Chapter Twenty-Nine: Deeds and Dread

Late Spring 597, Land Bridges, Stromgarde

   'At last.' Was all that Bram Poorglade could think as he surveyed the men under his command, then looked towards the haunting Land Bridge's rocky span, where so many had died fighting in the last few years. 'At last we're going in. And this time we won't stop before we sweep them aside!'

    The orders had come only two days previously, and he still felt that elation he'd had when Swiftblade, filled with more energy than usual, had told them what the Lord-Generals and Generals had decided after much debate.

    "People, this stalemate has gone on long enough." he'd said, and that had brought cheerful grunts. "They've hit us hard in the northlands, and it'll be years before Quel'Thalas, Lordaeron and Stromgarde recover. They've hit us, but we've barely hit them. Commanders, captains, this is going to change: we are going to break through the Horde lines at the Bridges. We're going to take the fight to the greenskins. And unlike them, WE will be successful!"

    That hadn't brought mere grunts. In one instant, it seemed as if the years of war, of death and battles had been cast off, leaving only idealistic soldiers. They had all cheered the declaration, many of them with relief and pure joy. Dying was one thing. But Bram had fought the defensive war of the Land Bridges, and had been struck with the futility of all those deaths. Dying was one thing, but it was much better to die accomplishing something. That was the way most of the soldiers under his command had thought, too.

    He had always respected Swiftblade. Even though there were worthy leaders like Minvare and Goldenhorn, the man was different. Closer to the battlefield, despite his rank. And his battle plans had the knack of succeeding most often. That last part, as well as the fact that the man had managed to keep the men adequately fed, equipped, had walked amongst them often during the campaigns and had talked to them. Although sometimes cold-blooded, he was accessible, and that cemented the respect the soldiers - be they human, elven, dwarven or even gnomish - had for him.

    Yes, Swiftblade was probably the human general he trusted the most. If the man said they'd break the Horde's lines with the plan, he believed it.

    "I want nothing more than to push those monsters south and get them for all that pain." He muttered aloud.

    "Aye, that's the way I see it too, captain. I think it's long overdue, too." Even though the footman who had come close was decked in full chain mail, there was no mistaking the rank, the girth or the tone of voice.

    "Well met, sir Khadgar." he called. The older man huffed at that.

    "Kid, don't call me sir. Keep that for the generals and the knight. Khadgar and, if you really want, commander Khadgar, is the way to go."

    "I don't think I can really get used to that. But commander Khadgar it'll be."

    "That's more like it! You have more battles inside you than most here, and I don't want one of our veteran captains talking to be as like a wet-behind-the-ears recruit!" The older man laughed.

    Although Bram grinned at that, he couldn't quite help but wonder when he'd gone from simple soldier to veteran. But then, he had been fighting the war for over five years, and had survived where so many others had not. Still, he didn't feel he was that much more than one of the fresh recruits, which made the larger part of the army.

    A horn sounded, followed by others, giving the order to prepare for battle. Khadgar grunted at the sound, clearly eager to go in. In some way, despite his weariness, so did Poorglade. Because, this time, they wouldn't be risking their necks to simply hold the Horde back. This time, they were aiming for victory.

    "Well, that's it, isn't it? See you on the other side, Poorglade." Khadgar said, and with a gloved tap, the larger man went striding away, his new, heavy great sword already unsheathed, bellowing orders as he went.

    Bram went to his own men himself. For all of his eagerness, he knew that he had to make sure his men would make the charge well. All around him, other companies were preparing. Four thousand knights and cavaliers as a cavalry, with six thousand infantry and four thousand archers made up the force. It was the vanguard, made up largely of veterans or of recruits that could hold their own. They would be the first wave down the western Land Bridge. They would have to put up the strongest show they could, if the plan was to work.

    He intended to.

    He walked to his men, and unsheathed his sword. For a moment, words failed him. How had gone from farmer boy to captain? Had he changed that much? But then duty came forth once more, and the words for the situation at hand came.

    "Alright, you bastards! Shape up! Look alive! We're off to get some orc meat, and we want it fresh and bloody for the feast!" Rough laughs came from the veterans, while the few recruits looked simply confused. "We're going south! And this time we'll stay here, until we either break out or die! That's the only way! No more retreating! No more hiding! This time, the Alliance goes in to get the Horde down!"

   This time the yells came from everyone, many unsheathing blades or brandishing maces or lances. Elsewhere, other yells were heard. Morale, it seemed, was as high as it would get given the circumstances. He raised his sword once more.

    "We'll show the beasts!"

    "Yea!"

    "We'll push them back!!"

    "YEA!"

    "WE'LL KICK THEM TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THEIR DARK PORTAL!!!"

    "YEA!!!!!!!"

    Now roused as much as his men, taking his place at the head, he impatiently waited for the signal to walk forth. Ahead of him, he could see the lines of horses and mounted riders. They would be the first one in, the heavy attackers to prepare the way for the infantry troops, while the archers would follow everyone from behind. And they were simply the vanguard, less than a third of the force, which would be sent down on this single Land Bridge. If everything went well, the orcs would get a nasty surprise.

    The horns sounded again, and this time the knights and cavaliers were the ones who gave a uniformly loud yell, kicking their steeds into a steady trot, always slightly faster. Certainly enhanced by a mage's spell, Khadgar's voice rang out strongly.

    "This is it, you all! Let's make this one a big one!" He called, and many footmen - including Poorglade - cheered.

    One by one, the companies began to move forth, and each did with a determined roar. When came his time, Poorglade felt his old habits from the farm take hold of him again.

    "Let's be gettin' them boys!" he said, and pointed the tip of his sword forward, beginning to walk.

    Fourteen thousand men and women was no small army, and was certain to make the Orcs worry at least a little. Unsurprisingly, the orcs began to attack from afar as soon as the western vanguard was within extreme range of their catapults. Although it did little damage to the rocky surface, scores of men vanished at times. Still the attack rolled on. Poorglade and his men walked steadily, until the cavalry charged and the horns sounded again. Fear and excitement gripped him, and he felt that reflected in many.

    "At them, boys! For the Alliance and everything we hold dear!"

    And with that, he charged behind the cavalry, along with hundreds and hundreds of others. Beyond them, the earth and wooden works the orcs had built waited, he knew. But he didn't mind. He felt that, this time, it would be different. This time, they would come through victorious.

    Because, for all their strength and guile, the orcs had no idea what Swiftblade's plan was - for he had been the battle's architect. They were in for a surprise. A very nasty one.

    With a feral snarl on his face, Poorglade faithfully led his men forward into the horde fortifications.

Late Spring 598, Alterac City outskirts, Alterac

    Turalyon finished reading Lothar's letter and bit his lips in thought. It appeared, from what the High General told, that Swiftblade had taken general command of operations at the Land Bridges and had prepared a bold follow-up plan to weaken the Horde's oil production for their entire forces in Khaz Modan. That was good news. Although he wasn't certain he liked the man's style and beliefs - he seemed to have less of a belief in the Light than a knight should have, for instance - the Paladin had no choice but to recognize the man was one of the very best war leaders the Alliance had.

    Unfortunately, the part about his operation against Alterac hadn't been so encouraging.

    It appeared that many in the nobility did not consider Alterac's invasion necessary, and had lobbied to redirect Lion Army's might to aid at the main front. More troubling was that certain rulers, such as Genn Greymane of Gilneas and Thoras Trollbane of Stromgarde agreed with such protests, splitting the Alliance Council and its High Command on the very matter. A waste of time that the peoples of the Alliance did not have time for.

    With Dalaran and Quel'Thalas eerily quiet on the matter, it had taken the combined voices of Lordaeron, Azeroth and Kul Tiras to force the invasion onward. However, Lothar knew that the check might not last if they rallied the neutral countries, and had ordered Turalyon to take the capital - and Perenolde - before winter set in.

    You have under you an army of such might and magnitude that there have been few alike since even before the Pact of Stormwind. I am confident you will be able to carry out your task with honour and swift success. The paladin read the end of the message one more time and grunted.

    "Yes, yes, I have the resources. But that city's pretty well fortified." he sighed, and then flushed, glad no one was with him to hear that - it sounded too much like a whine to his hears.

    He should be feeling confident. After all, his forces had fought its way to the capital with few losses, and estimates from gnomish reports showed that Alterac City's forces were many times inferior to the ones he was leading. However, he remained disturbed. A sizable fraction of these forces were orcs, with even a few Ogres and trolls.

    "Trolls." he snapped "I can't believe that, after all the wars between humans and trolls, that they'd let these things in, much less allow the Horde in.

    And that wasn't the only problem. If one believed group of prisoners his men had saved while the base was still being set up, it appeared the Horde still had something rather menacing, deeper in the forest. So, far, however, even those elven rangers he had sent to scout had found nothing except small enemy bands and two insignificant outposts.

    All this made the idea of taking Alterac city before the first snows a little unrealistic, and yet he understood that there might be little choice for him in the manner. Despite the stubbornness they were showing, the Alliance needed Gilneas and Stromgarde's kings and nobility to stand with them. All in all, it was giving him a headache just thinking of it.

    He finally shook his head. "No use thinking about it now." he told himself out loud - a bad habit he simply couldn't shake off. "I'll just head to bed now and summon the others to my tent as early as possible tomorrow to-"

    "General Turalyon?" A soldier said from outside the tent.

    "-Or perhaps not." He schooled his voice to keep irritation out of it - paladins were supposed to be role models for humans to follow, after all. "Yes? What's the matter?" he finally said.

    "Lord Khadgar has arrived with some of his people. He asks to speak to you." there was a slight note of contempt hidden in the voice when the soldier said 'his people'.

    Turalyon frowned. Although wizards and their ilk made him nervous - there was something wrong in what was loftily called arcane magic - he couldn't deny that Khadgar had done more than his share, and that the man's attitude was rude and uncalled for. He would have to see to that. But it wasn't the time for it now.

    "Well, send Lord Khadgar in at once." he said severely, straining the 'lord' title as a message. Whether the man understood or not, he couldn't tell, but Khadgar entered only moments later. If he'd heard the exchange, he gave no sign at all.

    The wizard looked worn to Turalyon's eyes. Worried, as if eaten up by something. Having met the man before and knowing the spellcaster for a very solid mind, he could only wonder what could drain the man of his energy so swiftly.

    "Well met, Lord-General Turalyon." the wizard sighed more than said. It only served to heighten the paladin's worries.

    "Well met to you, Lord Khadgar. Forgive me for asking, but you look rather tired, and I can't help but wonder if your visit had any relation with that."

    A wry grin. "You see signs rather well, sir."

    "A general either learns to spot details, or ends up being defeated and dead in short order." he answered with his own quip. "Still, it seems you answered me. What is it?"

    The man muttered a few words, and a flash illuminated the room. Turalyon's hand immediately went to the sword he always wore at his side. But Khadgar made a warding gesture. "There is no cause for concern. It was only a spell to make certain we are not heard."

    "As may be," Turalyon replied stiffly "But kindly tell me next time you attempt even minor magic in my presence."

    "I understand what you are saying. I apologize if I unsettled you. However, my mind has been troubled lately, and it is imperative I talk to you. It is about both your army and Dalaran itself."

    Turalyon gestured to a chair, and Khadgar sank into it with a grateful sigh. Nodding his thanks when the paladin gave him a glass of wine, he seemed to collect his thoughts before speaking. "You know that Dalaran has been sending less sorcerers than it should have been to the battlefield." he stated.

    Turalyon nodded. That was common knowledge. Thus, magic had played a lesser role in the war thus far. A frightening thing, however, was that some Ogres were using magic now.

    "What you don't know is that this is caused by what I and a few other wizards believe to be an underground faction in Dalaran, intent to destabilize the balance and eventually try a coup against the Kirin Tor." The wizard added.

    Turalyon suddenly - ardently - wished he'd gone to bed without receiving the wizard, hadn't heard what could be yet another Alliance member slipping away before too long. Losing Alterac was minor enough; the other nations could supply enough together to continue the war effort. But Dalaran...no. The Alliance needed the money, the troops and the magic that nation had. Especially the magic, as much as the paladin in him wanted to sniff disdainfully.

    "Very well, Lord Khadgar." Turalyon mused gravely. "Your news are grave, I freely admit it. However, aside from that political mayhem, what relation is there with my army?"

     Khadgar closed his eyes a moment after sipping a bit of wine, and looked so tired that it seemed to the paladin that he'd nod off there and then. Yet, he spoke once more, and his voice was firm and even.

    "The people who control that group. I have searched for clues about them. Many times, they have tried to stop me. But I finally found something very interesting. Something, which might just blow them wide open for the Kirin Tor to see."

    "Be plainer, if you please, archmage." Turalyon rasped. Khadgar shot him a level look.

    "I believe that one of the main people who wish to depose the Kirin Tor is here, masquerading as a common soldier." the archwizard said.

    There no longer was any doubt about it. He really should have gone to bed.

Late Spring 597, Land Bridges, Khaz Modan

     Faith and belief were things few orcs really thought about nowadays. Only some older orcs held firm memories of the time before the Horde. According to the tales, they had been a weak people, worshipping feeble spirits and living poorly, with no direction to their lives. Then had came the nebulous time only generally known as The Pact, which had eventually forged the Horde.

    Faith and any sort of beliefs had been cleaned away soon afterwards. But was that for a good cause? Or had they simply corrupted themselves by thinking that way?

    Those questions weren't something an orc such as Kerak Fadeburn asked himself. He was used to the battlefield and the reach of his axe. Nothing else had ever mattered to him. Not his comrades, not his family, not even his parents. The thrill to fight and conquer had been everything.

    That had changed, it seemed. As much as he tried to forget, he couldn't manage to stop his doubts. All of that because of that human woman, Larienne Proudmoore. Her words had wrought more damage to the Horde ranks than all the years fighting the humans of Azeroth and the Alliance together had done.

    Everything about her had been strange. She'd entered a Horde camp and no one hurt her, even though her escort could hardly have stopped any orcish attempt on her life. Yet she hadn't even been touched. Perhaps it had been respect for her sheer courage at first, or simply that seeing her dumbfounded many. But after she had begun to speak, no one wanted to hurt her, for any reason. Not even Kerak.

    "Look at your children." she had said, "This conflict between our peoples has raged for fourteen years, and has taken far too many lives. Is this the future you see? Is this the path you wish the little ones to follow?" Her tone had seemed so confident, no one had protested. And Kerak saw many look at their orclings at the camp later that night, deep in thought.

    Kerak should have stopped it then. They all should have stopped it then. But no one had. They had heard her and been troubled. So much that, when she had wished to leave, they had let her. And now, rumours abounded about a wave of uncertainty having gripped many smaller camps. Each time, stories of a human female follow, the words no doubt distorted by time and second-hand ears.

   Yet...

    His thoughts were interrupted when orcs began to stream into the camp, with one climbing a great rock.

    "Prepare your weapons now! We march to the Land Bridges! The Alliance is starting to attack us!" the orc shouted. This surprised Kerak to no end. The humans and their allies were usually inclined to let the Horde attack, absorbing the damage from behind their defences. To have them suddenly attack en masse was unusual.

    He immediately went to get his axe, as did the others, and paused for a moment. He looked at his great axe and clenched his jaw. Normally, just seeing the axe forced the thrill of hunting, of killing, into his mind. But not this time. This time, it seemed like his doubts were strongest than even he had thought. Still, this was an order to attack, and there was no other option save mutiny, something he truly had no intention of doing. Instead, he grabbed a passing orc.

    "Where are the humans attacking?" he growled. His girth and height, always so much larger than even a large orc, frightened the smaller orc technician.

    "Errmm..." the younger orc stuttered, clearly put off.

    "Well, speak!" He snapped. It seemed his ability to command hadn't gone with his former convictions. Good.

    "They...are attacking from the Land Bridges-"

    "I know that already!" he growled, shaking the other orc. "Which one? That's what I want to know!"

     "All..all three. They're hitting us at all three." the orc responded quickly "Thousands and thousands. They've never hit us harder."

    Kerak thought fast. Although he was just a warrior, he had been around the battlefields long enough, had interrogated enough prisoners, to piece some rumours together. Word had been that the Alliance had finally managed to scrape together an army that could fight the Horde on truly equal grounds. He had discounted it as fantasy, but the facts were there. There was no way the previous forces could strike all three land bridges and look like a threat. Which meant that the Alliance's manpower had been increased.

    And right now, we're weakened. Our forces are a fraction of what they were. Damn you, Gul'Dan! He thought furiously. Even now, a few remnants of the rebel clans were causing trouble, even in their defeat. The humans surely had their own information, for they had attacked at the best possible time.

     The time for doubts was over. Pushing aside the strange ideas Larienne Proudmoore's words had evoked, Kerak took the lead of the rushing column, holding his axe high. Behind him, orcs roared fiercely...but not as fiercely as they once had done. It seemed he wasn't the only one to have lost something to the human female's voice.

    It took them nearly an hour to get to the battle lines of the central Land Bridge, and found the Alliance and Horde forces engaged in battle. Except that, this time, the humans and elves didn't seem to be inferior in number.

    To think that they're already so far along the bridge!

    He hefted his axe and waded into the fray, forcing one of the heavier, mounted humans with a strike to the head, following suit with a swift beheading. At once he was under attack by many footmen, and he turned his attention to his defence. Still, Kerak had once been known as one of the best and most fearsome, and it wasn't long before his old reflexes drowned out any danger.

    He darted to the side, avoiding one attack and kicking one footman in the stomach, then nearly cutting another in two. Two others came at him. He blocked the sword strikes with his reinforced axe handle, and then swung it in a wide, mighty arc. Two heads rolled, their bodies left to stagger a moment before crumbling to the ground, their lifeblood pumping out. Kerak looked at the bodies of those he had slain, momentarily forgetting the din of the battle, which raged around him.

    Is that what we will give our children? Only a week ago, I wouldn't have cared. Why does it bother me now? He wondered. The battle, however, wouldn't leave him to his musings, and he had to fight as he had always done - well and with finality.

    Usually, the humans would have fallen back, as the Horde warriors attacked them with abandon, slaying many of them. Hundreds lay dead already. And yet the human knights kept flaying about with hooves and warhammer, human soldiers fought with sword and shield. The elves struck with arrows and the dwarves with axes and small explosive devices. They were keeping the battle heated, and it struck Kerak as quite odd.

    He struck at the human lines, shrugging off a blow that struck his shoulder, and killed three more soldiers. A human who wore armour Kerak had learned belonged to officers swiftly killed a troll and showed his sword in challenge to him.

    "Come, orc! Let's see you fight!" the human bellowed, and charged him.

    The orc champion may have had his doubts about the lengthy wars he had fought, yet there was one thing, which hadn't changed: his blood boiled at the hearing of a challenge. Whatever thoughts had been forming in his mind vanished, as a Kerak's old grin reappeared, drowning away the doubts. He laughed at the charging human, at the human army, at everything that stood against him. His blood once again felt alive!

    "Good, then! Human! Come and die!" He growled, his axe ready.

    And as he struck, both armies clashed with renewed vigour, the screams of those fighting and those dying mingling in an orchestra of macabre music. And if some few wondered why the humans were so adamant with keeping the pressure, they had no time to think much further as the day lengthened.

    After months of relatively light skirmishes, the Land Bridges once again earned their terrible nickname: the Blood Bridges.

Late Spring 597, Land Bridges, Khaz Modan

    Swiftblade had always hated to be the one who had to look and wait while men and women fought and died. He knew that he was the Lord-General now, and that he had, with High General Lothar's permission, assumed command of the entire southern forces in order to finally break the years-long stalemate the Land Bridges had become. He knew that he was too important as a tactician and strategist, as well as overall commander - the Alliance had lost far too many of its veteran soldiers and commanders during the war.

    He supposed that a true noble, born and bred since birth, would understand it well enough. But Aerth Swiftblade was by no means a noble at heart. Although a baron and a famed general, his heart was still, he knew, that of the common-born boy who had dreamed of becoming a knight, and had fought the First War alongside veterans he now ironically commanded. He was far more useful as a general.

    Yet, in his heart of hearts, he wished he were out there, struggling against the Horde. Not just looking at the battle from afar.

    He sighed as he watched ranks of armoured footmen and leather wearing recruits clashing with the orcs and trolls and ogres alongside their elven and dwarven allies. Knights were struggling against the two-headed beasts, and the army's paladins met the death knights in magical and physical confrontations. Thus far, both sides were roughly equal, with the few of the new so-called ogre-magis not making much difference.

    An even battle, except for two factors. Swiftblade turned from the battle and looked at those with him. Many generals and leaders were present. Rellon Minvare, Muradin Bronzebeard, Jenalla Ironhorse, Uther Lightbringer, Lord Illadan of Silvermoon and Antonidas of the Kirin Tor, to name a few. Powerful names, all gathered in one place. Much talent gathered in one place. If a stray shot killed them all, the Alliance would lose much. But the arrangement served for now.

    "Lord Antonidas, are they ready?" He asked. The middle-aged wizard nodded once, eyes firm. Next he looked towards Illadan. "And you, Lord Illadan."

    "Ready. They will act when they must." came the smooth reply.

    Swiftblade nodded. "Then, Lord Antonidas. As the plan went."

    Moments after the words had left the lord-general's mouth, dozens of fireballs and lightning bolts, cast with deadly precision, struck straight into the enemy lines. Nearly two hundred spellcasters, all mounted on horses and surrounded by ranks of veteran warriors, could be seen gesturing wildly, casting spell after spell. The magic the Ogre-magi had mastered was paltry compared to it.

    The effect could be seen all over the battlefield. Here and there, surrounded footmen were suddenly surrounded by searing fire, and slashed and burned whatever enemy they could find. Other places on the battlefield were attacked by a magical ice storm, while some horde troops suddenly became wild pigs or lambs. Soon, confusion set in the Horde lines.

    "They've never had to deal with that much magic for years, and they have trouble adapting." Minvare mused aloud behind Swiftblade. The Lord-general turned his head sideways and nodded in agreement.

    "That's right. But we both know it won't last long. Therefore, Lord Illadan?" he asked the elf-lord.

    The elven lord raised a slender eyebrow, and then held out a small, red bird, which flew away to the other side of the battlefield. Swiftblade held his breath for a moment. The Orcs would recover soon, and if they did, the superior numbers the Alliance had in this battle would be of no use.

    Just as we managed to hold off their superior numbers for years. We need to break out, or nothing will be achieved! This would be a defeat, no matter how it went, if they couldn't do that.

     And then, one by one, the Horde catapults began to grow silent. One, then two, then many stopped shooting altogether. The human and the elf exchanged a relieved grin. The second phase was going well. Rangers, which had been sent to the other side, were attacking catapult crews and taking control of them. Soon, some would be launching the catapult boulders back at their builders.

    This, as well as the horde's floundering before magical power, was giving the Alliance a sudden edge that, for a moment, opened the possibility of the desired breakout. Swiftblade had no intention to let that chance go no matter what.

    "Send forth the Grand Vanguard!" he bellowed, and nearby aides and lower officers took up the cry.

    "The Vanguard! Forward, the Vanguard!"

    "Prepare for battle! Remember what you learned!"

    They had all prepared this part of the plan very meticulously. To break through in the confusion, they needed speed and strength. Thus, following advice from Illadan and Jenalla, Swiftblade had gone over with the most experienced knights in the army and picked up the very best riders in the southern forces. Three thousands were picked in the end, culled from knights and cavaliers, and fitted with banded mail, lances, and swords from the army's forges and armouries. Soon, the group became known only as the Vanguard.

     And so, behind the main battle lines, he saw a small river of mounted men rush towards the horde, the Alliance troops briefly giving way to let them through. The horde forces, reeling from the sudden magical attacks, were further confused and dismayed when some of their own catapults began to fire at them. All of this gave the Vanguard a good opportunity.

    The charge went straight into the orcs and their allies. Despite confusion, the resistance was more than stalwart, and Swiftblade marvelled at the sheer orcish spirit that these horde people possessed to make such a show of themselves.

    For moment, the horde line held. For a moment, the charge was almost broken.

    And then, a few of the vanguard managed to fight their way through, followed by others. Dozens at first, then hundred of mounted men struggled to the other side. Behind them rushed in a full infantry regiment, as well as nearly one thousand archers. The Horde forces were still numerous and holding, but now cut in two. For the first time except Minvare's short-lived sortie, humans were gaining an upper hand on the Horde's side of the Land Bridges.

    "Success!" Antonidas crowed. Some officers followed suit. Most didn't.

     "Thus far." Minvare stated cautiously. He wasn't one to rush the outcome of a battle. It was one of the reasons Swiftblade thought him perfect in commanding others. He agreed with the caution, in this case.

    "Antonidas, this is only the beginning." Swiftblade told the archmage, choosing his tone with care as to not offend. "The orcs are in no way broken. Only confused. We'll have a stiff fight, and we must finish it before night comes. We can't allow them hours to reorganize themselves, but we can't rush things. So, it is not yet a success." Still, he felt as elated as any of them did about the mission.

    Antonidas laughed. "Well said! I suppose my military knowledge truly leaves something to be desired."

    "Yet the wizards and sorcerers are the ones who made all this possible with their spells." Jenalla mused. Many heads bobbed in agreement.

    "Yes, we definitely owe the magi much in this." Minvare pondered. "Well, Aerth, things do look promising. Do you think our men'll do it yet?"

    Swiftblade blinked, looked at the raging battle and wondered. So many possibilities. In the First War, such situations had sometimes finished with surprising incongruity, and often on the Horde's side. And yet, he had to have hope. For his beloved Eira and the two children he had, he had to believe that this plan could work.

    So Aerth Swiftblade only grinned quietly, and nodded. "They'll do it." he said simply.

    He could only hope that he was right. Gritting his teeth, inwardly not as certain and tired of the pressure of command, continued overlooking the battle. Because he was important. He knew that.

    And Light he wished he could be fighting beside these men.

Late Spring 597, Grim Batol, Khaz Modan

     There were only a few sentences on the message Argal Grimfrost read. A few, but enough to tell him of the immensity of the new danger.

    'Highlord Grimfrost. The eastern Land Bridge has fallen to the human assault. Our bases are abandoned. The central and western Bridges still hold, but the first is failing, and the other is barely holding on. The Alliance is pouring in from the North.

    We simply can't stop them.'

    Grimfrost only clenched his massive jaw as he read the message. "How long did you take to come here?" he asked the messenger.

    "Two days, Lord." the messenger noticed Grimfrost's incredulity. "I was teleported almost all the way by a death knight." The warrior seemed to shiver at the very mention of the undead warriors. Grimfrost couldn't blame him.

    Dismissing him, the warlord quickly calculated. It would take days to prepare a sizable expedition, and eleven days more to reinforce the Land Bridges. At best. If all went perfectly well and nothing hampered him. And even then, with one Bridge taken and another almost the same, he would certainly arrive to find fleeing orcs and the Alliance already entrenched and preparing to continue the thrust south.

    There was no other way to see this: the Horde had just been dealt a major defeat, and one he wasn't certain it could recover from.

    There was one time when he wouldn't have thought this way. Once, he would have thought that the Horde would simply have recovered with strength and numbers. It had always been their way, and it had worked at every war the Dranei and the humans of Azeroth had fallen no matter what they had tried, crushed by the unrelenting Horde's vast war throng. It had only failed against the Alliance.

    No, that wasn't right. It had worked against the Alliance as well. His army had been unchallenged for years, tearing through the elven lands despite the elves and their damnable magic. He had gone unchallenged into Lordaeron, and had nearly broken the Alliance at Whitefort.

    Nearly. But, thanks to Gul'Dan and his traitorous faction, nearly hadn't become complete.

    And with the demonic ordeal - Grimfrost had nightmares about the battle which had occurred at these broken islands - wiping out so many of their warriors, and with Ner'Zhul refusing to send the few clans who remained in Dreanor, he doubted they would ever be able to achieve victory. The very thought made him rebel, something hot in his soul pushing him to fight nonetheless, yet he struggled to retain his whole mind. He couldn't escape the possibility that the Horde might not win, and this fear was made greater with the certainty that very few orcs would accept that even if he told them.

    He was considering his next move, and had begun to pace a bit, when the messenger came back. He seemed a bit nervous about something.

    "What is it?" he growled. He hoped the fool orc hadn't forgotten more bad news. He might become violent. But the Orc said something very different.

    "I forgot to tell you. A human female is coming a group of our warriors to Grim Batol."

    Grimfrost actually stopped pacing at that. That was unusual news. The war had become so bloody, prisoners were rare. "She was captured?" he inquired.

    "No, Lord. She's coming willingly." the messenger replied nervously. Grimfrost's stupefaction grew. This was unheard of. The only humans who had come to Horde troops willingly had been so-called 'ambassadors' the Azeroth humans had sent at the beginning of the previous war. Never had a female been brought of her own free will.

    "She's coming by herself? Who is she?" he asked.

    The orc hesitated, brows knitted hard in thought. "Larienne...Pridemore, I think. She says she wants to talk."

    "Larienne...Proudmoore? Proudmoore...the wife of Grand Admiral Proudmoore is coming to talk?" he shook his head. The war had suddenly become insane. "What about, orc?"

    "About...stopping the fighting." It seemed absurd on the orc's tone, and the confused expression told Grimfrost the grunt was rather taken aback by the very idea. The warlord himself felt pretty much the same. All of his life, he had been fighting. From the moment he could, until now. The fighting had only stopped for the Horde to prepare for war. War had never been stopped before it had truly ended.

    It repulsed him to even think of that! Repulse me? Then why am I feeling like this? It's like something...older than the bloodlust. It was beyond his reach still. He couldn't see it. But why had the thought of stopping the war shaken him that badly.

    Was he truly repulsed?

     Or was he lying to himself?

     "Very well. Let her come. It will be entertaining to have her babble about the impossible." He smirked, although his heart wasn't in it. Part of him, after all, was actually curious to hear this insane human female.

    He left the grunt and travelled from his tent through Grim Batol. He was certain that, if the Alliance managed to gain firm control of the Land Bridges, that this place would be their next target. It made sense, he realized, as he looked towards the docks and its myriad of oil refineries. This was the Horde's main oil source. Except for the few oil platforms around the main naval base of Crestfall, only a very few sources remained, as the Alliance sea forces had long had the upper hand on the sea, and was only growing stronger. If the oil source were cut off here, the Horde Fleet would find it hard to keep producing.

    And aside from the fleet, breaking Grim Batol would open the lines of camps around Ironforge. If the dwarves were fully liberated and joined their forces with the Alliance fully, taking control of the area would become impossible. The Horde forces in the area would be forced to either go to Grim Batol or to the fortresses in former Azeroth.

    He stopped, aghast at his own reasoning. He was thinking in terms of a defeat! The Horde, defeated! He struggled against the very thought, but couldn't deny the evidence: things weren't going well, hadn't been ever since Gul'Dan's selfish betrayal, and his mind, used to battles, couldn't help but see that the ones ahead didn't look very promising.

    But Grim Batol was vast. Although only a few areas were occupied right then, they could hold much more. Almost ninety thousand could live here for months, years if they were careful. He doubted he had so many within reach, but if he could only bring half of that here, it would be enough to make this place a true fortress which would cost the Alliance very many lives to take.

    But then there's Lothar out there. He could be surprising in an unpleasant way. Always has been. And then there's this...Swiftblade. He's been trouble. Big trouble, for years. I wouldn't be surprised if the...defeat... at the Land Bridges was his doing, at least in part. He had always wanted to meet that particular human in battle. No human general he had personally fought had been his match, but this one seemed to have his own streak of victories, with few defeats.

    But it wasn't time to daydream. It wasn't time to doubt himself or the Horde. If nothing else, he had faith that Doomhammer would see them through this ordeal - he always had. But until his warchief found the way to reverse this trend, he would have to make sure things didn't go too far out of control.

     He walked to the fortress that lay at Grim Batol's center, and heard a roar from inside. Alexstraza, the dragon queen, struggled in agony in her captivity. Another decision he wasn't in perfect agreement with, and another danger. Some dragons were under their control because of her. But if she ever escaped, her entire brood might attack the Horde.

    Still, he entered, and came unannounced into the warlord of Grim Batol's chamber - to see the orc feasting on roasted boar.

    "Get up, fool! Stop eating and listen!" he growled. "This is what you have to do. Have the intelligence to do what I say, if you don't want your little feast to be that of the humans' later!"

Late Spring 597, Aerie Peak, Stromgarde

    For over two millennia, the Great Aerie had been the seat of the High King of the Wildhammer Dwarves. It had survived many ordeals, and had gone strong through the strength of its people, of trading with first the elves and then the humans, but mostly because of the great beasts it had been the first place to tame: the Gryphons.

    For all that time, the Gryphon Riders had spread, building lesser Aeries with their own kings and laws, and ruling the sky unchallenged. Their only dangerous enemy had been the red dragons, Alexstraza the Dragon Queen's brood and subjects. But there had been nothing to fear. The reds had never wanted war, and peace settled between the two races easily. A peace that had been unbroken for six dwarven generations.

    But something had happened to the red dragons. Many had grown agitated, and some had seemed decidedly hostile towards the visiting dwarves. What were worse were the hints dropped by the few remaining red dragons. It appeared that something had happened, which divided the dragons, forced many into hiding while a few seemed willing to renege the old covenant.

    Needless to say, the High King had been concerned, and so had asked Kurdran and his riders to the nearest of these 'dangerous places' to see what was truly happening.

    "Lord Kur'Dran!" A rider called over. "I can't believe we're riding here! Isn't this the dragons's hunting territory?" He seemed very uneasy with that possibility.

    He couldn't blame the younger dwarf. He, too, felt uneasy. He had no doubt about his strength and Sky'ree's abilities if need be, but he felt that there was a wrongness to coming near dragonkind's hunting grounds. It had a necessity, but also foolishness to it.

    He nodded. "I intend to talk to the dragons. I want to know if they would break the accords of old with us." he called.

    "And if they do, sir?"

    The answer came rather quickly to his lips. "If they do, then we give battle if needed, or simply fly back to the Great Aerie to report to the High King."

    "And what if you die first?" Rumbled a deep voice. Sky'ree crowed a warning the same instant.

    The dragons, it seemed, were good at hiding despite their immense girth, especially if they knew the terrain. Or perhaps it had been only a spell cast by one of these same dragons. Whatever the case, four rather young - by their sizes - dragons were hiding amongst the rocks of the peaks they had been passing. The look in their draconian eyes was by not means very friendly.

    Kurdran, however, wasn't a dwarf who was so easily impressed. Or cowed.

    "Greetings, dragon. I am Kurdran of the Wildhammer clan. I would speak with your leader." he said, keeping Sky'ree from plunging into a fight, angered as it had been by the sudden draconian apparitions. From the corner of his eye, he saw the others doing the same. He sighed inwardly, in relief. He had chosen those who came with him well.

    "Greeting if you want. What are you doing here?" The tone had suddenly become more belligerent. Kurdran didn't know quite what to make of that.

    "As I said, I would -"

    "We heard what you said! Begone, dwarf! You try our patience!" The young dragon growled. Sky'ree rumbled as if to attack, but Kur'Dran reined the griphon in. He was anger by the needless and insulting tone, but he was even more curious and wondering about it. The red dragons had never been known to be impolite. Rather, they had been a very wise and gentle brood. What had happened to bring such a change about?

    Still, he had been sent with the High King with a mission. "I don't want to be a bother, but I insist to see leader of this lair. The High King has a message, and I have questions."

    "Since when do dragons need to answer dwarven questions?" Again, that tone. Anger, belligerence and...something else underneath. Despite his doubts, he couldn't let this slight towards the wildhammers pass.

    "Hold. We have been friends for two millennia-"

    "You were tolerated two millennia. But no more. Leave us in peace, or prepare yourselves, dwarves!" At his words, the four dragons spread their wings and took flight, circling the griphon riders. More than one rider and all the griphons began to fret at this show of threat and arrogance.

    His mind spun. He had eight riders with him. If need be, he could fight his way out and go back to the Aerie Peak before they could regroup. This would, however, break the bonds of friendship between the two races. He was a warrior, a good one, but he wished no war with the dragons, even with this inexplicable reversal.

    "I do not wish to fight friends." he said at last, gesturing for his people to hold their positions. It seemed to anger the dragon further.

    "Don't deceive yourselves by thinking our people were ever friends. We could attack anytime we want! And we want to now!" The dragon rumbled in a cavernous voice.

    Did they truly want to attack? He failed to see that. He looked around the surrealistic scene and pondered. No. No, he wasn't certain yet. He wasn't certain that fighting was inevitable. And one fact struck him rather hard.

    "If you wish to see our blood so much, why haven't you attacked already?" he asked calmly.

    And his eyes saw something then. The dragons, so belligerent, so ready to attack, should have taken that as an invitation. Yet, rather, they paused, gave each other quick looks such large beasts couldn't conceal, and seemed actually distraught in that instant. It gave Kurdran all the proof he needed. Dragons weren't cowards. But these dragons weren't afraid to fight, they simply didn't want to.

    That explained the tone and sudden posturing: something was forcing them to be aloof. Or maybe they were forcing themselves to be like they were. What he couldn't understand was why they would do so. Unless...

    "Did one of the land factions do something to you? The Alliance or perhaps the Horde?" Knowing the respect the high elves had of dragons; he doubted they would allow the humans to force the dragons into anything. Seeing the slight showing of teeth at the word 'Horde', he nodded inwardly. So his hammer had struck true.

    "You don't wish to fight us. That is plain." Kurdran mused. "You are red dragons. You are the brood with the greatest honour.

    "Do not assume to know us, dwarf." the dragon growled, but there was a definite hesitation to his tone.

    "But I do know you. I know your people. I have fought against you against the black ones-" he noticed another flinch, and realization dawned. "I see. The black ones are aligning with the Horde, and forcing the red dragons either to cooperate or be silent." This was a terrible development.

    The dragon only sighed now, all of the previous bluster gone. "You do not understand, dwarf. Not really. Go, and trouble us no more. Or we will truly attack." With that and mighty soaring, the dragons went up and vanished behind the peaks. The griphon riders looked at each other, reining the griphons, which would have followed.

    Finally, his second glided on the air currents near him, his face extremely puzzled. "What do we do now, Lord Kurdran." But Kurdran had already debated within himself, and instinctively knew there was only one way to counter this new threat. For an enormous threat it was.

    "We go back. I will report to the High King." he pondered further. "It seems that we might have to think about joining this Alliance the humans formed, after all."

    And leaving his people to digest that, he began to lead them back home, his mind in an uneasy turmoil.

Second War - Late Spring 597

Land Forces - Alliance

Alliance Northern Forces

    These forces are those that the Alliance High Command left to protect the nations when the Grand Armies left to fight the Horde. As these armies got nearly everything, from manpower to training to supplies, the Alliance Northern Forces are small, certainly less than 40,000 troops all told. Their training is average, but their equipment is sorely lacking. Moreover, these are mostly simple militia and conscripts, and have no actual battle experience. There is no actual leader for these troops, as they are separate groups defending their own nations, mostly from bandits and rampaging monsters.

Alliance Southern Forces

    The Southern Forces are the main force of the Alliance military. Totalling over 300,000 all told, they constitute the greatest military force ever assembled ever since the days of Arathor. The army is largely made up of humans, but nearly 80,000 of the troops are elven while over 6,000 dwarves and few hundred gnomes are also part of it. The Southern Forces have by far the best equipment and training, which offsets the fact that most of the troops there have little actual combat experience. Their mission is to take the fight to the Horde. Made up of the Wyvern, Griffon and Unicorn armies, as well as part of the Lion Army, the Southern Forces are under Aerth Swiftblade's temporary overall leadership.

Alterac Invasion Force

    A smaller version of the Southern Forces, the Invasion Force was dispatched to defeat and occupy the human nation of Alterac, found guilty of high treason for aiding the Horde. The Invasion force is over 40,000-strong, with comparatively more wizards than the Southern Forces - 60 compared to 200. This force is mostly human, with only a regiment of elves and a few gnomes. It is lead by Lion Army Lord-General Turalyon, a powerful and respected Paladin.

Alterac Defence Army

    With the Alliance invading, Lord Perenolde worked to bolster any keep or fort hit realm had, and that included the capital. The Defence Army is actually two armies: one is the human army, totalling over 17,000, and the other is the orc army, which is less than 3,000. Neither side can truly stand the other, and it is only the knowledge of the invading armies that prevents them from attacking each other. Sylphord Duraz commands them, a once famed Alliance General who instigated a civil war within the Alliance and was defeated.

Land Forces - Horde

Steelgate Army

    Put in place in 592, the Steelgate Army has fought the Alliance repeatedly for over five years over the Land Bridges. Numbering just under 190,000 all told, the breaking and recent destruction of the Shadow Army makes it the largest and most experienced force the Horde has, with average equipment. However, Gul'Dan's Rebellion has caused many orcs and Ogres to go against the Horde, and this ordeal has shaken this army the most. Mostly made up of orcs, about 5,000 Ogres and over 20,000 trolls and some Goblins call this force home. It is, however, beginning to fail against a renewed assault by the Alliance Southern Forces.

Blackthorn Army

    The Blackthorn Army was created mostly for two purposes: to keep the Dwarves of Ironforge from breaking out of their fortress, and to guard the immense refinery operations in Grim Batol. It has only recently been awarded the other task of rearing dragons swiftly enough to use as an air force, but this has met with only cautious success. The Blackthorn army is the smallest, numbering about 85,000 troops, with some 3,000 Ogres, 2,000 Goblins and 4,000 Trolls, and is also the least equipped and the least experienced.

Dreadclaw Army

    Put together by Warchief Doomhammer and Warlord Grimfrost, the Dreadclaw Army is by far the best trained and the best equipped, if only having an average amount of experience. Numbering slightly over 150,000, it guards the lands of Azeroth and has only been harassed by small human resistance groups thus far. 10,000 Ogres, 3,000 Goblins and 10,000 Trolls are with the army. It was once thought that the Dreadclaw would only be an occupation force, but the recent debacle with Gul'Dan's rebellion and the loss of a large fraction of the army has made Doomhammer seriously wonder.