The Kor'kon Vanguard was just that: a group of hardened soldiers who had seen more than their fair share of battle against the Scourge. The group, more than five-thousand strong on the Horde side, was gathered around a couple of crudely constructed orcish towers, spread in tent villages that were hidden from view by mage spells.

I walked around, trying to figure out how many people were there and whether there were enough weapons for everyone. Even with the caches we had found all over Northrend, I had my doubts. I had counted nearly a thousand spellcasters who had their own staffs and wands, but most of the others needed swords, axes, or ranged weapons.

"Stop worrying, Major," said Rotvine. "We just got an additional hundred boxes of arrows. We're fine."

I glared at him. Ever since Sylvanas had promoted me, he used my new title to tease me without mercy. "A hundred boxes of how many arrows?"

"Twenty-five each."

"That won't be enough."

"Archers can't carry more than twenty-five arrows at a time, and you know it. Anything more and they can't move anymore. Ask Sylvanas."

I didn't need to. I knew the exact amount of arrows Sylvanas carried on her, along with how many knives and swords, not to mention the length and weight of each.

But I was thinking about how many members of the Scourge we could kill with that many arrows. Assuming that at least half of the shots would be fatal and that the rest would either miss or simply injure the living Scourged soldiers, I wasn't entirely convinced. But I couldn't be picky, not now.

"Whatever they don't hit with arrows they can finish off with swords."

I nodded as a shadow sidled over to us. Looking up, I saw Grand Apothecary Putress, dressed in robes that would have been splendid had they not been rotting on his body. "Ah," he said in a voice that sent shivers running up and down my spine, "Our newest major."

"Grand Apothecary," I said, nodding once. I hadn't had much of a chance to work with him, because Sylvanas made sure to keep me away from the Royal Apothecary Society, but the few times I'd spoken to him, I'd felt uneasy around him.

I'd heard that he had been a criminal figure before being killed by the Scourge. I wasn't entirely sure which crimes he had committed. Rumors abounded, from petty theft to murder. Whatever it was, Sylvanas seemed to appreciate all his hard work when it came to the new version of the plague.

"It's quite surprising, that our queen decided to promote you to major, considering all of the times that you helped the Alliance."

"I didn't know that you had ever given me any consideration, Grand Apothecary."

"Oh, I have. Many of us have given you plenty of consideration, Major."

The way he was talking to me gave me the creeps, "That's good to know," I told him. "Maybe you'll be able to realize that we can all work together for the good of Undercity, to bring down the Scourge once and for all."

"There's no need for you to worry about that. The Scourge will get what's coming to it." He walked away, glancing back at me as he did so.

"I don't like the way he said that," I told Rotvine.

He shrugged, "He's always been a little weird. He thinks that just because he's Grand Apothecary, that he can do whatever he wants. You have other things to worry about."

"That's true." I glanced around, noticing that the living vastly outnumbered the Forsaken, which meant that I had to make sure that they were comfortable in their tents. Northern Dragonblight was freezing in the best of circumstances, but at that moment, it was downright unlivable. "Arthas is sending out one of his storms."

I began walking between the tents, casting warming spells here and there, and handing out blankets to soldiers, who seemed to appreciate them. At various points, I ordered pits to be dug and fires to be lit, before finding all the cooks in the area and asking them to make hot soup and tea to give to everyone. "Some strong alcohol will do as well, I think."

"Those are good orders, Major."

It was Tarr, the orc shaman from the Argent Fortress. He was smiling as he walked over to us, wearing thick furs over his armor, and carrying an ornate staff.

"You think?" I asked.

"Sure. Everyone's worried about the battle, but people aren't thinking about the comfort of the soldiers."

"Sylvanas used to tell me that a soldier needs a good night's rest before a big battle. She would always make sure that everyone was as comfortable as possible so that they felt ready to fight the next day."

"She doesn't do that anymore," remarked Rotvine.

"Maybe not for the Forsaken," I said. "Being as they don't need to eat, sleep, or be warm. But she usually makes sure that they're dry and armed.. And if anybody living is within her ranks, you can be sure that she orders them to be fed and to sleep well before battle."

"We don't need to be warm?" Rotvine asked me.

"You don't feel the cold the same way the living do, Rotvine."

He chuckled, "I know."

Commander Dranosh Saurfang was giving his own orders to a group orcs nearby, and I watched as they obeyed him, loyal to a fault.

"Don't you wish people respected you the same way they do him?" asked someone, whose voice caused me to tense.

Cindera stood by, wearing a resplendent suit of armor that I'd never seen before. I recognized the Forsaken make, and wondered how much she had paid for that particular extravagance. But I wasn't there to discuss that.

I looked at her and smiled, "I can find you something to do, Cindera, if you're bored."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if you're standing here just watching others receiving orders, I can find you something more productive to do. The latrines need some cleaning out."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I pointed towards the corner of the camp that had been designated as the latrine corner, "Go. Now."

"You can't make me clean up shit!"

"Watch me," I told her, standing up to my full height. "You want to disrespect your superiors, be my guest. But you will go clean the latrines when I tell you to."

She stared at me, and for a moment, I thought she was going to strike me.

"Oh, go ahead, Cindera. Make my day." Magic crackled around me, and I was ready to cast my spell at any second, should she not obey me.

She shook with anger, but walked away from me. I saw her going to the latrine corner and pick up a shovel. I didn't think she would actually clean anything, but at least it was a first step.

"That's good work, Major," said Dranosh, handing me a flask of alcohol, "It's obvious that she dislikes you, but being able to at least get her to listen to you is a good thing. Being a leader isn't about being the most popular."

"I'm beginning to notice that, Commander," I told him, accepting the flask and taking a drink. The liquid burned a trail of fire down my throat.

"You have a good group of people who are loyal to you. The Forsaken, for the most part, really respect you, and from what I've heard, it has very little to do with your relationship with Lady Sylvanas."

"Oh, I know I have my friends, of course," I began.

"Not your friends, Major. I mean the troops who will follow you into battle no matter what. They respect what you've been through and the fact that you've got a lot of experience. Your friendship with the tauren has made you a powerful ally within the Horde. You're a good ambassador between them, your own people, and the Forsaken."

"I guess that I simply need friends with the Darkspear and the orcs," I replied.

Dranosh smiled, "You've got them. You may not be able to count on them telling you their deepest secrets, but as far as them following you into battle is concerned, I think that you'll find them as friends."

I'd never considered that people from all facets of the Horde respected me that way. It was overwhelming. What if I let them down?

"I don't know Lady Sylvanas very well, but love hasn't blinded her. She sees something in you that has nothing to do with whatever tender moments you share. She promoted you to Major because she had faith that you would be able to handle it." He nodded towards all the soldiers assembled around us. "You've done a good job in the short time since your promotion."

I hoped that we would be all right during the battle. I didn't know how we were going to manage all of the soldiers under us, not to mention the Alliance soldiers and the Scourge.

The sky darkened as night fell, and everyone settled down. I enforced a strict curfew, trying to make sure that the soldiers would get as much sleep as possible. I kept watch, strolling amongst the tents to make sure everything was all right, and checking everyone's weapons. I added a spell or two to shields and blades, hoping that it would do something to help the people wielding them.

Finally, at about two o'clock in the morning, I fell asleep in my tent. It wasn't a restful sleep, for when I woke up, I felt a chill unlike anything I'd ever felt come over me. It penetrated my very bones, and once I got up, I noticed that everyone was feeling it. Each soldier shivered under furs and thick cloaks.

"They know," I whispered. "Arthas knows that we're ready for battle."

"But how can he know?" Rotvine asked me. "We're shielded!"

"They have their mages too, so they must have done something to see through our shields." I moved towards Dranosh, who was deep in conversation with Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, who had come down from the Alliance stronghold not far away from us.

"Ah, Major," he said to me. "If you're coming to tell us that we should get the troops ready, I agree. You should wake anybody who hasn't yet gotten up. They won't have gotten much sleep, but we can't help that now. We need to strike before he does."

Terror threatened to come over me, but I pushed it away. I couldn't afford to let anything come between myself and the battle. Going back to my tent, I put on my battle robes, robes that had been reinforced with various protection and enhancement spells, and began getting everyone ready.

Rotvine and Tarr were right next to me helping younger soldiers getting into their armor and trying to calm some of the ones ready to give way to panic.

"We're not ready for this kind of battle!" cried a young blood elf to me, clutching at my hand.

"Calm down, soldier," I told him. "You've fought the Scourge in Northrend before, have you not?"

"Y-yes…" he whimpered.

"Well then, you have nothing to worry about, all right? This will be much the same."

"Except that Arthas will be there!"

I nodded, "Arthas who butchered our people. Arthas who killed your ranger-general and your king."

The soldier was still shaking.

"Don't let your fear overwhelm you," I told him. "Take your fear and use it to fight. Make sure that they pay for what they've done to our people." I helped him stand up straighter and buckled his breastplate, securing it to his body.

"They're scared," said Tarr.

"We're all scared," I replied. "We can't let that stop us."

"Some of them might be too afraid to fight, you know."

"We can't back out now. If the Scourge attacks us before we attack it, we're all dead. Come on, get ready."

I grabbed my staff, one made of white wood spiked with black and violet that had been smoothed and carved into some kind of intricate branch with several arms that almost resembled a hand. In the middle was suspended a black crystal that glowed with a brilliant violet light, and warmed me whenever I cast a spell.

"Soldiers of the Horde!" I cried, vaulting on top of Lady, glancing around and noticing that not everyone was there. Indeed, I could tell that more than half of the Forsaken forces that should have been with me were nowhere to be seen. "Whatever lies beyond that gate is an old enemy that we should crush beneath our heel! Do not give in to terror! Be brave, and fight! Fight for Azeroth! Fight for the fallen!"

Cries filled the air. I heard the names of King Anasterian and Sylvanas, along with the name of King Terenas called out into the frigid morning air.

Dranosh called out for us to ride, and we did, joining the members of the Alliance who were already leaping to action. Scourge fiends were there, waiting for them, but they were cut down almost immediately.

"For Quel'Thalas!" I cried. Lady raced forward, taking a tremendous leap down the hill. I began to cast even before I reached the undead Scourge. I could almost feel my entire family with me as I thrust my staff into the first ghoul I encountered. Arcane light burst from within the ghoul, destroying the vile creature and jumping to a gargoyle, who had also joined the fray. The gargoyle fell instantly.

Leaping from Lady's back, I sent her with the wolves who were riding away from the battle, ready to take over should the unthinkable happen to all of us.

The gate in front of us, known as Angrathar, was still closed, but creatures were swarming all around the doors, seeming to come from the very walls. I cast spell after spell, feeling Rotvine beside me. A blood elven priestess behind us kept constant shields around us so that we would be protected from sudden attacks, thus allowing us to fight more freely. She looked younger than me, this priestess, but the long scar that disfigured her face testified to the fact that she had seen her fair share of battle, and when a zombie exploded, splattering her with gore, she didn't flinch.

The battle began to intensify. Undead vrykul joined the scene, towering over the rest of us and taking out several Horde and Alliance soldiers.

Murmuring under my breath, I began to cast. Black fire engulfed the end of my staff and burst forth, incinerating every Scourge enemy within its path. I noticed several minions glancing at me in fear and begin to retreat, the ones with minimal intelligence tripping backwards over themselves.

"Push forward!" I called.

"Nice shot!" cried Dranosh, who was a few paces ahead of me.

I didn't take the time to appreciate the compliment. There would be plenty of opportunity to do this later.

An eerie quiet seemed to descend over us. At my feet lay the burning corpses of whatever had been killed, sending acrid black smoke into the sky that smelled of something unbearable.

Dranosh and Bolvar were standing together, eyeing the closed entrance to the Lich King's citadel.

"Arthas!" cried Bolvar, loudly enough for every single one of us to hear. "The blood of your father, of your people, demands justice! Come forth, coward, and answer for your crimes!"

"Get ready," I said in a low voice. The sky, which had been getting darker despite the fact that it was morning, was now almost pitch black.

The gate slowly creaked open, sounding like a crypt door and sending forth a blast of icy wind. I took one step back, bracing myself.

There he was. He stepped forward slowly, his footsteps echoing around us. Frostmourne was gripped in his hands, glowing with a life of its own. My vision flashed red. All of a sudden, I could hear Sylvanas screaming as he tortured her.

"Arthas!" I shrieked.

He saw me.

I would have barreled towards him had I not known better. As it was, I shook with fury, willing myself not to do anything rash.

"You speak of justice?" he asked, staring me down. His voice was colder than the abyss the Scourge had come from. "Of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave, and the true meaning of fear."

A chill coursed through me. I knew what he meant to do. He meant to kill me and raise me as one of his undead, to torture Sylvanas with my death as he had tortured me.

I would not let this happen.

All around him, scores of undead rose, from ghouls and zombies to Nerubians, gargoyles and undead wyrms.

They surged forward with incredible speed, all of them surrounding Arthas and coming over to us. I was barely able to put up an arcane wall of power before something, a darkfallen from what I could see, attempted to strike me. I heard screams from every side and saw some forces falling, both Horde and Alliance.

"Burn the bodies!" I screamed, killing the undead elf in front of me. "Now! Before they're raised!" I sent out some black fire everywhere I could reach, and heard several Horde shaman crying out fire spells, but it was already too late for some.

Wielding Frostmourne, Arthas called forth the souls of some of the fallen, before he did something that made me shriek.

Commander Dranosh sprung forward, meaning to strike Arthas head on. But the cursed runeblade struck the orc fully, shattering his axe and embedding itself in his chest, killing him on the spot. There was absolutely nothing any of us could do. I gave a cry as I saw Frostmourne take his soul, a silvery wisp that gave the blade life. "Dranosh!"

"Your turn," said Arthas, fully turning to me.

"You will pay for all of the lives you've stolen!" cried Bolvar.

"Fighting words," said Arthas. "I wonder what you'll say when –."

An explosion shook the very ground we stood on, a flash of green light illuminating the scene.

All of us turned towards the sound, and my jaw dropped. I wasn't alone.

"What in the hell is… what is that?" asked Rotvine, completely stunned.

Forsaken, a lot of them, were standing behind catapults that contained green glass receptacles. The Plague. I could see Putress behind everyone, standing atop a huge skeletal horse, looking down at all of us. His laugh carried down to us.

"Arthas," he said. "Did you think we had forgotten? Did you think we had forgiven?"

"Sylvanas…" said Arthas, glancing at me quickly.

The first catapults began to fire and I screamed, "By the Sunwell! Retreat! Retreat!"

My cry was loud enough for several people to hear me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several hundred people run away from the exploding Plague containers. Holding my breath, I grabbed the first person behind me, the blood elf priestess, and pulled her with me.

"What is that?" cried a human.

"It's the Plague! Run!"

I snapped my head back and saw, to my utmost horror, that Plague containers were raining down on everyone. Neither the living or the Scourge were spared.

"Death to the Scourge!" cried Putress. "And death to the living!"

"What is he doing?" cried Rotvine. "Did Sylvanas order this?"

I stumbled in the snow, my vision nearly blurred from my attempt not to breathe. The air was green with the plagued gas being released from the containers. I saw orcs falling. Humans. Dwarves. Tauren. I even saw Arthas dropping to his knees, but a second later, he got back to his feet with a roar and retreated back into Icecrown Citadel.

I heard a loud cry ahead of me. The next thing I knew, something was dragging me through the snow, away from the Plague and the falling soldiers. I barely glimpsed Lady's talons as she pulled with all her strength, determined to get me out of there.

"Lady, stop!" I cried. I shook her off and tried to get to my feet, but I felt horribly dizzy. The hawkstrider helped me stay standing as I looked around myself, people's screams ringing in my ears.

Death was everywhere. Many members of the Scourge had been killed by the Plague, which should have been a victory. Except that it wasn't. I felt my sanity give a little as I saw almost all of our forces dead in the snow. I saw Bolvar falling, his flesh desiccating before my eyes. I began to run back for him, but people held me back.

"You can't, Faith! You can't! He's dead!" Rotvine was holding onto my arm, while Tarr had both his arms wrapped around my waist.

I screamed. I screamed until I couldn't scream anymore. I barely noticed the arrival of the dragons coming from Wyrmrest Temple. Had I looked up, I would have recognized Krasus and Alexstrasza, but I couldn't tear my eyes from what I was seeing. I kept fighting, trying to return to the fray. Someone had to have survived that nightmare. Someone… anyone.

It was only when I saw the dragon fire engulfing the rest of the Forsaken forces with the catapults that I stopped struggling, falling in the snow and sobbing.

Someone came towards us. An elf with white-blond hair, taller than any elf who had ever existed. He picked me up, nodding to the ones who had kept me from going back, and carried me away. I was still sobbing loudly, my throat hoarse. What had happened?

"Sylvanas…" I managed to say. "No… she didn't…"

"No, Faith," said Krasus to me, depositing me in front of is mate. "I don't think that Sylvanas would have ordered that kind of a massacre."

"Of course she would have!" screamed someone, a woman. She looked furious, and unsheathed her sword, running at me.

Krasus muttered a spell, freezing the woman to the spot for a second before releasing her, "No. There has been enough death here today."

Through my blurry vision, I saw fire burning everywhere. The very air seemed to burn, and I realized that the dragon fire had neutralized the Plague. The Plague that I had helped make. The one Sylvanas had ordered made.

Turning onto my side, I vomited. Blood dribbled from my lips, staining the snow a dark red. An instant later, I felt something inside me, a warm fire that seemed to have taken hold of my heart and was slowly spreading throughout my veins.

"Be at peace, child," said Alexstrasza to me. "We know that Sylvanas would have never ordered something like this with you in the fray. She knew that you would be in the battle. She would have never put you in harm's way."

I couldn't stop crying. Dranosh. Bolvar. Countless people dead, just like that. Fighting Arthas and the Scourge would have been horrific enough, but this… What had Putress done?

"He was supposed to hit the Scourge… only the Scourge!" I cried.

"I do not think that Grand Apothecary Putress is working for Sylvanas anymore," said Alexstrasza quietly. "Neither were the Forsaken I had to kill."

Slowly, trembling, I got to my feet. I couldn't begin to count how many forces we had lost. Had we lost everyone? Everything? How were we supposed to fight the Scourge now? Putress…

"I'm so sorry…" I whispered.

"Your warning allowed a couple of hundred people from both sides to flee before the Plague erupted everywhere," said Krasus. "How did you know?"

"Know?" I asked blankly.

"That he was aiming for everyone."

"I didn't. I just… I had a feeling. I knew something was wrong when the Forsaken didn't all join us in battle, but I didn't have time to analyze the reason." My knees buckled under me and I fell, "I failed…"

"You never could have predicted this," said Rotvine. "We need to tell Varok Saurfang what happened."

"Oh… Light.." I whispered, beginning to cry again. "How are we going to tell him that Arthas took Dranosh's soul?"

"He died a hero of the Horde, Faith," said Krasus gently. "You can tell him that."

I forced myself to my feet again and got onto Lady with difficulty, shivering more than I remembered doing since Sylvanas had died. Slowly, I guided my hawkstrider towards the scene of the battle, forcing myself to look at the bodies of the fallen. I got off her back, and picked up several insignias belonging to the Forsaken, tauren, and elves who had fought with me.

"So many…" I whispered. "So many of them have died…"

I guessed that, altogether about ten thousand of the forces fighting the Scourge had perished, mostly because of Putress. It was an insurmountable loss.

Putress…

His act qualified as an act of war against the Alliance. But he had also slaughtered Horde soldiers, and the Scourge.

I walked to where Dranosh had fallen, noticing that his body was gone. So was Bolvar's. With trembling fingers, I picked up the shield that had belonged to the Horde commander and brought it back to Alexstrasza.

"Could you please see to it that this is returned to his father? He deserves to know."

"Of course," she said to me. "What are you going to do?"

"I need to return to Undercity. Sylvanas must be told what happened." Blindly, I began to create a portal, but Krasus stopped me.

"You are in no condition to create a portal, much less use one, Faith. The forces will kill you in the state you're in. Take whatever remains of your forces, and grab a zeppelin to Undercity. It will only take you a day to reach it."

I couldn't feel myself nodding. I could barely feel anything but a deep cold that was settling into my bones.

I have no recollection of getting to Vengeance Landing. All I know is that suddenly, I was there, surrounded by the few people who had been with me at the Wrathgate. Rotvine and Tarr were closest to me, along with the Sin'dorei priestess, whose name I learned was Carelia. Two dozen others refused to leave my side.

Dranosh had been right. Even trolls were there. People I had never spoken to, but who swore to follow me wherever I went.

As we boarded the zeppelin, I looked at one of them, a male with mottled blue skin and his green hair spiked at the center of his head. His name was Dalzen, and by the looks of him, he was a rogue.

"I don't think I've ever seen you before," I told him. My voice was hoarse, low. I didn't know how long it would take for my throat to heal, but it was the least of my worries.

"You have not," he told me. "But I first saw you in the Borean Tundra. You fight well."

"Thank you. And thank you for deciding to come with us."

"I think that Undercity will be a good place for me. Not many people will agree to having a troll rogue around."

"I'll agree to have you around," I said. "I'm happy that you survived." I examined a bloody bandage on his arm. "I'll help you clean that once we're underway."

He nodded, "Thank you."

Beaten, broken, we clung to the side of the zeppelin as it took off and began flying away from Northrend. I didn't think that I would be able to come back. The mere idea of going into battle again terrified me. I shook at the thought. I felt like I had failed her. I had failed Thrall. I had failed everyone who had ever had faith in me…