Chapter Six: The Need to Heal and Rebuild
It was several days until Jaina Proudmore’s ship arrived at Darkshore. Feranda had met her once before, though briefly, during the last war against the Legion. To be honest, the priestess wasn’t sure what to think of her. On the one hand the blond-haired, blue-eyed human was a mage and Feranda didn’t care much for sorceresses. Most of them were just too arrogant for her taste. On the other she had fought alongside her people and even managed to delay Archimonde himself when he assaulted Nordrasil. As the priestess stood in the back of the tent while Tyrande and Krasus laid out their proposal to the Lady of Theramore Isle Feranda was starting to like her.
“Both kingdoms have made contact with Theramore so I can certainly make the introduction to Stormwind and Ironforge for you High Priestess. But are you sure want to do this,” she asked politely. “Joining the Alliance will come with obligations. For one thing, every nation in the Alliance has good reasons to hate the Horde. If your people join, then if the Alliance and the Horde go to war you would be required to join that conflict.”
“We have considered that,” Tyrande answered gravely her white robes and purple skin in contrast with Jaina’s blue cloak. “But we are losing the peace with the Horde regardless. It may only be a matter of time before we will need to fight the Horde. And we are not in a good position to do so on our own right now.”
Jaina considered that as she took a drink of the tea she was offered. “King Magni Bronzebeard of Ironforge and King Varian Wyrnn of Stormwind are who you will need to speak with. Stormwind has a much larger population than Ironforge and it will almost certainly be even larger now with any survivors from Lordaeron who didn’t cross the sea traveling there. That said, I would recommend that you speak with King Magni. He is the more experienced leader, and King Varian would likely follow any recommendation that he gives.”
“When you say that Stormwind has a larger population than Ironforge what do you mean,” Fandral Staghelm was standing by the table where Jaina and Tyrande sat, looking grumpy.
“Well,” Jain thought, “Please bear in mind that I may be wrong about what I say, and I can’t give precise numbers for the entire kingdom of course. But I believe Stormwind’s capitol has a garrison of around two hundred thousand soldiers.”
Several of the Night Elves present let out soft whistles. Feranda didn’t blame them. That was easily four times larger than the Night Elves entire army at the height of their power. And that was just one city in the Eastern Kingdoms. Granted, Feranda thought, numbers didn’t always win battles, but they certainly helped.
“Are there any other considerations we should know before we proceed with this,” Malfurion also stood by the table but beside the High Priestess and with a much more pleasant look on his face.
“Yes, two points in particular,” Jaina put her teacup back on the table. “First, the Alliance is still reeling from the war against the Scourge and the Burning Legion and that will certainly be an issue if they are considering new members. Second, you may need another recommendation than mine.”
Tyrande and Malfurion shared a look, “Is this because of what happened with your father?”
“Yes,” Jaina told the High Priestess, a sad and bitter note in voice. “There are some in the Alliance who see what I did as treason. Kul Tiras,” she gave a sad sigh, “has even left the Alliance in protest because of my actions. If it is only my recommendation it may not carry much weight.”
Feranda grimaced. She had heard the story of how her father, Daelin Proudmore had led an expedition to Kalimdor and immediately went to war with the Horde. To save her people and to preserve peace between them and the Horde she had stood aside during the war. Allowing her father to be killed. It had restored the peace between Theramore and the Horde after her father’s death. But Feranda couldn’t imagine giving an order like that. Her own father had died almost a century ago from fighting a centaur raid so she would never have to make that choice.
“I thought about that Jaina,” Krasus sat at the table as well, between the High Priestess and the sorceress. “Sadly, my pull with the Alliance has never counted for much but Ronin is another matter.”
Jaina brightened up immediately, “Certainly, as he is the de facto leader of the Kirin Tor now his recommendation would work wonders.”
“It would be good to see him again,” Malfurion said with a smile. “It will be good to see how Dalaran has been rebuilt since I was last there. Perhaps, I could accompany you on this journey East?”
He looked to Tyrande for permission. His life mate smiled and gave a nod. Feranda knew that she would likely want to go as well but the demands on her time right now simply wouldn’t allow it.
“The Elune’s Grace is ready to depart Shando Stormrage,” Feranda told him.
“Actually,” Krasus said with a smile. “I think I can arrange a much faster way.”
Walking out of the tent where Rishzaran was waiting for them, Krasus drew a large circle on the ground with a stick. As he drew symbols of power and runes around the circle Jaina smiled. “You could just use a spell to draw.”
“I know, but it is just more relaxing to do this by hand,” the dragon in the shape of an elf laughed.
When he finished, he looked over his work and gave a nod of approval. He then beckoned Malfurion, Feranda, and Rishzaran towards him. Confused and feeling unsettled, Feranda did as asked and stood awkwardly next to the others.
“Now, this will feel a little disorienting,” the mage warned. “But we will be at Ronin’s doorstep in a few seconds.”
Without giving time for further questions, comments, or complaints Krasus made a gesture with his hands and a blue light flared from the circle he drew. For a moment the only thing Feranda could see was blue light with swirling images in a vague background. Then the world seemed to right itself and she could see normally again. Granted she nearly fell over from the experience and almost fell into Rishzaran and Malfurion. Krasus, alone, had remained steady on his feet.
“Welcome to Dalaran,” Krasus told them.
Now that she was properly looking, she saw that she was in the middle of a city. The city was made of stone with towers that shone in bright daylight. At least the towers that were standing as most of them had been crushed. Yet, as she watched the stones seemed to be slowly lifting into place, repairing the towers. Though she wondered why it was going slowly when she had seen mages work far faster.
They also were not alone in the city street. With many hundreds or even thousands of people going about their day or working to rebuild their city. And they had noticed these newcomers to their city with guards coming to surround them almost immediately. Humans were generally shorter than Night Elves though not as short as gnomes or dwarves. Still the armored soldiers were an intimidating sight.
“State your business here,” one of the guards called out.
“I am Krasus, Archmage of the Kirin Tor, and I have brought guests to meet with Ronin Leader of the Council of Six,” the dragon shaped like a mage told them.
Immediately the guards relaxed. Many of them bowed to Krasus. The captain who spoke earlier spoke again, “Understood sir. Archmage Ronin is currently in the city’s main library shall we escort you?”
“Thank you but I can find the way,” Krasus told him with a smile.
Walking through the streets Feranda found herself staring at everything. She had never been to a city like this. All stone wrought and clearly infused with magic. Most of the city’s inhabitants were humans but there were also a good number of High Elves, dwarves, and gnomes as well. Most seemed just as curious about her and her companions as well with a group of human children pausing a game to watch them. A ball they were playing with rolled to stop at Malfurion’s feet. The Archdruid, smiling, caused a vine to sprout from the ground and carry the ball back to its owners. They laughed as they picked up their toy while the vine grew bright pink and white flowers.
The city’s main library was far larger inside than it appeared to be outside. Feranda thought it must contain books on every subject imaginable. She would love to come back to this city at some point just to read through these tomes. Sitting at a table with several open books and quills making notes that he dictated sat a human with flaming red hair that Krasus was walking straight towards. The man looked up from notes and smiled at his guests.
“Malfurion, I didn’t know when or where we would meet again but I am glad to see you,” the mage, who had to be Ronin the Red Haired clasped Malfurion’s outstretched hand.
“Indeed, it seems you are hard at work,” Malfurion gestured to the tomes still open.
“A project that I have been working on though it will be some time before it is ready,” Ronin told him with a grin. “What happy miracle brings you to Dalaran?”
“We’ve got an idea that we would like to share,” Krasus told him with a smirk.
Telling the Archmage of why they had come caused Ronin to grin even more broadly. “I would be happy to give recommendations for joining the Alliance. Though Dalaran is technically not a part of the Alliance anymore between Jaina and I recommending you, King Magni would be glad to hear it. Frankly, he could use some good news.”
“Due respect you don’t seem to be that bad off here,” Rishzaran had been quiet until now. He had a point, Feranda thought. Granted the city was being rebuilt but from all that she heard about the fall of Lordaeron she expected things to be far worse.
“Appearances can be deceiving my friend,” Ronin conjured a window into the side of the library. “Look outside, to the North, and tell me what you see.”
Both Feranda and Rishzaran looked out the window and both gasped at what they saw. What they had assumed to be the entire city was only the central most part of a far larger one. And beyond a boundary of enchanted light was nothing but devastation. Buildings were either in ruins or deduced to their foundations. Not a single crop or living plant could be seen. And, shambling about were the risen corpses of the undead.
“This is not as bad as other places in Lordaeron,” Ronin told them coming to look out as well. “If you traveled Northeast you would come to a place so terrible you could only describe it as a plagued land. Thankfully, the Scourge did not advance beyond the Thandol Span so those lands are safe from this darkness.”
“How could anyone have survived this,” Feranda asked and realized she was gaping at what she saw.
“Through many factors. Luck. Faith. And the sacrifice of brave souls,” Ronin turned away from the ruined scene outside. With a gesture the window vanished. “Most of those who could flee have already done so. Those few who remain are either here, hiding behind barricades of their own, or have gone mad.”
“Elune have mercy,” Feranda gave a simple prayer and made the sign of the moon.
“I certainly hope she listens,” Ronin said with a kind smile.
“What would you say the Alliance needs most at this moment,” Malfurion asked. He had been to Lordaeron before and already knew about how much destruction the Scourge had wrought.
“At this moment,” Ronin thought. “It needs three things in my opinion. Two practical and one less so. First, it needs to improve its food production. The lands of Stormwind and Ironforge were devastated during past wars with the Horde and while they have largely recovered, they will need help to feed themselves. Second, the Alliance needs leadership. King Magni and King Varian have done their best but both of them need more experienced advisors, especially King Varian. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the Alliance needs to have something to hope for. It needs to be given something to hope for, something to live for, something to fight for.”
The first one shouldn’t be that difficult, Feranda thought. With the aid of the druids, those lands should not be too difficult to heal and provide food. Experienced leadership, again, the Night Elves could easily provide that as well. That last one though. How would they even start with that?
Malfurion, however, laughed. “If that is all then this should be far simpler than I feared. Thank you, my friend. While I would like to speak with you more it seems we need to travel to Ironforge.”
“Well, I’m afraid getting there through magical means would not be safe at the moment,” Ronin advised. “Ironforge is a true fortress in every sense of the word. And with the fall of Lordaeron they have strengthened their protections to include preventing direct transport into the city or even close to the city. But I can offer another option. One that will ingratiate you to the dwarves.”
They left the library and walked to a menagerie filled with many kinds of exotic animals. Ronin led them to a stable within the building that held larger beasts. Including a creature Feranda had read about but never seen in person. It was easily the size of a large stag or elk with the body of a lion and the head, talons, and wings of an eagle. A gryphon, or rather several of them were either lounging in the stable or taking flight from a cave-like hole that led to the sky. Unlike the hippogriff’s that Night Elves favored, whose bodies were more akin to stags, gryphon’s were the preferred flying mounts of the Alliance.
Ronin helped them to pick out four of the great beasts. At first Krasus looked like he might decline and fly there himself, but he seemed to think better of it. Rishzaran needed a minute to get settled while Feranda’s gryphon mount was eager to fly, stretching its wings reflexively. Taking flight was exhilarating. Her gryphon rose high enough to make the ground beneath them seem like a tapestry. Though wishing she had thought to dress warmer she felt thrilled at the idea of another adventure.
Chapter Seven: Lost and Found
Though it had taken several days, maybe weeks, Zentabra had done it. He found the caravan. A storm had passed through the Barrens and the caravan had been caught in the middle of it. The Kudo beasts, massive hooved and thick hided creatures, had been scared and scatted during a strong bout of lightning and thunder. So, the caravan drivers had spent a lot of time attempting to locate all their wagons and animals. Zentabra offered to help and was able to find many of them. The caravan was almost ready to depart again when the centaur found them.
The four hooved raiders with the torsos of either elves or humans, the troll wasn’t sure which, had tracked the kudo’s and were surrounding the caravan. What was worse, one of the wagons was damaged and the caravan’s leader, a Tauren, was trapped beneath its heavy weight. Zentabra had leapt off a wagon he sat in the back of to help but even with four orcs and Tauren together with him they couldn’t lift it. At least not enough while attempting to dodge arrows from the centaur.
Feeling something whiz past his ear caused the young troll to duck. He reached for the long knives he had been given for this journey and considered how best to use them here. As he considered his options a centaur raced towards him carrying a war lance. Timing his actions as best he could, Zentabra was able to dodge the lance and plunge one of the long knives into the centaur as it passed. The centaur collapsed to the ground and Zentabra, not wanting to give it time to recover drove a knife into its throat, killing it almost immediately.
Not having time to do more than withdraw his knives, Zentabra fled back to the trapped Tauren brave. More arrows were now whizzing by or striking the wagon. And in the distance Zentabra thought he saw more centaur’s galloping towards them. He held the brave’s hand to comfort him and gave a silent prayer to the Loa. The centaur cleared the distance to the caravan wagon quickly, with both bows and lances at the ready.
Whatever Zentabra thought was going to happen next didn’t. Instead, the front ranks of the centaur burst into flames so quickly they didn’t have time to scream. Those in the back ranks faltered and turned as bolts of ice rained down onto them. As if the assault of the elements wasn’t enough a light slammed onto the remaining centaur’s crushing them into paste. It was like a great hand had just come from the sky and stamped them out like insects.
The caravan workers and drivers were too shocked to cheer at first but now that they realized they had been saved a cheer went up. Zentabra looked up from where he crouched and saw a group of orc warriors and robbed figures that he wasn’t sure about coming from the other side of the caravan. From the direction of Orgrimar. He squeezed the brave’s hand and called out for help.
Two of the warriors joined those already around the wagon and were able to lift it off the Tauren. Zentabra and another warrior pulled him free. Though it looked like his legs were crushed the brave was at least alive.
“Thank ya mon,” Zentabra told the orc warrior, “I be Zentabra.”
“I am Ughbar,” the orc told him with a nod. “Though you should share your thanks with them.”
The orc pointed at the two robbed figures that Zentabra could now see clearly. And while he was grateful, he was having a hard time saying the words. They were Undead. Zentabra didn’t have much experience with the Undead as others but enough to be careful. Still, they had saved his life and the rest of the caravan.
“Thank ya both,” Zentabra managed to say without sounding breathless. Both figures nodded to him. Then the taller of the two noted the wounded brave and gestured to his smaller companion. She went to examine the brave.
She had been human, in fact by their standards she must have been a beauty, Zentabra thought. Now unfortunately, due to being undead, her skin was a dull grey and her eyes had a misty yellow look. Her hair was wire like and whatever color it had been was now a dull white. Her hands were almost skeletal and the brave grimaced as she touched his legs.
After a moment she rummaged through a bag she carried and pulled several potions from it. She examined the wounded braves legs again and sighed. Perhaps, Zentabra thought, she didn’t think the potions she had could mend his wounds. Looking at how crushed and bruised the braves legs appeared he agreed.
“I guess there is little choice,” she said aloud. She had a resigned look on her face as she turned to her companion. “James, I need to call upon the Light for this.”
Her hooded companion looked alarmed at that. “Are you certain? The pain will be…”
“The potions I have wouldn’t be sufficient for this,” the woman told him and closed her eyes. “Without immediate aid he will lose his legs or die.”
Taking a deep breath, she held a hand over the wounded Tauren and began to slowly chant. Zentabra didn’t understand the words, but they were spoken with power that was both intimidating and comforting at the same time. A golden light surrounded her hands and bathed the braves legs as well. The brave started, surprised no doubt, and the troll held his hand for support. Before the young rogue’s eyes flesh and bone appeared to mend as the healer chanted her words.
The effect on the young woman was equally impressive and worrying for her. The areas where the light touched her hands appeared whole and healthy. Her face was tight with clear pain. In fact, Zentabra had the impression that if she was not so focused on her chanting she would be crying out in agony. But she persisted, until at last, the wounds were completely gone. Glancing around the Tauren gingerly stood on one leg and then the other. The light around the healers’ hands vanished and she swayed where she stood. With a gentleness that seemed to surprise her, Ughbar caught her and helped her to steady herself.
“I thank you shaman,” the brave told her and knelt before her. “I am Valn of the Wind Plateau. Would you grant me your name?”
“My name from my life before is lost to me,” she told him with an odd mixture of sadness and pride. “I am called Clarian by most and that is the name I would have you address me.”
“As you say, Clarian,” Valn had a very deep voice even for a Tauren and now that he stood from his bow Zentabra wondered at how tall he was. Even the orc Ughbar seemed to gaze in wonder at what he recognized as a fellow warrior. “You have spared me from a shameful death and suffered while doing so, and I am in your dept.”
Clarian nodded and seemed taken aback by the braves gratitude. The one she called James walked closer. Now that Zentabra saw him properly this one must have been an elder among his people before his death. His face looked far more decayed than Clarian’s and the young troll thought he had been attacked by a beast of some kind. That said he also carried himself with a power that was unmistakable. Here was a mage of high standing that it would be foolish to challenge.
“How far is it to Orgrimar along the main road,” the mage asked.
“Thunderbluff is closer,” Ughbar told him. “It would be wiser to report there first before heading back onto the trail.
“Agreed,” Valn’s voice echoed slightly as he spoke. “Please come, my people will gladly welcome you.”
The Barren’s, as Clarian had heard this place called, was aptly named. It was a dusty open plain as far as the eye could see. Tall grass dominated this place with few trees and almost no signs of water. Yet it was also a living ecosystem. Birds of many varieties flew either overhead or through the grasses. Herds of beasts sometimes came near the caravan in such numbers that Clarian was impressed they could call such a place home.
Then there were her new traveling companions. The orc guard, Ughbar, had not given his clan’s name, which she had learned was not unusual among his people. He was a hulking presence even among the Tauren who dwarfed him in size. Bald with dark green skin. Armed with a great axe and armored from head to toe in an odd assortment of red leather and plate armor he certainly fit the image most had of what an orc warrior would look like.
The Tauren she had healed earlier, Valn of the Wind Plateau, was enormous. Looking more akin to a buffalo than the cattle humans bred for livestock, his brown fur was covered by a leather tunic, and he had several feathers braided into locks of hair that streamed down his head. He carried a spear with a large steel head, almost a sword in length. Neither he nor the orc spoke much on their journey to Thunderbuff. The same could not be said for the third member of her little circle.
The troll, Zentabra he called himself, was a flurry of comments and questions. He was short for one of his kind, and the general chattiness gave Clarian the impression that he was much younger than other members of the caravan. She learned he had been sent to find the caravan first and that he was a thief who was being given a quest to make up for a misdeed. As for his appearance, he had long dark hair that waved as he walked. He had light blue skin and long tusks protruding from his mouth. He wore a leather tunic that was rather worn and some boots that looked almost new.
Once upon a time, Clarian would have been shocked to find herself walking in such a place and such company. While she had trouble remembering her old name or many details about herself, she could recall that she had been a lady in waiting to an elder states woman who was a regular figure in courtly affairs. Her patron had adopted her after her parents died and raised her alongside the other members of Lordaeron nobility. The Lordaeron Royal Court wasn’t exactly known for its tolerance towards trolls and certainly not orcs. She didn’t hate them, even before becoming Forsaken, but she never would have thought that she would be walking and talking with them.
“So, how did ya do that with the light voodoo,” Zentabra asked politely.
Even though she had not felt much in the way of joy for many years she found herself smiling. “It isn’t voodoo. The Holy Light is the core of what humans believe in. Some have called it different things over the years. Some have called it a god. Some have called it a force. I have even heard some people call it a different plane of existence. But in the end, it is something that has touched all of humanity and guided humans into being what they are.”
“Ya speak of humans as if ya ain’t anymore,” Zantabra insightfully told her.
Clarian smirked, “I have no pulse. I died and yet I walk the earth alongside you. I am in fact no longer human. I am now Forsaken.”
“I am being confused by that,” Zentabra told her and looked the part as well. “What ya being Forsaken by? Your kin? Your Light?”
“Everything,” she told him seriously. “By the world. By the Light. By creation itself.”
“Huh,” Zentabra thought before he spoke. “Ya being more lost than the caravan then. Good thing we found ya.”
Clarian looked at the troll wide eyed. That was a thought that had not occurred to her until now. True, the only reason the Forsaken were looking to ally with the Horde was because it could not afford any other enemies. But that meant that if the Horde accepted them, could they continue to call themselves Forsaken?
Chapter Eight: What They Actually Want
Ironforge had never had so many people in Thranfold’s opinion. Dwarves had never been numerous people and so the mountain city had always felt cavernous. Now, with refugees from Lordaeron pouring in, many spilled out from the city into encampments at the base of the mountain. Thranfold, being a member of the Explorer’s League and a sergeant in the Alliance, had been to Lordaeron many times. As such he knew that despite the number of refugees who came to his home it was a tiny fraction of those who once lived there. The dwarf grimaced under his gold beard as he thought about just how many must have been raised as part of the Undead Scourge.
He helped where he could, Thranfold had lived a hard life as a soldier and gladly offered his home in the city to house some of the more wounded souls. Guards kept watch over many of the wounded for obvious reasons. If necessary, they would not have hesitated to end some poor souls’ suffering if they turned into one of the undead. For those who died a bonfire was set outside the city gates where the bodies were burned with as much dignity as could be spared. Dwarves were practical people, but they also respected traditions, and they regretted that they could not honor the human tradition of burying their dead in the earth.
One of the wounded who was now well enough to help was a paladin, a knight of the silver hand, and he joined the healers in lending his talents to the wounded. This Liet Ardtel, Thranfold had asked him his name eventually, had first been carried in by a human soldier and gnome mage who settled him in and warned the dwarf that he had a habit of trying to get up before he was healed. Thankfully, this time Liet had not chosen to escape back to Lordaeron. Instead, he stayed in Thranfold’s home near the Great Forge and helped with the other wounded.
This passed without incident for several days until a crowd gathered outside the explorers’ home one morning. Thranfold walked outside to see many onlookers gawking at something. As the crowd parted the dwarf saw several guards and two clearly important figures. One he would have recognized anywhere was King Magni Bronzebeard himself. The royal was wearing ceremonial armor today, probably from one of the many funerals taking place. The other, wearing a red gown with many gems and gold patterns, was a human noble that the explorer did not recognize. They both approached carefully through the crowd and stopped at the threshold of Thranfold’s home.
“Pardon the interruption this fine morning,” the king greeted Drungar cordially. “We are looking for a paladin who is staying with you, Liet Ardtel.”
“Aye your majesty, he’s here,” Thranfold told the king with a bow. “He’s downstairs healing a critical patient. You’re both welcome in my home.”
The king gave a gesture to his guards as they stayed outside and formed a barrier around the house. Thranfold led his royal and noble guests through a sitting room and downstairs into the main part of the house. Dwarven homes were often laid out with a large sitting room near the entrance and the rest of the house downstairs with bedrooms, kitchen, and so on. Cots had been set up haphazardly throughout the downstairs area with several wounded humans laying on them and a few healers and guards standing or walking about. When the latter saw the king, they immediately snapped to attention. The healers were too focused on one cot to notice anything else.
The patient was a soldier whose skin had turned a sickly green and was moaning loudly in an apparent daze. An elder priest was chanting words of healing and power over the poor soul with Liet Ardtel standing next to him doing the same. Now that the paladin was fully healed, he was an impressive sight. Almost a head taller than most humans, with dark hair and steel grey eyes, Thranfold thought that the girls must never leave him alone. At least till they got to know the man. In the few days that he had known him Thranfold could think of no other way to describe him than cold. Most paladins were exemplars of faith and justice which were reflected in generally fierce but friendly personalities. Liet was analytical, calculating, and impersonal to the point of being rude. That said, he was also the first person to step forward to help with anything. No matter if it was changing a bedpan to healing a treacherous wound.
As the elder and the paladin focused their abilities onto the wounded soldier the green tint to his skin seemed to dissipate. The king and the noblewoman watched in silence as they worked and Thranfold certainly wasn’t going to interrupt them now. After a few minutes of stressful watching, the green tint had vanished and while the soldier in bed still looked feverish, he looked far better than he had before. Several other healers clapped the elder and the paladin on the back or offered them water which both accepted.
“Impressive work,” the king said aloud causing all eyes to turn to him. The healers now bowed to him and Liet did likewise. While King Magni was not Liet’s king he was still a sovereign ruler in the Alliance. “Was that the plague of undeath you were battling?”
“Thankfully no,” the elder spoke, “at least not the true form of it. Illnesses can have variants, and I fear that this was one of those variants. The true form of the curse of undeath would have been far more difficult to cleanse.”
All the healers nodded gravely.
“Still, the fact that you could heal even a variant of the plague is worthy of praise,” the noblewoman said with her eyes on the paladin. “Sir Liet Ardtel, my name is Katrina Prestor. I represent the Stormwind House of Nobles.”
Thranfold had heard of the House of Nobles. If even half the stories about them were true, then it was enough not to trust her. If the stories were completely true, then it was a wonder the king felt safe letting one of them into Ironforge. They were best known for being greedy, power hungry, and petty to the point that even many goblins refused to work with them. Often, they were only kept in line by Stormwind’s King, Varian Wyrnn. Since one of those stories had been told to the dwarf by Liet, Thranfold didn’t feel the need to warn him.
“My lady,” the paladin gave her a polite nod. Cold or not, the man was still a knight. Human chivalry rules would never allow him to openly be rude to a woman he had just met. “Do you or the king require something of me?”
“Aye,” the king seemed to want to move the conversation along. “We have some questions for you. Why don’t we go upstairs so we can be out everyone’s way while we talk.”
With another bow to the king Liet followed Thranfold as he led the four of them upstairs. His sitting room wasn’t glamorous, but it was comfortable with several couches and a warm hearth. The king preferred to stand next to the hearth while Lady Prestor settled herself onto one of the couches. Liet sat on a couch facing Lady Prestor and Thranfold stood next to the king by the hearth.
“Liet Ardtel, also known as Liet the Coldfire,” Lady Prestor addressed the paladin. “We thought you had died during the battle at the Andorhal Valley.”
“I would have, had I stayed, my lady,” Liet told her politely. “Lord Uther ordered me to gather what civilian survivors I could and take them south. That was the last order he ever gave me.”
Thranfold had been in plenty of battles during the second war. No big hero but he did his share. He knew enough about war to know how hard it would have been to leave his brothers in arms behind. That terrible feeling of being relieved that he survived because they had stayed behind to die. It explained a lot about why Liet had wanted to return to Lordaeron.
“You followed your orders lad,” the king told him. “I also heard that you led a big group through the Alterac Valley to get them to safety.”
“Yes sir,” Liet told him looking him in the eye.
“And that you worked alongside a tribe of orcs?”
The room was quiet for a moment. The king spoke first, “I don’t begrudge you doing what you needed to do. But I do need to ask what happened?”
Liet didn’t flinch or hesitate to answer, “Soon after reaching the Alterac Valley we were confronted by a tribe of orcs calling themselves the Frostwolf clan. They claimed that the valley was their land. I was able to negotiate passage for myself and my charges, but they demanded that we do so without lighting any fires along the way. While difficult in the snow we eventually made it halfway through where the clan confronted us again. This time they had brought pelts, blankets, and food for us to ease the rest of our journey. We made it through to the Hillsbrad Foothills. The orcs asked that I keep the location of the passes into and out of the valley secret in exchange for my leading other groups through. I brought five such expeditions through with their help.”
“You also warned the Orcs that the Stormpike’s were coming,” King Magni’s tone did not change but Thranfold noted his brow sink. Understandable, since the Stormpike’s were one of the most powerful dwarven families not just in Ironforge but among the entire Alliance. Almost half the weapons and armor used by the Alliance was provided or purchased by the Stormpike’s.
“Yes sir I did,” Liet once again did not hesitate to answer. “And I would do so again. The orcs saved our lives. While I won’t take up arms against fellow members of the Alliance, I won’t turn my back on those who dealt with us honorably.”
The king nodded, “I understand lad. But you do realize just how angry the Stormpike’s are now? They have deep ties with the rest of the Alliance. You won’t be the most popular soul for a while.”
“Due respect your majesty,” Liet said with an even tone, “I have been unpopular with the rest of the Alliance ever since the day I punched Lord Garithos in the face for being an arrogant fool.”
Thranfold felt his eyes go wide, “How did that happen?”
Liet shrugged, “I was one of Uther the Lightbringer’s students. During a training session I was sparing with another student that I disarmed. Lord Garithos, who was watching, claimed that the student I disarmed was worthless and should go back to being a farmer. I then punched him for disrespecting my fellow student.”
Lady Prestor chuckled, “Imagine, if you had done that only a few years latter you would be given a standing ovation by the newly named Blood Elves.”
“Probably,” King Magni agreed. “So, what do you intend to do now? Considering your circumstances I can’t guarantee a commission for you in the Alliance army. Will you go back North and attempt to save more people?”
“Sadly, no,” Liet told him, “Most of those who remain are either refusing to leave or have gone into hiding. As for myself. I will be staying here to help with the refugees. After that, I don’t know.”
“Perhaps I can offer an alternative,” Lady Prestor said with a grin. “Stormwind has many issues within its own borders. King Varian is creating a force that will be answerable only to him, not the House of Noble’s, and capable of responding to the many problems that face our land. I am certain that he would welcome your services.”
“Which would benefit you as you would be seen as my sponsor,” Liet stated it baldly.
Lady Prestor shrugged, “There is no point in denying that. I freely admit that I am not making this offer out of charity or the goodness of my heart. But, if it helps refugees to find employment and it stabilizes the kingdom that will be their home, does it matter? And I should also point out that you could expect a command position in what will be forged from the Grand Alliance Army.”
Liet thought for a moment before he answered. “That is a tempting offer. But it’s not what I want.”
Lady Prestor’s eyes narrowed but her smile remained. “Due respect, sir Ardtel, but I didn’t come here with a list of options for you.”
“No need, because you can’t give me what I want,” Liet told her.
“Well, then what do you want,” she asked him with a frustrated tone.
“The same thing that every soldier who was forced to leave Lordaeron wants,” the paladin’s eyes seemed to flash. “To have not failed.”
Both King Magni and Lady Prestor looked aghast at that statement. Liet continued.
“We could join or rejoin the Alliance army. Fight on dozens of battlefields against nameless foes and horrors. And none of it would change the fact that when our people were threatened, we failed. Even if we go back to Lordaeron one day. Even if I or any other person among the refugees here were promoted. Even if a bronze dragon were to turn back time it wouldn’t change that simple fact. We didn’t just lose in Lordaeron, we failed. And what I want most of all is to have not failed.”
The room was silent enough that Thranfold could hear the embers crackle in his hearth.
“If that is what you want,” Lady Prestor broke the silence. Her tone was somber. “Then I’m afraid no one can give you that.”
“I agree,” Liet’s eyes never blinked and seemed to have a golden light within them. A sign of the Light’s power, a sign of his anger, or just fire light reflected from the hearth Thranfold didn’t know. The explorer and soldier agreed with the noble and the Paladin. What the man wanted was impossible. Even he knew that. And it didn’t change that he wanted it.
“Well,” King Magni cleared the air first. “In the meantime, we have plenty of things you can help us with here. With so many people here, we are going to have trouble feeding everyone. Stormwind and Khaz Modan are recovering from fighting the Horde but even after more than a decade the damage remains. We will need help to ration food supplies soon.”
“Sadly yes,” Lady Prestor rose from her seat. “Stormwind’s farmlands were devastated when the Horde rampaged through our territory. If you are willing to help us with the recovery efforts even independently of the rest of the Alliance, it would be a big help.”
“Once the refugees under my charge are recovered enough to find their own way, I will do my best to aid all of our people,” Liet stood as well and bowed once more to the King and the noblewoman.
As the pair of them left the simple dwarf’s house and she returned to the quarters the king had graciously provided her Lady Prestor was finally allowed to vent her thoughts.
“So much for that,” she growled.
Bringing one of Uther the Lightbringers students to Stormwind would have been a major boon for her plans. It would have convinced several other nobles of her power and allowed her to better maneuver around without the king’s notice. She had not counted on the man being so bitter about the loss in Lordaeron that he would turn her down. Still, she thought, perhaps, it was for the best. Liet struck her as a troublingly astute person, and it would be better for her to have such men far away. After all, it would hardly do for him to learn more about just who or what she was.
Flexing slightly, a pair of huge leathery wings sprouted from her back. She had not stretched her wings in so long that she found the action soothing. Transforming into a human was not such a difficult task for a dragon. But, retaining that guise for as long as she did was becoming tiresome. She smiled, wondering what her small guests would think to walk in and see a woman with black dragon wings.
They would be terrified of course. Not that they should be in this instance. She had not lied once since arriving in Ironforge. She genuinely wanted to help the refugees of Lordaeron and she truly wanted to improve the kingdom of Stormwind. After all, she thought with a grin, it would be mine.
Chapter Nine: A Test of Spirit
The journey to Thunder Bluff was peaceful after the centaur raid. Between the orc guards, and the two undead souls who had joined them, few things in the Barrens would pose a great threat. Valn had treaded the caravan road many times since it was built between Origmar and his homeland. As such he had fought against centaurs, the pig like quilboars, and many other threats. It would have been humiliating to die trapped under a wagon and he was grateful to the Earthmother for the blessing of being able to walk at all.
The young troll who had been sent to find the caravan was a welcome sight after days of storms. He was a chatty soul and was bombarding Clarian with questions as they walked together. Though he owed the woman his life he was also disturbed by her and her companion. The curse of undeath was anathema to everything that most Tuaren believed in. Their very existence was almost repugnant to the living world. Valn knew little of humans, aside from having fought them a few times on behalf of the Horde, but he did know that they also revered life in their own way. Perhaps it was no wonder that was why these two called themselves Forsaken, Valn thought.
Entering the land of Mulgore was a sharp contrast to the rugged Barrens. Mulgore was blessed with an abundance of water and fertile land. The wind would gift those who entered it with the sweet scent of flowers. Valn knew that some orcs felt the land was soft for being this way, but the Tauren disagreed. Mulgore was strong in its own way, and it taught those who lived there not to take their blessings for granted. In the distance Thunder Bluff could now be seen. The Tauren’s city was built on top of plateau’s that could only be reached by elevators or by those who had access to a flying mount. In the afternoon light it looked like a living thing rather than a city.
A chuckle escaped the taller of the two undead humans who walked with them. Valn had heard his name was James and he had seen that he was a mage of considerable power.
“Is something funny,” Valn asked him.
“Sorry,” the mage said shaking his rotten looking head. “I was just thinking of what my late colleagues would say if they saw your city.”
“Ah,” Valn hadn’t considered that. “What would they have thought about our city?”
The mage shrugged, “Some would scoff at it for looking primitive. And others would be so fascinated that they would insist on studying the city for weeks. It would depend on the person. Is it not so with Tauren?”
“It is,” Valn admitted. “There are Tauren who are very set in their ways and will reject ideas from outsiders. And others who embrace the ideas of outsiders. I admit to being in the middle on matters such as those.”
“Then you are in good company,” James told the tall brave. “Most souls fall in the middle for ideas and are either ignored or shouted down by those who seek to closely guard their ideas or seek out and embrace the ideas of others. It is certainly true for my people and the humans.”
“I do not mean to intrude or offend,” Valn was curious but also wanted to be respectful of what may be a difficult subject. “Do you have any family who survived?”
If James was offended, it did not show. Instead, he thought for a moment. “I believe I have a grand daughter who may still live. She and her husband fled south before the scourge came in force to Dalaran. She is better off believing that I remained dead. I would dislike having to kill her.”
Alarmed by that comment Valn pressed, “Why would you even consider that? She is your family surely that is the greater bond than undeath?”
It was difficult to read the expression on James mangled face. It was some combination of resignation and pity. “It is not that I would seek out her death any more than I sought my own. But she would attempt to slay me, and I would defend myself. It is a reality of being Forsaken. And it is something that I truly hope you never have to consider.”
Valn didn’t know how to respond to that. If that was the reality of being Forsaken, Valn wanted nothing to do with it. He couldn’t imagine having to consider killing his family and felt sick that this person walking beside him did so casually. What would the elders at Thunder Bluff think of this person? Would they even allow him into the city?
The caravan approached one of the large elevators to the city. Guards were already alerted to their arrival and a good number of warriors had assembled before them. At their head was one who any Tauren would recognize. Cairne Bloodhoof, High Chief of the Tauren tribes. Upon seeing him the orc guards immediately sank to one knee. To the orcs, Cairne was a figure as respected as their own Warchief. Tauren are naturally tall and imposing figures among other races and Cairne was imposing even among their mighty people. He strode towards the caravan and Valn called a halt to be respectful of his chieftain.
“Hail, Valn of the Wind Plateau,” Cairne greeted him warmly, as an elder would a young brave, “You are late in coming home. And I see that you have some strange companions.”
“Hail, High Chief,” Valn bowed his horned head. “A storm caught us by surprise on the Barrens and scared off several of our kudo beasts. We were attacked by the centaur and would have likely been slain were it not for the arrival of these brave souls.”
He waved to the young Zentabra, the orc guards who remained kneeling, and the two undead humans. Cairne gave the young troll a warm smile and saluted the orcs with his war spear which they returned with their weapons before rising. The High Chief’s old eyes lingered on the two Forsaken.
“Thrall sent word of you by wyvern rider,” Cairne assured them. “You have saved many lives and proven yourselves to the Horde. But I must repeat the Warchief’s question that you only partially answered before. Why do you seek to join the Horde?”
“Forgive me High Chief,” it was the mage who spoke. “We answered fully. We seek to join the Horde to secure our borders and because the rest of the world would see us destroyed.”
“And those are the only reasons,” Cairne spoke to the mage as one elder to another. “Do your people, not seek vengeance against the Lich King?”
James seemed to acknowledge that he was speaking with a fellow elder, “We do.”
“Do your people, not seek vengeance against the living who you believe want to destroy you?”
The mage was silent. Valn knew from his conversation that no matter what they said otherwise the Forsaken did not value life the same way as the Tauren.
“Of course we do,” Clarian burst out. Hearing her raise her voice startled Valn and the others. Cairne looked at her as an elder might a miss behaving child but said nothing. “When we attempted to turn to the humans for help, saying that we were free from the Lich King’s grasp, they sought to slay us without hesitation. Why wouldn’t we want vengeance against them?”
Cairne stood before her, towering over the frail looking undead woman, and seemed to study her for a moment. Valn noted that Clarian seemed more ‘intact’, than the mage physically. Aside from her grey skin and yellow eyes she could easily pass for a human if she chose. Her robes were immaculate despite having walked through the Barrens. She also had an air about her that told Valn Clarian was once a person of high station within human society. The way she walked, talked, and acted all screamed authority. But while Valn was not an elder, even he could see that there was something else. A deep pain that could not be obscured by the rest.
Finally, Cairne spoke, “You seek to join the Horde, and you have proven your worth in battle. But there remains the question of whether we can trust you. The shamans have asked that when you arrive, we test you in other ways. I have decided to allow this with your consent. I warn you, young one, this may not be pleasant.”
“I remind you, elder,” Clarian said with a smirk, “I’ve died once.”
Cairne grimaced, “That is why you should fear this test.”
Instead of being led to the city proper they were led to a series of caves beneath the plateau. It was a tranquil place filled with pools and a soft light flittered in making it seem like the entire cavern was shrouded in invisible curtains. Clarian wondered if it had been a mistake to speak to the High Chieftain as she did. James was being too indirect with him, and she felt that Tauren were a people who valued being upfront rather than subterfuge. Still, she sensed no malice from him or any of the guards who accompanied them. If anything, they seemed to give her and James a kind of respectful interest. If this was the reaction, she received from all Tauren then she would be glad to count them as allies.
Another elder awaited them by one of the pools. A female shaman, who wore a red robe and had braided red feathers into her mane like Valn, a sign they were either of the same tribe or were kin in some way. She gestured to Clarian, and she walked up an embankment to stand next to her.
“I warn you as the High Chief no doubt has,” the elders voice was strong despite looking frail, for a Tauren at least. “This test will be of your spirit. It will separate your spirit from your body and allow you walk a path of the mind and soul.”
“Do you mean the shadowlands,” Clarian grimaced. She had once been trained as a priestess of the Light. She knew enough about the shadowlands to know that it was a place that should be avoided. Then, she wondered, would the Tauren even know what the shadowlands were?
Guessing her unasked question the elder responded with a smile, “I know of the human concept of the shadowlands but as one who has walked the realms of spirit for many years it is a mistaken one. The paths of the spirits lead to many realms not just the shadowlands. Souls are more complex than can be simply cast into one place at a whim. There are as many absolute rules as there are contradictions to those rules. No, this test will not venture further than your own memories and experiences.”
Now Clarian understood why Cairne had warned her. Everyone would have things in their past that would be unpleasant to revisit. For a Forsaken that could include some truly horrific events. While she was apprehensive about this, she also saw it as an opportunity. She could not remember her time as part of the Scourge. As difficult as it would be to reexperience that, she hoped it might resolve her thoughts.
“You can refuse,” the elder shaman told her. “You have already passed the Warchief’s test, and he is sending messages to your queen. The Forsaken will be part of the Horde with or without this.”
“Would we though,” Clarian asked out loud. “If we do not accept the ways of our allies then are we actually allies?”
The elder gave her a nod. “Very well. Step into the pool. Lay down. And close your eyes.”
Doing as instructed Clarian barely felt the chill of the water on her back as she laid down. “What will I see,” she asked.
“I do not know,” elder admitted as she cast herbs into a fire next to her. “It will be something important to you. Whatever it is, it will be something that you need to see.”
At first nothing happened. Just the water around her and the strong scent of several herbs. Some she recognized like sage and rosemary. Others had a sweet scent that she couldn’t place. She was so focused on trying to identify the different scents that it took her a moment to realize that she was looking down at her own body. A moment of panic and disorientation passed as she looked and saw her reflection in the pool’s water. She looked like she did when she was alive only, she couldn’t feel anything. She looked around the room and saw that everyone else was staring at her body in the water.
It took her a moment to learn how to move. She was able to float around the cavern but not very far from her body. Not sure of what she was supposed to do she simply hovered for a moment until she noted the smoke from the shaman’s fire. It formed a trail through a door that she hadn’t noticed was there before and she followed it. On the other side of the door was a nightmare.
She was in Lordaeron’s capital on the day that it fell to the scourge. Hundreds of thousands of undead poured through the streets. Screams were intermingled with the guttural roars of the mindless dead. Clarian remembered it well. She had been here. In fact, she was sure this was where she had died. Seeing it all from above let Clarian see just how hopeless it was for the defenders. The few places of resistance were overwhelmed in seconds as a tide of bodies tore into the soldiers who did their best to stand their ground. Those soldiers or civilians who fell did not rest long. Moments later they rose from the ground, regardless of their wounds, and joined the Scourge ranks.
She felt herself being pulled away. In moments she had descended into the city. She looked around and saw a small group of civilians huddled behind a golden, magical, shield. Casting the barrier was a young woman wearing the white and red robes of a priestess of the Light trained at the Scarlet Monastery with straight brown hair and a determined look on her face. It was unnerving seeing herself like this and admiring herself. She knew she was going to die but wanted to safeguard as many as she could for as long as she could.
The shield began to falter as dozens of undead battered themselves against it. Ten minutes later there were now hundreds of fiends clawing, biting, and striking at the shield. The civilians Clarian had been guarding had fled. She didn’t know what became of them and prayed that they escaped. The assault by the undead stopped abruptly. They parted ranks as a figure rode a skeletal horse towards her. Clarian now recognized the figure as a death knight, but she knew that who she had been then did not recognize this threat. With a thrust from his rune sword the golden shield shattered. With no weapons Clarian saw her younger self lower her arms, resigned to what happened next. Without a word the death knight thrust his sword again piercing Clarian’s chest.
The world seemed to blur causing Clarian to become disoriented. She saw herself walking along with the mindless dead. At times fighting against the living and at times simply trudging beside her fallen people. Clarian found herself shaking. It was beyond haunting to see herself like this. What was worse was that she was remembering what happened as she saw it happen. The feeling of not being able to control her own body. The looks on the faces of those she was forced to kill.
With a jolt that sent Clarian to her knees the world righted itself into one clear image. As she stood up, she saw that she and hundreds of other undead were swarming towards a group of refugees. Clarian wanted to scream as she saw herself charge towards a family with her hands like claws.
A flurry of movement passed by, and Clarian saw herself being pinned to the ground by a knife through the ragged clothes she had worn. The person who threw it ran past her and pinned other undead to the ground with more knives. The refugees now had enough room to flee and did so as this rogue darted about either pinning the mindless dead with smaller knives or decapitating others with a short sword.
Another figure charged at the rogue. At first, she thought it might be the same death knight that had attacked her, to her horror it was someone far worse. Arthas, the fallen prince who had brought about this apocalypse, rode towards the rogue. Clarian wanted to shout and warn him but couldn’t. Fortunately, this rogue wasn’t going to go without a fight. He evaded Arthas’s rune blade, Frostmorne, and sent a flurry of knives at the fallen prince. The knives were thrown in haste and those few that found their mark merely bounced off Arthas’s armor. The rogue was good as he evaded another charging strike from Frostmorne and slashed at the saddle of Arthas’s stead. Causing the prince to fall from his undead horse.
But Arthas was the Lich King’s champion for a reason. He landed on his feet and sent a wave of dark energy out that knocked the rogue into the air. He landed badly right in front of Clarian. He was slow to stand up, exhausted from the effort to keep up with Arthas in a one-on-one fight. The rogue was not the most handsome figure that Clarian had ever seen. If fact, in other circumstances she would have found him gruff and ugly. But, right now, with his oddly shaped ears, his mismatched eyes, and his fishhook earring he looked like a hero out of a legend. He looked at her with a sad expression.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he told her. Clarian thought that she saw something like a light return to her eyes. And she realized why these Tauren spirits had shown her this. This was the moment she regained her free will. “But I can at least get one hit in for you.”
The rogue leapt to his feet and charged Arthas. He drew a bomb from out of his cloak, lit it, and jumped at the Lich King’s champion. Without a word Arthas cast a magic barrier around himself. But not before the rogue had already thrown a second bomb into the barrier. Both detonated with enough force to free Clarian of the thrown knives. Arthas still stood looking furious. The rogue did not. There was so little of him left that he couldn’t even be raised as an undead. With a huff Arthas went to repair his saddle paying no heed to Clarian.
It was good that he did not as Clarian saw awareness return to herself. She had been confused, disoriented, and terrified. She had fled into a nearby forest. Alone, Clarian knelt and called upon the Light. The Clarian in the now had not remembered this part and watched as the Light not only answered her prayer but did so in force. The Light enveloped her and the surrounding woods completely. It drove away the blight from the soil and the trees and left the forest cleansed. It also erased any remaining tracks from the refugees. They would be safe. The Light did not forsake anyone.
With that Clarian woke up. She gasped for breath that she did not need and sat up in the pool. She felt like she had just run for hundreds of miles. A large and gentle hand steadied her, and she looked up at Valn. The Tauren brave had come to help her up.
“We saw what you saw reflected in the pools,” the elder shaman told her. The elder kindly held out a blanket for Clarian to dry herself. “We saw that you do possess a living spirit. We acknowledge you as a fellow child of our Earthmother, Clarian.”
A memory came to her. One that she couldn’t have believed that she had forgotten. “Rachel,” she said aloud. “My birth name is Rachel.”
Chapter Ten: A Warm Drink and A Long Journey
Daelin had completed his rounds of helping the refugees and was returning to the main army encampment. Having grown up in Westfall he was well accustomed to sleeping in tents though snow was something new to him. The Alliance army that had gathered here never received orders to return or to disperse so they remained camped at the base of the mountain between Ironforge and the town of Anvilmare. Most of the soldiers were busy helping the refugees and as such most spent little time in the encampment. Initially they were based inside the city but with the influx of refugees their commander had ordered them to set up a camp outside.
Being from Westfall gave Daelin good insight into other things. Most notably, how they were going to feed themselves and their charges. Ironforge had always relied on food from other parts of the world to meet its needs and there certainly wouldn’t be any grain shipments from Lordaeron for a while. At least none that wouldn’t be burned on sight, Daelin thought with a grimace. So that left Stormwind to provide food for not only the refugees but an entire other kingdom as well. Unfortunately, regions like Westfall, Red Ridge, and Duskwood were still recovering from war with the Horde. Famine seemed inevitable.
Sighing as he neared the encampments tents Daelin glanced up at the evening sky. Ironforge certainly had beautiful scenery with the snow-capped mountains and valleys surrounding it. And on a clear day, like today, he could see far into the horizon. Including four shapes that seemed to be getting closer. It took Daelin a moment to realize what he was seeing. Gryphons were a fairly common sight in the Eastern Kingdoms and now that they were closer, he saw that someone was riding them. Though what was riding them he wasn’t sure about.
He wasn’t the only one who sighted these newcomers. Ironforge had a large garrison of gryphon riders who patrolled around Dun Modra and dozens of them swarmed towards the newcomers. There was a conversation in the air that Daelin couldn’t hear, and the gryphon riders formed an escort around the visitors. Leading them towards the Alliance army encampment. By now the rest of the camp understood they were going to have visitors, and a trumpet sounded a call to order and arms. Daelin, already armed for his patrol, went to investigate first.
The first gryphon settled to the ground just before the encampment and others settled around him. As Daelin approached, one of the riders slid from their mount. Running forward he caught them before they hit the ground. This woman was clearly an elf of some kind only taller than most of their kin and apparently so cold that her skin had turned a bluish purple. She shivered in her white robe and looked up at him with star white eyes.
“Do you think I could have something warm to drink,” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Uh, sure,” Daelin told her as she smiled weakly at him.
Two of her companions joined them shortly after that. Both were tall, muscular, and various shades of blue and purple. There was another individual with them, a white skinned High Elf, that Daelin thought might be more than he seemed. More than a hundred soldiers had now surrounded them as Daelin helped the woman to her feet. Without a word they were ushered into General Johnathon’s tent where cups of hot chocolate were brought to them.
Daelin stayed with them as part of an escort. Noticing what seemed to be the entire army watching the tent from outside. General Marcus Johnathon was an imposing figure and was usually in command of the Stormwind garrison. He waited for his guests to finish their drinks and recover themselves before he asked them questions. That also gave time for word to reach the city and King Magni Bronzebeard himself came to join them. The king of Ironforge had also brought warmed ale for them. A sign of friendship from dwarves and one that these strangers gratefully accepted.
“You look like you’ve had a long journey, Mister,” the king asked.
“Krasus good king,” the high elf told him. Daelin noted that he had recovered from the cold faster than the others. Granted, elves were generally much less affected by the elements than humans.
“Ah, that is a name I’ve heard of,” King Bronzebeard said with a smile. “You are a part of the Kirin Tor. I didn’t know they were sending Archmages as escorts?”
“They do now,” he said with a catlike smile. “Circumstances of the recent war has led many mages to rethink their place in the world. I can promise some impressive feats to come out of Dalaran in the near future.”
The King laughed but Marcus Johnathon was busy staring at the others. Not that Daelin blamed him. He had met plenty of Elves before but never ones like these. One of them even had antlers sprouting from his head through his green hair. Another was armed with a bow and quiver full of arrows. He had darker purple skin than the others with black hair and hawklike features. The woman was beautiful, Daelin thought now that he had looked at her properly, with her bright blue hair she would stand out in a crowd. She wore white and blue robes and a cloak with several silver crescent moons embroidered onto it.
“Where are my manners,” Krasus declared as he stood. “Allow me to introduce Feranda Brightpaw, Rishzaran Stealeye, and a figure I would strongly urge you to treat with the utmost respect, Malfurion Stormrage, Arch Druid of the Night Elven people.”
Both the king and the general bowed their heads to the Arch Druid. When an Archmage tells you that someone needed to be respected it was best to listen. Archdruid Stormrage bowed back.
“They have come all the way from Kalimdor to make a proposal,” Krasus continued.
“What kind of proposal,” General Johnathon asked.
Krasus did not speak as Malfurion stood before them. “I have come to ask for my people’s membership in the Alliance.”
King Magni looked stunned then a bright smile came to his face. It looked as though years of tension lifted from it. “I think we need to talk more on this. Come into my city. Please. It seems we have a great many things to discuss.”
Ironforge, as Feranda had heard this city called was a wonder. She heard of the great dwarven cities built into the mountains. Seeing it was something that she had never imagined herself doing. Once past the main gates the city was a high vaulted labyrinth of open court yards with hundreds of tunnels leading from each. And built around the center of the entire place was an enormous forge. The sounds of hammers rang constantly with smiths and artisans of every variant working with the fire of the mountain itself. Feranda had never been good with her hands, but she could admire master’s at work. She had met dwarves before and had been impressed even then by the short statured yet hardy people. Now that she saw their city she could see that she wasn’t as impressed by them as she should have been.
The King’s throne room was built to look out over the great forge giving the dwarven king a chance to work with the artisans and blacksmiths of his city. King Magni was a jovial soul, the priestess thought. He ushered his four guests into the chamber and rather than sit on his throne to speak with them he stood just before it. Malfurion again made his request to the king. Various members of the Bronzebeard court and dignitaries from other member states of the Alliance gathered nearby to listen.
“The Horde is parked on your people’s doorstep you say,” Magni growled. “Aye, everyone in this room knows what that is like. Sure, we’ll help you with that.”
“Just like that,” Feranda couldn’t help herself from blurting that out.
“Just like that,” the king told her with a grin through his beard. “The Horde tore through all of our kingdoms like a wildfire, and I can promise you we don’t forget something like that. You don’t need to join the Alliance if all you’re asking for is for our aid against the Horde.”
“It is more than that good king,” Malfurion pressed. “The world is awakening from a great change, and we believe that we need to change with it. Being a part of the Alliance can allow us to realize that change.”
“I suppose so,” the king scratched his head under his crown. “Of course, you know that plenty of folks in the Alliance will want something in exchange. The Alliance stand together in good times and bad because of the foes we faced side by side. If you are wanting to join us, you’ll be expected to do the same.”
“I understand,” the Archdruid told him. “And I do not come empty handed. I have been told that your people are worried about a food shortage sweeping your lands.”
“Aye,” King Magni agreed. “Between the many wars our farmlands have been beaten bloody. Are you offering to ship food for our people from across the sea?”
“Better than that good king,” Archdruid Stormrage declared. “My people can heal your lands so that you can feed yourselves.”
A hopeful murmur went through the court. King Magni seemed to measure the Archdruids words before responding. “Show me,” he finally told him.
Leading them back outside the mountain it became a good-sized procession. Many of the refugees had joined the group as well, curious of the strangers no doubt, and wondering what the commotion was. Several dwarven and human guards walked beside Feranda and the others including the one who they had first met. Daelin, she had heard another call him, was tall for a human and wearing plate armor from head to toe with a gold and blue tabard covering his chest. He carried a sword and shield, but neither were drawn at the moment.
“What do you think of all this,” she asked him as he walked with them.
“I’m not sure what to think,” he admitted. “But I know a lot of people who could benefit from having their lands healed. Is this something that all Night Elves can do?”
She smiled at that question. “No, but our people do have a strong connection to the natural world. The druids of our people are among the world’s greatest. If anyone can heal your lands, they can.”
“What about the animals in the wild,” Rishzaran asked as he looked around at the snowy landscape. “Do your people not hunt for their food as well?”
“We do,” Daelin told him. “But we’ve been careful about managing our hunts to let the animal populations grow back. If we took too much then…”
“Then those populations may never recover,” Rishzaran nodded his understanding. “The same is true for any livestock your people raise as well, yes?”
“That’s right,” Daelin answered sadly. “My family raises cattle, and we are worried that we may have to put down our herd without hay or grain to feed them. We would hate to have to do it.”
“Well don’t worry,” the hunter assured the guard. “Shando Stormrage is the greatest druid in the world. Healing farmland is a simple task for him.”
“Shando,” Daelin asked.
“It’s an honorific,” Feranda told him. “It’s what you would call a revered elder or teacher.”
“Ah I see,” Daelin accepted that. “You guys being elves that must make him hundreds of years old.”
Both Feranda and Rishzaran laughed. Malfurion looked back at the three of them and smiled at the human soldier.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Daelin said looking downcast.
“I’m not offended,” the Archdruid assured him. “But like my young friends I am amused that you think I am only a few hundred years old.”
“Oh,” the soldier cocked his head as he asked him, “How old are you?”
Stormrage shrugged, “Around fifteen thousand years.”
More than one individual nearby had their jaw drop at that statement. While Feranda couldn’t see Daelin’s face from under his helmet she was sure his jaw was among the others. Krasus was doing his best not to laugh. Considering, Feranda thought, that the dragon was likely many times older than even Malfurion he had every right to at these reactions.
Not far from the city gates was a large tract of farmland that looked as though someone had attempted to rip the earth apart. Upon closer inspection it appeared that tunneling machines had been used here to either mine ore or to attempt to breach the city. The topsoil had been completely destroyed and a deep breath told her that the ground had been sown with salt to prevent anything from growing. If this was an example of what the devastation of the Horde’s passage was like even years after a war Feranda wondered how bad it had been just after that war.
Archdruid Stormrage walked by the king with a smile on his face. “You and your people have already done much to heal this place. The taint of foul magics have already been lifted.”
Feranda hadn’t been paying enough attention. Among the many lessons of the priesthood of Elune was training to sense magic around oneself. Now that she extended her senses properly, she could see signs of fel magic in the ground. And she could sense that the fel magic had been purged from the ground. An impressive feat to be capable of doing this at all. Only physical damage remained.
“Aye,” King Magni said mournfully. “Sadly, we just haven’t had time to do more than that. This field won’t be ready to grow anything for at least a year.”
“My good king you are mistaken,” as the antlered elder spoke the ground seemed to shift beneath his feet. “This is a strong land that is well cared for. And it will gladly share its bounty with all.”
Roots and vines burst from the ground clearing the land of debris and tilling the land until soil remained. In minutes plant shoots began to rise from the soil. By the time Shando Stormrage had walked back to stand with the king a full wheat field had grown to life. The king stared at what had been created as though it were more valuable than gold. The rest of the entourage from the court were just as awed by what they saw. Feranda smiled at Daelin and the others. Even though she had seen druidic magics her whole life she never got tired of seeing reactions to it for the first time.
“So, how helpful do you think we can be for the Alliance,” Feranda asked Daelin.
Chapter Eleven: Statecraft
The sun was setting over Origrimar after an eventful day. The leader of the Forsaken, the Banshee Queen Sylvanas WIndrunner, had come to the city to pledge her loyalty to the Horde. She had come with a full procession of alchemists, sorcerers, and soldiers to demonstrate their strength and usefulness to the Horde. The Dark Lady of the Forsaken was an imposing figure whose glowing red eyes and dark leather armor seemed to scream vengeance. Warchief Thrall had accepted her blood oath and the oath of every one of the retainers who journeyed with her. Immediately, her followers offered their aid to the Horde by either offering to train others in the use of different magics or taking up jobs to secure the lands around Durotar.
Ughbar had been kept busy, along with the rest of the city guards, as the people of the city were both curious and nervous about these strange new allies. For himself, Ughbar wasn’t sure what to think of them. He had seen the healer Clarian and the mage Revarda during their quest to prove themselves in the Barrens, but he suspected that not every Forsaken would be like them. And he had been proven right. Several Forsaken, clad in their black cloaks, had nearly started a brawl when one of them loudly proclaimed the orcs to be primitive savages who weren’t worth the time or effort to ally with. Ughbar had had to step in and stop his own people from attacking the Forsaken. For their part the Dark Lady herself had intervened and had them dragged through a portal back to the Undercity. She apologized for the incident and promised that they would be ‘educated’ on how to behave properly.
Thankfully that was the only major incident with either the city guards or other Forsaken on alert to stop any problems. Clarian was among those Forsaken who had been able to resolve many of the issues before the city guards even arrived. Ughbar had just come to respond to a disturbance call that had a pair of Forsaken and orc merchants arguing with each other. The matter was already settled, and Clarian was approaching the guard.
“It was a simple misunderstanding,” the undead woman told the orc. “Not all of our people studied your language as thoroughly as they should have. They thought they were attempting to cheat each other. I was able to bridge the gap.”
Ughbar grunted, “I was surprised that you and the mage spoke orcish when we first met. Did you learn it to meet our people?”
“Yes,” she started to walk with him through the city streets. “It wasn’t as difficult to learn as dwarfish though.”
“You can speak the language of the dwarves,” Ughbar asked.
“And the High Elves,” Clarian told him in a conversational voice. “I did my best to learn Gnomish but it’s a complicated language.”
Something about her tone struck Ughbar. “You seem, more cheerful than when we first met.”
“I suppose I am,” she said with a shrug. “I guess that Tauren ritual showed me what I needed to see in order to accept the world around me.”
“That is good,” Ughbar told her. “Do you think many other Forsaken will wish to undertake that ritual?”
“I doubt it,” Clarian said sadly. “There will be some of course. But most will see it as unimportant at best or a danger to what they are at most. At least that is how Faranel will likely frame it.”
“Who is Faranel?”
“Chief Apothecary Faranel is the leader of the Royal Apothecary Society,” she told him. “He is very fierce about the Forsaken establishing themselves as separate from their lives as humans. Ironic considering he was once a member of the Lordaeron Royal Court and a direct vassal of the King.”
That caused Ughbar to remember something from what Clarian had said when he met her. “You said that you were a part of the Lordaeron Royal Court?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Then,” Ughbar choose to just ask his question directly, “were you part of the decision to put my people into internment camps?”
Clarian looked him directly in the face. Her expression was warm for a Forsaken and she seemed to understand how dangerous her answer might be.
“No, I was not. The woman who adopted me, Lady Larinthis, was. And she was one of those who advised the king to inter your people.”
Nodding, Ughbar accepted that. Clarian would have been a child during the time that decision was made. There was no point in holding a grudge for what her sires had decided. Would she give him the same consideration, he thought.
“You asked me once what clan I belonged to. I said that I have no clan. That is not entirely true. My clan was wiped out during the Second War. You may have heard of it, the Stormreavers.”
The look of shock on her face told him she did know of that clan. It would have been hard for her not to know of that one considering the Stormreaver clan was responsible for the worst atrocities of the war. Not to mention it was the clan that the monster Gul’dan had been a part of. The shock passed and Clarian’s expression softened.
“You are not Gul’dan any more than I am.”
The guard smiled at that. The orcs and the Forsaken may not have much in common but at least both of their peoples were not their ancestors.
“Did you know others in the Lordaeron Royal Court,” Ughbar asked as they walked through one of the cities inner gates and passed into the Valley of Honor.
“Yes,” Clarian said with a smile. “Uther the Lightbringer. In fact, there was a scandalous rumor in the court that Lord Uther and Lady Larinthis were romantically involved. Or that I was somehow their love child.”
“Really,” Ughbar asked. He had heard the tales of Uther the Lightbringer. Even among the orcs the late leader of the Knights of the Silver Hand was spoken of with reverence.
“It was all nonsense of course,” Clarian assured the orc. “My parents perished during the Second War. Lady Larinthis and Lord Uther were just good friends. I would have been proud to consider him my father, but it would have been a lie.”
The guard could accept that. A sound briefly caught his attention, and he looked to see a bonfire and hear the sounds revelry. It was some distance away. Near the Northern Gates of the city. Clarian walked with him, equally curious.
“The Night Elven lands are close to here,” Clarian asked.
“Yes, and there is tension between our people and theirs,” Ughbar admitted. “The vast forest of Ashenvale is perhaps the most abundant source of wood and game in all of Kalimdor. Many of the newly arrived citizens have ventured into it following beasts. The Night Elves consider Ashenvale a sacred place and closely guard it. So long as it is only hunters entering the forest they tolerate it. Their High Priestess has stated that any logging operations will be a violation of their lands. And will be destroyed on sight.”
Clarian seemed to digest that. “Has Warchief Thrall responded?”
“See for yourself,” the guard pointed out message boards with notices that included the High Priestesses warning. The message boards also included words from the Warchief saying that anyone who violated the High Priestesses warning did so at their own peril. Ughbar growled, “I do not understand why he would not simply order that no one was to harvest lumber from Ashenvale?”
The Forsaken healer, after examining the message board for a moment, said, “Probably because he knows he could not enforce such an order. With so many people coming to Durotar there is an enormous need for lumber for everything from homes to tools. If he gave an order like that, do you believe you could enforce it? Even if you used harsh methods to achieve your goal?”
He had not considered that. “No, the need is too great. It would cause more problems than it would solve.”
“Exactly,” Clarian told him as they continued their walk. “The Warchief likely realizes that he can’t stop his people from doing what they need to do. If I were him, I would attempt to contact the Night Elves and arrange for trade in exchange for lumber. From what I’ve seen Durotar has great mineral wealth.”
“It does but I’m not certain the Night Elves have much use for stone and metals,” Ughbar noted a crowd gathered before the North gate and quickened his pace.
Coming closer he saw a group of orcs loudly cheering as laborers brought several tree trunks through the gates. A banner nearby showed that these orcs likely belonged to the Warsong Clan. A venerable clan with a well-earned reputation for being aggressive, even by orc standards. Several young orc warriors greeted these tree trunks as though they were spoils of war. Ughbar grimaced as he was uncertain how to deal with this. Technically they had broken no laws in the Horde. On the other hand, they had clearly just taken these trees from Ashenvale.
While the guard considered his options Clarian strode past him. Those orcs who saw her allowed her to pass with uncertain looks on their faces. Eventually she stood before the leader of these revelers. A mighty figure who wielded a great axe jumped down from the trunks to stand before her.
“Throm’ka Forsaken. I am Nulgash of the Warsong clan. I greet you as a new member of the Horde.”
“Hail to you and your kin Nulgash,” the healer told him with a graceful bow. “I am Clarian, in the service of Sylvanas Windrunner and our Warchief Thrall. Can I assume you have entered Ashenvale to claim these prizes?”
“You assume correctly,” Nulgash was full of pride over his victory. “The Night Elves never even knew we were there during the day. These will build many homes for our people.”
“I see,” Clarian glanced around casually at the cheering orcs. “Well, that was stupid of you.”
The cheers vanished. More than one orc started towards the Forsaken. Ughbar, rushed through the crowd to stand next to her. Against this many of his own people the guard wasn’t sure of his chances, but thankfully no one came too close.
Nulgash snorted, “Because you are new to the ways of the Horde I will let that comment slide, human.”
Clarian laughed, “I haven’t been called human in several years. Thank you.”
Though not certain how to respond at first, Nulgash laughed as well. “The ways of the Horde are simple enough to understand. Our ways are honor and strength. We have honored our people by ensuring their needs met and we demonstrate our strength by claiming what others would deny them.”
“Warchief Thrall seems to think otherwise,” Clarian said fearlessly to Nulgash and the crowd. “Did you not see the warning High Priestess Tyrande gave the Horde?”
“You mean this,” Nulgash ripped the notice off the message board and threw it into a bonfire. “What do we care about the words of some Night Elf? If they care so much for their own lands, why don’t they build more instead of letting good lumber stand unharvested?”
The Forsaken woman shrugged, “Never having met a Night Elf I cannot say. But it is their land that you entered and took from without permission.”
“We have the lumber,” Nulgash waved to at the trunks.
Clarian seemed to take a deep breath. An odd thing for an undead person to do considering they had no need for air. Ughbar made note of it and thought to remind himself that habits from their lives were likely to remain among the Forsaken. Then in a tone as though she were explaining something obvious to a small child she continued.
“You don’t want the lumber. You want the right to the lumber.”
Nulgash looked at her bewildered.
“I may not have met a Night Elf before but if they are anything like the High Elves, they are a litigious society. Meaning that rules of law and rights of ownership are important. Had you listened to your Warchief’s words, had you listened to the High Priestesses warning, or had you asked for the lumber beforehand instead of stealing it you would be able to negotiate in good faith. You could have gained a potential ally instead of an enemy who sees you as thieves to be hunted and driven from their lands. And you would have the lumber.”
The crowd seemed so stunned by what she was saying that the only sound was the crackle of the bonfire nearby.
Clarian looked at Nulgash without blinking. “The sooner you understand that I and the other Forsaken are your allies. That we know what we’re talking about. The sooner your lives get easier. With an agreement of trade and friendship the Horde could freely expand across Kalimdor without being hindered. You would be able to build new settlements throughout every territory and it would be welcomed by the Night Elves. Now, they will see any attempts the Horde makes to settle new land as a potential invasion and a threat to either be contained or fought.
In other words, you could have claimed more than half a continent. With that,” she pointed to the remains of the High Priestesses message as it burned away. “So much for peace.”
Without another look at the open-mouthed faces of the Warsong clan she turned and walked away. Ughbar followed closely, keeping a wary eye on the crowd. But they made no move to stop them and no more revelry.