Chapter Twenty-Eight: Choices and Consequences

Early Spring 597, Land Bridges, Stromgarde

   Dozens of carts and wagons rumbled past, each carrying loads of goods. Wagons carrying flour, maize and peas to feed the troops. Other wagons transporting armour, shields and swords to make them fight. Others carrying the coin, which would keep them, fighting. Wagons had been coming in the camp for many days now, allowing his rugged and beleaguered Wyvern Army to replenish its much-needed supplies. But goods weren't the only things the Alliance commanders were sending.

    With the goods, men had come. Young men for the most part, mostly wearing sullen expressions and hefting swords and shields in inexperienced hands. It was easy for the veterans to see that many of these youths weren't there by choice. It was also easy to notice that, once at a base, they worked as hard as anybody else. Conscription wasn't a popular way of increasing an army, but it was an effective one.

    Men, too, had been streaming in greater numbers. Hundreds more each day. Many men felt something big was coming, but had not idea about the High Command's plans.

    Rellon Minvare, however, did. It didn't make him happy at all. The instructions and news received from Hillsbrad had told him of Alterac's betrayal, something which had leaked to the troops somehow, ostracizing every soldier from that country, until he had been forced to separate the forces which had stayed loyal to the Alliance into their own units. Despite these measures, altercations between Alliance and Alterac soldiers occurred often. So important had Alterac become in the minds of the soldiery, that the Compact had been almost forgotten. Even the orc clans weren't given that much importance.

   It worried him, especially since the orcs were still camping on the other side of the Land bridges, periodically attacking and testing the northern defences.

    Fortunately, things had been unusually calm ever since the late days of winter. Ever since that time, the orc attacks had bee smaller and plainly half-hearted. This had suited Minvare just fine, since his own forces had been so tired. Having taken Dun Algaz from orcish hands, the calm general and his troops had done as much damage as they could before having to finally retreat back to Alliance-controlled territory.

    "And I ask you all: what difference is there truly between and orc and a human? Little, if I may say so. Our hatred is born of fear and incomprehension, and little else!" A firm, female voice sounded out.

    Minvare couldn't help but sigh in some frustration. And then there was Larienne Proudmoore. The queen of Kul Tiras had ridden through the region, calling for peace with the horde and gaining more than one enthusiast. Civilians, most of them, but some of them influential nobles, who had begun to talk against the war effort.

    But she had also come to the camps to talk, where many of the conscripts were still getting accustomed to their new duties. It had been from them that support had come the strongest, but some of the veterans, men who had fought too long and seen far too many die, had also begun to listen.

     Minvare wasn't against the queen's initiative. If the war would end, he'd welcome it. Fighting simply had never been his favoured activity. But there were other factors, some of which the queen ignored, which made him commit to the war despite any possibility of peace which might be discussed by other people.

    He supposed it wouldn't have been so hard for him to hear such a speech if he hadn't been for the fact that he had seen exactly what the orcs were capable off. Fighting and leading throughout the First War and seeing through the Second as best as he could, he'd quickly developed a loathing for the beasts. It was probably unfair, cruel and even unthinking. He cared little.

    "Now I know that many have lost loved ones in this war. And I know that I may sound like a hypocrite in coming here and even thinking of peace. After all the orcs have done, could we do anything less than destroy them?" she asked, and some actually cheered at her last words, while others kept silent or simply muttered.

    Larienne Proudmoore spread her hands elegantly. "To that, I answer: why not? Destroying them would only turn us from the Light, and into the dark nature that these tides of darkness have brought to our land. How many lives must be lost in this? Must we lose them without at least trying to speak of peace?"

    "What do the filthy beasts know of peace?!?" one of the soldiers shouted. Many angrily echoed him. Minvare looked towards the queen, ready to call upon the guards if anything went wrong, but the monarch of the island-kingdom took the comment and the anger in stride. 'Impressive.' he admitted to himself 'Naive, but firm and with strong convictions. Impressive.'

    "How do we know that they do not? Can we tell that war is all they have; since all we have shown them are our swords and our arrows, our armours and our shields? How can we know that some of them are not tired of this war, of this endless bloodshed, of these thousands upon thousands of lives lost?" Mutters welcomed that challenging remark, but none dared to speak. Standing tall, her face strong and committed, the queen seemed something greater than what a man could achieve. He'd wondered why the Grand Admiral was supposedly so admirative of his queen, and understood. She had a undeniable core of strength.

    "I say you this: that by no means I ask you to stop the fight. I salute and respect your efforts, and know that the safety of many remains because of your tireless efforts. Great and small, good and less good, you have done something worthy of heroes. But as you play the part of war, as you must, I must play my own role. And I say my role is peace. I will, after the last Alliance camp has heard me, go forth and cross the Land Bridges and talk to the Horde people."

    Dismayed mutters raked through the ranks of men. They might not like what she was saying, but all respected the queen's will now, and none wanted her to undertake these outrageous missions. If he could have prevented it himself, Minvare would have in an instant. But for everything, she was the queen of Kul Tiras, and he was duty-bound to obey her.

    "I understand you fear. I feel it. Yet I will go forward, for I must. War may yet continue, and yet it may not. I must do my part. Good soldiers of the Alliance, I pray the Light for your safety. And hopefully the Light will do the same for me." The queen then did something which Minvare knew sealed the soldiers' faith in her with one stroke: she bowed once, then left the raised place from which she had talked so passionately. The way parted for her. And Minvare saw respect and even admiration in many eyes.

    'They can say what they want, but this woman can move hearts.' Minvare told himself. He'd heard, through hearsay, rumours and letters that Larienne Proudmoore was just as charismatic as her celebrated husband, and he thought that it was a weak way of saying so. Dealin Proudmoore was a great leader, but he wasn't known for having that much passion.

    As she walked away from the soldiers, the queen spotted him and gave him a gracious nod. "Ah, Lord-General Minvare, is it?"

    "Yes, Your Highness. So it is." he answered, bowing respectfully. Straightening up, he coughed. "Quite a stirring speech. I must admit I'm impressed."

    "I thank you."

    "Impressed, and also worried." he looked around. Save for the sworn queen's bodyguards, no one was near enough to hear. Still, he lowered his voice slightly. "Highness, I ask you not to go to the Horde. I am not a partisan of this war. Its been going on for far too long. However...I've fought the orcs in these two wars, my Queen, and they are not prone to be reasonable."

    She didn't dismiss him out of hand, for which he was grateful. But he could see from her expression that he hadn't convinced her. 'How can I?' he thought in despair 'She is firm in her beliefs, and she has never had to fight orcs.'

    "I understand your concerns, Lord-General." she answered smoothly. "I thank you for them. But my mission is too important. If I may save lives, I shall. If that entails going forth to meet the Horde and its people, I will. For I know that some orcs, at least, wish for peace as much as humans do."

    And she walked away with another nod, her guard trailing her, and all he could do was bow. Some orcs, wanting peace? He could believe that, despite all that happened. "However, what about those orcs who are driven by bloodlust and war?" he asked the air in front of him.

    As expected, no answer was forthcoming. Minvare walked slowly back to his tent, gripped with the certainty that letting the queen go was wrong. That tragedy would ensue. And that there was nothing he could do about it.

Spring 597, Hillsbrad, New Azeroth

    Bram Poorglade had never been a man with fine tastes. Born on a poor farm, he'd learned to deal with less than excellent food while but a little toddler. The years growing up and the years in the army had simply made him oblivious to anything he ate. Unlike fellow soldiers, he never complained about the poor - if nourishing - slop which the Alliance infantry had to eat on a daily basis. He simply ate and moved on, barely remembering that he'd done it.

    But not today. Today he only sat and stared at it, as the men around him - officers raised from the common ranks like him - talked about the recent developments.

    "I'm telling you people." The only elf in the group, a respected archery captain, intoned in a musical voice. "I just don't know. These... children... certainly know how to shoot, but to get right into combat? I can't say how they'll react."

    "We all went through that part." A human infantry officer remarked, nodding all the same "First battle I had, it was a wonder I didn't cut myself to bitsy lil' pieces." He chuckled, echoed by some others. In these days of tensions, any bit of mirth was appreciated. The elf, however, only pressed on with his point.

    "But here, all of us, we wanted to come. We came willingly. These young ones didn't most of them would rather be tiling fields and chasing pigs rather than being here fighting."

    Poorglade finally began to gulp down his watery food, barely tasting it. "We'd all prefer something like that. But we can't do it. They can't do it. Whether they like it or not, they'll have to deal with the fact that their part of the Alliance army, of Swiftblade's big Grand Army."

    "Some of them probably resent us."

    "Let them. They'll either see the truth for themselves and fight, flee like cowards or get killed. I don't care which they choose. I've heard Swiftblade and all the other generals are talking big about ending the war as soon as they can. If it means using a few kids to win it, then that's that."

    The elf appeared anything but convinced. "Its still wrong to conscript. I can't believe that my own people have agreed to it. Can you imagine the resources that must have been put in only to supply and equip all the troops? The knights, the cavaliers, the archers, the footmen. Wagons, ballista, horses. Name it, we have it. We must be straining every bit of resources the Alliance has to offer to make this happen."

    "You're being dramatic, elf." one of the human officers said, but no one told him he was wrong. Poorglade was by no means knowledgeable about the way things were done to supply the army. However, he could tell that the armour and weapon quality had been relatively lessened of late, as if quantity had decreased quality. It did seem to mean that the smithies could barely keep up. And if that was the case there, then it was probably the same everywhere else.

    Still, what they had, although green, was the biggest chance for him to see the end to the war. That's all he wanted now: see this through the end, go home, rebuild, and possibly one day stop having nightmares about all the blood and horror he'd seen.

    "Certainly's going to be hard getting all of us across. They say they commandeered everything that can float, from battleships to fish boats to do it. Going to be a dreary crossing, might say." One of the others, a rough, competent female captain pointed out. Heads nodded - they'd all been briefed on how difficult going to reinforce the land bridges would be. They all knew, however, that it was the quickest way to reinforce the battered defenders sufficiently to not only fight back, but also push the orcs back to the other side of the Land Bridges completely.

    "Better than that army's going to do under Turalyon's command." one other, a lieutenant, said. "I don't mind killing some greenskins, but killin' my people? Was bad enough against the Compact."

    Silence reigned a moment as all digested this truth.

    Poorglade was just about to open his mouth to talk - although his mind was hazy as to what he would be talking about - when he heard noises, and then a scuffle from nearby. Most of the other officers, especially those with much battle experience, had also noticed and looked towards the sounds, centred farther off. All the area, other clumps of soldiers stopped their daily routine to listen.

    "You think you can waltz here and judge us?!? I'll show you, green!" This threat, shouted clearly, got many of the officers on their feet, but Poorglade was already ahead of them, striding briskly to the place the altercation was being held. Seeing his rank and demeanour, the watching people let him pass quickly enough, so that he saw the scene very clearly.

    On the ground, a footman as young as he'd once been a few years or a lifetime ago lay sprawled, clutching his face. Over him, muscular and sporting many scars, a veteran stood, looking down at what was certainly a rookie with barely-disguised contempt.

    "That the best you can do, lil' babe? Talk bit, but nothing else. That's just is, isn't it? Well, how bout one for the road." the veteran soldier simply drew his left foot back. But before he could unleash it, Poorglade came forward.

    "That's enough, soldier!" he barked, "That's enough from the both of you! Calm down right now, or I swear you'll have to deal directly with me!" He made certain that his tone carried sufficient venom to calm down the escalating passions, especially as many conscripts as well as veteran soldiers watched. It didn't quite work out that way, but he certainly gained their attention.

    "Captn' Poorglade." the veteran began, but the captain swiftly cut him off as the other officers who'd followed the noise finally walked into the crow of onlookers.

    "Don't start, footman!" he snapped "I'm not very happy with you right now."

    "Sir-..."

    "Silence!" Poorglade finally snapped, his patience at the incident lost. He'd never been a particularly patient man, and the years of war and the many battlefields he'd fought in hadn't made things any better. "I have fought in this war as long as any veteran. Longer than most. But I also understand why this recruit'd think the way he does. We're trying to save our world as we know it. But are our actions better than the Horde's? Sometimes I wonder!"

    The soldiers lunged one step and restrained himself with great effort. "Captain... I'm an Azerothian. I don't care if we kill every single orc out there. They deserve it." The footman - a young one made old by war, he saw - nodded and left the group, pushing through the throng. Some officers began to move towards him, but Poorglade stopped them.

   "No, leave him be. I understand his feelings, too. Let him sort things out on his own." He held a hand out to the rookie soldier, who looked at the men assembled around him with a mixture of apprehension and relief. "Come, boy. Don't worry about all this. Its...human ... to argue with others."

    The younger man - or was he truly younger? All recruits seemed like kids to Poorglade, even though he was still a relatively young man himself - rose to his feet by himself, rubbing his jaw, which was beginning to swell. He seemed to be fighting within himself, too. Finally, he just muttered some thanks and went off in another direction. Seeing that the battle was over, the gathered throng dispersed, leaving behind only the few officers who had come to investigate.

    "Light, another altercation? That's the fifth today!" one of the others complained. "Everyone's on edge these days, and its even worse when the veterans and the conscripts mingle."

    "Yes." the elven captain said smoothly "I hope we can transfer to the battlefield soon. We need the unity that only the Horde can provide."

    Poorglade understood what the elf meant by that. For all of its high ideals on the surface, the Alliance was by no means such a great union of wills and nations. It was a union built on fear between people of different cultures. The Horde made the men forget their nationalities because no one wished to see them win. Many of the officers he'd met still owed their allegiance to their own country before the Alliance. When the Second War ended, he doubted it would stay intact for long.

    'Fragile links.' Poorglade thought. 'I hope the Horde never has to the opportunity to see just how weak they are.' He then decided to return to his paltry food. No matter how a situation was, soldiers had to eat.

Spring 597, Alterac Lowlands, Alterac

    Ballista shots impacted the fort's wall once more, and the hard stonework, already weakened by previous attacks, finally crumbled. With a thunderous, deafening noise, a side of the wall crumbled to the ground. This was exactly what Turalyon had hoped for. With one hand, he signalled one of the officers present.

    "Quickly now!" he commanded, "Send the eleventh and fifteenth divisions into the breach. Bring more ladders for the scaling invasion force! I want this fort taken today!"

    "Sir!"

    The man galloped off on his light, fast horse while Turalyon stayed behind, nearly gnawing his teeth in impatience. Fortunately, he didn't wait long. As he was considering going to tell the men himself, he saw the mass of men begin to move towards the breach made. Around other parts, he could see many scaling ladders on the walls, where beleaguered Alterac defenders were trying to stop the tide of Alliance troops, and slowing beginning to fall back.

    It came as no surprise. Although Fortress Jegmar was one of the supposed strong points of Alterac's defences, there was no way to stop even the part of the Lion Army which was attacking it. Further, even with the desperate conscription of troops that the treacherous Perenolde had managed, the fortress itself had been undermanned and unprepared for this attack. It made part of Turalyon understand the king, in a way. Alterac had always been weak, and if the Horde had broken through the lines of ships keeping the Great Sea relatively safe, it would have been overrun far too easily.

    But was that sort of logic worth betraying one's entire race? It went against every code of honour Turalyon had ever believed in both as a knight and a paladin.

    "They're not surrendering at all." One of his aides told him. "They're fighting all the more hard now that the battle's ending. "One again, the deafening noise covered the din of battle, and more ballista missiles impacted other parts of the wall.

   "Why would they? We are the enemy, after all." Turalyon mused. "Besides, I doubt these soldiers know why they're being attacked. They're not traitors, but defenders."

    "It certainly isn't the same as fighting the greenskins." Another aide muttered, and others echoed that sentiment.

    In his own way, Turalyon silently did the same. Although he'd fought some bandits and minor rebels as a Knight, he had never had to fight other human armies, as the Pact of Stormwind still held sway. If it were up to him, he wouldn't be using the might of the Lion Army and its hundred thousand men to destroy another human kingdom, no matter what it had done. But it wasn't his decision. It was Lothar's. And Lothar had ordered him to attack.

    To Turalyon, that was that.

      The situation had thus far favoured the Alliance. It was clear that preparations had been made to reinforce the forts and strongholds for an impending invasion - which went with the theory that the spy's mission had been discovered by Perenolde, Duraz and, from what he understood, by the orcs sent there to bolster human defences. Turalyon bristled every single time he thought about that. After all the years of fighting, he couldn't believe that any human would allow orcs unto his home soil.

    Things would be put right soon enough, however. After only a few weeks of fighting, Alterac's western border had all but fallen. All that remained were some few stubborn fortresses, such as the one he was seeing. From then on, the maps showed little opposition before reaching the vicinity of the capital.

    "What shall we do with the prisoners, general?" one of the nearby knights inquired.

    "I shouldn't have to tell anyone by now." Turalyon stated severely. "We give them the choice, as we have since the invasion began."

    The choice. Whereas orcs were usually given little mercy in battle or after, the Alliance High Command had taken a different view on the humans it was forced to fight. With the Compact Forces which were captured before, and the Alterac troops now, a choice was always given: to join the Alliance forces once more, or be imprisoned.

    So far, a third of the prisoners had chosen the former, and were sent amidst trustworthy units. Turalyon hoped beyond hope that more soldiers would choose the honourable path this time, but his paladin ideals didn't blind him to the truth: probably not. They were defending their homes, and they rightfully took pride in that. The fact that they had to defend their homes because they had taken the wrong cause mattered little to many.

    The Alliance infantry was now on the walls, while many were beginning to infiltrate the breach in the wall, the end was near. By nightfall, the place would be in Alliance hands once more.

    "I've heard Queen Larienne is off at the Land Bridges." one of the aides said.

    "Aye." one of the others scoffed outright. "The word is that she's trying to bring peace between us and the greenskins. Can you believe that?"

    "Word is she's convincing."

    "And that she's about to go see the greenskins right up and try her little speech. Queen or not, I swear she's crazed!"

    "Peace. This is no time for pointless talk. This battle is not yet over." Turalyon immediately interjected. Although he personally agreed with what both men said - on one hand, the queen was insane yet, on the other, it was a definitely tempting possibility to his paladin mind, he couldn't afford to let himself or others entertain any thoughts on it. It had, after all, nothing to do with defeating Alterac.

    Not that he had doubt about the ultimate outcome of this invasion. Alterac had always been weak in resources and military strength, and so Turalyon had taken only four of the five armies under his command to deal with the traitors. Well-supplied, he was certain he would be through the defence lines and besieging the capital within a month, certainly less than two.

    Suddenly, there was a booming noise, and one of the towers crumbled to the ground with an earth-shaking crash while tiny shapes moves away like ants. Turalyon glared at this new development. It wasn't anything new to anyone who had fought in the Second War for as long as they had. When the battle appeared lost, many commanders elected to damage their own fortress as much as possible so that no enemy might use it effectively. Thus, the lands of Azeroth, through Khaz Modan, Stromgarde all through to eastern Lordaeron were strewn with gutted castles, keeps and forts.

    "So the shattered stone is all that remains for later generations to see." Turalyon mused. However, seeing the damage done to the fortress, and knowing that many soldiers were certainly trapped there, his training and doctrines as a paladin came to the fore, heightened by the fact that these enemies were not orcs, but humans. "Captain Kellik. Form a search detail. Once the main fortress is under our control, I want whoever is caught in the debris dug out and treated."

    "Yes, milord."

    "And Kellik?"

    "Milord?"

    "Make certain that the men remember that these, enemies or not, are fellow humans and must be treated as such as the Pact of Alliance demands."

    The knight bowed on his saddle. "General, on my personal honour, I shall see to it."

    Turalyon nodded. Kellik was a stern man who had little pity in battle. However, the man had a strong personal code of ethics, which included following orders to the best of his abilities. This reminded Turalyon of himself more than he cared to admit, but it also helped reassure him about the enemy soldiers' fate.

    A cavalier came galloping towards them from the east. He gave a wry grin as he remembered the reasons the cavaliers - horsemen with less mounted training and equipment as knights or squires had - had been created by the High Command. It had been simple, really: there was no way to equip a large enough knight force.

    And so, although the cavalry made up a large part of the army, less than a fourth were full-fledged knights. The cavalier forces were cheaper and less efficient, but could still hold their own even against Ogres and, thus, went a long way in countering the Horde's brute strength. His casual interest in the incoming rider heightened, however, as he recognized the colours as belonging to the northern taskforce of the Lion Army, under the command of General Seras Lavian.

    The cavalier reigned in his horse and trotted towards the cluster of commanders. "Message. I have a message for Lord-General Turalyon, commander of the Lion Army." He said calmly, holding a sealed scroll in his hand. He made no move to hand it to anyone, showing that the message was only meant for Turalyon himself. The paladin came forward.

    "I am Turalyon. I will take this message." He showed his seal to prove his say. All of it merely a formality, but it had allowed the Alliance a greater security in its messages. The cavalier nodded, saluted, and handed him the message, awaiting any further instructions. "Go eat, soldier. You could use it. Once you've eaten, come back here so that I may give you orders if need be."

    As the men looked at him, Turalyon broke the seal and unfolded the peace of paper, reading it quickly. Getting past Lavian's scrawl, his expression changed from concentrated to sombre, than to thoughtful. Noticing the commanders and aides looking at him, he cleared his throat and folded the message gently.

    "It seems that the northern task force had managed to take and hold all principal fortresses. When our own fall, the way to Alterac City will be opened." he mused, and then frowned. "Further, Lavian tells me that some Horde troops were actually present at some battles, actually aiding the soldiers of Alterac."

    The knights and commanders looked at each other in horror and anger. Mutters shot out in angry burst, but Turalyon put an end to it.

    "Peace! This isn't a surprise. We already saw signs that our spies told the truth. Now we are certain of it. The Kingdom of Alterac has committed the worst treason against the Alliance. As Lord-General, I deem this land to be outside the jurisdiction of both the Pact of Alliance and the Pact of Stormwind. Light have mercy on them, for we shall show none."

    With that, now more certain than ever of his chosen path, Turalyon turned his attention back to the battles ahead. And to the capital where the traitors of humanity hid like the tainted dogs that they were.

Spring 597, Dakmor Baras, Azeroth

     Hargal Grimfrost looked towards the shoreline, and bleakly determined that the Horde's navy had, once again, run up against the Alliance sea forces. A few armoured dreadnoughts and about three dozen lesser ships were anchored at the Horde's main naval base next to Crestfall. Many of them, his expert eyes noted, showed damage. That, and the fact that the Horde normally had far more ships to protect this crucial place convinced the warlord that the fleet, already strained, was beginning to crumbled against the sheer number of human ships as well as the lack of experience on many orc ships.

    "We've always been more numerous." Hargal muttered. "All of our conquests have been done because we could drown out the enemy. We did so with the Dranei, we did it with the humans years ago. But this time..."

    This time, it had been different. Decades of warfare, of winning and conquering to the Horde's content, had ground to a halt. For the first time, they were fighting an enemy which had the necessary manpower to sustain a longer conflict than had ever been fought before by his people.

    Still, even that vaunted Alliance would have fallen easily. Quel'Thalas shattered, and Whitefort taken, it would have been weakened, their leaders largely destroyed. Lordaeron would have fallen in the turmoil, and drained Stromgarde and Quel'Thalas would have fallen quickly. It would then have been only a question of defeating their enemies one by one, ending with troublesome Kul Tiras.

    Yes, it would have been a victory nonetheless. But, because of Gul'Dan and his monstrous desires...

    "Warlord."

    The voice snapped Grimfrost out of his gloomy thoughts, and he turned his head to look at the ship's captain. Like all of the orcs in the returning fleet, his face showed scars of the horrors they'd witnessed and contained, barely.

    "We'll be anchored at the docks soon. We've received a message that the warchief will be there."

    "Of course he will." he nodded sombrely, and then chuckled mirthlessly. "Of course he will be. Triumphant return and all that. Have preparations made to disembark the wounded first. I want them treated. We'll need them to fight soon." They'd need every single orc grunt to fight soon.

    They entered the port, and everywhere activity reigned. Built from the shattered human port of Hearthwell, Dakmor Baras had preserved and expanded the shipbuilding facilities located there, and every single block was occupied in outfitting, repairing or simply building ships. He had once been impressed with these, and even more so by the Crestfall shipyards. Until he'd glimpsed Havenport's immense docks and fleets.

    They had barely been anchored when a few orcs came onboard. He easily recognized the larger of the orcs, sporting an enormous hammer from which his name had been derived.

    "Warchief." he nodded, inclining his head. "I have returned, it seems." He couldn't hide the pain and tiredness from his tone. He saw it confused the orcs behind Doomhammer, and saw it unsettle the Horde leader himself. All around them, peons bustled while grunts and the odd few ogres stood guard.

   "I'm glad you've returned, Warlord Grimfrost." Doomhammer said. Although he said it stiffly, with much formality - the Warchief of the Horde had to appear aloof from fraternal feelings - there was softness to his otherwise perfectly composed expression that said the words were genuine. It made the task Grimfrost had that much harder. "You've returned with some of your men, I see. Did you find Gul'Dan's forces?"

    Grimfrost hesitated. He couldn't quite say all that he wanted to say in front of these grunts. There were things that Doomhammer needed to know, however, which should be said as quickly as possible, and he knew that well. Finally, he decided to steer the conversation so that the warchief would understand his meaning.

   "Yes, Warchief. We have found him. We found his forces in a group of islands far west of here. Large forces. They gave us quite a time, by the Beyond! But we were the stronger army, and we prevailed."

    "And the forces with you?"

    "Are proud warriors who fought for the Horde." he hesitated. "Warchief, can I offer you a good drink? My report will be easier to tell that way."

    Something flashed in Doomhammer's eyes, and an understanding look passed between the two warriors. It was something private, something they came up with years before. When Durotan had opened their eyes as to the spiritual corruption in the Horde, both orcs had decided never to drink again, not wanting to lose control over their own dark impulses. But they had agreed to talk about drinking when one had information he didn't want to share with others.

    The warchief nodded. "Very good, warlord." And, telling his grunts to guard the deck, he followed Grimfrost to his private cabin and waited until the door was closed before speaking.

    "No more games, Argal." he said immediately, sternly. "What is it?"

    Lying would be useless, Argal saw. Although he hated the situation, he knew that his friend deserved nothing but the whole truth. He took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

    "We had begun to seriously dent the defenses Gul'Dan's group had put up. We had better equipment and more troops. And then that damnable sorcerer summon... them..."

    "Them?"

    Grimfrost shivered as the memories took hold of him for a moment. He remembered the desperate fight, the blood and senseless death, which had occurred, and mostly the immense sacrifices made to stop the nightmarish creatures from overrunning everything.

    "Creatures not of this world. Lesser spawns of those who control the Horde's fate. Despicable abominations. Far too many of them. It destroyed Gul'Dan's faction. Completely. Gul'Dan's body hasn't been found, but Cho'Gall's head is in my possession." he paused. "As for my people, only about four thousands survived the battle. No more."

    Doomhammer actually blanched as he said this. It was an unnerving sight to Grimfrost's eyes. He could see that Doomhammer was making the same calculations he was doing.

    "The Alliance has been building its troops up at the Land Bridges. Thousands more every day. Four hundred thousands or so, if everything my spies told me is accurate. We have about the same number of troops left. Except we can't replenish our losses. The humans can, if only up to a point."

    Grimfrost didn't know what to say to that. He knew that what his friend and leader said was true. If they pulled every grunt and axe thrower they had to the front, they might be able to outnumber the Alliance forces. But without reserves, they would be unable to carry out large battles for long against humans, who had a large population. In short, with the fleet already losing, the stalemate might break. It had before.

    Except that, for the first time, it might stop to the Horde's disadvantage.

    "Warchief, our people...the Grunts are used to a straightforward type of campaign. That's the way we've always fought. With the Alliance just as numerous and able to conscript more and more, we might not be able to stand that long." Grimfrosyt noted.

    "I know." Doomhammer's voice was taut, worried. "We almost had them. Almost. But thanks to Lothar no doubt, they didn't only recover, but now come at us again. Azeroth, all over again. But this time, we are the one who might throw our people to the wolves."

    "Then, Warchief, I have a possible solution. It is a hard one, but perhaps the only one left open to us." Grimfrost sighed.

    "And that would be?" But from Doomhammer's tone, he knew quite well what would be said. Knew it and disliked it. Yet it needed to be said.

   "To make peace with the humans."

Spring 597, Land Bridges, Khaz Modan

    A storm had passed, dowsing the land, washing away remnants of the more recent carnage. Still, the signs remained, and no one in his right mind thought that what occurred over these Land Bridges would be forgotten for generations to come. Even Kerak Fadeburn, mighty warrior of the Blackrock Clan, did not think so.

    For the past eight springs, his people and the humans had clashed violently over the large pieces of land bridging the orc-occupied lands of Khaz Modan to the human lands of Stromgarde. Glorious battles, most of them were, with hatred and blood aplenty, enough to sate even his lust for battle. And, more recently, orc blood had been added to his tally, as battles had raged between the armies loyal to Doomhammer with those who had chosen to follow the treacherous Gul'Dan.

    Now, most of the latter had been killed, captured, or scattered. It had, however, allowed the humans to strengthen themselves on the other side, and for the last days, pressure from the north had been building. With his people lessened in number and drained from infighting, there was doubt about whether or not the line would hold.

    Kerak grunted at the very thought, his bloodlust blinding him for an instant. Unthinkable. The whole situation was unthinkable! The Horde had been Kerak's life, and never had it struggled so long and hard. Years and years had passed, and instead of victory, for the first time some orcs were contemplating retreat, and a very few, defeat. Unthinkable. But not altogether impossible.

    But all of this meant little for the orc. He wasn't interested in battle lines or the politics that the Warchief and Warlords seem to favour. To him, as long as he could swing his axe, as long as he had the prospect of a fight, he would be quite happy. That was all that it was in his own mind. If he could sate the fire in his veins, victory or defeat made no difference. Even death, all in all, would mean nothing next to having had a good fight. Kerak had never changed from these principles ever since he'd been an orcling, and for that reason, he was feared and respected by all warriors in the Horde.

    "I hope I'll have a chance to beat some good opponents. Like that human, Danath." he grinned at the thought. That human had been one of the very few to ever withstand him, to fight him on even grounds. He hoped for more fights like this one.

    He had just climbed to the top of one of the base's guard towers when he, along with the two guards, noticed a small group approaching them. Kerak's keen eyes couldn't discern much, except that they appeared to be riding horses and coming from the Third Land Bridge.

    "Humans?" he wondered. He looked at the guards. "They seem like humans. A few of them."

    "Very few. Just a little bunch. No more than ten." One of the guards muttered. "And they're headed straight for the base."

    "Ridiculous." the other guard growled. "A scouting party, maybe. The humans'd never attack this place with less than thousands of warriors. They'd have to get past the forward outposts first to-"

    "And they did." Kerak interrupted. Both guards blinked at him, and the grunt wondered at their intelligence. "They passed the border outposts while riding out in the open like that! That means that they're either incredibly intelligent or powerful." Deep down, considering that sparked his interest. Maybe these humans would be a challenge, after all. "Go tell the base lord. He'll tell us what to do."

    The base lord, however, was a perplexed by the human party - they were soon seen to be one un-armoured human followed by eight human knights. All of them wore either the banner of the Alliance, or that of Kul Tiras. They stopped less than a mile from the base itself, and waited there. The base lord looked at them for many moments, frowning, then finally turned to Kerak.

    "You're one of our best warriors. Take some men and go see what they want." he said.

    "What they want?!?" Kerak blurted in surprise. Since when did the Horde ask the enemy what it wanted? The base lord nodded, however. And for all of his personal code of ethics, the grunt knew he had to obey. He thus quickly gathered together a dozen grunts and marched from the base to the human group.

    Another surprise awaited him there, when he realized that the humans appeared to be led by frail female. He could see from her physique that she wasn't one of these human female warriors he'd faced and killed over the years. This one wasn't one who'd fought. Kerak didn't hide his contempt for her, and the fools who'd protect such a weakling. His disgust heightened when the knights seemed to obey the female's orders, as she prevented them from drawing weapons with a simple, brisk hand gesture. She then faced him squarely, and Kerak was surprised by the will in those eyes.

    "Greetings, orc warrior." She said.

     "What do you want, humans?" he replied bluntly. His bloodlust was beginning to stir, and this talk was the last thing he wanted. He grasped his great axe more tightly, and some of the human knights stirred. The female, however, didn't flinch at all, adding to the grunt's stupefaction.

    "I wish to talk to your people." she answered with surprising strength. "I want to reach out to them and hope they might listen."

    "To what?"

    "To the prospect of peace between the Horde and the Alliance."

    Kerak waited a moment for the sentence to fully mean something. Then it still didn't mean anything. Peace? Between the orcs and the humans? Was this female completely insane? As far as he was concerned, the fact that the Land Bridges were getting the name Blood Bridges from the humans - a name he quite agreed with - showed that the desire to fight was too strong between them. His mind couldn't even entertain the idea of peace. Peace hadn't existed, except in tales told by very old orcs, for his entire life. They had fought wars, and fought amongst themselves. Killing was their entire way of life, their purpose, their reason of being.

    And this human just arrived to consider peace with them? He didn't whether to laugh or just kill the fool and spare her the pain and trouble.

    "You're a fool." he growled, "Humans and orcs have been enemies for half my life. We crave this conflict! We want to fight, until only one race remains! That is the meaning of war!"

    "War is nothing but a field for the weak." she answered, her tone unimpressed with his tirade.

    He glared at her, his lust for fighting taking the fore. He stepped forward, hefting his axe, and he saw the knights preparing to draw their blades in defence of this insulting female. He was in jubilation at the thought. He gave the woman a feral, tusky grin.

    "Are you saying that I'm weak, human?" he asked in a deadly growl.

    "I am saying only the very strong try to seek peace. Only the strong try to break a cycle of conflict. And that only the weak willingly stay in that same cycle. If you are not weak, then help me. Break the cycle. Help your people to return to better times."

    Kerak was impressed. Although he couldn't figure out why this female felt like that, her inner strength seemed to only increase as she spoke. He had never seen someone so full of fire, and not be a warrior. Despite his initial revulsion, he was definitely intrigued by her goals, and the way she intended to see them through. To him, it might be entertaining. And, at worst, he'd just have to kill them all. Both ways were better than these boring days of waiting.

    "My people may kill you." he smirked "They don't like being told what to do, even by the Warchief."

    "Then they will kill me. But if I can convince a few, maybe these will convince others." she answered simply.

    He laughed at that, and this time he felt no contempt. Interesting female. Very interesting female, he put his axe to the ground and signalled the other to do the same. Which they did, bemused. He gave the female a wry look, which was returned unflinchingly. Yes, definitely interesting.

   "Very well, human. Come in and talk. At your peril." he told her, and she nodded solemnly in response.

Late Sping 597, Alterac City, Alterac

    The nation of Alterac had never prided itself on its military prowess, surrounded as it was by the stronger nations of Lordaeron and Stromgarde. Yet it had built an extensive network of inner defences, which would, serve, past generals had guessed, to deter anything less than an overwhelming invasion force. The armies of the times never having been larger than twenty thousand ever since the Pact of Stormwind had been enacted, they had reason to feel confident.

    But there was nothing such fortresses and redoubts could do against the large, well-armed and well-supplied army of over seventy thousand troops.

    Having been an Alliance General - and one of the very best - until recently, Sylphord Duraz knew exactly what the capital and its defences could withstand. Even with the aid of the orcs - and the three great beasts they had brought - he didn't see the defences as holding for long. Days. Two weeks. Perhaps three if they called in every available manpower. Alterac City wasn't something like Whitefort or Stormwind, and wasn't designed to repulse a full invasion.

    He could see them. The Alliance flags. Using his Longview, he could see most of the nearby outlying bases; some of them still smoking, having the royal flag replaced by that of that union which Alterac had unilaterally betrayed. Turalyon commanded those forces. Although not a troubling genius like Swiftblade or a calm innovative soldier like Minvare, the paladin was a solid commander who knew how to use assets. And he had lots of them at his disposal.

    "What am I doing here?" he asked himself for what was perhaps the thousandth time. "After all the power I had for that brief time, am I fated to become an hunted man?" It irked him that Swiftblade would be amongst those who would judge him if he was ever caught.

    He had thought about Swiftblade the past few days, allowing his musings to drone out Perenolde's increasingly desperate fits. He'd eventually come to the conclusion that the hatred he felt for the man was jealousy. The man was common-born. His parents were merchants with not one drop of nobility in them. It should have made a clownish general at best, something to keep the common trooper happy.

    But that wasn't the way it had happened. Even Duraz had privately acknowledged to himself that the man had great talents for leading troops. But that wasn't all. The man who had risen in rank so quickly, who wedded the woman most Azerothian nobles would have killed for, had earned his men's respect easily as he had to work hard to gain something far more impersonal. Far from being able to pity the other man, he'd been suddenly cast in shadow.

    That, more than anything else, was why he hated Swiftblade so much. Not because of Eira Fregar or the victories on a battlefield. Because he had bested him in the eyes of most.

    "They won't stop, milord." A voice told him solemnly, and Duraz whirled to see the aged Kelnam Pedran, who looked out from the same place, out through the city into the forests, farmlands and plains beyond. "They got their sights on us, and they won't stop."

    The former general nodded. "They have Turalyon. Hard to find someone more dogged at a task."

    "Aye, but not just him. The men, too." when Duraz raised an eyebrow, he stroke his grey beard. "Well, better than fighting the orcs. Less worrisome. An easy win, might say here, and they get to act like they're liberators instead o' monsters."

    There was something to that. He had felt the same fervour when the Alliance had gone to war against his Compact. It was as if it was better to fight humans. More normal. If that made any sense. As far as Duraz was concerned, it made absolutely none. But since when had commoners truly had any sense?

    "It may just be that you are right." he commented. "But whatever the drive they have, there's no doubt about who will be the victor. They have too many troops. Much more than we could ever muster here, not to mention equip."

    "It only means that the Alliance has truly been building up an army hundreds of thousands strong. The human realms must have worked themselves dry in resources to feed and equip such a great multitude." Pedran said. Ever since he'd had to fleet from Whitefort, the aged commander had been looking tired, his face growing more and more grey. To Duraz, this was a source for concern. The old man's loyalty was less and less certain, and it was possible that he might decide to betray him to the Alliance. And Pedran had the loyalty of at least one veteran division.

    Curse it all! To imagine that things had gone so badly that he, Sylphord Duraz, once a powerful member of the Alliance High Command and last descendant of a noble line going back seven proud centuries, had gone down to such dreary thoughts. All because he'd thought that the wizards of the Kirin Tor would rise and support him. Those spellcasters had actually only been using him to hide their own plans! His Compact, and his glorious bid to command the continent, had been only a ploy!

    His ire reached into the present situation, as he bashed his hand against the stone of the rampart.

    "What does it matter, that they strained themselves or not, commander?" He asked imperiously. "They have done it, and they are here now. That is all that matters to us."

    "Maybe. But fighting beside orcs doesn't suit many men, and it wouldn't take much to convince them to fight them off and throw their lot with the Alliance." The old man said icily, only adding a sarcastic and belated "General."

    The slight was too much for Duraz. For months, he'd had to put up with increasing insults. He'd been looked down upon by Perenolde, by the Kirin Tor, even by that cursed woman who had made sure Lothar learned of Alterac's treachery. And now, to hear this old man, this nobody, call him so, was impossible to bear. His eyes and blood aflame, Duraz lunged towards the old man and grasped him by his shirt.

    "How dare you! A commoner like you! I am of the highest noble blood, and I will NOT tolerate someone like YOU treating me with direspe-" The rest of his tirade was lost as Pedran, moving with far more strength and speed than he would have thought possible, hit him squarely in the stomach. Despite his pride, despite his horrified indignation, Duraz had to let go and doubled over, retching.

    "You may be a great man directing troops." Pedran told him with even more contempt. "But I've been a soldier longer than you've been alive. Don't think a noble like you can rough me up easily."

    "Well spoken for a former dog of Swiftblade's." he spat in the midst of coughing. Another shot - a kick this time - forced him to retch again. This time, he threw up to his incalculable consternation. For all the recent violence, the former Alliance commander looked quite calm about assailing his better.

    "You say that again, I'll kill you quickly and efficiently...general." he mused, idly scratching his beard. "I've no love for Swiftblade at all - the man was the reason I went to your side - but I have to admit the man wasn't someone who'd disgrace himself after two lil' taps like I just did."

    "Comparing me with that lowborn runt...how dare you..." he growled, trying to quell the pain, wiping his mouth.

    "Yes, insulting towards him. But I don't like him, so I don't care. But there's one thing I'll tell you, 'general'. You should flee. Because there's no way the army coming here'll be defeated by those in Alterac City. This place has gotten most of the human nations angry, broke two pacts, one recent and one ancient, and joined with an unthinkable enemy. The Alliance soldiers must be gettin' their blood boilin' just gettin' here."

    Duraz knew that already. And he'd already prepared an escape plan. One that would allow him to escape and plan. Until the day came to realize his destiny as humankind's leader. Being told to escape by a man who betrayed his own commander, however, didn't suit him at all.

    "And I...suppose you'll be...escaping too?" he asked. Kelnam Pedran only looked at him for long moments, and then sighed.

    "You are a fool, Duraz. If you can realize that someday, good." He said. With a chuckle, the elder man walked away, leaving the fallen nobleman to his pain and injured dignity.

The Noble House of Fregar

    House Fregar was founded eleven centuries before, when the Knight Rel Fregar, given lands and title, brought colonists and erected what would later be known as Sunshire. Although other families had been old when Fregar came into being, it happened that it survived where most died out. Over the centuries trade grew, as did Sunshire and its lands, until by the time of King Demar Wrynn the Third, before the orcs came and the First War was joined, House Fregar was one of the most powerful and influential of the great noble houses.

     The First War, however, did what three dozen generations of wars, plagues and other mishaps did not manage. During the course of the conflict, all but one Fregar would die - Eira Fregar, heiress to the Duchy of Sunshire, who had married Aerth Swiftblade, Knight of the Order of the Horse. By agreeing to let her children be named after their father, Eira has ensured that House Fregar will perish with her, absorbed into the fledgling - but quickly rising - House Swiftblade. Whether or not this new House will ever regain Fregar's proud lands is, thus far, something beyond what these eyes can see.