Chapter 7

Decrepit Floe


Malthon wiped the blood from his hands with a dirty rag as he walked from the hospital tent to where Jayce and Balinda were waiting. His ears still rang from noise of the battle, now echoing with the pained cries of his men in the tent. They were all quiet now, healed to whole, but it would be some time before they finished recovering. Those that had been Redeemed from death would take even longer.

Light, what a mess.

In his mind, he could recall the whipping tentacles and screaming men, the blood and acid, the roiling powers of Light and the terrible shriek of the creature. He wanted to keep the memories as fresh and whole as he could, at least until they finished discussing it tonight. If only it didn't come with such terrible vividness.

He found the tent and reached out to moved aside the covering flap, only to pause. Blood still clung to his fingers, on the webs between, and splattered along the back. He sighed softly, clutching the rag and beginning to scrub yet again while shouldering the flap aside to enter.

Only two figures waited inside. Jayce sat straight in his fold chair, arms crossed before his breastplate and tabard, with the expression of one whom ate a lemon all at once. Across from him and standing, also with her arms crossed, was Balinda, with the most dangerous expression of steel on her face. Malthon almost wondered if it would be better to be back in the battle than in here.

Malthon had expected more to join them, Arvin and other veteran brothers, or at the least Terichon Galean, whom also knew Malthon from the churchyard of their training. However, like Balinda, Terry had chosen a more passive and quiet presence among the troops. He had never been very outspoken as a lad either, Malthon remembered. The others who did not appear here likely found their duties elsewhere.

"Alright, it is obvious enough why we are here," he started. His voice rumbled softly, after all the noise of the night. "None of us have encountered anything before like we have tonight, not even among the most bizarre of the Lich King's creations. We need to discuss our next plan of action."

Balinda spoke immediately, "Have you reconsidered your opinion of allowing me and ten others to search for the source of the Light's concern? Without a doubt, the night's encounter coincides with this danger."

"I have, and more than ever I am certain I need you here, with us," Malthon replied. He would brook no argument on the subject.

Balinda clearly understood the point. "Then there is nothing further for me to discuss," she announced coolly, uncrossing her arms and beginning to make her way towards the exit. Jayce watched her move, his dark eyes dispassionate.

"Balinda, stay for the rest of the discussion," he sighed. When her steely gaze fell upon him again, he added, "Please."

"You are no High General, Malthon, and certainly not mine," she snapped, unhalting.

When she reached him at the entrance, Malthon refused to budge from blocking her way. As her attention returned to his tired face, he said, "It was not an order. It was a request, from me." Jayce's bitter reaction was ignored as Malthon remained focused on the determined matron. "Do you really think you have nothing to offer, for the sake of everyone with us here?"

He stepped aside, letting her have the choice, and moved to a second chair and sat in an avalanche of clanking steel. The bloody rag was discarded to the side for now, and he rest his head in his palm for a moment. At the sound of a third paladin sitting down in a loud crash of metal, he nodded his thanks to her.

"As we know," Malthon continued, "our powers grow against the undead. The unique effects of tonight make it clear that this threat is something else entirely. Arvin's experiences coincides with this."

"What are Arvin's experiences?" Balinda asked.

Remembering that Jayce and Balinda largely avoided each other, he told her of the dwarf scout's Light-bound compasses, and then told Jayce of the Light's warning about this journey that both he and Balinda perceived.

"Do you believe this doubt is the Light's way of telling you your course is wrong?" Jayce asked after the explanations.

Malthon blinked at the question, as something he had never considered, but ultimately he shook his head. "I'll admit, that is a possibility, though I've never encountered anything like that before. However, I believe this is something closer tied to the night's attack. This... creature stripped from us the power of Light, made it nervous and even afraid. That is how the Light feels about this journey. There is something out there, something I've never witnessed, that has power far beyond that of the Scourge, something that stands as the utter antithesis of the Light... and I believe we will be brought into direct conflict with it by the end of our journey."

"You means there's more of these things?" The Scarlet commander asked. "That something might be leading these things out there?"

"That is the conclusion that Balinda and I have drawn, yes," Malthon told him. At the brunette's glance, he clarified, "Assuming. We agreed that something out there must be the source, but to encounter a... soldier of whatever this is means there must be a master behind it all." Balinda's lips pursed thoughtfully, but then she nodded her agreement.

"Perhaps it is something of this forest," Jayce suggested. "We have gone this far without issue, without repercussion. This could be the first of its retaliation."

"Then why was its shape that of an eredar?" Balinda asked. "It was a mess of a humanoid, but we can all agree that that was its base-shape. Its magic and spell-weaving only reinforces the idea."

Malthon sat up straighter, nodding. "Yes, that makes sense. The Burning Legion has attacked before. Perhaps, long ago when this was kaldorei lands, such an attack was shattered by the night elves, and when the corruption first overtook this forest in the eastern lands, one such demon was touched and transformed."

Balinda was on the verge of nodding, then paused. "The forest itself rose against the creature. When Malthon and I prepared to defend against its counter, that pink light blocked it for us. It had been no simple spell to negate either, assuming that had been an eredar spell-weaver."

"Well clearly the forest is fighting itself," Jayce returned, condescending. "Half of it is corrupted, if you do not recall."

"I see someone was too conveniently sick to attend his "respect" lessons at the churchyard. It is no wonder you joined the Scarlet zealots."

"I followed the leadership of High General Brigitte Abbendis. Don't you dare accuse her of the atrocities of her father or the rest of the Crusade leaders," Jayce hissed.

"And yet you did not have the decency to bury her headless corpse! Malthon had to!"

"Enough!" Malthon growled over them both. "We accomplish nothing by remaining divided. Nothing. We all serve the Light together, and we have all made mistakes in doing so. Leave the past behind, and join me in addressing the future, if you will."

"And what are your mistakes, Lord Eyenhart?" Jayce retorted instead. "We have not all been blessed with the Light's very purpose! Where is the guilt that gnaws away at your conscious for every waking moment, and consuming your every dream at n-" His words cut out as he fell across the grassy floor of the tent.

Balinda shook out her fist after the punch, bright fury on her face. Malthon himself had fallen into a bitter silence, but he tried to muster a disapproving look for her. His heart was too glad for the interruption to make it meaningful. "That is enough, Jayce!" she whispered coldly. "Malthon has suffered no less than anyone here."

Malthon was surprised by the ardor in her voice. He had nearly forgotten she had been present at the time, back before the rifts had torn them into strangers.

Jayce spat onto the grass and pushed himself back to his feet. His dark eyes were further darkened by the rings around them, and he glanced between her and Malthon. Finally, he grunted, "My apologies," and strode out of the tent before either could reply.

When it was just Malthon and Balinda, they sat in silence for a long moment. Feeling the urge to fill the quiet, he began to speak, only for her to speak over him, "You haven't gotten over it, have you? I suspect you never will." He said nothing; she knew the answer already. Balinda shook her head, the silver strand of hair swaying before her eyes as a reminder, and then she looked at him, compassion in her gaze.

The look stunned Malthon nearly as much as her reply. He... hadn't thought her still capable of the feeling for him. He felt hard metal touch his bare hand, then seize it, giving him a single squeeze. Why did things between us have to fall apart? He began to ask her that, even opening his mouth, then he stopped and closed it. The time for that had long passed.

"Thank you," he managed instead.

Balinda nodded, giving him one last squeeze, and then she released him. The topic changed as she asked, "Let me leave, Malthon. We need more information on this threat. Loan me our gryphon, and I can inspect the corruption for clues of our attacker."

"Is that what the Light tells you to do?" he asked quietly.

"You know what the Light tells me."

Malthon hesitated, considering the matter closer. Balinda was a very capable woman. She had behaved independently for years following the ruin of Lordaeron, and whenever they met, he noticed she had grown into a more and more mature woman, stern and proud, brave and righteous. The Light was strong in her, its purpose clear, even without a crown to protect. It would be selfishness to keep her around only for his sake.

"You will meet us at the Vanguard in six days," Malthon told her, conceding. "March with us tomorrow, until midday, then you may leave us."

A smile, it seemed, was still too far outside of Balinda's comfort zone, even in a talk as intimate as this. She nodded and thanked him, then stood as if she had to start getting ready this instant. "I will meet you at the Vanguard. I will not take kindly to lateness in times of this importance, so do not keep me waiting."

Malthon's eyebrows rose as she switched the liability to him. With a self-righteous nod, Balinda turned on her plated heal and left the tent. Whatever man married that woman would need nerves of thorium. And stones of granite.

Just then, Balinda stuck her head back inside, holding the flap up with her arm. "And do not let your position get inside your head while I'm gone. You are no High General, even if all these doe-eyed boys and girls look at you like so." She left again.

Definitely stones of granite.

Malthon idly wondered if she even heard, or chose to hear, the part about remaining with them until high noon. Eventually, he shrugged it off, noting, Ah, classic Balinda.

He remained seated in the chair for awhile longer, rethinking the night and the conversation. As his mace grew uncomfortable at his hip, he pulled it loose and set it beside him, then sat in continued silence. The flickering candles were his only company.

For all his grumbling, and all the heat between Jayce and... well, between anyone and Balinda, she was a stout sister, and an addition he was glad to have on his side. They all did their parts in serving the Light, even Jayce who sat nursing his bruised jaw and ego in his tent now. Malthon did admit to himself he was surprised at how much pent up rage and misery the man held within at the actions of the Crusade he had been apart of. He hoped it would not lead his old friend into any rash actions, though it was clear Jayce could hold his head.

Strangest though was the conversation between him and Balinda at the end. It was like old times, when they had both finished their training at the churchyard and sat together as full brother and sister in Light. They were open and honest, to each other and little else. He could admit to the pressures of his father and his future responsibilities, and she could lament the lummox-headed everyone she had to deal with.

In later days, they did not speak so freely. Balinda did not show him compassion, nor appeal to Malthon himself, rather than a brother paladin. Tonight was a fey night.

XxX

Malthon shook out his thick matchstick after lighting his one candle again. He inhaled a slow breath and exhaled, giving a glance to everything inside his tent. The blanket of his bed was turned to one side, where he had slipped out in the Light's trance. The spot he always laid out his armor was empty, as he now wore it.

His chest was battered and worn from travel, but its integrity was undeniably strong. The bronze frame was still immaculate. Next to it, both his chair and table were folded and ready to be stored away, leaving him no place to set the candle. He gently set the stand on his chest and began to relieve himself of his armor.

He noticed, in the flickering orange, the white stains where the acid had burned new grooves in the breastplate. Dirt and grass flecked his boots and leg plates. His left bracer still carried a yellow leaf from when he and Balinda had fallen together. Shaking his head at it all, Malthon finally set his pristine shield and mace atop the pile and turned to his bed in just leather breeches and a linen undershirt.

A white mar tugged at his vision, and Malthon saw the letter he had left out atop his chest. How forgetful of him. Right beside the candle too, in risk of burning up at a flaked wick or marred by a glob of hot wax. Frowning, he tried to recall why he had taken out a letter in the first place, or what the letter was about, and drew up a blank.

He sat on the edge of his cot and picked up the letter. Immediately, he noticed the fine material of it, well above the means of anyone that had lettered him before. This was a letter written on silk parchment. Certainly, someone must have left this for him while he was out.

Malthon glanced at his candle again, where he had set it, and a cold feeling settled in his gut. He had not seen the letter then. Unless it had been in enchanted hiding, this letter was placed there while he was still inside the tent, when he had been removing his armor. The Light hadn't warned him of the intruder.

With a stern look about the small confines, he saw no one. He chewed his lip in thought for a moment, then turned upon the missive. It was sealed, not by wax on a cloth parchment, but by a small leaf-shape woven into the fabric. Thumbing the seal, he found it to be gold leafing as well. Clearly, someone of financial importance had sent this, but whom among a force of paladins had the means (and personal grandiosity) to do so?

It was then the sweet, sweet scent of something exotic touched his nose. Holding the letter closer, it was clear this person had scented it. The smell made him think of life deep within Lordaeron's forest, surrounded by nature's true mysteries, at the lighter half of twilight, when the sky was half orange and half deep indigo, with the faintest touch of stars along the outer rim. It made him think of sitting on a firm stone beside a gentle stream, touched by the unending gurgle of it, with the safety of the night's fire before him, and on familiar, yet undiscovered, land. There was a part of him, however, that related the scent to the one time he had the displeasure of visiting a brothel in search of a commander, of the scent of smokey sex halls and deep, dark passions.

An odd mixture of scents, one that required a very fine hand of a tinker to perfume. The sensations gave him a strong suspicion as he thumbed open the leaf slip and unfolded the leather to view the inside. Flawless, finely detailed inking over the expensive fabric. Each line scrawled about in a deliberate way, touched and flowing like artwork. Unfortunately for the sender, Malthon did not recognize the language it was written in. It almost reminded him of the Thalassian of Quel'thelas' high elves, yet it was dotted and etched in unfamiliar ways.

His calloused thumb touched over the signed name at the bottom, following the path of the ink in its curve from the left to under, widening just before the finish a quarter inch past the start of the first letter. A practiced signature, certainly. Just below was a three-word line, plain and formal, which he assumed to be a title.

Kaldorei, he reasoned. The perfume, the lettering, the silk... His mind immediately recalled the woman that followed their army and that had visited him within his very tent. Yes, she had the means of delivering this letter without notice, and all the traits to leave one of such self-important quality.

It was a shame that night elves did not take to the Light like the other races of the Alliance did. They followed their goddess Elune and accepted her Light and no other; there were no Paladins of Elune. As such, there was none with him who could translate this letter for him.

With a final sigh, Malthon resealed the letter. Nifty touch, that, with how the leafing could be inserted back. However, it wouldn't tell him if the letter had been tampered with beforehand and unsealed prior to arrival. Malthon moved the candle and opened his chest. Finding the slender pocket that housed his actual letters, he joined this one with them for later. Before closing it up again, he hesitated, then thumbed through for one letter in particular.

The envelope had yellowed in the years following, making it an easy find. Gently, he lifted it above the rest and glanced at the bold, precise scrawl that came with an exaggerated and familiar curve to the lettering. To My Lord Eyenhart, it read. Balinda's handwriting, when she was being mischievous. She hadn't curved her letters like so since this one, he suspected.

He didn't know how long he stared at those four words, but he found he couldn't remove it entirely and reread the contents. Shaking his head emboldened him enough to slip it back inside and close his chest.

Malthon laid upon his bed again with the candle still burning, and he turned away to face the blank tent wall. Because the Light had not warned him of the elf lurking through his tent, he assumed it meant her intentions were benevolent, and he knew he could sleep soundly tonight. It had been a long enough day and tiring enough night already.

He did not sleep.

XxX

All two hundred men and women stood before Malthon in the early morning light. He paced before them slowly once the last had joined them, nodding, and then began to speak:

"My brothers, my sisters, I want to discuss with you a bit the creature of last night before we all mount up and continue out. As many of you have surely assumed, it was not some fiend of the Lich King. He did not possess the Light-quenching power that this monster did. What that means is there is a new player in the field, one that is adding a new danger over our journey. Some of you have perceived this danger beforehand, or noticed a oddness to the Light as of late.

"At the moment, we are assuming the creature and this danger is some manifestation of this weird forest, but at high noon this day, our sister Balinda Crowngarde will take the gryphon out to determine the true face of this enemy. I fear that last night will not be our only encounter, so it will be good to be prepared.

"In the meanwhile, those of you that faced Redemption last night... I am in sorrow over your experiences. We will be merry to accommodate any special requirements for you over the next few days as your recover. If you need to be strapped to your chargers for the ride, tell a brother and we'll handle the rest. Now, find yourselves a quite meal to break your fasts, and let us be off. We proceed normally, Light-willing."

Arvin stroked his beard thoughtfully as half of their comrades saluted Malthon before turning back to their tents. He would not join the Scarlets in taking Lord Eyenhart as a new High General, though he felt the position could be warranted if Malthon had any desire for it. He watched the sullen Commander Jayce slink up to Malthon and break into a hushed conversation, then turned to his brother, Bardin.

Bardin Ironhawk was a mountain of a dwarf, even in comparison to Arvin. He recalled their youth, watching his brother alternate between mining with two pickaxes and simply cleaving the tunnels with a massive one, laughing merrily as he did. The Light had blessed him with awesome strength, sending him into training before their mother or father had time to teach him their crafts.

Such was Bardin's size that no armor set could fit his arms, leaving them bare to the shoulders. His hair was copper like Arvin's, braided about his head with two more in his forked beard. He looked like a vrykul hit by a gnomish shrink-ray. Despite his strength though, it hadn't saved him last night during the creature's attack.

With a nod, Arvin leaned over and scooped Bardin's arm over his shoulder. Even with the massive axe and plate armor, it was no burden. When Bardin gruffly tried thanking him, Arvin only shook his head and returned, "None of tha' now, brother. Let's get ya mounted up."

It was frightening to see Bardin so weak and stiff with the toll of death over him. The sheer idea of Bardin dying at all was far worse. His powerhouse of a brother, the one strongest in body and strongest in Light, had fallen. What chance would Arvin have against the same foe? What chance did anyone have?

Once Bardin was in his saddle with his legs tied down, and a warm plate of food in his hand, Arvin started at the feel of a heavy hand touching his head. He saw a tired smile on Bardin's face. "Spit tha' boulder out of yer mouth, ya drunken mess! I'm still 'ere, I t'ink."

"Wai'll I tell Da' about yer blasted shenanigans. He'll socket yer face right 'ere between yer eyes!" He tapped his nose for reference, and they both laughed softly. "Now eat yer strength back. I've got a trail tah find."

At the head of the force, Arvin continued to lead them, with Malthon and Jayce at his back. He kept his complaints to himself as he watched the ground and consulted the Light. Above him, the trees and branches continued their fey shifting around, appearing different from every angle, and he prayed they remained on course. With every step forward, the Light's warning grew stronger and stronger, painting a brilliant arrow to run in the opposite direction, but for the sake of his friend Malthon and everyone else, he ignored it.

Once the sun reached its zenith, Arvin slowed them for a break, letting their horses rest. While Malthon saw that spitfire Balinda off, Arvin shared a loaf of bread with Bardin. "I've chewed boulders softer than this!" he shouted to his brother as they ate, bringing cheer to his face. "Migh' as well fix 'er to a stick and smash a new tunnel for our home! Or mine me a pretty diamond!" The bread was simply awful, but the time was priceless.

At the conclusion of the meal, Arvin approached Malthon before they mounted up again. Compared to a dwarf, the human was tall, nearly as hulking as Bardin with the armor on. His suit was specially crafted, as one of Lordaeron's nobility, with fine lines of engraving and paint. The insignia of his people was done on his breast and shield. Though he kept his shoulders as smooth bulbs, Malthon had one of the finest sets of blessed armor among them.

He shared a nod with the blond human first, greeting him, then said, "If you have a minute, I wanted to bring something up about our trail."

"Certainly," Malthon replied. At the moment, his gauntlets were off as he washed his iron plate after his meal. "What is it, friend?"

Taking a breath, Arvin said, "It's about the trail again, and the branches. I think I discovered what has me so befuddled."

Malthon's large hands paused in their work for a moment, before he nodded slowly and resumed. "I'll listen, but hear me when I say I am more worried about those who reason the madness of the forest than those who remain disdainful of it."

"My mind is clear, Malthon," Arvin growled. "Not everything needs to be shrouded in secret, even here. It was simple too, when I took the time to actually study the matter. It goes like this: when passing under a branch, the lower one might be thick at the right and thinning to the left, and above it a slender one thinning to the right. On the other side, you'd think such would be reversed – thick on the left now and thinning to the right, because it's the same branch just on the other side.

"The case isn't so. More often than not, that same branch is still thick on the right, or strangely it's the higher branch, rather than the lower. It was difficult to tell when moving fast beneath, but the change is clear when walking under."

Malthon had dried his plate and hands, setting it aside, and rubbed his short beard at the explanation. "Alright, I do not doubt you, but what is the significance of this? We have not fallen lost because of a few leaves and branches, have we?"

"No, sir, and that's precisely what worries me. The change in branches isn't the forest: someone has cast an illusion before the path we follow, but rather than lead us astray, this illusion is guiding us where we wish to go, alongside the river. It's helping us, and that worries me even more."

Malthon frowned and crossed his arms. After a moment, he muttered, "The forest fights the forest here." Arvin himself frowned at the phrase, about to ask after it, but Malthon straightened. "I am going to say we should not worry at all, friend. The Light tells me no warning about this illusion, but what I fear and know is that this forest will try to kill us for the trespass at first opportunity. I believe that... someone is keeping the forest from leading us astray, indeed helping us, and I believe I know who, if not why."

"Care to share?" Arvin asked. He moved to sit on the same fallen log Malthon was on. His fingers combed his beard in thought.

"The first night, the nightwatch picked up on someone following us, some kaldorei woman. I thought her nothing more than a ghost, but since then, she – or at least her actions – have made several appearances following. If she is one of the highborne, then she has the power to guide us with such an illusion."

"If the Light says you can trust her, then I'll trust her, Malthon," Arvin sighed. "But I will say, this whole quest is wrought with blight. I want more answers and less questions."

"You and me both, friend," Malthon told him, looking a bit weary himself. "Come on, let's mount up. The sooner we are out of this forest, the sooner we can face the more familiar horrors."

"Sounds like a bright and sunny day of Scourge-hunting. I'll be glad to see it," Arvin agreed, pushing himself back to his feet. He felt his rifle shift against his back, under his shield. He would need to re-fix the bindings.

Once he was back on top of Slatemane, his charger, Arvin called the men back to their steeds, and they began the march again.

Malthon may not realize it, but he was the most crucial of them, Arvin felt. From what he understood of the confusion of the last night, between Bardin's experiences and the rest, they might not have won out against the creature. By stripping the Light from them, they became no more than two hundred footmen in heavy armor. Malthon was unique though; the Light could not be stripped from him, not entirely, and that was the reason for their victory.

So Light protect him. If it came down to it, Arvin knew he would pay the ultimate price for the fledgeling lord, for the sake of the many.

Light protect him.

XxX

The days came and went without further issue. Only once did Malthon catch sight of their elven stowaway, seeing her hover around the tents late at night before disappearing between a narrow aisle when she noticed him. Twice, he thought he saw silver eyes peering back from the shadows, but that could have been anything. On the eight day, Arvin stopped them to let an ancient tree warder pass by, and during a bath on the ninth, Malthon caught sight of several nymphs before they scattered back into the wilds.

It was just passed noon of the tenth day when Arvin cried out, "Ahoy! Saronite gates before us!" Fauna scrambled out of their path as their charge picked up to full speed, and they came storming out of the golden forest with loud cheering. Leaf-covered soil became mulched ice, and they skirted the edge of the icy waters below the dam.

At the southern end of the dam, the ice was smoothed into bulbous hills, and the slope up became more gradual. The paladins that had earned their chargers banished the steeds back into the Light. Any true paladin of note would have earned one, through the long trials of sacrifice, the barding and its blessing, and the eventual redemption of the steed of a death knight.

No longer undead, their steeds were part of the Holy Light, and could be called forth and released as easily.

A good number of the Scarlet paladins did not possess chargers; if raised a paladin after the fall of Lordaeron, the years of tribulation following did not permit them the same freedom to travel about the world on the required quests, to visit the Ancient Equine Spirit and beyond. Such was the reason for their stop through Wintergarde in the Great Dragonblight.

Now, Malthon and his men moved on foot up the treacherous slopes, and they very carefully guided up the horses that remained among them. Though Arvin mentioned the feeling of dread from the Light had not waned, it no longer directly him directly away from their current path, and he worked with it to find the trails that kept their horses from slipping to untimely deaths.

At the top of the frozen wall, the paladin army found themselves on familiar ground. Icecrown Glacier stretched before them with its frozen wasteland. The chunky slope cut off their view at a half mile along, so they could not see what horrors still roamed the land, but such was not their destination. Malthon called them back onto their chargers, then took the lead to the east.

The Argent Vanguard was only ten miles from their position. Inside, there would be supplies, rest, baths, and everything good in the world after a long march. Their horses churned up the snowy ground with Light-driven sureness as they moved. It took only twenty minutes to spot the narrow canyon that led into the Vanguard's nook, and ten after that to be running through.

During the hard run, Malthon kept glancing up the icy walls to see figures stationed on top, but he frowned at seeing nothing. It wasn't like the Argent Crusade to fall lax in their vigilance. His time marching with them had retaught him the meaning of the word.

The tide of his men poured out of the canyon into the valley. For the first few seconds, the whiteness of the snow was blinding, preventing Malthon from seeing very far in the distance. In short order, the vision cleared, revealed the rugged war-machines broken down from the old attacks, the spattering of dead trees and brush, and in the far, far distance, raised on a small plateau, was the Argent Vanguard, only five miles further.

It took Malthon a few seconds to realize that the dark grey print above the distant stronghold wasn't an after-burn of the blinding snow. No, it was clearly large billows of smoke. Something massive was burning there.

Jayce and several men shouted in alarm a few seconds later, and Malthon raised his fist in the order of a full charge. Their strong horses, so powerful and well-suited for the harsh travel, snorted and panted from their already long march, but as their riders urged them on, they thundered on at breakneck speeds.

In only a matter of minutes, they crested another slope and saw more clearly their destination. The Vanguard was burning, near the latter stages to be precise. Crown seemed to sense his rider's fears, neighing loudly in between steps, and the faithful steed continued onward.

A mile out from the stronghold, Malthon slowed their charge to a walk. There was no need to wear out their horses now; they were clearly too late to be of any help. It was then that he noticed a white shape rising from the ashes. Malthon let out a small breath of relief when he noticed it was a snowy gryphon, with a rider on its back. Balinda...

The paladin touched down before them, her face etched with a strange severity. Malthon noticed then, with some surprise, the red blood caked in her hair, and the wild scratches, dents, and other mars over her armor. A poor reconnaissance, but Light be thanked for her skill and durability to survive whatever she faced.

Nodding to her, Malthon said, "We will have a long talk about this very soon, but first, we are running low on food. Did anything survive in there?"

Slowly, she shook her head, as the others began to gather around him and Balinda. They managed to hear her say in a scratchy voice, "Nothing... Nothing survived in there, Malthon. The people, the livestock, the armaments... Hell's Bells, even the stones did not survive in there."

"Did you see anything before our arrival?"

The battered sister nearly glared, but her firm shoulders seemed to slump. "I saw... more than enough, Malthon. It was all I could do to keep Cloudrend alive through it all."

Noticing the chipper state of the bird, Malthon mentioned, "I mean here. Are we safe to camp here and put the city to rest, or could they be lurking nearby? Nothing went out the canyon in the last hour."

Balinda broke into a dry cough, from the smoke likely, but she shook her head. "I followed some tracks leaving the city. They go up the cliff wall, apparently in large leaps. Nothing human." Gesturing to where a few dwarves and a draenei stood, she clarified, "Nothing humanoid. They've... all left, whomever they were. However, I did find this. A banner, mounted in a black circle of blighted snow. They left their mark for us to find."

A rough linen cloth was being pressed against her stomach, and she gingerly reached out with it for him to take. Her motions were stiff, hopefully due to her time in the saddle rather than pain. Malthon took it, and with all eyes on him, he unraveled the white cloth.

Apart from the panting of their horses, there was absolute silence as everyone stared at the sigil. It was a three-lined circle, or three black circles inside each other like a bullseye without a pupil. Three black circles on a white banner. Malthon had never seen it before, nor heard of anything similar to it.

Holding the banner up, he announced, "Everyone take a clear look at this... The mark of our enemy."


AN: So, as of yesterday, I finished the entirety of "The First Stage: Assembly" of WotSE. There is a total of 13 chapters at the present, though I suspect there will be 14 around the time of the next update as I rework Chapter 2 (and likely split it). Also, The First Stage totals 157k words of story. I said it before and I'll say it again: some really exciting things are coming up in this story. I believe I ended each character's part in The First Stage rather strongly, and the direction of the story should be clear... Well, clear up until Ghat's counter-stroke.

More importantly is how this story is progressing to you, the readers. Am I unveiling too many characters too fast? I don't expect you to have down the names of everyone (like Thomas' rangers), so I try to keep it clear with enough reminders on who is who, but is it getting confusion? My own fear is that I switch between the stories too fast (every chapter) and you don't have time to learn them before forced into learning someone new – and worse still is the slow-ish updates, which enables you to forget over time, rather than take in the whole story in one go.

Because of that, you can expect two things: Fast updates for now (several a week, surely. Maybe every other day) and in The Second Stage, more chapters devoted to one character at a time (like Sin's North Wind and Storm were), until something is accomplished or put into place. So tell me what you think on that. Or don't; It's kind of like talking to a town of ghosts here sometimes.

*(There will be 3 to 5 Stages in this story, none as long as Assembly is. A sequel is confirmed)