe into the branches. A gurgling elven scream went up, and a form flopped down from the tree. Immediately the Horde started to make more noise, ogres stumped around, and everything in the area, she was certain, might have been burned to the ground if this had kept up.
But it didn't. She didn't allow it to happen. Nocking her arrow, she let it fly at an ogre, shouting her signal: Galaroth. Death. The arrow took the ogre's left face directly in its solitary eye, and the other head looked at it in surprise, only to be killed almost right after as her second arrow took it in the throat. The behemoth stood transfixed for a moment, took a lumbering step, and then fell to the ground, shaken by spasm.
It was the first drops in a lethal hail, as arrows burst from trunks, which, while leafless from the winter, had had more than enough to hide a stealthy elf. Doing so immediately revealed their position, and many drew a short sword and leapt nimbly into the chaos. The hail had been devastating, however: half of the enemy force lay dead or dying, and many other were wounded. Although far less experienced, the militia's lightning attack had given them the edge. Alleria and the two rangers with her let loose another arrow each, killing one troll and two orcs, before leaping into the fray themselves.
The elven warriors came at their foe with decisive, brutal speed. Not built for brute strength and without heavy armor, they weren't able to stand to-to-toe with orcs like human soldiers could, neither could they take on Ogres which only heavily armored knights could face. But they had speed, and the wrath of having such beasts despoiling their lands. This made them fiercer than anyone would expect from elven folk.
Arrayed in light leather armor and a cloak which could conceal her perfectly in the wild, Alleria nimbly dodged an orc slashing at her, pivoting an returning the hit with one of her own, directly at where she knew the heart was located. She didn't look back as she wrenched her blade free, dodging an axe thrown by a troll berserker. In one swift flow of movement, her blade was sheathed, her weight shifted as she took her bow and nocked two arrows, letting tem both fly as the berserker rushed her.
The first arrow struck the center of the troll's chest and the other the left shoulder, but it only moderately slowed the beast down. Knowing this fight would take too long if she tried to kill it with arrows, she reversed her motion and charged her enemy with her slender blade with a furious cry.
A dance began, as the elven sword deflected blows from the axes in succession, and has her honed body twisted out of the path of kicks, swats, and jaw claps. Twice an axe cut her, although not deeply, but it didn't slow her as she nimbly cut at her foe again and again, until with one swift, vicious stroke, she cut out one of its hand. A lucky shot at the joining of the bones of the forearm and the hand, and something she knew how to turn to her complete advantage.
The troll howled, then turned a maddened stare towards her. Before it could do anything, she took hold of the bloody stump and squeezed, drawing blood, feeding pain to her enemy. Ruthlessly she maintained her hold, dodging desperate flailing, until the thing went nearly blind with the pain. Finally, the pain became too much, and the thing slumped into semi-consciousness.
Alleria struck its head open without a second thought. After a bare, cold look at her last kill, paying no attention to her gore-covered hand, she looked around to see the elven militia had the definite upper hand. Most of the troll had been taken down with extreme prejudice already, and the orcs, although almost all standing yet, was bloody, battered, only desperately holding on. Even the strength of the five remaining ogres wasn't enough to stop the elves from encircling them. As soon as it was done, the two rangers, all showing woods although none being fatal appeared next to her.
"We have them, Alleria." one whispered in a voice laced with pride and certainty. "What do you wish us to do?"
She turned a cold stare towards them, then towards the mass that suddenly found itself surrounded by elves nocking arrows. The order she would have to give was a simple one. One she should loathe to give. But not now. No more. She saw many elven corpses on the field, only adding to her ire. The green monsters had dared to upset Quel'Thalas' peace. They had killed elves. There was only one thing to say.
"Press them with arrows, until they drop like the excrements that they are." she said. And as she ordered, so it was done.
And what frightened her was that none of the elves even looked shocked at having to kill an already beaten band.
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 593, Thandol Valley, Stromgarde
Humans were pathetic. That's all there was to it and there was nothing that could redeem them.
Weaker. Motivated by greed and deceit. They were a race of despicable people, a race which had violently and greedily grabbed land before other races could, pushed the races when they were already there, and occupied themselves with the hobby of flinging armies at each other in order to change lines on their maps. If there had been a purpose, it could have been seen in a good light. But what he had read told him differently.
The Island War. The Troll Crusades. The War of Liberation. All gaudily-clad and told in grandiloquent terms, hiding the fact that these wars had only been excuses for powerplays, intrigue and desire for power. All these things humans had sought from the moment they founded Arathor centuries upon centuries ago, to the time of the Pact of Stormwind. The Pact. Heralded as the treaty of 'eternal peace', it had only shifted warfare to trade and policies.
It hadn't changed anything.
They hadn't become better.
They couldn't become better.
They were, after all, humans. And that made greatness impossible to attain to them.
So did Kerak Fadeburn think, so did he act, and no one would ever prove him otherwise, even if they were able to. For Kerak was one of the best warriors the Horde ever produced, the son of warriors who were sired by warriors, always the best ones, culminating to him. No one was larger, stronger, faster than Kerak. No one could handle the axe he wore - an enormous weapon capable of cutting a horse in half in one blow - or could muster the dexterity and ability in all things. For Kerak knew more than many a shaman, having learned to do things as part of his training. His parents, both exceptional warriors themselves, had taught him very many things, most of which he expanded on, until he exceeded them in strength, skill and intellect.
A scream resounded next to him, and he deflected a puny human sword with ease, cuting the head of his assailant in one swipe. Then another followed just as quickly. And then another. And yet another. All fell before him with unforgivable ease. They had always fallen quickly, these human soldiers. Cowards hiding beneath armor, the whole lot of them. Greedy cowards. And fools if they had ever thought it would stop the Horde.
One could almost say he had forgotten that he stood in the midst of a battlefield, were humans, aided by elven archers, and were trying to contain the Horde forces in a desperate fashion. Rather unsuccessfully, in this particular case. They seemed surprised that the Horde forces no longer yielded easily, no longer ran like shepherded sheep. Fools. They had received order to no longer give off ground, and so he and his brethren had stood their ground, surprising their foes time and time again.
Idiots. Lacking imagination, lacking foresight. They hadn't even seen that this was all part of a plan to crush all humans once and for all, a task which he had participated well years before. He yearned for it. To see the despair in those weaklings, eyes as the Horde took everything for itself, leaving them dead, unburied, sometimes cremated.
"DIE, BEAST!!" a voice growled. Anyone else might have been jolted out of his thoughts by the sudden outburst. But not Kerak. His mind had shifted the moment the first sound was uttered, switching back to the battle to face human footmen who couldn't seem to hold his sword steady. Fear. What a weakling.
"Why do you fight the inevitable, human?" he asked, but the human rushed him, unhearing, and his eyes wild and barely focused.
Steel met steel once, then another time, and then Kerak simply snagged the blade, twisted and managed both to cause the sword to spin away, out of control, and to push the human off his feet. The soldier's helmet was off with the impact, and the immense warrior saw that the human in front of him was of a young age as far as humans were concerned. He negligently pointed the great sharp crescents of his axe at the young soldier, the threat clear.
The human soldier looked at him, and from that time on the din of the battle, the sound of humans dying, of some of his more foolish people, the clashes of armor and flesh and steel, until his vision narrowed only on this one boy. He could kill the foolish thing and returned to the battle, but for some reason, he saw a light in the doomed human. A light of hatred and fear, and perhaps more: answers.
"Kill me, orc.» said the human, though he shook all over "I know that's what you'll do anyway, to all of us! Curse you! Now kill me and be done with it all!!"
"That isn't what I wish for. I rather would want to know one simple thing..."
The human scoffed in contempt. "You think I'll tell you anything? To you, a greenskin? You have to be out of your-" he stopped suddenly. Quite understandable, as the axe's edge pressed against his bare neck. Kerak's eyes narrowed slightly, and his voice became sharper than the flat voice he had previously used.
"Do not think," he said in a cold voice "That your continued existence won't end if you try to use human arrogance on me again. Others of your kind have tried and failed. All I want is an answer to a question which has bothered me for some time." he swung his axe to the right, then again, and then once to the left. The human's eyes widened in shocked horror, but the great orc barely heard the three enemy bodies hit the ground, to lay there forever. "Will you answer me?"
It wasn't a choice, and as the human looked him in the eyes, he saw that the defiance had gone, replaced by fear and abject hatred. Spineless human. A great example of his kind, he had found over the years.
The prisoner coughed, licked his lips, averting his eyes for a long time before asking. "What's your burned question?"
"Why do you keep fighting us?" he asked simply. No arrogance was in his tone, rather only a simple curiosity. He had, after all, never asked a human before. "The Horde will prevail in the end. You leaders are playing into our hands. Your cause is lost before it has even begun. Why do you insist?"
"I..." the question took the human by surprise, as he suddenly fumbled for words. "I...it depends...on whom...we follow." he said slowly, his eyes darting here and there, seeing humans and orcs fight by the dozen all around her. "For myself....its....I suppose its because I have to..."
"You HAVE to?" This might be more interesting than he had originally thought.
"I've got to...because...I have a family!"
Before Karak could react to it entirely, the human heaved himself to the side despite his armor, grabbed a blade lying nearby, and rose, hefting it with eyes shining with fear and a sort of resignation. A ridiculous stand. The great axe swung down and killed him in one bloody stroke. Karak stood over the fallen body, impervious to the fighting around him.
"A family...what nonsense. What good are you to your family, human?" he sneered slightly.
There wasn't any other way to see it. Humans had no real focus. They fought for reasons that never let them prevail, always motivated by something too nebulous to lend one strength on a fight. Sighing in frustration at being back at the same reasoning, he looked around and saw that the fighting had moved farther on, the humans being driven back as the Horde forces struck with a power they couldn't hope to match.
"I suppose there IS no answer." he reflected, hefting his huge blade. "I should never have expected them...to have a true reason to fight."
He looked at the horizon, pensive for a moment. The sounds of battle were getting farther and farther. There was nothing for him here. No answers. And from now on, no questions.
Lifting his immense axe, Karak began to sprint, towards the battle, towards the screams. Towards the weak humans who were too shallow to know why they fought. He knew. He fought for himself. Because it defined him.
Because he had defined himself by it.
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 593, Hiljenaia-Alsavre, Quel'Thalas
Hargal Grimfrost couldn't help but crack a smile in expectation. He had maneuvered his people around the woods, losing hundreds, but killing hundreds in turn. He had planned the days, the movements, the timing. Everything worked out as he had hoped it would, ever since he had heard of the news: that Alleria, the chief ranger of Quel'Thalas, had come to harass the Horde forces. He had decided to indulge her, sending small bands to scout and burn everything they saw, be it farm, house, village, tree or elf. He knew she couldn't resist. He knew that she wouldn't have been an elf and not tried to find clever ways to beat off or destroy those forces.
It had been clever. From what he had gleaned from the few survivors, it had been very clever strategy, if rather cowardly. However, has brilliant as she might have been, she fell far short of him. While she chased down the small bands, large divisions had moved around, tightening the noose around the elves. Until they had linked, surrounding the elves after they had finished the largest band - the tastiest bait, so to speak.
"Lord, our forces are ready. Everything is deployed exactly as you instructed." one of his aides said, bowing his head in deep respect.
"So here we begin." he mused "Today we begin to bring down the Alliance. Carry out my order. Let all march according to the battle plan!"
"Lord, it shall be so!" the aide said, before bowing and rushing to relay the orders.
The elves had been forces into a dense part of the now-leafless forest. Once they had entrenched themselves, He had ordered the tree cut around the area, for at least twenty feet, right outside the range of the elves. All around that edge, trolls waited, ready to fling axes at whatever elvish face tried to pass. It was a trap, but one his enemies could feel relatively safe in. After all, their arrows could keep out invaders if they stayed where they were, something they had done so far.
Grimfrost knew that quite well. And wasn't about to let them come up with a plan to escape. He was going to force the issue before night came.
He motioned to one of the standard bearers, whom were all waiting for his commands. He looked at the one with the deep green flag.
"Motion for the trolls. They must go forward, now!"
Immediately the flag was waving, quickly, with precision. At once a line of trolls advanced jeering towards the large thicket. A few fell from what he supposed were arrows from the rangers - only they could hit at that distance. But it changed nothing. as they walked, the trolls ignited the blade of a throwing axe, which had been treated in special oil. At once, it caught on fire, and hundreds of makeshift torches were made ready in instants.
"Forward motion! Burn the trees!" he bellowed, and the green flag thrust forward.
Nearly as one, the trolls flung their axe at the trunks, rapidly retreating after they had done so. The elements worked to the Horde's advantage. Although winter, the air was dry and it hadn't snowed in the region yet. The wood caught fire quite nicely, and soon there was a blaze going on, the trees the elves were hiding in were becoming an haven no more, but rather death for anyone who stayed.
The effects were just as quick as the pyre, which burned.
Shouts were heard, spoken in elven tones, and arrows suddenly tore though the perimeter lines in the northwest. The elves had jumped from the thicket there, he was certain, and were trying to create pandemonium and then dash through the enemy ranks. He wouldn't let them achieve this. After all, what they were doing was all part of his plans.
"Green flag. Trolls take a shot now... Blue flag. Forward the axes. Red flag. Ogres at the flanks and behind. Now!"
The orders were relayed flawlessly, and the real attack commenced. Trolls shot at the elven ranks with their axes, and before the elves could reciprocate, the grunts rushed through, yelling war cries. So taken had they been with the trolls, the elves could take more than a few shots in before melee combat viciously erupted. The elves fought hard. The orcs fought harder. And then the ogres came from the sides, reinforcing the lines, crushing whatever elf got in their path.
The battle was ended then and there, Grimfrost knew. He didn't even have to look anymore. Yet he did, savoring the feel of victory, tasted many times ever since he had destroyed the human city of Tyr's Hand, yet sweeter now because of the fruits he would reap from this skirmish. He watched as the ranks closed, and as the elves, making a last stand, were cut down. Everything had worked exactly as he had wanted. He turned at another aide.
"Round them up. When they are ready, I will go and look." and with that, he went to inspect his maps for future attacks. So interested did he become in them that he almost jumped when a grunt respectfully came to guide him to the place two dozen or so elves were being watched, all in one group, hands bound, coldly glaring at their captors.
All of them were elven females, as he had ordered. He had clearly dictated this: do not kill any of the females, but rather knock them down or take them. And so, except from looking a little roughed up, from having a bruise or two and a few small cuts, all the elven women there were in perfect health. He looked at them all intently, searching for his quarry.
This was a task he only trusted himself in doing, finding the leader of the Rangers, Alleria. He knew that elves were very good at keeping their faces unreadable, haughty. They were hard to figure out at times. But a leader always knew another leader, always saw the spark in the other, the something that sets one apart from the others. He looked at the defiant faces, and concentrated.
And then, he found her. Looking at him as expressionlessly as the others. Yet there was that something in the way she looked, the strength in the gaze she gave him. He scratched one of his tusks and then grinned in what wanted to be a smile both pleasant and triumphant.
"Alleria, leader of all rangers of Quel'Thalas." he said "You honor me by you very presence." he didn't carry the charade as far as bowing, however.
She didn't bother to hide it now that he knew who she was. Elves weren't humans, who lied and bluffed their way through life. Elves had too much pride to ever be good at that. She merely inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement. He gestured for two grunts to bring her closer. She didn't flinch from their grasp, but rather held herself with dignity. Commendable, but somewhat ridiculous, like the elves themselves.
"We have much to talk about. You have much to tell me, certainly." he said with a grin. Her hard look only hardened.
"I will not give you anything of value, I can assure you of that." she replied, her voice both melodious and steely
"I daresay you will. We have ways of doing so." he looked at some other guards. "Question the others. Keep those whom you think might give us some information. Kill the rest."
She glared at him. "You will get nothing from me. I know your tortures. I will not submit."
"You have information. About the Alliance, about Quel'Thalas." he grinned again "About the magical energies protecting Caer Darrow and the Runestone. I want to those secrets. And I will have them. Guards, take her...to the Death Knights for interrogation."
She barely had time to open her mouth that a sack was thrown on her head and she was led away, struggling for a while before abandoning the futile efforts. No, no Horde tortures would break this one. But he had seen the Death Knights and their ways. With them, she would break. With them, anyone would break.
And he would be able to implement the next phase to Doomhammer's plans, the next step for dominion over the entire continent.
Taking Caer Darrow.
And the Runestone!
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 593, Taren Mill, New Azeroth
Eira Fregar was a woman of the upper class. Born in the ruling house of Sunshire, she had been brought up under the best teachers and counselors, and taught all things that were appropriate and good to know in the ballrooms and courts in Sunshire, Northshire, all the way to the Royal Court in Stormwind Keep. She had learned finesse and style over everything else, something she desperately tried to pass to her rougher-mannered husband, with only limited success.
However, she had picked up quite a bit of vocabulary from all the time she'd heard him muttering and verbally flaying soldiers and officers alike. It showed right now, to the discomfort of those with her.
"Light burn your bloody brain, you peasant-born simpleton!" she shouted so loud it was probable that all in Taren Mill were probably hearing "Big General of Apes! How dare you stay away and let me suffer while you stay cozy in your nice little bloody camp in the middle of nowhere! I'll have your head, do you hear me! I'll have your head and plant it on a pike right in front of this light-forsaken, grimy, intolerable house!"
"As long as you keep pushing, young one, you can convey all you like to the poor boy." the elderly midwife grinned "Although you don't need to do it so loud."
"I'll rant as loudly as I please!" she growled "This is my house and I am the one having this baby!"
"Yes, yes. Whatever you want, as long as you push." the amusement hadn't faded. If nothing else, it seemed to have increased in its potency.
Eira barely stopped herself from making a scathing remark to that. It wasn't the midwife's fault that she was having this nightmare - the end run of months of seeing her belly take on enormous proportions, of having the little one wake her at night with his active exploring of his domain. She knew that she would soon see this event as one of the most marvelous of her life - or so said many mothers she'd met - but right this moment, she was regretting every single time she had lain with that peasant-turned-general of hers.
Another contraction tore through her, painfully stiffening her, and she couldn't help but groaned slightly. Doom all men! Send the brutish lot into the sea! Those thoughts entertained her until the pained passed.
"When he comes back, I am going to cut that groin of his, I swear. I'm going to cut the damn thing off for doing this to me! How dare that peasant presume to-"
"Merchant, actually, dear."
She blinked and looked at the midwife. "What?"
"I was born in Moonbrooke, dear, and I knew Aerth's mother. A woman of simple taste, but one of wits! She was a merchant, as was her husband and as their families had both been for at least three generation. So stop already with this peasant word. You may as well give him his proper title." the old lady chuckled at Eira's and the surrounding servants' stares "Why do you think he asked for me to look after you?"
She hadn't thought about it, not really. When she had wondered whom she should get to aid her during the pregnancy, Aerth had said he knew the perfect person, an old woman named Mallie. She had been glad to have one less worry on her mind, and had quickly grown to like the older woman's optimism and sarcasm. She hadn't thought he might have known her from before the war mainly because she had never thought of who he had been before the war. She had known he was born of merchants and had been a simple soldier, but his former life...she supposed she didn't think it worth remembering. The thought saddened her.
And then all charitable impression she had about the man she loved turned into rage as another contraction, a longer one, took place. She rattled off all the expletives she could remember from every occasion she could remember. She didn't quite know what she said really, only that one of the servants blanched, the others looked almost ready to bolt, and Mallie looked almost ready to laugh.
"Just you saying that many words to condemn Aerth, you must really love the bumbling boy." she said, and Eira couldn't deny the last part even in her pain.
Eira settled back and relaxed as best she could as the pain passed. "How...how was he?"
"Hmmm?"
"Aerth. How was he...before he joined the Knights?"
Mallie looked saddened for a moment, and yet understanding. Her eyes withdrew a bit. "From what I remember of him as a boy, he saw things in black and white, good and bad. He was very gently, but much too naive. He...he almost worshipped the Knights in Moonbrooke." she chuckled "Her mother told me he often went to their compound to talk to them."
Eira wondered at this. The young man she had met had been far too grim-visaged to fit the picture that was being described. And yet, she could feel that it fit him somehow. "And how did they...how did the knights take his pestering."
"Oh, they didn't mind. There was peace in the area, and so they must have felt bored. Perhaps Aerth was a welcome diversion from days without the action these fools wanted. From what I gathered, they gave him treats and told him stories of chivalry, of saving princesses and all such nonsense once gives children. Before you knew it, the boy had grown up, still so naive, joining the army to become a Knight of Azeroth. His father thought it just a passing fancy." she smiled almost wickedly at that. "I always though that it wasn't."
"And then?"
The smile vanished, replaced by sadness. "And then the war started. The only time I saw him before we met during Taren Mill's construction, he had already changed. The naiveté had been burned away, and the idealism had been dulled. I suppose he had to grow up too fast once the fighting started."
Yes, Eira reflected silently, that sounded like her Aerth. She had always felt that he was someone changed from what he should have been, that something had been torn away. She had never understood it completely, and had preferred to dismiss it. But now, knowing this, she couldn't help but wonder if...
The pain returned, more intense this time, the most she had had ever yet. She felt a weight, something pressing, wanting to get out. The baby, the baby, it was getting out, wasn't it.
As if on cue, old Mallie spoke, all business. "The little one's coming. Alright, dear, push, push hard!"
She did, trying to ignore the pain, not really able to. She grunted and moaned loudly, and continued pushing. Oh, how she was going to kill that man! Oh how she was going to hurt him for doing this to her, that smug, insensitive male!
"Push!"
Between the contractions and the pain, she found that there was much, except a fear, a fear that overrode her ranting at her husband far away. A thought that kept saying: oh please let the baby be all right. Let it be alright, let it be alright, oh please, please. The pain increased, and the pressure gained its paroxysm. She nearly howled, but only gave off a very painful grunt.
"I can see its head! Push, one last time! Push! Here! Here he is!"
The pain, the pressure, suddenly left her, receding sharply, leaving her daze and weak. She half-wondered if she was going to doze off from the overwhelming exhaustion she had been fighting all the while. What awoke her up was the little cry, the cry of a life beginning in a frightened fit, from the warm womb to the cold of the real world. That cry brought tears to her eyes, filled her with a sense of joy she couldn't believe existed.
"Good work, dear! Its a pretty, healthy boy." she heard Mallie say.
Her son. Her son. Perhaps she wouldn't kill Aerth after all, when the fool man came back.
__________________________________________________________
BONUS PROFILE #7
Silphord Duraz
Birthplace: Sunshire, Azeroth
Birthdate: Early Spring 562
Height: 5'10"
Hair: Deep Brown
Eyes: Brown
Present status: Count in Hillsbrad, General of the Eight Alliance Army
Allegiances: Himself, The Kingdom of Azeroth,
History: Silphord was born to the powerful House Duraz, a dynasty as old and nearly as wealthy as House Fregar. In order to increase their power, the patriarch of both Houses betrothed him to the first daughter Lord Fregar would have. If everything had gone according to plan, events would have led Silphord into becoming the most powerful individual outside the King. He grew up with such dreams of greatness in his mind.
Those dreams were dashed when a young, penniless knight named Aerth Swiftblade married his betrothed in secret, Lord Fregar approved something he was shocked to learn just as Sunshire came under attack. He never forgot the dreams Eira and Aerth had shattered, and developed hatred for them.
However, he was a witty man. When most of his house died in Sunshire, he worked and succeeded in rebuilding his fortune, and gained recognition for his ruthless, fruitful tactics during the war. This was when he began to put a far-reaching plan into action, a plan, which would bring him up to, the highest spheres.
Today, Silphord is General of the Eight Army, and a member of the Alliance High Command. As Varien Wrynn's political enemy, the fact that Aerth Swiftblade is rapidly rising to become a man of his level as only fueled his old hatred even more.
No one knows what Silphord thinks. And the day he decides to strike will certainly take most by surprise.
Late autumn 593, First Alliance Army Headquarters, Stromgarde
"We shouldn't be so surprised, in the end." Rellon Minvare said in his even, brooding voice, carefully sipping wine from his goblet "We should have known the Horde would be able to trick us. The Light knows they did plenty of time a few years ago." Yet there was a note of anger underneath this calm, a fury on things beyond one's control.
Swiftblade stared once more at the message they all had received, telling of an immense Horde army having entered Quel'Thalas. Lord Lothar had told them to stand their ground in the south yet, but there had been a feeling of stunned despair in the firm words. The assumed numbers, from elven scouts, had also been given to all commanders, and that alone had sobered them all.
He leaned back on the simple wooden chair he had taken with him and used since the day he had become General. "Four hundred thousand, my friends." he breathed "Four hundred thousand orcs despoiling the elven woods."
"A first step." Minvare nodded. "Weaken and despoil Quel'Thalas, cutting off any help from the capital of Lordaeron. They plan to crush the elves beyond hope of recovery, perhaps. That's not certain. I think they only want to hurt them until they see only the hurt. Enough to paralyse them. More than enough time to come and finish them later, when the humans are crushed."
Jenalla Ironhorse, who had stayed silent until now, gasped at the cold résumé. "You are talking like the end is in sight! Humanity isn't beaten yet. We have the forces here - two hundred thousand, which isn't negligible. As for the northern provinces-"
Swiftblade grinned without humour. "The north has insufficient forces for such a task. If they take all available forces - and I mean everything! - maybe they'll be able to round up a quarter of the enemy forces. That's not enough, Jenalla. This is Argal Grimfrost commanding them, and he isn't incompetent or rash. He will fight his battles intelligently, and crush both forces. Then it will be the capital. Without that the morale in our forces will crumble. And then the north of us will be destroyed." Including Taren Mill, and Eira. Oh Light, Eira!
The words seemed to render the female general furious. "I can't believe I'm hearing such words, especially from you two." she got up from her seat and glared at them both, a stare so powerful it would have sent an ogre running for its life. She strode to the tent flap, pulled it open, and stared at the First Army as its soldiers began a new day. Early as it was in the morning, breakfast odours - meals made in cook pots, coarse bread and cold - wafted strongly, twitching Swiftblade's nose. Outside, men were busy gathering woods, repairing weapons, practicing. Even gambling. The usual noise from a confident veteran army.
"Are you telling me that you are willing to turn over and die? To let the end come before we appear outmatched? I thought the Azerothian people never lost hope, no matter what happened!"
"I will lose hope for victory the day that I die, Ironhorse!" Minvare spat in an unusually cold voice. Swiftblade, surprised at the outburst, only nodded his agreement. "I said what would happen in the worst case. We must be prepared for it. However, it might not happen, and even then, I will never let the Horde take human lands without a bitter struggle. The Light knows they already took too much!"
There was an odd way to the man's voice as he said it, catching even Jennalla's attention. It was a very personal feeling, reminding Swiftblade of a rumour, the rumour that Minvare's wife and children had been taken and tortured by the Horde, then sent to the man in bloody sacks. Rumours, ugly rumors. But looking at the esteemed general's sombre face, reminded of the constant brooding and the darkness he often saw in the man's eyes, he wondered if this gruesome story might not have an edge of truth to it.
That was something he would probably never learn. Still, vendetta or not, Minvare was a very competent military commander, and right more often then not. His words, in the particular case, were the essence of truth.
"I agree. The woods of Quel'Thalas are tricky, so I'm told. The Elves can hold the orcs long, spring countless ambushes; slow their destructive streak in the north to a much slower pace. I believe Lothar, Alleria and Lightbringer will find a way." he took a deep breath. He had to believe that. Eira had to be safe in the end. Eira, their first child, everything he had built for her, for the future, would be swept away unto torture and death if the Horde has its way. He wouldn't allow it. "Now, we must look to our own plans. Right now we can't help the people in the northlands."
Jennalla turned from studying the brooding Minvare to him and nodded unhappily. "Truth. We can't send anyone. We are barely holding them back as it is."
"But if we use your plan, we could push them through the Land Bridges. Then we fortify the northern banks, and call out a strong naval support."
"That will never work now!" Jennalla exclaimed. "We needed support from Voss and Highkill for such a campaign, and they refused to lend their forces to the task. What can we do now that they have refused?"
That was true, such as it was more complicated than that. Voss and Highkill had been against the attempt, but their reasons, including the scenarios they had explained in order to make these plain, made sense. Neither man was a coward. Both men had seen their share of battles, and had won sound victories. They had seen the plan and had found it unworkable in their opinion, and Swiftblade couldn't blame them. It WAS a very very risky ploy, and they hadn't the strength to waste on something like this, more less now with Quel'Thalas and the future of the entire Alliance possibly in the balance.
Still, something inside him nagged, a sensation he had felt strongly twice - one in Hillsbrad, one in Tol Barad. An idea was forming out of bits and pieces of myriads of lesser thoughts, ideas, and impressions. Something about the Horde...the Horde army in the north. It was nagging him.
He spoke on the spur of it, not fully knowing if the pieces were fitting or not. "How did that huge army get passed us? How could we not notice its passing?" he asked them both pointedly, causing them to look at him with curious expressions.
Minvare put his goblet down on the oak table, which served as Swiftblade's desk and leaned back, not seeming to notice the plate and mail he wore, so casually he wore it. As for Jennalla, she sat down and rubbed her chin in thought. Her eyes were alight with possibilities and plans, exactly what he was looking for.
"They obviously split their army into two parts, and threw the lesser one at us. That was probably already part of the plan. The army they sent, although less skilled, was so large it kept us fully occupied. With our attention fully focused, and this is something I can only assume, they probably trickled it from small eastern staging points..."
"Assembling it in the northeastern part of the kingdom, where few habitations exist." the older general finished, probably deciding whether or not he should be getting another drink. "They took us pretty easily, after that."
"At least they won't be able to do it again. four hundred thousand...they can't afford to send more if they intend to keep their conquered lands." Swiftblade muttered. Staging points, eh? Very interesting. Very...
"Much good it does us now, if the north falls." Minvare reminded him.
"It hasn't fallen yet. I trust Lothar won't let them have an inch without making them pay for it dearly."
"Agreed. Absolutely agreed. But Lothar isn't the Light or anything divine. If pressed too hard - and Grimfrost can press VERY hard - he might break no matter what he did."
It was then that the pieces, which had been faintly shifting in Aerth Swiftblade's mind, started to put in place, forming a picture and a coherent mind frame. He didn't understand why they came to him this way, or so vividly, but he had learned to trust his instincts when it happened.
"Its impossible to send aid unless we push the Horde on the other side of the Land Bridges." looking at his fellow commanders, he grinned. "Then that is exactly what we will do."
Jennalla blinked. "We cannot. Remember that we don't have the cohesion to launch such an assault, not between only our three armies."
"No, and so I wasn't think about that. We won't need more than luck for this. We will take them by surprise by doing what they would never expect - by striking at their regional headquarters in Dun Algaz!"
Grinning, partially pleased that he had managed to throw two such admirable peers into stunned silence, the General of the First Army began to tell of his plan.
* * * * * * * * * *
Early Winter 593, Violet Citadel, Dalaran
The Violet Citadel was beautiful. Carved long ago by magical spells, the sanctum of the Kirin Tor was all soaring ceilings, which should never have held themselves aloft, slender stairways, which should by all rights crumble under the weight of a child. Globes of permanent magical light illuminated the splendour and the impossibly perfect feeling one had from the place. Adorned with flags, statues and the richest carpets, it was a place designed for both ambition and comfort - perfect for any wizard.
Khadgar was striding through this wealth without seeing it, however, his frown drawing his face like a pall. His posture was that of a man with no worries, his step even and easy. But added to the frown were occasional tensing of his hands, as if he wished to clench them, and barely made it so they wouldn't. To a man who wasn't one of the Karal Tor or the Kirin Tor, he would have seemed like a man dealing with a slight trouble. To anyone who knew better, he was enraged enough to go fry some orcs on the spot. It didn't go unnoticed by the one who walked beside him.
"You look like a fool." The whispered words shook him a bit, and he looked beside him, to the greying woman beside him. The words, although spoken in the most serious fashion, hinted at mirth. "A fool who does not know how to stop being foolish."
His frown fixed on her. "I hardly think so. You've seen what has happened in the council. I can't be anything else but exasperated at the situation."
"Even if you must look like a child who has been refused a toy?"
He grumbled under his breath - there was no stopping the woman, once the mood took her. "I wouldn't mind you tell me I am acting like a very young man, but a child seems excessive." He tried to put an angry expression on his face, but was unable to, smiling for a moment despite himself. He knew anger would never work with someone like Rena Delado anyway. Whether it was fake or not.
"Excessive? You have not looked at yourself."
"I am concerned. Very concerned."
"You're not the only one, Khadgar." she huffed without huffing, a feat the powerful wizard had always found astounding. How did the woman manage to be angry while appearing calm, and make everyone know she was angry without showing it as a visible fact? He raised an eyebrow at her. "I've heard the same things you have heard, haven't I? Do not doubt that I do not share your disquiet. However, doing so much pushing and prodding as you do seems to complicate matters rather than make them clearer."
He nodded firmly, not budging from his private position. "I understand what you're saying, but I think we've waited long enough. The warriors have been fighting for years while we squabble. Our magic would be of immense help in the elven homeland."
She looked at him soberly. "Do you truly think that the Kirin Tor cares what happens outside Dalaran's borders? Their own interests begin and end with themselves. Like all humans, only worse. They do not see the danger as the Karal Tor did, long ago." her lips thinned firmly "But then, the Karal Tor soon had direct reasons to be concerned."
He was unsurprised by the surge of whirling emotions he felt when he was reminded of the reason the Karal Tor had contributed to the First War so quickly. Medhiv. Who else but him? Who else was there? The son of the famed conjuror Nielas Aran and a mysterious woman, Medhiv had been Khadgar's final teacher before madness overtook him and he had fled his presence, only to return after his former master - the son of his first master Nielas - had opened the portal and unleashed the Horde upon Azeroth. The man's madness had convinced the order to stop him and the savages he had brought as quickly as they could. With the Kirin Tor, it was different.
The mages of the Kirin Tor didn't share the Karal Tor's views, and so refused them some of the resources that would allow them to take the fight to the enemy. They recognized the need for eventual magical aid, but a large majority, led by the Kirin Tor's excellent spokesman Antonidas, preferred to keep sending soldiers, archers and knights to the battlefields instead of sending that which was so much more effective. Thus far, they were floundering, and tonight wasn't anything different.
The realization of it wouldn't be hurting Khadgar so much if he wasn't certain someone was purposefully stalling things. He didn't think that Antonidas, Kelzuthad or any of the ones on the council was a traitor, but how could he be sure? Something was wrong here, however, which had prompted old Gerath in telling Khadgar to look beneath the surface and see what plots he could dig up. He had done so, and found many unsavory threads.
Names were attached to these threads. Anduin Lothar, Alonsus Faol , King Terenas, even Uther Lightbringer. And other names, which were starting to ring in the same awed tones, people like Jennalla Ironhorse and Aerth Swiftblade, perhaps the two most proficient generals in the eastern theatres. Digging deeper was becoming more and more difficult, but one thing was becoming uncomfortably certain: someone was out to destroy those who held the Alliance. That was dangerous. It was potentially catastrophic.
"Tell me, Rena." he asked mildly. "Has anything odd happened around you? Anything out of the ordinary."
"Not that I remember." she shook her head "I have been locked away trying to train you apprentices in spells of war most of my time." she flashed him a good-natured glare "I do not have your cushy little assignment, I may say!"
His eyes widened. "Cushy?" he spluttered "If you so think that doing such an assignment is all mirth and..." he noticed the slight grin she had on her face, and stopped dead. She'd tricked him again. Light, she was good at making one go around in circles around her tone and her innuendos! "That's right, make fun of your peers." he muttered with a sheepish chuckle, glad for the lightening of the atmosphere despite it all.
"Make fun of you? I would never dare!" she said, her voice barely betraying her.
"Of course not! How could I ever have thought of something as horrid as this? The hour is late, I suppose. I will retire before I am overcome by senility."
He had barely taken a step towards his private chambers when she stopped him with a slight touch on his arm. He turned to find her wearing a perplexed expression. "What is it?" he asked, knowing he might not like it.
"Just something I've heard...you've been digging into the affairs surrounding some of the most powerful figures in the Alliance, right?"
Although it wasn't supposed to be discussed, he nodded. It was impossible to lie to someone as skilled as she was for picking out half-truths anyway.
"Including Aerth Swiftblade?"
The sensation of dread deepened. Oh no, he certainly wasn't liking the prospects as they were revealing themselves. "The Bold General, as they call him in the High Command. Yes, I am. He has become a powerful player in the hierarchy. Rumors even say that he might be promoted to the High Command soon. However, I've found nothing around him which would indicate..."
"Him, perhaps not. But that wasn't whom I meant. I meant his wife, Eira Fregar Swiftblade. I've heard something, once, from one of our apprentices. It seemed like nothing, but even so..." she hesitated, and he turned to look at her with keen interest. After a moment, she continued, her eyes troubled "I heard that, at one point, she had been followed by a person, at a distance. Not followed. The words the apprentice used were 'being stalked'. I thought it was nothing more than youthfulness at the time, but when I think about it..."
He understood what she meant. Eira Fregar, heir to one of Azeroth's most ancient bloodlines, now married into a fledgling house rapidly growing in power. How could he have overlooked her? The tension must be getting to her. Either that or he was having a case of very early senility. He would have to check things off right away. "Thank you for this, Rena. I will look into it as soon as I am rested, he assured her."
As he walked away, he heard her call to him. "I hope it is nothing!" she sounded slightly worried, and he raised his hand in a calming gesture, not stopping. He had a new lead, and he intended to follow it wherever it may send him to. It was, after all, his assigned duty.
He might have been less enthused about things looking up if he'd taken a look at his old friend. Farther away from him, watching him resolutely step away, the woman he had known since being a simple apprentice smiled a smile born of smug frost.
"Perfect. Just utterly perfect." she whispered, and then slowly turned towards her own chambers.
But he neither saw nor heard this.
* * * * * * * * * *
Early Winter 593, Hiljenaia-Alsavre, Quel'Thalas
The Hiljenaia-Alsavre was amongst the most beautiful, most dense woods in the southwestern parts of the elven queendom. Lightly inhabited all through the millennia of elven occupation, it used to be nothing but a battlefield. Thousands of years before this day, the elves and the trolls had waged intense battles in the area, struggling to retain mastery as both forces swayed by and forth. The Elves had lost the first battle, but returned a century later and, with the aid of a large human army, routed the trolls in what would be the final chapter of the costly First Troll Crusade.
Today, however, there were no humans. Only elves, waiting in the trees, waiting for an enemy, which boasted numbers, and power that overshadowed what the trolls ever had by themselves. They knew that this forces could easily have slaughtered the allied forces, which had stood there so long before.
However, there was something that has changed on the elven side as well. Over the centuries, they had learned the art of stealth and camouflage up to the point that it was nothing short of perfect. Moreover, it was a tradition for and elf to learn how to handle a bow as soon as he is able to. This made all of the elves there extremely proficient in shooting targets from afar, whether they were soldiers or not. Which, for very many, wasn't the case.
This invasion, Alleria decided, couldn't have come at a worst time. She personally knew that if the entire elven forces had been in the Queendom, they might have held the horde off, or at least slowed their advances to a crawl, by using lightning strikes and guerilla tactics with experienced soldiers working in many small, determined groups. The present times wouldn't allow it, however. For the majority of their homeland's armies had left, and were busy fighting the Horde alongside the humans far to the south. The forces hastily assembled were little more than a ragtag militia, albeit a steady one.
"Consequently they are now pushing us a little more each ten-day." she muttered voicelessly "Even worse, we're cut off from the Runestone. Humans and their plans of unification! They should have left the realm alone! She clucked her teeth at the tone she was wearing. This wasn't the human's fault of their homes were being burned or destroyed. Had they stayed out, she was certain the humans would have lost that much quicker, and they wouldn't have been able to stand against the entire Orcish Horde by themselves.
She had always believed the Alliance was the right thing to do in response, especially since it was more effective than what any nation could have done alone by itself. However, it didn't change the fact that it had weakened her realm to the point where it could barely defend itself.
She sensed faint movements near her, and tensed imperceptive, ready to draw a dagger and attack if any threat presented itself. A mere precaution, for she felt the elven nature of the presence even before the voice spoke with the quiet and the hard determination of a ranger.
"We have placed the troops as you ordered. All know that your signal will command the beginning of this strike."
"Have you seen them?"
"Three hundred, most of them orcs with fifty or so trolls and a dozen ogres. They should be upon us soon."
It was the truth. The ranger's voice had barely the time to leave his mouth that she heard the sounds of an approaching force, directly heading towards the trees where nearly five hundred militia were watching. Yes, they seemed roughly three hundred by the sound, give or take a few. A shift behind her, and the ranger was gone without a trace, to be in position in seconds.
The Horde group was striding around the trees, led by troll which sniffed and looked everywhere with their piercing eyes, eyes unable to see an elf if said elf didn't want o be seen. Behind them came orcs, dozens of them, looking wary, almost nervous. She even saw the huge ogres, with their two stupid-looking heads, stumbling around in a fashion, which indicated discomfort. She smiled to herself, unslunging her bow and taking an arrow out noiselessly. She didn't have to know if the others in the militia had acquired their respective target; she knew they had. All she had to do was to say the word.
And just as she was about to say it, one of the trolls looked up a tree near her, shouted shrilly and had launched a throwing axe into the branches. A gurgling elven scream went up, and a form flopped down from the tree. Immediately the Horde started to make more noise, ogres stumped around, and everything in the area, she was certain, might have been burned to the ground if this had kept up.
But it didn't. She didn't allow it to happen. Nocking her arrow, she let it fly at an ogre, shouting her signal: Galaroth. Death. The arrow took the ogre's left face directly in its solitary eye, and the other head looked at it in surprise, only to be killed almost right after as her second arrow took it in the throat. The behemoth stood transfixed for a moment, took a lumbering step, and then fell to the ground, shaken by spasm.
It was the first drops in a lethal hail, as arrows burst from trunks, which, while leafless from the winter, had had more than enough to hide a stealthy elf. Doing so immediately revealed their position, and many drew a short sword and leapt nimbly into the chaos. The hail had been devastating, however: half of the enemy force lay dead or dying, and many other were wounded. Although far less experienced, the militia's lightning attack had given them the edge. Alleria and the two rangers with her let loose another arrow each, killing one troll and two orcs, before leaping into the fray themselves.
The elven warriors came at their foe with decisive, brutal speed. Not built for brute strength and without heavy armor, they weren't able to stand to-to-toe with orcs like human soldiers could, neither could they take on Ogres which only heavily armored knights could face. But they had speed, and the wrath of having such beasts despoiling their lands. This made them fiercer than anyone would expect from elven folk.
Arrayed in light leather armor and a cloak which could conceal her perfectly in the wild, Alleria nimbly dodged an orc slashing at her, pivoting an returning the hit with one of her own, directly at where she knew the heart was located. She didn't look back as she wrenched her blade free, dodging an axe thrown by a troll berserker. In one swift flow of movement, her blade was sheathed, her weight shifted as she took her bow and nocked two arrows, letting tem both fly as the berserker rushed her.
The first arrow struck the center of the troll's chest and the other the left shoulder, but it only moderately slowed the beast down. Knowing this fight would take too long if she tried to kill it with arrows, she reversed her motion and charged her enemy with her slender blade with a furious cry.
A dance began, as the elven sword deflected blows from the axes in succession, and has her honed body twisted out of the path of kicks, swats, and jaw claps. Twice an axe cut her, although not deeply, but it didn't slow her as she nimbly cut at her foe again and again, until with one swift, vicious stroke, she cut out one of its hand. A lucky shot at the joining of the bones of the forearm and the hand, and something she knew how to turn to her complete advantage.
The troll howled, then turned a maddened stare towards her. Before it could do anything, she took hold of the bloody stump and squeezed, drawing blood, feeding pain to her enemy. Ruthlessly she maintained her hold, dodging desperate flailing, until the thing went nearly blind with the pain. Finally, the pain became too much, and the thing slumped into semi-consciousness.
Alleria struck its head open without a second thought. After a bare, cold look at her last kill, paying no attention to her gore-covered hand, she looked around to see the elven militia had the definite upper hand. Most of the troll had been taken down with extreme prejudice already, and the orcs, although almost all standing yet, was bloody, battered, only desperately holding on. Even the strength of the five remaining ogres wasn't enough to stop the elves from encircling them. As soon as it was done, the two rangers, all showing woods although none being fatal appeared next to her.
"We have them, Alleria." one whispered in a voice laced with pride and certainty. "What do you wish us to do?"
She turned a cold stare towards them, then towards the mass that suddenly found itself surrounded by elves nocking arrows. The order she would have to give was a simple one. One she should loathe to give. But not now. No more. She saw many elven corpses on the field, only adding to her ire. The green monsters had dared to upset Quel'Thalas' peace. They had killed elves. There was only one thing to say.
"Press them with arrows, until they drop like the excrements that they are." she said. And as she ordered, so it was done.
And what frightened her was that none of the elves even looked shocked at having to kill an already beaten band.
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 593, Thandol Valley, Stromgarde
Humans were pathetic. That's all there was to it and there was nothing that could redeem them.
Weaker. Motivated by greed and deceit. They were a race of despicable people, a race which had violently and greedily grabbed land before other races could, pushed the races when they were already there, and occupied themselves with the hobby of flinging armies at each other in order to change lines on their maps. If there had been a purpose, it could have been seen in a good light. But what he had read told him differently.
The Island War. The Troll Crusades. The War of Liberation. All gaudily-clad and told in grandiloquent terms, hiding the fact that these wars had only been excuses for powerplays, intrigue and desire for power. All these things humans had sought from the moment they founded Arathor centuries upon centuries ago, to the time of the Pact of Stormwind. The Pact. Heralded as the treaty of 'eternal peace', it had only shifted warfare to trade and policies.
It hadn't changed anything.
They hadn't become better.
They couldn't become better.
They were, after all, humans. And that made greatness impossible to attain to them.
So did Kerak Fadeburn think, so did he act, and no one would ever prove him otherwise, even if they were able to. For Kerak was one of the best warriors the Horde ever produced, the son of warriors who were sired by warriors, always the best ones, culminating to him. No one was larger, stronger, faster than Kerak. No one could handle the axe he wore - an enormous weapon capable of cutting a horse in half in one blow - or could muster the dexterity and ability in all things. For Kerak knew more than many a shaman, having learned to do things as part of his training. His parents, both exceptional warriors themselves, had taught him very many things, most of which he expanded on, until he exceeded them in strength, skill and intellect.
A scream resounded next to him, and he deflected a puny human sword with ease, cuting the head of his assailant in one swipe. Then another followed just as quickly. And then another. And yet another. All fell before him with unforgivable ease. They had always fallen quickly, these human soldiers. Cowards hiding beneath armor, the whole lot of them. Greedy cowards. And fools if they had ever thought it would stop the Horde.
One could almost say he had forgotten that he stood in the midst of a battlefield, were humans, aided by elven archers, and were trying to contain the Horde forces in a desperate fashion. Rather unsuccessfully, in this particular case. They seemed surprised that the Horde forces no longer yielded easily, no longer ran like shepherded sheep. Fools. They had received order to no longer give off ground, and so he and his brethren had stood their ground, surprising their foes time and time again.
Idiots. Lacking imagination, lacking foresight. They hadn't even seen that this was all part of a plan to crush all humans once and for all, a task which he had participated well years before. He yearned for it. To see the despair in those weaklings, eyes as the Horde took everything for itself, leaving them dead, unburied, sometimes cremated.
"DIE, BEAST!!" a voice growled. Anyone else might have been jolted out of his thoughts by the sudden outburst. But not Kerak. His mind had shifted the moment the first sound was uttered, switching back to the battle to face human footmen who couldn't seem to hold his sword steady. Fear. What a weakling.
"Why do you fight the inevitable, human?" he asked, but the human rushed him, unhearing, and his eyes wild and barely focused.
Steel met steel once, then another time, and then Kerak simply snagged the blade, twisted and managed both to cause the sword to spin away, out of control, and to push the human off his feet. The soldier's helmet was off with the impact, and the immense warrior saw that the human in front of him was of a young age as far as humans were concerned. He negligently pointed the great sharp crescents of his axe at the young soldier, the threat clear.
The human soldier looked at him, and from that time on the din of the battle, the sound of humans dying, of some of his more foolish people, the clashes of armor and flesh and steel, until his vision narrowed only on this one boy. He could kill the foolish thing and returned to the battle, but for some reason, he saw a light in the doomed human. A light of hatred and fear, and perhaps more: answers.
"Kill me, orc.» said the human, though he shook all over "I know that's what you'll do anyway, to all of us! Curse you! Now kill me and be done with it all!!"
"That isn't what I wish for. I rather would want to know one simple thing..."
The human scoffed in contempt. "You think I'll tell you anything? To you, a greenskin? You have to be out of your-" he stopped suddenly. Quite understandable, as the axe's edge pressed against his bare neck. Kerak's eyes narrowed slightly, and his voice became sharper than the flat voice he had previously used.
"Do not think," he said in a cold voice "That your continued existence won't end if you try to use human arrogance on me again. Others of your kind have tried and failed. All I want is an answer to a question which has bothered me for some time." he swung his axe to the right, then again, and then once to the left. The human's eyes widened in shocked horror, but the great orc barely heard the three enemy bodies hit the ground, to lay there forever. "Will you answer me?"
It wasn't a choice, and as the human looked him in the eyes, he saw that the defiance had gone, replaced by fear and abject hatred. Spineless human. A great example of his kind, he had found over the years.
The prisoner coughed, licked his lips, averting his eyes for a long time before asking. "What's your burned question?"
"Why do you keep fighting us?" he asked simply. No arrogance was in his tone, rather only a simple curiosity. He had, after all, never asked a human before. "The Horde will prevail in the end. You leaders are playing into our hands. Your cause is lost before it has even begun. Why do you insist?"
"I..." the question took the human by surprise, as he suddenly fumbled for words. "I...it depends...on whom...we follow." he said slowly, his eyes darting here and there, seeing humans and orcs fight by the dozen all around her. "For myself....its....I suppose its because I have to..."
"You HAVE to?" This might be more interesting than he had originally thought.
"I've got to...because...I have a family!"
Before Karak could react to it entirely, the human heaved himself to the side despite his armor, grabbed a blade lying nearby, and rose, hefting it with eyes shining with fear and a sort of resignation. A ridiculous stand. The great axe swung down and killed him in one bloody stroke. Karak stood over the fallen body, impervious to the fighting around him.
"A family...what nonsense. What good are you to your family, human?" he sneered slightly.
There wasn't any other way to see it. Humans had no real focus. They fought for reasons that never let them prevail, always motivated by something too nebulous to lend one strength on a fight. Sighing in frustration at being back at the same reasoning, he looked around and saw that the fighting had moved farther on, the humans being driven back as the Horde forces struck with a power they couldn't hope to match.
"I suppose there IS no answer." he reflected, hefting his huge blade. "I should never have expected them...to have a true reason to fight."
He looked at the horizon, pensive for a moment. The sounds of battle were getting farther and farther. There was nothing for him here. No answers. And from now on, no questions.
Lifting his immense axe, Karak began to sprint, towards the battle, towards the screams. Towards the weak humans who were too shallow to know why they fought. He knew. He fought for himself. Because it defined him.
Because he had defined himself by it.
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 593, Hiljenaia-Alsavre, Quel'Thalas
Hargal Grimfrost couldn't help but crack a smile in expectation. He had maneuvered his people around the woods, losing hundreds, but killing hundreds in turn. He had planned the days, the movements, the timing. Everything worked out as he had hoped it would, ever since he had heard of the news: that Alleria, the chief ranger of Quel'Thalas, had come to harass the Horde forces. He had decided to indulge her, sending small bands to scout and burn everything they saw, be it farm, house, village, tree or elf. He knew she couldn't resist. He knew that she wouldn't have been an elf and not tried to find clever ways to beat off or destroy those forces.
It had been clever. From what he had gleaned from the few survivors, it had been very clever strategy, if rather cowardly. However, has brilliant as she might have been, she fell far short of him. While she chased down the small bands, large divisions had moved around, tightening the noose around the elves. Until they had linked, surrounding the elves after they had finished the largest band - the tastiest bait, so to speak.
"Lord, our forces are ready. Everything is deployed exactly as you instructed." one of his aides said, bowing his head in deep respect.
"So here we begin." he mused "Today we begin to bring down the Alliance. Carry out my order. Let all march according to the battle plan!"
"Lord, it shall be so!" the aide said, before bowing and rushing to relay the orders.
The elves had been forces into a dense part of the now-leafless forest. Once they had entrenched themselves, He had ordered the tree cut around the area, for at least twenty feet, right outside the range of the elves. All around that edge, trolls waited, ready to fling axes at whatever elvish face tried to pass. It was a trap, but one his enemies could feel relatively safe in. After all, their arrows could keep out invaders if they stayed where they were, something they had done so far.
Grimfrost knew that quite well. And wasn't about to let them come up with a plan to escape. He was going to force the issue before night came.
He motioned to one of the standard bearers, whom were all waiting for his commands. He looked at the one with the deep green flag.
"Motion for the trolls. They must go forward, now!"
Immediately the flag was waving, quickly, with precision. At once a line of trolls advanced jeering towards the large thicket. A few fell from what he supposed were arrows from the rangers - only they could hit at that distance. But it changed nothing. as they walked, the trolls ignited the blade of a throwing axe, which had been treated in special oil. At once, it caught on fire, and hundreds of makeshift torches were made ready in instants.
"Forward motion! Burn the trees!" he bellowed, and the green flag thrust forward.
Nearly as one, the trolls flung their axe at the trunks, rapidly retreating after they had done so. The elements worked to the Horde's advantage. Although winter, the air was dry and it hadn't snowed in the region yet. The wood caught fire quite nicely, and soon there was a blaze going on, the trees the elves were hiding in were becoming an haven no more, but rather death for anyone who stayed.
The effects were just as quick as the pyre, which burned.
Shouts were heard, spoken in elven tones, and arrows suddenly tore though the perimeter lines in the northwest. The elves had jumped from the thicket there, he was certain, and were trying to create pandemonium and then dash through the enemy ranks. He wouldn't let them achieve this. After all, what they were doing was all part of his plans.
"Green flag. Trolls take a shot now... Blue flag. Forward the axes. Red flag. Ogres at the flanks and behind. Now!"
The orders were relayed flawlessly, and the real attack commenced. Trolls shot at the elven ranks with their axes, and before the elves could reciprocate, the grunts rushed through, yelling war cries. So taken had they been with the trolls, the elves could take more than a few shots in before melee combat viciously erupted. The elves fought hard. The orcs fought harder. And then the ogres came from the sides, reinforcing the lines, crushing whatever elf got in their path.
The battle was ended then and there, Grimfrost knew. He didn't even have to look anymore. Yet he did, savoring the feel of victory, tasted many times ever since he had destroyed the human city of Tyr's Hand, yet sweeter now because of the fruits he would reap from this skirmish. He watched as the ranks closed, and as the elves, making a last stand, were cut down. Everything had worked exactly as he had wanted. He turned at another aide.
"Round them up. When they are ready, I will go and look." and with that, he went to inspect his maps for future attacks. So interested did he become in them that he almost jumped when a grunt respectfully came to guide him to the place two dozen or so elves were being watched, all in one group, hands bound, coldly glaring at their captors.
All of them were elven females, as he had ordered. He had clearly dictated this: do not kill any of the females, but rather knock them down or take them. And so, except from looking a little roughed up, from having a bruise or two and a few small cuts, all the elven women there were in perfect health. He looked at them all intently, searching for his quarry.
This was a task he only trusted himself in doing, finding the leader of the Rangers, Alleria. He knew that elves were very good at keeping their faces unreadable, haughty. They were hard to figure out at times. But a leader always knew another leader, always saw the spark in the other, the something that sets one apart from the others. He looked at the defiant faces, and concentrated.
And then, he found her. Looking at him as expressionlessly as the others. Yet there was that something in the way she looked, the strength in the gaze she gave him. He scratched one of his tusks and then grinned in what wanted to be a smile both pleasant and triumphant.
"Alleria, leader of all rangers of Quel'Thalas." he said "You honor me by you very presence." he didn't carry the charade as far as bowing, however.
She didn't bother to hide it now that he knew who she was. Elves weren't humans, who lied and bluffed their way through life. Elves had too much pride to ever be good at that. She merely inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement. He gestured for two grunts to bring her closer. She didn't flinch from their grasp, but rather held herself with dignity. Commendable, but somewhat ridiculous, like the elves themselves.
"We have much to talk about. You have much to tell me, certainly." he said with a grin. Her hard look only hardened.
"I will not give you anything of value, I can assure you of that." she replied, her voice both melodious and steely
"I daresay you will. We have ways of doing so." he looked at some other guards. "Question the others. Keep those whom you think might give us some information. Kill the rest."
She glared at him. "You will get nothing from me. I know your tortures. I will not submit."
"You have information. About the Alliance, about Quel'Thalas." he grinned again "About the magical energies protecting Caer Darrow and the Runestone. I want to those secrets. And I will have them. Guards, take her...to the Death Knights for interrogation."
She barely had time to open her mouth that a sack was thrown on her head and she was led away, struggling for a while before abandoning the futile efforts. No, no Horde tortures would break this one. But he had seen the Death Knights and their ways. With them, she would break. With them, anyone would break.
And he would be able to implement the next phase to Doomhammer's plans, the next step for dominion over the entire continent.
Taking Caer Darrow.
And the Runestone!
* * * * * * * * * *
Winter 593, Taren Mill, New Azeroth
Eira Fregar was a woman of the upper class. Born in the ruling house of Sunshire, she had been brought up under the best teachers and counselors, and taught all things that were appropriate and good to know in the ballrooms and courts in Sunshire, Northshire, all the way to the Royal Court in Stormwind Keep. She had learned finesse and style over everything else, something she desperately tried to pass to her rougher-mannered husband, with only limited success.
However, she had picked up quite a bit of vocabulary from all the time she'd heard him muttering and verbally flaying soldiers and officers alike. It showed right now, to the discomfort of those with her.
"Light burn your bloody brain, you peasant-born simpleton!" she shouted so loud it was probable that all in Taren Mill were probably hearing "Big General of Apes! How dare you stay away and let me suffer while you stay cozy in your nice little bloody camp in the middle of nowhere! I'll have your head, do you hear me! I'll have your head and plant it on a pike right in front of this light-forsaken, grimy, intolerable house!"
"As long as you keep pushing, young one, you can convey all you like to the poor boy." the elderly midwife grinned "Although you don't need to do it so loud."
"I'll rant as loudly as I please!" she growled "This is my house and I am the one having this baby!"
"Yes, yes. Whatever you want, as long as you push." the amusement hadn't faded. If nothing else, it seemed to have increased in its potency.
Eira barely stopped herself from making a scathing remark to that. It wasn't the midwife's fault that she was having this nightmare - the end run of months of seeing her belly take on enormous proportions, of having the little one wake her at night with his active exploring of his domain. She knew that she would soon see this event as one of the most marvelous of her life - or so said many mothers she'd met - but right this moment, she was regretting every single time she had lain with that peasant-turned-general of hers.
Another contraction tore through her, painfully stiffening her, and she couldn't help but groaned slightly. Doom all men! Send the brutish lot into the sea! Those thoughts entertained her until the pained passed.
"When he comes back, I am going to cut that groin of his, I swear. I'm going to cut the damn thing off for doing this to me! How dare that peasant presume to-"
"Merchant, actually, dear."
She blinked and looked at the midwife. "What?"
"I was born in Moonbrooke, dear, and I knew Aerth's mother. A woman of simple taste, but one of wits! She was a merchant, as was her husband and as their families had both been for at least three generation. So stop already with this peasant word. You may as well give him his proper title." the old lady chuckled at Eira's and the surrounding servants' stares "Why do you think he asked for me to look after you?"
She hadn't thought about it, not really. When she had wondered whom she should get to aid her during the pregnancy, Aerth had said he knew the perfect person, an old woman named Mallie. She had been glad to have one less worry on her mind, and had quickly grown to like the older woman's optimism and sarcasm. She hadn't thought he might have known her from before the war mainly because she had never thought of who he had been before the war. She had known he was born of merchants and had been a simple soldier, but his former life...she supposed she didn't think it worth remembering. The thought saddened her.
And then all charitable impression she had about the man she loved turned into rage as another contraction, a longer one, took place. She rattled off all the expletives she could remember from every occasion she could remember. She didn't quite know what she said really, only that one of the servants blanched, the others looked almost ready to bolt, and Mallie looked almost ready to laugh.
"Just you saying that many words to condemn Aerth, you must really love the bumbling boy." she said, and Eira couldn't deny the last part even in her pain.
Eira settled back and relaxed as best she could as the pain passed. "How...how was he?"
"Hmmm?"
"Aerth. How was he...before he joined the Knights?"
Mallie looked saddened for a moment, and yet understanding. Her eyes withdrew a bit. "From what I remember of him as a boy, he saw things in black and white, good and bad. He was very gently, but much too naive. He...he almost worshipped the Knights in Moonbrooke." she chuckled "Her mother told me he often went to their compound to talk to them."
Eira wondered at this. The young man she had met had been far too grim-visaged to fit the picture that was being described. And yet, she could feel that it fit him somehow. "And how did they...how did the knights take his pestering."
"Oh, they didn't mind. There was peace in the area, and so they must have felt bored. Perhaps Aerth was a welcome diversion from days without the action these fools wanted. From what I gathered, they gave him treats and told him stories of chivalry, of saving princesses and all such nonsense once gives children. Before you knew it, the boy had grown up, still so naive, joining the army to become a Knight of Azeroth. His father thought it just a passing fancy." she smiled almost wickedly at that. "I always though that it wasn't."
"And then?"
The smile vanished, replaced by sadness. "And then the war started. The only time I saw him before we met during Taren Mill's construction, he had already changed. The naiveté had been burned away, and the idealism had been dulled. I suppose he had to grow up too fast once the fighting started."
Yes, Eira reflected silently, that sounded like her Aerth. She had always felt that he was someone changed from what he should have been, that something had been torn away. She had never understood it completely, and had preferred to dismiss it. But now, knowing this, she couldn't help but wonder if...
The pain returned, more intense this time, the most she had had ever yet. She felt a weight, something pressing, wanting to get out. The baby, the baby, it was getting out, wasn't it.
As if on cue, old Mallie spoke, all business. "The little one's coming. Alright, dear, push, push hard!"
She did, trying to ignore the pain, not really able to. She grunted and moaned loudly, and continued pushing. Oh, how she was going to kill that man! Oh how she was going to hurt him for doing this to her, that smug, insensitive male!
"Push!"
Between the contractions and the pain, she found that there was much, except a fear, a fear that overrode her ranting at her husband far away. A thought that kept saying: oh please let the baby be all right. Let it be alright, let it be alright, oh please, please. The pain increased, and the pressure gained its paroxysm. She nearly howled, but only gave off a very painful grunt.
"I can see its head! Push, one last time! Push! Here! Here he is!"
The pain, the pressure, suddenly left her, receding sharply, leaving her daze and weak. She half-wondered if she was going to doze off from the overwhelming exhaustion she had been fighting all the while. What awoke her up was the little cry, the cry of a life beginning in a frightened fit, from the warm womb to the cold of the real world. That cry brought tears to her eyes, filled her with a sense of joy she couldn't believe existed.
"Good work, dear! Its a pretty, healthy boy." she heard Mallie say.
Her son. Her son. Perhaps she wouldn't kill Aerth after all, when the fool man came back.
__________________________________________________________
BONUS PROFILE #7
Silphord Duraz
Birthplace: Sunshire, Azeroth
Birthdate: Early Spring 562
Height: 5'10"
Hair: Deep Brown
Eyes: Brown
Present status: Count in Hillsbrad, General of the Eight Alliance Army
Allegiances: Himself, The Kingdom of Azeroth,
History: Silphord was born to the powerful House Duraz, a dynasty as old and nearly as wealthy as House Fregar. In order to increase their power, the patriarch of both Houses betrothed him to the first daughter Lord Fregar would have. If everything had gone according to plan, events would have led Silphord into becoming the most powerful individual outside the King. He grew up with such dreams of greatness in his mind.
Those dreams were dashed when a young, penniless knight named Aerth Swiftblade married his betrothed in secret, Lord Fregar approved something he was shocked to learn just as Sunshire came under attack. He never forgot the dreams Eira and Aerth had shattered, and developed hatred for them.
However, he was a witty man. When most of his house died in Sunshire, he worked and succeeded in rebuilding his fortune, and gained recognition for his ruthless, fruitful tactics during the war. This was when he began to put a far-reaching plan into action, a plan, which would bring him up to, the highest spheres.
Today, Silphord is General of the Eight Army, and a member of the Alliance High Command. As Varien Wrynn's political enemy, the fact that Aerth Swiftblade is rapidly rising to become a man of his level as only fueled his old hatred even more.
No one knows what Silphord thinks. And the day he decides to strike will certainly take most by surprise.
