Chapter Thirty: Hopes and Dreams

Early Autumn 597, Land Bridges, Stromgarde

   The three who sat around the table and looked at the table intently were certainly three of the most powerful military officers in the entire Alliance. There was Rellon Minvare, second-generation nobleman, the 'Calm General' who commanded the Griffon Army. There was Illadan Eltrass, Head-Ranger and Ranger-General in Silvermoon, beloved by his people, who commanded the Unicorn Army. Lastly, there was Aerth Swiftblade. Not born to the nobility like the other two, he had risen to be their equal through military talent and a tide of victories. Although it made him uncomfortable, many called him 'The Invincible'. Today, however, he felt more tired than invincible.

    The map told the story. The carefully planned strike through the Eastern Land Bridge had been successful enough, although losses had been higher than their estimates. Black-coloured blocks, representing the positions of the Alliance Southern Forces, showed them in clear possession of the Central Bridge as well. The Western Bridge, however, had been able to mount a successful entrenchment, and was resisting relatively successfully thus far. It made none of the men assembled there very happy.

    "Do we have numbers as to how many losses we have." Minvare asked. He, too, looked tired. Most people looked tired. But Swiftblade knew that there would be no rest. The war had entered a new phase, one in which the Alliance couldn't lose its momentum.

    "Not yet. But we can estimate that we have at least fifteen thousand killed alone. That's not counting the wounded." Swiftblade answered grimly. He saw Illadan's eyes narrow slightly. The High Elves, as aloof as they were, thought any loss of life to be a loss to the world. Elves didn't like to kill much, yet were extremely good at it. What a strange world. "We knew it wouldn't be easy, and we knew we'd lose many good people. But it had to be done, and we know it."

    "We know it." Illadan agreed, melodious voice pained "We knew it then. But it still makes this hard. These three pieces of land certainly deserve their new appellation of Blood Bridges."

    There was silence from the two humans to the elf's comment, mostly because they couldn't find anything to say to that perfectly valid statement. Swiftblade knew that it the healers, priests and Paladins were working non-stop to heal and preserve those wounded from death, but even their efforts seemed doomed to fail.

    "What about Lord Uther and his paladins? Have they succeeded?" He asked suddenly.

    "Its too early to tell." Minvare replied as calmly as always "But if the reports are true, they have managed to break into the Death Knights' stronghold here. If they can break them, that means the enemy won't be able to use the dead against us again for a while."

     "Please the Light that it be so!" Illadan's prayer was fervent. Death was painful to elves. Undeath was a travesty.

    The dead. Swiftblade had fought reanimated zombies of his former comrades in more than one battle during the First War. He still had the occasional nightmare about it, even a decade after the end of that war. Fortunately, the Paladins had grown in power and numbers recently, and had been able to curb this greatly with their own powers, something for which he couldn't thank Uther Lightbringer enough.

    Swiftblade had seen the battle, and measured its consequences as best as he could. That sense in his head - his beloved Eira called it his Battle Ghost - which instinct mingled with his own logic had told him what the Horde would surely do. Although the Alliance had lost at least fifteen thousand, the Horde had lost much more, with a large fraction of the rest being wounded. It would worry those farther inland. They would be readying for battle, their eyes resting strongly on the Land Bridges. That is why Lothar had had the idea of striking a decisive blow.

    "As for that other matter, my preparations are almost complete. Lord Illadan's rangers and Muradin's men have plotted as safe a path as they could. If all goes well, we will arrive near Grim Batol with the Orcs none the wiser for it."

    Both men looked grim at that. "I still think that it's a foolhardy move. Sending a force of five thousand to take on Grim Batol is folly!" Illadan exclaimed.

    "It would be if I had the intention to fight a battle. But all I want is a raid. I've studied the information the dwarves have gathered, and I think that, with their help, we have a way of striking hard and fast, and getting out with at least some of our men."

    "Lord Swiftblade, you a re talented, but you don't know the terrain you'll be facing."

    "But Muradin does, and he's agreed to come with me. And few know this terrain more than that dwarf."

    "Even so, even so." Minvare sighed, "I suppose it can't be helped. Lothar's idea is valid, and he is the High General. But if you fail, we will lose you and five thousand of our most war-hardened veterans."

    "But if its successful, we might wound them badly, especially if we do break Ironforge's siege and gain forty thousand dwarven warriors as King Magni promised the Alliance." Gaining the dwarves would help even the scales of numbers even further, and the experience the dwarves had would be infinitely precious on the battlefield. To Swiftblade, that meant an end to the war. And it made him willing to take this chance at striking Grim Batol.

    Suddenly, a roar was heard. Enormous, like one of many thousand throats, and a din and much excitation. Dropping all preparations, the three Lord-Generals rose as one in alarm.

    "What is this? Are the orcs counter-attacking?" Swiftblade growled. Illadan, however, seemed to listen in a different consternation.

    "No. The prisoners are dying. All of them." Before the two shocked humans could react, he had rushed outside, and it was all they could do to follow him.

    This is familiar. Too familiar. Oh, Light, don't let it be what I think it is! Swiftblade had doubts about what had happened, and the very possibility sickened him. The three soon came upon the place where the prisoners - nearly a thousand all told - were being guarded behind a stockade. All the agonizing screams and yell came from there, and a vast throng had begun to gather, and confusion was reigning.

    "Enough! You're soldiers, the Beyond take you!" Swiftblade shouted. "Get away from there! Officers! Put some order here, so that this army doesn't look like a pack of headless chickens!" Shaken out of their hesitation and given a firm goal, the called officers immediately worked to break the throng. The Alliance troops gathered there, for all their excitation, realized who they were. The crowd gradually parted, and they went to the small gate.

   "Anyone went in?" Minvare asked one of the shaken sentries.

   "Uhhn...only...only three paladins and a few healers. They went in as soon as the screaming began."

    "I see. Well, we'll enter, and you're to let no one else in until one of us says so. Understood?" None waited for a reply, and they went into the camp, where makeshift tents had been erected for the prisoners. Not three steps within the place, Swiftblade knew that he had been right.

    Few orcs were screaming by then. However, there were many who still coughed and clutched a swelling throat. Male, orc, female orc, even the very few orclings were in a state of agony. Amongst them walked the priests and paladins, who seemed powerless to help.

    "Someone poisoned their food. Grikal roots." he said. Minvare looked around him and nodded. Illadan looked at them with a slightly puzzled expression. "Grikal roots are found only in select places in Azeroth. Even a ranger as yourself wouldn't know of it. Ingested, it is painful and lethal. But you can see that now."

    "So some Azerothian veterans took revenge?" Illadan queried. Minvare shook his head.

    "You're not listening. It grows only in Azeroth, and it's impossible for those roots to stay potent for years. The men wouldn't be able to obtain it. No, we're looking at insidiousness worthy of Gul'Dan's cohorts."

    "What are you saying?"

    "That they killed their own people. But that we'll be the ones to be blamed for it." Swiftblade muttered. "The First War, all over again. Come, there is nothing to be done. These orcs are doomed."

    As he walked back, turning away from the grisly sight, Swiftblade briefly wondered about how callous he sounded. But only briefly.

Early Autumn 597, Alterac City, Alterac

    Once the Royal Army had been forced out of the field, it had been relatively easy for the Alliance forces. Disabling some magical traps, four nearby mansions had been fitted with arms and goods, and transformed into makeshift barracks, which the troops could freely use. And although the commanding officers did not officially approve of looting, it was certain that any village, fort or castle the army had gone through were emptied of precious valuables and good victuals.

    It was thus with high morale that the forty thousand strong army had taken positions around the old city and had begun its siege. The Royal Forces, on the other hand, were outnumbered and forced to work with an Horde force, which must not sit very well with the people of the city. All in all, the Alliance had the advantage, and had kept the pressure on the walls with ballista and arrows, with the occasional scaling attempt.

    All very interesting, except that it didn't have anything to do with what Khadgar wanted to find. He knew that the Alliance would eventually prevail on this particular battlefield. It was on the political battlefield, with potential betrayal blocking much of Dalaran's magical help, that things were much more complicated.

    He couldn't believe that the people who were certainly controlling events from behind the scene at the Violet Citadel, after doing so much to ensure their secrecy, would make a mistake. They had tried to kill him and others, and had either achieved their goals or come close. They were well-prepared, and good at covering their tracks.

    He had subtly questioned each of the sixty or so sorcerers who were helping with the siege, looking for any kind of deceit on their part. Each of them, scrutinized. Each of them, absolutely nothing. Either the one who was part of the Dalaran plot was a better liar than anyone Khadgar had met, or he had been led astray. Both possibilities certainly did not please him.

    "And yet, everything I and Antonidas have looked for, everything we searched and prodded, points to this place." he muttered in frustration. "Am I truly in the wrong?"

    "You should stop talking to yourself, Archmage. It makes the men nervous." Khadgar looked to see Turalyon walking close to him. Vaguely, there was a noise the archmage ignored. Although the paladin's face was tired, nothing else in his poise or attire gave any sign. A good gesture, as it steadied the troops who might otherwise have doubted. "So, no luck?"

    "I'm afraid not..." He would have said more, but suddenly the noise started again, and his eyes fixed on a growing point in the air. Suddenly, it was as if all the blood in his body had turned to ice. He choked, and then forced his voice to work. "Li-light! There's a dragon! A dragon's attacking!" Stunned, Turalyon turned back and stared at the approaching reptilian.

    It wasn't particularly large as far as draconics went, but it was a dragon. And not the smaller hybrids the Horde seemed to have tested on troops before. This one was larger, with bright red scales and movement denoting intelligence. By then, many soldiers had seen it arrive, and scattered arrow shots were attempting to strike it. Panic hit the ranks as the Dragon dove right in the midst of the infantry, scattering dozens of soldiers like pebbles, and letting loose of gouts of fire, which obliterated ten more. Screams of pain and fear filled the area, and the advance upon the wall seemed to hesitate.

    Turalyon, however, appeared to realize this and immediately snapped out of his silence. "Don't break formation! Put a rank of pike men to surround the dragon! Archery and ballista! Target the beast and fire! Khadgar, support the archery with magic!" The last was said to him, and he blinked. Then, realizing what was happening, he forced his fear and confusion away.

    Not bothering to reply, even as the dragon busied itself with sowing confusion and the army struggled to contain it, he struggled through and found a few of the wizards together, gawking at the scenery. The sight infuriated him even though he had probably looked like that, only moments before.

    "Stop gawking! You're wizards, the unknown shouldn't frighten you! Now come with me, and each of you prepare some spells. The moment we're near enough, we all attack together!" He saw three knights flung away bodily, landing in a heap, and his eyes narrowed. "Come!"

    They made their way through as quick as they could, and he saw that Turalyon had taken things in hands. The fear and screams remained, but the confusion was mostly gone. Many shafts were stuck in the dragon's body, but it didn't seem to hinder it. Then a ballista shot glanced off its head, and it reared in pain, exposing its belly for all to see.

   He never had to give the order to fire. At once, several bolts of magical energy lanced out, and he added his own a moment later, concentrating upon the throat. The dragon screamed in pain, lashed out with its legs and tail, crushing many. But more come, and still archers, wizards and ballista crews fought to pin it down.

   It was one of the most intense moments Khadgar had seen on a battlefield, more so because it was so localized. The battle between the Alliance mortals and the great beast swerved this way and that, and more men died, but finally the dragon stumbled and, stunned by another successful ballista shot, fell backward.

    It never had a chance to get up.

    Immediately, footmen armed with swords, bills and pikes attacked swarming it, hitting everywhere. The dragon, wounded, trashed ever more weakly. It crushed three, but three more came. Seven, and nine swarmed. Deep, thick draconic blood fountained from many wounds, and it was clear which entity would prevail. After trashing about and fighting ever more weakly - killing many in its death throes alone, attacked by magic, arrows and all sorts of weapons, the dragon finally stilled in the middle of a formidably expanding pool of blood.

   Immediately there were cheers from everyone as the beast died, even though the Alterac army and the horde forces were trying to use the battle to their advantage. Swords were driven in the beast's brains to make certain it was dead, and slowly the offence shifted towards the walls again. A short, bloody and thoroughly spectacular battle had just occurred, Khadgar knew.

    He wasn't even interested in it in the slightest anymore. Instead he looked at the three knights who had been thrown away, and looked at them as they rose, seemingly and understandably quite hurt. Except for one. He grinned to himself. I don't believe it. Interesting way to hide. He gestured to the other wizards towards the one he wanted, and they nodded. Quickly they stepped towards him.

   He saw them coming, but too late. His hands clumsily tried to channel magic in armour, but arcane magic was hard to do in plate mail. Snapping a spell, drawing upon his years of experience, Khadgar wove a spell to imprison the man, while the other surrounded him. Caught, the man decided to play the indignant knight.

    "The Light forsake you, wizard! How dare you do this to a Knight of Stromgarde!" the man growled.

    "Please, don't insult me." Khadgar mused coldly "You landed so softly because of a spell, I felt it. No Stromgardian knight uses magic. It's against their nature."

    Others were now looking at the scene. Turalyon must have been looking for him, for he came up, his blade drawn and slick with draconic blood. He looked at the situation and blinked several time, his brows knitting in confusion and mounting ire.

    "What is happening here? Lieutenant Sovag? Lord Khadgar? An explanation would be greatly appreciated!" His tone clearly showed that the explanation had better be good, and come immediately. It wasn't a good idea to upset a powerful warrior and leader like Turalyon, and it was in no way Khadgar's intention.

    "I was being a fool. I knew the one I was looking for was a magic-user, and so I checked every priest and wizard in this army, with no success." Khadgar gave a small laugh. "I didn't think - didn't even contemplate! - that it might be possible the one I was hunting would hide. And he did. As the last possible kind of person I would look at for magic powers: a knight."

    Turalyon glared at the increasingly nervous Sovag, then back at him. "So what you're saying is that this man is an impostor?"

    "No, Lord Turalyon. Merely a pawn. A pawn of people who have to fall if the Kirin Tor may bring their magical might to aid the Alliance at last." He gave the magic-using knight a cold glance. "Delabar Vargon, agent of dissent. You and I have lots to talk about. And you have much to tell me."

Early Autumn 597, Grim Batol, Khaz Modan

    The grunt that brought her was young, and muscular, as was usual among those who serve the Horde in its continuous need for war. But Argal Grimfrost had been a warrior too long, had seen too many faces, to not realize that there was a difference between this one and those he usually saw. In fact, there had been a difference in each and every orc who had come with that crazed human's group. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it stirred something in him which made him slightly uneasy.

    "Lord, as you command, I have brought you the human lady." The young grunt said.

    "Let her in, and don't let anyone trouble us." He commanded gruffly. The grunt gave the gesture of compliance and left. A moment later, she entered.

    He didn't know what he had expected, but it certainly hadn't been this. The human who stood before him was by no means very tall, even for a human female, and had a slight body an orc could snap in two like a twig. Certainly fair by human standards, but nothing which should change something in Horde warriors as she had. Then he saw her eyes, her poise, and understood.

    It was a poise of command, of someone whose will stayed strong and true no matter what she might suffer. It was the strength of steel, the power of an axe in a single look. He understood why so many couldn't resist listening to her. She was, if nothing else, interesting.

    "The Queen of Kul Tiras, wife to the man who is being so dangerous to the Horde on the sea." he said, massive arms crossed calmly "I am, in a way, honoured. And more than a little confused."

    She looked at him calmly. Quite a feat, considering she certainly knew who she was facing. "And you are Argal Grimfrost, the one who ruined Silvermoon, levelled Tyr's Hand and nearly brought the Alliance to its knees. You hold my life in your hands. Will you take it, or listen to what I have to say?"

    No fear. If there was any, she was hiding it perfectly. Yes, he could definitely learn to respect this frail human female. He couldn't help but grin, and showed her a leather seat, which she sat in gracefully, making him seem like some crude ox as he sat opposite her. There was that stirring feeling, deep in his heart. What could it be?

    "Kill you? I don't intend to do that. First, because you might be a good deterrent. Lothar is coming to take command of the troops, and I should keep any edge I have. And then, there is what you are doing with the warriors you speak to." He explained. She took all this as serenely as ever.

    "Am I doing anything?" she asked "Or are they doing this very thing to themselves?"

    "You talk in riddles."

    "I only speak the truth, orc lord. Only the truth. I wish the conflict to end. And, beyond the hatred, so do many orcs. So do many humans. Why, then, not try to end the conflict?"

    The stirring increased, along with his stupor. This female truly believed in what she was saying. He had guessed that already, but he hadn't counted on how much she believed. It scratched at something at the edge of his memory. Someone else, who had believed like that.

    "There are orcs who have rejected your war already. A group, hidden from sight, lead by one named Gelmar Thornfeet. A shaman of the old ways." she said.

    "Nonsense!" he couldn't help but utter "Shamanism has been gone for decades. Except for Zuluhed and his few followers, all of our knowledge of it had been erased."

    "Stiffled. Never erased." She retorted. "He recovered that power, and also recovered the dignity of your race."

    He rose to his feet, the bloodlust suddenly beating strong, flowing fast in his veins. He should break that female in half right now! Snuff her life out, stop her lies! The Horde must be whole to fully conquer this world. He fought it off with an effort, and regarded the human again. This time, however, his looks were just angered.

    And yet, he stopped from saying anything, as she only looked at him with pity in her eyes. And at once, the memory unlocked itself. He had been younger then, full of far too much anger, when he had refused to follow Durotan. He and Orgrim Doomhammer had decided to stay, to fight the bloodlust from within. The old chieftain, who had always tried to steer orcs away, and was to flee to escape Blackhand's hounds, had only looked at him with that very petty, as if asking him what he thought he would achieve by that decision.

    And what had he? He had fought the humans for so very long. He had helped destroy Stormwind, and then had gone up to control the Shade Army. Fighting from within? Why did it feel like an excuse for cowardice?

    "Your words are strong, human. Very strong. I can see why some of the young ones are impressed." he said thickly, but then recovered himself. "But I'm not an orcling. I know this war can't be stopped! Do you think the humans of Azeroth want it to stop? That the Alliance wants it at all? No, no, the fighting is too strong. Too much blood thirst on both sides. We've fought for over six years now, without pause."

    "And I have seen the results. In Stromgarde, Lordearon and Quel'Thalas, villages lie in ruins. Refugees abound everywhere, and the people can barely maintain the soldiers they are sending. The Alliance has spent most of its strength to fight. And I have seen how it is here. You're no better! The Alliance and the Horde are like...two giants. Fighting each other without thought. Will it kill one of them? Will they both die? I am simply saying they should stop their struggle, and look at the world they are destroying."

    "War's like that, human. All who have fought even one battle know how merciless it is. To us, it is a way of life. It is what we are supposed to do." he replied, but his voice lacked conviction. Had he ever believed in the Horde's supposed destiny? He wasn't certain he ever had, and he didn't now.

    "Your forces are heading towards something dark. I do not understand war; I hate it since it robs me of my husband's presence. It robbed my husband of the sons he had loved so much. It had made our only daughter a child growing up overprotected and lonely. I hate it. I understand that some might accept it. But I do not believe a people can like it. War is a state, not a way of life!" She said, and this time she lost her serene expression. Her face was flushed, decided. She was talking about something that she felt to her core.

    And he couldn't retort with the same fire. Despite the bloodlust, he couldn't. Because what she said felt true. It reminded Grimfrost of Durotan and his ideals, and of what he kept saying the orcs had lost for power.

    Yes, he remembered that. Durotan had said that they had lost...their soul as a race.

    It was something he had almost forgotten. He had dismissed the fact that the blademasters had vanished, that the shamans had vanished. He had forgotten that either had existed, and that, when he had been only an orcling, they had preached a much different life than that of war. He had forgotten all of it. Far too conveniently.

    Is this that human's power after all? He wondered, sitting back, pensive, as she herself regained her serenity. By bringing us back to what we used to be? What we forgot like callous fools?

    "You're interesting, human." he finally said "Very interesting. You actually believe you can do it? You believe you can stop this war?"

    She took her time in answering, and her calm face, so strong he realized, showed the strain of her thoughts. She was too honest to give him an easy answer, he knew. Someone who had that strength didn't hide behind pretence. It had cost Durotan his life in the end. Would it cost her hers?

    "No." she said at last. "It will take more than myself, more than my words, to stop this war. Perhaps it won't stop before on side is vanquished. But I will plant a seed. I will try to bring some doubt in the heart of those who think war is a way of life. If I can do this, if I can spare just a little blood, then that will be enough. For me."

    He spread his hands. "Then...try. Talk. I will permit it. Try to see if there is something beyond war for us. And for our sake, I dearly hope that Durotan was wrong. That my people's soul is still there. Even in the midst of this war we can't stop fighting.

Early Autumn 597, Secret Meeting Space, Somewhere in Dalaran

     The place had been created decades ago, by wizards of great power, who also followed the Great Cause, and who had passed down their plans and ideals to those who sat around the stone table. To all appearances, the room was one of stonewalls with a single, elegant golden door. Its walls were carved with runes and in many places covered with tapestries representing great arcane artefacts and those human spellcasters who had gone down in history. It looked exotic, but normal.

    But nothing about the room was normal, carved with magic and hidden with high arcane spells; it was hidden in a location only reached by a highly selective gate. It was, the woman known as Caralle surmised, probably the most protected room in the northern continent, barring perhaps the Chamber of the Air in the Violet Citadel. Here, for nearly two hundred years, those like her had met. To plan and manipulate events. To set the flows of time towards what they wished for.

    The five who met around that table were those who controlled the threads of the Great Cause. Ageless in appearance, they were all old enough to remember many events, and many plans. Dressed in white garments, they each wore an ebony pendant, which bore the royal seal of Orumei, the magical realm which had once existed.

    "It appears that Khadgar had caught on to one of the Citadel plot's informants." The burly wizard known to them all only a Kanjir said.

    "Does it matter? That little wizard is only looking at that which we want him to look." Hadshoon, a grey-haired man muttered disdainfully.

    "I wish you would would not take this one so lightly. He is rather young to be an archmage, I grant that. However, he was Medhiv's apprentice. This means that we can never underestimate his powers." Kanjir replied.

    "Indeed. The assassin we sent was powerful. But it was attacked by magic which was no doubt Tirisfal Magic, which goes beyond the High Magic the Kirin Tor possesses." Caralla interjected.

    The woman who sat at the head of the table raised a hand for silence. White-haired but without a single wrinkle on her face, Adrefai was the oldest of the group, and had lead the great cause for over fifty years. Her actual age was unknown, but no one doubted her power, which was said to supplant even that of Nielas Aran, Medhiv's own father. When Adrefai demanded silence, it was given.

    "Khadgar is doing his part in our plan, whether he knows it or not. But he is not the only piece we must look into. The most important events - the ones who are aiding us so much - are those of the war." She made a slight gesture, and an image appeared of the Alliance Army camps, arrayed with many sentry posts. "How goes the battle in Khaz Modan, Kanjir?"

    The burly wizard only took a few moments before replying. "The Alliance Army has taken control of the Land Bridges. A strong blow to the Horde. It effectively cuts them off from the northern continent and pulls the pressure off Stromgarde after well over five years."

    "Can the present army prevail in the field?"

    "As long as there is some reinforcements, and that they do manage to break Ironforge's siege, I don't see why it could not. Lothar has personally taken charge of the army two days ago, and Aerth Swiftblade is leading a force towards Grim Batol."

    "The war has entered its last phase." Adrefai nodded to herself, tapping the stone with her fingers idly. "For better or for worse, this long conflict will soon end. While we are on the subject of the war, what of Aerth Swiftblade himself? Caralla, part of your network has been studying him for quite a while. What do you say?"

    Caralla closed her eyes. What did she have to say? It was all very simple to her. "The general is young, and will still be when we intend to put our preparations into action. He is respected by his troops, and more talented than any Alliance general save Lothar himself."

    "Should Lothar fall, will he take command as High General, Jakiose?" Adrefai asked the black-haired wizard beside her, the one who rarely talked except when asked. He immediately shook his head.

    "I doubt it. My own network's findings point to Turalyon. He is not quite as skilled in military matters as Swiftblade is, but he has walked about the higher circles of the High Command longer. Further, he has some noble blood from his father, while Swiftblade has not a drop. If Lothar falls, Turalyon will be High General. If Turalyon also falls, however, then it will be quite another matter."

    "Excellent." Adrefai mused.

     Caralla failed to see how this particular piece of news could be excellent in any way. Although Lothar would probably not live old enough to ever be a threat, Turalyon was much younger and, being a paladin possessed of divine powers, he would probably live to a very old age. And it was clear the Turalyon wouldn't be of any use to their purpose. It truly didn't make any sense.

    Then again, Adrefai sometimes made no sense at all, carrying out actions that seemed erratic - until one saw the overall plan. Still, she couldn't believe that having Turalyon as a High General could be what the old sorceress would want. She wasn't foolish enough to speak on that, however. None of them were and, if any had questions, none looked as if they would speak them. Instead, Hadshoon leaned back on his chair and changed the subject.

    "Alterac will soon fall. There's no doubt. The city simply doesn't have the men or the defences to hold Turalyon's forces off. Good riddance, I say! One less trouble in the world." he muttered.

    "Not to mention one that suits us. Alterac and its traitors have served their purpose. Already the Alliance leaders do not completely trust each other." Adrefai pursed her lips. "Of course, it will stand together until the Horde is defeated - survival takes precedence right now, especially with the hundreds of thousand deaths and unimaginable material losses."

     But after the Horde is broken, commitment will ebb away." she continued. "Slowly at first, then ever more quickly. A time of instability, amongst nations weakened by a conflict of a scope not seen since the War of Heirs."

    Caralla reflected upon that. The War of Heirs had been the last conflict that had cost a very high toll in terms of life. It had collapsed what remained of Arathor, and conflicts had remained in a lesser sense, until the Pact of Stormwind reduced them to small skirmishes of little cost. Not seen since the War of Heirs? The powerful sorceress disagreed. She had seen the damage. Put together, the First and Second Wars had done far more damage, killed far more than the conflict which saw the end of the greatest human empire in history.

    "What will we do about the Kirin Tor? If they don't start sending more sorcerers, the other nations will be in an ill disposition, especially if they manage to win nonetheless." She finally asked.

    "I wouldn't worry. The Kirin Tor is frightened. The old fools think that they dissuade our efforts by keeping their forces near. When Khadgar exposes the corrupt among them, they will relent quickly, in order to secure a larger political piece of the pie when the conflict finally ends." Adrefai smirked mildly. "They're incredibly predictable, really."

    All nodded. That made sense. But, then again, the old sorceress always did appear sensible. It was one of the reasons - her power being another one - which made her their undisputed leader. Yet, Caralla wondered. They had manipulated events for so long, but the Horde had never truly fitted in. Were they becoming too hasty in their eagerness in the Great Cause? So many pawns: Duraz and his Compact, the Kirin Tor dissidents. Assassinassions and manipulations. Would there be a day when they wouldn't be able to control the fate of the world? If so, what would happen?

    But then Adrefai dismissed the magical images, and put her hand forward, palm upward and open. "For now we will let events be what they will be, and watch the struggle from afar. Let it be so. For the Great Cause."

    "For the Great Cause." the others intoned. But even as the words passed through her lips, Caralla wondered if, for all their confidence, they might not be trying to overreach themselves.

Autumn 597, Alterac City, Alterac

    The Alliance ranks were closing in from all sides, it seemed. And that was the way it was. It was a nightmare the people of Alterac and their rulers had feared ever since the realm had been founded. Low in population, with meagre resources and an average birthrate, Alterac had never been the equal of any other human nation, socially, militarily or otherwise. This weakness meant that the kingdom couldn't win a war against even one nation. To win against an Alliance forged from all human nations, helped by the elves and the dwarves, had been impossibility from the very start.

    Yet, the realm had to show some form of defence before it inevitably failed, and Sylphord Duraz had worked that it stood as long as it did. Turalyon was a good soldier and leader, but had never been highly talented in tactics. Thus, he had been able to withstand his attempts for many weeks. He would have stood it longer as well, if Alterac City hadn't been far less in degrees of fortifications than any of the other capitals. Eventually, the paladin had found good grounds, and had used his superior numbers and equipment to that effect.

    Even now, from his position, the former Alliance General and Compact Overlord could see the walls. Breached on many points, with enemy forces pushing the staggering, demoralized Royal Army back. Already a third of the city was either in flames or in Alliance hands. At that rate, the city would fall before night came.

    "General!" one of the knights about him told him "The Alliance forces are outflanking us around the western front!"

    "Take battalion seven and twelve to reinforce these positions, and spread the word for the men to hold fast!" He replied. He knew that the battle was lost already. He couldn't help but see it. But he would be damned to the Beyond if he didn't make Turalyon fight! He wouldn't give Lothar and his ilk the pleasure of his capture! He wouldn't!!

    Although the ballistae and catapults had been used extensively in the past weeks, there were few rocks or hardened spear thrown. Ever since the first breach, the battle had turned largely into a melee supported with archery. He could see the ranks swaying this way or that, as Alterac units attempted to contain what couldn't be contained. He'd heard that the units at the Land Bridges had fought such battles, but the terrain had been different. There, numbers could be contained with good strategy and strong will. In Alterac city, numbers counted, and the will was quickly ebbing out of its defenders.

    Only one group ironically kept fighting as strongly as it had in the beginning, perhaps even more. The orc contingent, down to less than one thousand by the looks of it, still kept the assailing mass away. The orcs knew that, unlike the human soldiers, they truly might not be spared. And as his father had kept telling him, 'ones who no longer have hope can fight harder than can be thought possible, if they think fighting at all is worthwhile.

    To the orcs, fighting wasn't just worthwhile. It was life, and it showed in the relentless defence amongst their ranks.

    Another flag went up in white, and Duraz gritted his teeth in bitterness. The human forces showed no such backbone. Captured instead of being slaughtered, a few regiments had surrendered instead of fighting, and at least one had joined the enemy outright. Only the knights and the elite units, mostly gathered around the castle, had shown unswerving determination thus far.

    "General! From the east!" One of the knights told him. He looked to see that the hour of Alterac's fall had finally come. There, breaking through the last lines, were hundreds of mounted knights and cavaliers, galloping towards the castle, lances, shields and swords at the ready. Behind them followed infantry. A full brigade, it seemed, made up of footmen and archers. And at their head rode Turalyon, unmistakable in his burnished, unhelmeted armour, with several cloaked sorcerers riding beside him.

    "Prepare the repulse the assault. Halberds, take positions! Swordsmen in support. Archers, concentrate fire on the leaders!" he snapped, and his men moved fast, forming an half-circle of death, with most of the remaining royal knights and cavaliers he had prepared to flank the enemy force.

    It wouldn't be enough. When had that pessimism ingrained itself in him? When he had lost Whitefort? No, it had started before, even though he'd never admitted it. It had started the day he'd learned Eira Fregar had married Aerth Swiftblade. He had been furious - how could a common knight ruin his plans like that - but he had always doubted afterwards. Yes, it had started then, and had only worsened over the years. Damn you, Swiftblade! I tried to destroy you time and time again, and you always made it work to your advantage! I wish I could kill you, but I can only curse you now!

    The group that headed the enemy forces stopped, and Turalyon's horse stepped forth a few more paces, right outside the range of Duraz's arrows. Nearby, Kelnam Pedran looked back at him and nodded. The old soldier was at peace, it seemed - he was finally going to stop living in a war-torn world he no longer believed in. This, for some reason, gave Duraz' shattered mind a nudge.

    "Men of Alterac!" Turalyon's voice somehow boomed over the din of the battle. "You have fought well, but heed me! You fight for one who betrayed humanity as a whole to the Horde! I have no wish to kill loyal soldiers, but kill I have and will, if you continue to protect him!"

    "Good words, lord Turalyon. Fair and brave, and worthy of a paladin." One knight answered before Duraz could. "However, good or ill, our lord remains the same. We have given oath to defend him, and we shall. Our honour is at stake, and without honour what is life?" The other knights of Alterac gave a defiant cheer at that, and Duraz found Turalyon and several Alliance knights gesturing with their weapons as a sign of understanding and respect. As the paladin rode back to signal his troops, Duraz began to laugh. Always, it seemed, I was the pawn. Even here, I cannot answer to my enemy. This must truly be my fate.

    "People of Alterac." he whispered. "How could I have lost so much that I have to die amongst such worthless fools?" No one heard him, and he gestured to the nearest soldier. "Signal the archers! They fire as soon as the enemy is within range!" I will not die a nobody, I will not!

    The Alliance force charged. Bows sang and men fell. But not enough. Lightning crackled from sorcerous fingertips, while a white light streamed from Turalyon. The flanking knights suddenly clashed mightily with their brethren, while billmen and swordsmen charged the halberds.

    The Alterac ranks held one assault, losing some but closing the breach. Elsewhere, the realm's forces were being submerged. As second assault was pushed back with difficulty. Dusk was quickly coming, shadows lengthening, and Duraz looked towards it in bitter scorn. Even time proves me wrong. The realm has held until nightfall.

    On the third assault, however, the defence faltered. Two few knights remained to flank the attacking force properly, and the sorcerers' magic - magic lost for Duraz with the last Alterac mage falling three days previous - opened holes in the halberd lines. Alliance archers countered the royal arrows with their own, and the last defence between the Alliance and Perenolde began to weaken.

    Suddenly, rage and fear took hold of Duraz. I will not die like a pawn! Even now, I am nothing but Perenolde's doll! I will end my life myself, however, and go to the Beyond or the Light with the pride of House Duraz! His mind decided, he drew his sword in a flash, and called to all remaining troops.

    "Forward! Forward! If death has come, let us laugh at the face of it!" And, letting the fury and madness, which had threatened for so long, overtake him, he laughed and charged, sword raised high. See if you can do better, Swiftblade! See if you can die better than me!

    He charged in, through his troops, up to the Alliance line, and began to slash with abandon. He laughed as men died beneath his blade, he laughed as a shaft lodged itself in his side. All around him, the Alliance forces surged, until he was surrounded. From the corner of his mind, he saw Pedran leading a charge on foot. The old soldier had decided to die well too, had he not?

    "For House Duraz and the Guiding Light!" he crowed madly. "For House Duraz and the Triblade!" he yelled, and then before he could let go of another oath, a lance thrust through him from the side. He grinned. I died well, I didn't die nothing. They will hear my name one last time before I go!

    "I am Sylphord Duraz, Overlord of the Compact! Feel my blade under the Guiding Light!" he yelled as hard as his bleeding innards allowed him. And, with a last laugh, he threw himself blinding into the fray.

    And so, Sylphord Duraz, traitor and deserter, bane to the Alliance, died with the dignity which had escaped him for so long.

Autumn 597, Dark Portal, Black Morass

    Humans considered the fetid, dank marshes of the Black Morass relatively filthy. Even though the humans of Azeroth had built and expanded their strongholds and villages in the east, so that large parts of the forests and the hills had given way to towers, farmlands and castles, they had never given much thought to colonizing the swamps Doomhammer briefly looked at. The orcs, however, had felt almost at home, as the Black Morass resembled many of Dreanor's regions.

    But that feeling of home wasn't enough to sate Doomhammer's anger, as he faced the orc he hated the most, after the treacherous Gul'Dan. The fool warlock was dead now, his body having been found, torn apart by some beasts, and his skull now adorning his chambers in Blackrock Spire. But the orc he looked towards was, if not as obviously malicious, showing himself just as treacherous.

    But then, Doomhammer had never trusted Ner'Zhul. And he had the distinct feeling that it was fully mutual.

    "Are you listening to anything I've just told you?" Doomhammer snapped, glaring at the old shaman. "Thanks to your former pupil's betrayal, our forces here aren't in a good position. We have little in the way of settlers; our mining equipment is barely sufficient! We need troops, settlers and resources!"

    "Such demands." the shaman retorted coldly "It seems that the orcs of Azeroth have an habit to take from Dreanor, while giving nothing in return. Where are the conquests? Where are the spoils? You have been here, on this land, for fifteen years - eighteen of our turns - and yet for all the conflicts, there is little to be seen."

    "Don't start on that, Ner'Zhul. We can't give to Dreanor when all we have here is needed to keep our armies in the field!" He saw that the grunts who had come to accompany the two leaders were definitely nervous. Hard, he realized, to look upon the two most powerful orcs in the Horde arguing angrily and not feel like being elsewhere. But Doomhammer had no time for any sympathy.

    No did Ner'Zhul, it seemed. "It took us less than ten of our turns - eight years or so here - to all but destroy the Dreanai and take our world for ourselves. Nearly twice that long, and these pink-skinned ones, these...humans...still resist you?" he paused in an irritating fashion, Doomhammer thought, "No, not just resist. But fighting equally."

    Doomhammer's blood began to boil as he saw where this conversation was going. Ever since he had become warchief, he had had to explain this. And, as Blackhand's Warlord, he had seen his predecessor struggle through the same argument. The people of Dreanor, and Ner'Zhul even more than most, seemed to be blind to the realities in the human realm.

    "I've explained it before. We conquered Dreanor, but our homeworld's lands are small. Our continent is the only one we found to exist above water. And that continent is not as large as this one." he stopped, wondering why he was doing this. It had never worked before, why would it now? Yet he had to try. "And the Dreanai weren't the enemy the humans are. The pink-skins, as you call them, are much more numerous, better armed and far better organized! Further, there are other races on this continent. And the elves and dwarves, the two strongest of these other races, have allied with the humans."

    "It sounds like you are whining to me. How disappointing from a Warchief and a Chieftain." Ner'Zhul scoffed.

    "You fool! If you had fought these humans as long as I did, you'd understand! The point remains, we need troops and resources to strengthen our forces!" Doomhammer's temper was starting to get the better of him. He knew that he was losing this argument. And somewhere, deep down, something despaired.

    Ner'Zhul didn't disappoint him. Every year he had seen the orc, Doomhammer had been certain that the old shaman had a plan. A dark plan, certainly, and one that meant that the Horde in Azeroth meant nothing to him. As it was, the shaman looked rather put off and annoyed at the renewed demand, and shook his head quickly.

    "I couldn't give you much, even if I wanted to. Do you know that over a million troops have been sent from Dreanor. And settlers as well, three hundred thousand of those. Our people don't have the troops. All of the remaining clans can't even put up a third of what you have left. No, Doomhammer. If you are doomed, then you will be doomed alone. I won't allow Dreanor to be defenceless." he said, and there was a determined edge to his tone. He wouldn't be budged anymore. He inclined his head, and without another word, turned back towards the Dark Portal.

   "Do you think that the humans will leave you alone?" Doomhammer shouted in hate. "Do you think they will stop, if they crush us here?!?" But there was no answer to his shouts. A swirl of nether-fed magic, and the old Shaman was gone from the human world, his escort trailing him.

    Doomhammer, for a moment, lost his mind to the rage. Uttering every curse and oath he could remember, he took out his mighty hammer and proceeded to smash a great rock to pieces, screaming with every blow. It took him many moments for him to regain sanity, and he noticed the Grunts were now looking at him from a safe distance. Sanity, however, did not calm his rage, and he stalked rather than walked away from the Portal.

    It took a while before anyone had the nerve to approach him. In that way, he missed Grimfrost especially. The other orc had watched him in a rage more than once, and had never hesitated to talk to him right afterwards. They did, however, come forth in the end, and he listened to the reports that they had never had the chance to give him. It didn't help his mood any.

    The Land Bridges were lost, and Lothar was slowly driving his forces towards Ironforge. If the dwarves were ever liberated, they would join the Alliance with all they had, and he couldn't allow that. On the seas, the situation was even worse. Despite having secured large quantities of oil and wood, the Horde Fleet was being increasingly beaten and outnumbered. It was certain that, without a victory on land, the sea forces would be crushed in short order.

    The dragons the Dragonmaw were rearing were reaching maturity, but would it be enough. And on top of that, a human woman was talking to the Horde soldiers in Grim Batol, had talked to many around the Land Bridges, talking about stopping the war.

    That last bit was news to him, however, and it stopped him. He HAD heard some rumours of a human preaching against the war, but he had dismissed it as foolishness, ignoring the stirs it caused his heart. He had long put his promise to Durotan on hold. Once his people had secured this continent and he ruled it, he would see about the bloodlust. He didn't have time for peace right now.

    "A human woman?" he wondered, "Who is she?"

    "It seem, Warchief, that she's the wife of Proudmoore of Kul Tiras." one of his people answered helpfully.

    Proudmoore's wife? The wife of the man who was busy destroying every Horde ship on the sea, talking about peace? His mind considered that possibility, and rejected it quickly. There was no way a Proudmoore would want peace! He couldn't believe that it was so. But there was another possibility, a distinct one.

    "Lothar, you clever bastard." he mused. "Its clear that he sent this woman because he wanted to demoralize our troops. This woman talked through our ranks at the Land Bridges, and they fell. And now she is talking in Grim Batol, and Lothar his bringing his forces there! This is simply a ploy to weaken us." Yes, that must be it. It fit perfectly!

    But he wouldn't let Lothar's plans succeed. He would fight it, if that was what the human wanted. Even if that meant doing something he didn't feel a great relish in ordering. He would feel guilt from it. But it was necessary. Peace couldn't come now. It couldn't.

    "Alert our most loyal spies at Grim Batol. Have that woman killed. I don't care how, but have her killed. And make certain the human see that the orcs saw through their ploy."

    "Warchief?"

    "Do it. That is the only way open to us." He knew that, with that, he had broken his promise to Durotan in a fatal way. But he had to endure this. For his people. Because, if the Horde lost here, then it was over. He would do anything to prevent that, to sow despair into the humans.

    Even if that very action brought dismay into his own being. He was the Warchief. The Horde came first of all.

Alliance Nations as of Autumn 597

Lordaeron

    Although the Horde's invasion of the realm has done a fair share of damage, costing nearly fifty thousand lives and destroying many farms and hamlets, the realm remains strong in its commitment to the Alliance.

New Azeroth

    Having suffered through the First War alone, the Azerothians maintain their hatred of the Horde, rebuilding their lives and on Lordaeron's shores until the days they can reclaim their home. They are the most committed to the Alliance.

Stromgarde

    The realm is in shambles, most of its lands destroyed through the many battles fought on them. Despite - and perhaps because - of this, the realm remains a strong ally, while advocating greater final retribution.

Kul Tiras

    Although it had to fight off some attacks, Kul Tiras was never endangered by the Horde. The death of Admiral Proudmoore's sons, however, have made the Tirassians furious, and strengthened their commitment.

Dalaran

    The magocratic nation's state is uncertain. Although committed to the Alliance, it has not sent a very large amount of troops, and has remained somewhat aloof despite the services it could render.

Gilneas

     The Kingdom of Gilneas is a member of the Alliance only because of the truth that, alone, it would fall. It is committed to the cause, and will likely remain so until the Horde is defeated. No more.

Alterac

    Found to have betrayed the Alliance, the human nation of Alterac has since been invaded by a strike force. Its capital has fallen, and the Alliance Army has seized its lands.

Quel'Thalas

    The powerful realm is shattered. The elves, distraught at the many losses, have kept their forces fighting the Horde, while many nobles blame the humans for having let things deteriorate to this point.

Khaz Modan

    The Dwarves of Khaz Modan have been prisoners in their own strongholds for many years. Their help has thus far been minimal, but they only await a chance to strike at the Horde from Ironforge.