Chapter 2

Dark Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, watched Ambassador Sunsorrow leave her throne room, having dismissed him. She sat alone on her throne, the day's administrative duties now over. She noticed he did not leave her presence as quickly as he used to. Perhaps he was finally adapting to her … condition. She knew her state of undeath was deeply disturbing to most sin'dorei, the blood elves – the name her former people had adopted for themselves after the fall of Quel'Thalas to the Scourge six years ago. Her walking, talking corpse reminded them of what once was, and the terrible price that had been paid, by both her personally, and others.

Others, like Alyna.

She dug her gauntleted fingers into the hard wood surface of her throne, the anger and pain not dulled by the passage of time. She wore similar armour in undeath as to what she had in life, with more sculls and fewer references to nature, in dull, dark red and black colours. As in life, she still preferred to wear a hood and cloak, her pale silver-blonde hair worn loosely underneath. Her skin was characteristic of the elven undead, a light grey-blue with signs of wear where her skin threatened to flake. Unlike most of the Forsaken, she did not suffer the constant progression of decomposition they dealt with daily. None of the undead elves did. She had been told it had something to do with how the necromantic energies that raised them interacted with the innate magic all elves possessed that humans didn't. If there was anything to be grateful for in her existence, it was that. Her glowing red eyes flashed in anger at the mere concept of being grateful for anything relating to her situation.

Her thoughts wandered, and she traced the notches and grooves of her bow with a leather-clad finger. It was never far from her, and she was proud of its unique construction. No one else used a bow that had limbs made from vertebrae bone. They were not human, of course; those had been too small. But, she quietly enjoyed the reaction it got from the living races, and she knew they all wondered if those bones were from their people.

Her nose wrinkled as the last of the ambassador's sweaty scent dispersed in his wake. She had been instrumental in bringing the blood elves into the new Horde; a coalition between a tribe of jungle trolls, the remaining orcs, the bull-like Tauren, and the free-willed undead remnants of Lordaeron now known as the Forsaken.

The Forsaken … her people. After failing in her attempt to go after Alyna, she had returned to Capital City. After confronting the demons and chasing them off, the free-willed undead humans had been leaderless, and lost. She realised they could be useful in her vendetta against Arthas, and had begun to organise them. They dug through the sewers under the former capital and vastly expanded them to create their new home, Undercity, where she sat now.

Despite no longer being under his control, she had felt the moment Arthas had become the Lich King. A part of her soul still resided in Frostmourne, and she felt its presence lingering almost imperceptibly at the back of her mind. She had no idea how it had happened, or why, but that presence changed and became as familiar as the Lich King's presence had been, and she just knew what he had done. But nothing happened. No giant wave of Scourge washed over them, no enraged death knight turned up on her doorstep to pull her back into the fold.

A few months ago, after being almost indistinguishable from the background noise of her own thoughts for five years, that presence became stronger. It was nowhere near strong enough to threaten her free will, and she believed that even if she stood in his presence he could not control her anymore. She had felt that link break, and she figured he would need to kill her again with Frostmourne to re-establish it. Whatever he had been doing all that time, she instantly knew he was finished and about to remerge into the world.

They were not ready.

She knew they were all in trouble if they did not act, but the other leaders of the Horde had been stubborn. All they had to go on was her 'feeling' that he was now active, and they did not believe her, thinking her lust for vengeance was driving her to be reckless.

They were partially right; she craved vengeance for what had been done to her. Though she had managed to reclaim her body, she was still a banshee. Still dead. Her soul was tormented by anger, hatred and the need for revenge. There would be no happiness or comfort for her in this world ever again, such was the nature of being a banshee. While she had accepted it, and even embraced it, she would never stop until the creature who created her was suffering in whatever hellish afterlife she hoped waited for him.

Her eyes caught sight of a dull metal bowl near the edge of the dais her throne was on. A petitioner had brought it as an offering, and she gazed at the thin twigs of incense inside it. Some of her people used the special 'sleep sticks' to attain a state similar to sleep. It was really a deep meditation, but some enjoyed it as it allowed them to keep a cycle similar to what they had in life.

She had tried it a few times, but found her mind always wandered to Alyna, no matter what she tried. They were never pleasant thoughts either, her mind determined to relive the long hours she had been forced to watch her former fiancée being ravaged by the human cultists. Over the years, she had pushed past her romantic feelings for the woman as hanging onto them would have driven her insane. She had her memories, but she no longer recalled the love she felt, and believed herself incapable of ever loving again. To be the instrument of Arthas' demise, she had purged herself of every possible emotion and concept that could prevent her from achieving her goal. Despite that, the 'dreams' still disturbed her. She tried to tell herself that it was because of the helplessness she felt and that she never wanted to be that powerless again, but a small voice at the back of her mind just chuckled knowingly.

She tried to ignore it, even now.

She slammed her fists down on the arms of her throne before rising to pace the stone dais. She felt a banshee scream rise inside her and she fought to control it. While there was no one close enough to be hurt by it if she let it loose, it would be heard across her capital, the Undercity, and it would not do for everyone to be made aware of her loss of control. Or her anguish.

After her failed attempt to sail to Northrend, she had planned to give up, but she had not been able to immediately. She had sent her dark rangers out to scout along the coast for any vessel that was seaworthy and capable of sailing to Northrend, but they had repeatedly returned empty handed. She had tried to organise her Forsaken into building a ship, but they had come under constant attack by feral undead, and the newly founded Scarlet Crusade, the latter unwilling to admit to there was any difference between the Scourge and the Forsaken. She had eventually been forced to stop wasting resources by her advisors and ranger captains to focus on more immediate threats. She completely gave in to her grief and rage, taking it out on anyone and everyone. And then she had buried any semblance of love she had ever felt, and got on with plotting her revenge as well as dealing with the various events the world of Azeroth had thrown at her.

She heard footsteps enter the throne room and she whirled on whoever was intruding. She had finished taking petitioners for the day and was in no mood for company.

She narrowed her eyes when she saw the rotting head of her army, Grand Executor Dillard. His glowing yellow eye sockets were typical of the Forsaken. His plate armour sounded tinny as it connected with exposed bone in various parts of his body. Rotting flesh still adhered in places, and, on closer inspection, she thought he had a new jaw bone. He stood to attention and saluted, a pair of maggots falling out of his gauntlet onto the floor.

"My humblest apologies for disturbing you, my Queen, but I have news from the Eastern Plaguelands that cannot wait."

"What is it?" she snapped, her voice reverberating with the grating undertones of death.

Un-phased by her mood, he said, "Our spies have reported that the Scarlet Crusade stationed there are … no more."

"What?" she screeched. Ordinarily, news of a mortal enemy's demise would have left her cold heart overjoyed, but whatever had happened, it was not as a result of her actions and that was not a good sign.

"A dozen ships were sighted leaving the coast, heading north."

She quickly did the math. "That's just over a thousand of their people, at most. What about the rest of them?"

Now the grand executor looked visibly uncomfortable. "Th-they are Scourge."

"All of them?"

"Yes, my Queen. It would appear the death knights had been holding back all this time we have observed them, and finally unleashed their full force a couple of days ago. There were also vague reports of a frost wyrm involved too, though I doubt that's possible so far away from Northrend."

She stared at him, too stunned to speak. The Scarlet Enclave had been a fortified bastion for the crazed order for years. Even she had not dared a direct assault, preferring other means to accomplish her goals.

"How many?" she demanded.

He hesitated.

She gritted her teeth, her voice low and dangerous. "How. Many?"

"Early estimates put their new army at nine thousand, possibly more. Four hundred are death knights."

The numbers were staggering. She only had a few hundred soldiers in Undercity, perhaps two thousand throughout her territories, and they would take time to recall. Her mind raced as she calculated possibilities and scenarios.

"Do we know where they are heading yet?"

"It would appear their next target is Light's Hope Chapel."

That did not surprise her. After the Scarlet Crusade, the group that operated out of the chapel would be equally as vexing for the Scourge. The Argent Dawn were just as fanatical against the Scourge. Unlike the crusade, they were capable of differentiating between the Scourge and the Forsaken, something that gave Sylvanas a grudging respect for them and so she left them alone.

"How did they raise so many …" She stopped. There was only one way the Scourge could raise so many corpses so quickly. She answered her own question, barely above a whisper.

"Arthas."

He was here, physically here, and only a week's march from Undercity. Any mortal army would take nearly two, but the dead had no need for rest, food or water. They would come in fearless waves, and they were still not ready.

"When they're done with the Argent Dawn, you can bet they're coming for us." She was not the only one who could hold bitter grudges. Arthas would come for them. For her. She resisted the urge to shake her head in disbelief as she began to rattle off orders.

"Recall everyone you can find. Begin preparations for a siege. Seal the sewers and the elevator shafts. The living residents and visitors have twenty-four hours to decide if they want to stay and fight, or leave. Everyone will need equipment. I want a battle plan by tomorrow." It went without saying that no Forsaken, civilian or otherwise, would be allowed to leave. They needed everyone, and they all knew their duty. It was part of being Forsaken.

As Undercity was built beneath the ruined capital city of Lordaeron they were well fortified, but even they could not hold out forever against the numbers coming for them. Sylvanas almost sighed with the resignation that they could not face her hated enemy alone. She swallowed her pride.

"Send emissaries to the rest of the Horde leaders." She practically spat her next words. "We … respectfully … request they send any and all assistance."

They would possibly get a few hundred more defenders from the Horde already stationed on the continent, but most were on Kalimdor, a week away at sea at least, if they left immediately, which was impossible. Mage portals would not be an option for the numbers and materials required.

He bowed deeply. "Yes, my Queen."

He turned to leave, knowing he had been dismissed. Something occurred to her as he was about to disappear through the great doors that led into her throne room.

"Dillard." She said his name almost gently, knowing her voice would carry to be heard anywhere in the room.

He whirled round to face her, not sure what to expect. "Yes, my Lady?"

"You said 'two days'." She let that register with him. "The Enclave was attacked, and risen, two days ago."

"Yes, my Lady."

"Why am I only just hearing about this now?" She paused to watch him. He had no eyes, but she knew he was looking everywhere but directly at her. "I told you to make sure they had mages for rapid reporting." Her red eyes bore into him, having no need to blink.

"Ah." He was nervous. "Well, she met her true death shortly before the attack. An unfortunate incident with a gargoyle, I believe. The nearest mage available for a portal was two days away."

"I see." Her tone made it clear to him she did not. "We lost two days of preparation because you saw fit to only send one mage with them, despite the importance of their mission?" Her voice rose with each word until she was yelling at him.

"Ah, well … uh … my Queen, there was …"

"Get out!" He fell over himself trying to leave quickly. She picked up her bow and buried an arrow in the solid oak door as the grand executor opened it, landing so close to his head she knew he felt its wake. He flinched, knowing full well if she had intended to hit him she would have. It was a warning. He closed the door behind him, the arrow still quivering.

She released the banshee scream that had been building, this time fuelled by rage instead of pain. She felt it reverberate back at her off the walls of the throne room and was oddly satisfied at its power. Once she had calmed to her usual heated simmer, she stepped down from the dais and navigated through a short corridor hidden behind a banner at the back of her throne room that led to her office.

She hoped the Argent Dawn defenders at the chapel would hold out longer than she expected them to, and buy her people time to get ready. She didn't care if it cost them their lives.

Alyna stood on the staging platform, her gaze cast in the direction of Light's Hope Chapel. As good as her sight was, even she couldn't look through the very solid mountain peaks that separated her from the action.

She was anxious.

She had sent ten thousand Scourge against the three hundred defenders. Despite the overwhelming odds, she was not confident of victory. Mograine had not overtly disagreed with her when she told him their orders, but she could feel his objection, and ignored it. The Lich King would be obeyed. He would be very displeased if she failed him.

She felt the urge to sigh, despite not needing to breathe. She was already mentally preparing herself for her lord's displeasure. The Chapel stood on holy ground. Beneath, in the extensive catacombs, were the bodies of a thousand fallen heroes of the Light. The Lich King had commanded her to capture those bodies so they could be raised as powerful agents of the Scourge. It was no simple task. The very nature of the Light was the complete antithesis of what the Scourge were. Just standing on holy ground was painful, even for Alyna. To lesser, mindless Scourge, it could incinerate them on the spot, which was why she had needed to raise so many new death knights. They were powerful enough to fight on holy ground, and hopefully slay the defenders.

She had been ordered not to take part in the battle herself, and thus she waited from afar. She did not particularly care whether she was involved or not. She just hated waiting for information. She only had herself to blame, really. The last time she had stepped on holy ground she had been weak from not feeding properly. The Light had overwhelmed her and she had perished. The Lich King had reanimated her and then punished her severely for her mistake. Still, she was not going to argue. While her death knights revelled in the taking of life, she still only killed mortals when it was necessary. It had nothing to do with conscience as that had been removed from her with the part of her soul containing her softer emotions; it was just a waste of effort to kill when she could be doing something else.

Alyna turned to move inside when a sudden wave of sensation caused her to stagger slightly in surprise before she regained her balance. She blinked, and tried to identify what she had felt. Slowly, she realised it was what she didn't feel that was more important. She couldn't feel him anymore. For so many long years he had been constantly there as an intrinsic part of her being. Even when he was focused on other things and very far away, she had felt his presence in her mind as a constant, lingering reminder that at a whim, he could do what he wished with her, and to her.

Now, there was nothing.

She felt empty where he had been. It was s yawning, dark, and foreboding void. Questions flooded her mind. What was going on? Why? How had this happened? Was it permanent? Was it real? Was he playing with her again? What did it mean? Did she dare hope she was free?

Had he been killed?

She hurried into the necropolis and stopped at what she saw. Chaos reigned over what had been ordered obedience. She realised it was not just her who could no longer hear the call of the Lich King. Every Scourge creature was loose, and wild. Most Scourge were simple-minded creatures, inherently violent and bloodthirsty. The Lich King's presence in all of them had allowed more intelligent Scourge such as Alyna to project their will to less powerful Scourge to control them, as he did to them. Without the connection their king provided, they had returned to their base instincts and were tearing each other apart. She no longer had any control over them, just as it dawned on her that the Lich King had no more control over her.

She was free!

She instantly began to feel overwhelmed by the desire to escape this hell she had endured for so long. An abomination roared and she found herself dodging the hooked chain it threw in her direction. She drew on her magic and threw a ball of shadowflame at the hideous creature. Insensitive to pain, it did not immediately stop it from attacking her, but her attack slowed it down enough for her to keep casting more dark flames until it was practically melting into fat on the floor.

Methodically, Alyna worked her way through the necropolis to the main portal chamber, destroying anything that dared to attack her. She figured if she could teleport to the ground, she could escape and do as she pleased. She had no inclination to stay and find out what had happened, let alone fix it.

When she arrived, her vassals were there waiting for her. She had summoned them there as she moved, her control over them still possible through her curse. She was surprised to find they had survived their journey. No longer having any use for them, she set them on fire to kill them. They died quickly, her shadowflame burning hotly. Without a second thought, she moved to the control orb, but before she could set it to teleport her to the ground, the platform activated. Not having any idea what was about to arrive, she stood back from the platform. She held her hands outstretched from her body, balls of shadowflame churning eagerly above her palms.

Darion Mograine materialised, standing before a row of five death knights. He held a glowing sword in his hands, ready for battle, and she quickly realised it was not the Ashbringer he had held for so long.

Their eyes met, but neither of them moved for long moments. The sounds of battle and slaughter could be heard even here, but Alyna did not know whether he had been sent here to regain control of the Acherus for the Lich King or not.

"You're home early, Highlord," she opened.

"Yes," he replied, "Things at Light's Hope did not quite go as planned, your Highness." There was something about the way he used the title that struck a chord with Alyna; he was testing her. If he was free as well, and she replied as a blood princess, he would kill her. If he was still in Arthas' clutches and she denounced her position, he would kill her. She realised it did not matter where his loyalties lay. If he was still enslaved, she would be reanimated again and punished, and her unlife would go on. If he was free and she pretended otherwise, she would die and remain so.

She decided that if she was to die in the next few moments, even temporarily, she wanted to die free.

She smiled slowly, though with her mask in place it was only obvious by the slight creasing around her eyes. "It's just 'Alyna' now."

Eventually, Mograine smiled and lowered his sword. Alyna dispelled the flames and relaxed her posture. "Then I am Darion, to you." He looked around slowly, absorbing the sounds coming from all around them. "You should know I intend to claim Acherus as a home for the Knights of the Ebon Blade."

She raised an eyebrow. "You have more free knights?" He nodded. She wondered what that meant for them. She had no idea what she was going to do once she was out of here, but she also knew she was alone. The death knights would have each other. She felt a small pang of loneliness inside herself at the thought.

To Darion, she shrugged. "You can have it."

He looked at her carefully. "You do not intend to stay?"

She laughed hollowly. "Why would I do that? I am alone, Darion. And we both know I cannot stay if you return with free-willed death knights."

His reaction told her he knew. Most of the death knights despised her and that would not change because they had their free will back. If anything, it would give their hatred free reign and she would be a convenient target. It was better for all of them if she left. Mograine moved off the platform with his knights, and she took their place.

She nodded towards the orb. "Would you kindly do the honours?"

He hesitated. "What will you do?"

"Kill the Scourge," she immediately replied.

He nodded, fully understanding. "And, Arthas?"

"He is alive then?" She knew she sounded disappointed.

"Regrettably. The paladin, Tirion Fordring, appeared at the Chapel." His light blue glowing eyes flared with hatred. "Arthas sent us all there to die, Alyna. All he wanted was for Tirion to appear; he had no interest in the heroes beneath." He growled. "I threw the Ashbringer to the human and it was cleansed in his hands. When he attacked Arthas, he managed to hurt him quite badly. We were freed at that moment, and I suspect so were you at the same time. The bastard managed to escape after that."

Alyna processed the events before accepting them as plausible.

He assessed her quietly before saying, "I'm sure you'll find allies somehow. Regardless, when we go to confront him, I will send word to you so you may join us in his downfall. We will both have our vengeance."

She was not sure what to make of his confidence. He was so assured that he would take on Arthas directly. Something inside her even believed he might actually get as far as Icecrown Citadel itself, though she thought it unlikely. Still, if he somehow did manage it, she definitely wanted to be there. She graciously accepted his offer, and prepared to leave, before pausing.

"Perhaps, there is one thing you could do for me now, Darion, if you would?"

His curiosity was immediately peaked, and when she made her request, he laughed with dark delight at her.

"I would be happy to oblige with such a service," and then he added two words she had not heard in a long, long time, "my friend."

After he was done, she teleported down to see what new existence she could carve for herself.