A paltry few orcs survived the purge of Lordaeron. With the agreement that Lordaeron would have to rely solely on its own means - and not the Alliance - to resume its ambitions of rehabilitating the invaders, the forces cleaning up after King Kyle’s brutal assault could afford to be picky about the residents of the smaller, revamped internment camps.
The weary soldiers of Lordaeron marched through mounds of ash and broken corpses to root out the last greenskins buried under charred timber and burning tents. The gilded armies of Alterac, while small, were very effective. Even their mortal elements left in their wake a trail of corpses that were either trampled to paste or shredded by arrows and spears.
If not for the mage-king’s decision to only break the Horde’s forces out in what could barely be called a battle, Uther doubted that there’d be any orcs left to capture. King Kyle had settled for massacring the orcs that faced his people and constructs in the open field, and only razed the main fortress and flattened outlying camps before leaving whatever’s still standing for Lordaeron to deal with.
They found very little resistance, but any they encountered were dealt with harshly. Any orc wielding anything at least as threatening as a broken club was put down. Those that climbed out from collapsed ruins had a single chance to submit before the spears and blades pointed their way, or be ruthlessly cut down. Any survivors too wounded for battlefield healing were given the mercy of a swift execution.
The warriors of Lordaeron did not share the tolerant sentiment of the greenskins compared to their king. Uther himself admitted to a cold satisfaction at seeing the savage invaders being culled down to numbers that could no longer pose any risk to the kingdom and its people. It was far from making up for the loss of lives the Horde had inflicted, but he would not complain for settling for the next best thing.
With the surviving orcs rounded up and herded to a new, more secure holding site northwards in Hearthglen Hills, the freed up legions of Lordaeron then mustered for a march southwest into the Fel-damned kingdom of Gilneas. They were supposed to meet with the Violet Legions of Dalaran, and whatever other Alliance forces that could reach the borders in time. Hopefully by then any threat to Kul Tiras was over.
But then an urgent missive by a member of King Terenas’ court magi forced the march south to be hastened considerably.
Gilneas had invaded Dalaran, and their advance towards the magical city seemed unstoppable.
Three legions from the great kingdom of Lordaeron hurried as best they could to reinforce their allies. With the tireless and selfless prayers of the legions’ chaplains and warpriests, the men’s spirits and stamina were sustained throughout the forced march west towards the shores of Lordamere Lake, where the whole force were then ferried by a fleet of ships straight onto the shores of Dalaran.
Yet even with the compromises and swift transportation, Uther had a feeling that they’d be too late. The daily updates from magi teleporting in made it clear that Genn’s army of the damned was pushing in too quickly, and was of such potency that the defenders dared not risk any lives in a futile attempt at checking the advance.
For all the swiftness of the transport fleet, the Lordaeron legions still had to endure a whole day reorganizing when they landed. Three whole legions rushed to the front across various ships was bound to cause chaos, but it was still far more preferable compared to marching across Alterac or taking a roundabout way west into Silverpine Forest to then march south through the Western Alterac Mountains.
A day’s rest and regrouping was all that was afforded, and the legions continued their urgent march. They were only days away from Dalaran City.
But the next morning came with ill tidings: A small group had broken from the Gilnean host and turned north into Lordaeron.
It didn’t take much to puzzle out the enemy’s intent. Genn was sending some of his men up to stall the bulk of the reinforcements coming down from Lordaeron. That it was a numerically paltry raiding band was almost irrelevant, the mountainous region and its narrow passes would allow a small force to harass and potentially even stall a much larger one. And recalling the horror of the cathedral, Uther could imagine what a single disguised demon might do if unleashed in such confines.
After a quick debate between the commanders, it was decided that Uther would lead the 6th Legion west in an attempt to intercept the Gilnean raiders along with the Silver Hand knights and paladins, while the other two would make straight for Dalaran City to bolster the defenses. A siege of Dalaran City seemed inevitable no matter what occurred, so it was better to ensure that the path for timely and unmolested reinforcements was secured to break the siege.
On paper, it was one whole legion of some three thousand soldiers seeking to run down a force of only a few hundred raiders. Yet with demons and Fel powers to contend with, Uther hoped that victory wouldn’t come at the cost of a bloodbath.
Despite misgivings, the 6th Legion managed to head off the Gilnean splinter force with a solid lead. As overall commander of the interception force, Uther ordered the men to rest up as much as they could while he and the other commanders hammered out plans for the coming battle.
Weary scouts reported that the enemy consisted of Gilnean knights and what passed for light infantry, moving with unnaturally relentless speed. To the consternation of many, those veterans of the Second War compared the corrupted nobility to the undead Death Knights of the old Horde.
“There’s clearly a dark air around them,” a scarred scout sergeant reported. “If anything, m’lord, they feel more unholy than the abominations the orcs had.”
It wasn’t the best news, but there was little to be done about it. The battlelines were reinforced, priests and paladins would seek as much of the Light’s blessings as they could for their small army, and messengers were sent north and east to update the reinforcements and Dalaran, in case the worst was to come.
Uther also tried but failed to convince and then order his squire to leave the field, though.
“It is my duty as a member of the Silver Hand, and as prince of the realm, to help fight off these madmen,” Arthas insisted, his blue eyes turning cold with uncompromising stubbornness. Along with the fact that his squire would likely find a way to join the fighting even if Uther sent him away under armed guard, the paladin had little choice but to relent.
“You’ll stay by my side at all times,” he sternly ordered Arthas. “You still lack mastery over the Light to properly face the truly damned.”
Thankfully, the prince acquiesced to the compromise without any protest. “By your will, Lord Uther.” Uther hadn’t expected the sass, though.
“Cut the cheek, lad,” he scolded lightly with a faint smile. “It’s unbecoming of you. You’re the crown prince of Lordaeron, not the mage-king of Alterac. Now come, we’ve still some time, you can lead the troops in prayers.”
With their resolve bolstered by faith, the 6th Legion formed a solid battleline as the enemy came into view. Even from afar Uther felt the raw, unholy corruption seeping out of the Gilnean force that almost made him squirm in his saddle.
The smaller Gilnean force didn’t seem to care about the armored line ahead of them, their pace neither slowing or picking up. Hunched figures with oversized weapons loped effortlessly alongside the twisted cavalry, and pinpricks of green light infested the approaching mob like a bad rash as eyes stared blankly at the Lordaeron fighters and mouths hung limply.
“Behold the fallen!” a nearby priest shouted, drowning the mutterings of unnerved soldiers. “See how rank and vile those things that were once men have become, shunning the Light and all that is holy! These are the monsters that seek to kill and burn, to despoil all that we hold dear! But we will not let them!”
The priest did a good job in shoring up the men’s spirits, and judging from the overlapping voices coming from up and down the line he wasn’t the only one.
“Uther,” Arthas muttered, and directed the paladin towards monstrous knights standing out in the middle of a grotesque mob. “The rider on the left.”
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“What of it?” Uther asked, squinting as he tried to pick out the details.
“The barding on his…steed…”
Uther squinted harder, and then realized what his squire had noticed. The fanged and clawed caricature of a horse was draped in metal barding, like most destriers would be for battle, but instead of the usual reds and dark grays of Gilneas, this one had orange highlights, and the peytral had was embossed with a design suspiciously akin to a falcon. Taken together, it seemed very much like that particular knight was wearing Alteraci colors.
Old Alteraci colors.
“Aliden?” Arthas asked, sensing his mentor’s unease.
“We’ll know when he comes to us,” Uther gruffly said, though in his mind he was already convinced of the identity.
The Gilneans continued to ride and bound straight for the shield walls of the 6th Legion with some indifference before finally coming to an eerie halt at little more than a spear’s throw away. At such a distance, the grotesque mutations of the Gilnean ‘infantry’ could be more clearly seen; twisted new limbs, misshapen and horned heads, muscles bulging to the point that they looked like tumors… The knights of Gilneas seemed less hideous, but with their dark, heavy armor jutting with spikes, helms that glowed green, and steeds that bore fangs and too many legs and bony protrusions, they looked no less monstrous in appearance.
“Steel your resolve!” the warpriest yelled. “Seek strength in the Light!”
The Gilnean knights began to spread out into a loose line, pole blades lowered and lances couched. Uther recognized the personal heraldry of Baron Ashbury, Lord Godfrey, and Lord Tulvan among others. Though the icons had morphed to depict twisted creatures instead of the usual wolves or horses or lions, the colors and general design remained the same.
But it was the knight in the colors of Alterac - Aliden Perenolde for sure now that Uther could make out the designs on his and his steed’s armor - who brought his lance up and then lowered it with the authority of a field commander. The tip of the lance pointed straight at the Lordaeron line and hovered in place for a full second, and then in a blink the madness of the Gilneans were unleashed.
In an instant the hollow eyes of the Gilnean mob suddenly vanished, replaced with a feral rage. They burst forth into a charge, growling and roaring like beasts, heedless of the fact that they were severely outnumbered.
Legion captains gave the order to let arrows loose, but Uther grimaced as he saw barely any bodies drop from the hail of arrows. The Gilnean Death Knights followed in their wake, their steeds filling the air with unholy noises as their hooves and claws churned up the earth.
“Hold!” the captain of the section roared. “For Lordaeron! Hold!”
For all the resolve and heavy shields dug into the ground, the shieldwall crumpled as the Gilneans barreled through them. Armored footmen were tossed away like ragdolls by the twisted madmen, falling into their comrades in the ranks behind them.
The Gilnean’s initial charge tore a hole through three ranks of armored infantry before running amok. Oversized cleavers and axes cracked armor with each wild swing, limbs were literally wrenched out of their sockets by clawed hands. Uther estimated at least two score of dutiful soldiers died from the first moments alone, and the toll would quickly rise as the 6th Legion’s lines began to flow to surround the corrupted Gilneans.
Even as men were brutally crushed or hacked to death, the Lordaeron infantry fought back with heroic tenacity. Blades lunged from all, slowly but surely bringing down the mutants through a hundred cuts and stabs. Several rabid berserkers were tackled down by a dozen men each to open up the chance for killing blows. A Gilnean continued rampaging despite his head hanging loosely off the spurting stump of his neck, and was finally put down after his legs were lopped off.
As much as he wanted to, Uther could not intervene in that fight. He was already leading the knights and paladins in a countercharge against the Death Knights. Flowing around the bloody infantry melee, the warriors of the Order of the Silver Hand steeled their resolve and glowed with divine light as they closed the distance with the unholy knights.
Uther had a moment to clearly see the green flames leaking out of visors and pick out more of the monstrous details on the Gilneans’ armor. Then the two opposing cavalry forces collided.
Lances punctured armor and drove men off their steeds. Serrated glaives bit deep into chests, tearing through the plate armor of paladins as if it were paper. Warhammers caved in the heads and bodies of Death Knights, sending them lolling limply in their saddles.
The fighting was utterly ferocious, the profanely wicked edges of the Gilneans blades slicing through armor just as the sanctified hammers and maces of the Silver Hands crumpled their eldritch plates. Paladins invoked the Light to close up grievous wounds as they continued fighting, while many of the knightly order had to contend with both Death Knights and their monstrous steeds.
Uther had to duck aside as a barbed lance narrowly avoided his face. His own weapon lashed out to smash in his attacker’s snapping steed before the follow up uppercut with it sent the rider flying. There was a flash of movement beside him, and then Arthas was there, the head of his warhammer shattering a glaive blade before it swung down to flatten the Gilnean’s head into his body.
There was no time for thanks, as both paladin and squire quickly turned to defend themselves against new foes. Despite being outnumbered, the Gilneans were holding their ground with lethal competence. Uther spied Aliden Perenolde effortlessly fighting off four knights with a serrated sword, dodging blows while landing precise stabs and slices that rivaled the speed of an elven swordmaster.
He didn’t have time to pay further attention as Lord Tulvan’s greatsword tore through a fellow paladin and came swinging straight at him. Uther reeled back, but the massive weapon ripped through his destrier instead. The poor horse let out a pained shriek before it fell over, half-burying Uther under its heavy, armored corpse.
Once more, Arthas suddenly came into view, though his hammerswing this time was batted aside by the Gilnean. The pommel of Tulvan’s greatsword swept up, and Uther cried out as the prince was knocked off his saddle by the blow.
“Protect the prince!” Those who witnessed Arthas’ dismount quickly reacted, and the Gilnean lord was mobbed by three knights. Only one remained whole enough to continue fighting after Tulvan was finally put down.
Uther managed to crawl free from under his dead mount, and quickly ran for Arthas’ slumped body. Thankfully, the prince was still breathing, though with the cracked helmet and broken jaw, the paladin was thankful that his squire had been knocked out cold. A hurried prayer to the Light saw Arthas’ bones returned whole, though Uther had to tear off the helmet to allow him to breathe.
More members of the Silver Hand were fighting around Uther and Arthas by now, forming a protective wall against the Death Knights that had picked up on the prince’s presence. Aliden Perenolde strode amongst the corrupted pack with bloody chunks of his steed still clinging onto the joints of his cuisses and greaves. His glowing mouth warped into a wicked grin, and for the first time, Uther heard actual words from corrupted mouths.
“The lesser prince falls. Then the unworthy kings. And then, I will ascend uncontested.”
A chorus of roars interrupted any further grandstanding, louder, more natural roars that made Uther look to the skies. He flinched and immediately braced himself over Arthas as a barrage of magic missiles rained down all around him. Unholy screams filled his ears, but it took a moment before the paladin realized that beyond the shouts of surprise, none of his brothers had cried out in pain.
Carefully lifting his head, Uther found the Death Knights around him flung back, their bodies smoking. Then the sky above him flashed red and yellow as something flew overhead.
No, not something.
A dragon. Dragons.
A chill ran down Uther’s spine as a whole pack of red dragons swooped past. Any instinctive dread he harbored was quickly banished as an assertive voice filled his head.
That filled everyone’s head, judging by the way the knights and paladins around Uther startled.
“Withdraw. Leave the cleansing of the Fel tainted to us.”
Before Uther could protest, another calmer voice spoke within his head. “Pull your men back, Lord Uther. King Kyle would prefer to see you and your squire, as well as the rest of your men, alive.”
At the mention of the mage-king, Uther’s wariness spiked but then receded when he reasoned that of course Kyle might have made contact with dragons. Somehow, that made more sense than rabid Gilneans.
Rising to his feet with a weary grunt, and with Arthas supported over a shoulder, Uther rallied his brothers around him as some of the Death Knights began to stir. The orange armor of Aliden Perenolde was among the first to get up on his feet, but then a crash of red scales flattened the Death Knight with a brief but horrible screech and squelch of metal and flesh as a red dragon landed directly on the former pretender to Alterac.
“Pull back! Pull back and regroup!”
Thankfully, the order was obeyed without protest, and after leaving Arthas in the care of one of the few knights still on a mount, Uther finally got to appreciate the effect of the new arrivals. The Gilnean Death Knights in the immediate area were scattered about, yet not one member of the Silver Hand suffered a magical blast. Back at the infantry line, a great magical dome seemed to have trapped the rabid Gilneans, and as Uther watched, two dragons reared their necks back before lunging out to exhale fire into the dome. The confused soldiers of the 6th Legion either scrambled back or stared in shock as flames filled the translucent space.
More dragons flew past, blasting those Death Knights that were not entangled with the knights and paladins with fire, ice and other magical energies. Understanding that their presence here was a liability, Uther hastened the withdrawal to allow the dragons free reign, before their patience ran out.
As the wounded were quickly healed and carried out, a new sight caused not only the Order of the Silver Hand and the 6th Legion to freeze, but also caused the dragons to turn their heads and pause mid-flight.
Southwards, in the direction of Dalaran City, a massive, golden…thing suddenly popped into being in the skies, looming low, maybe no higher than the tallest spire in Dalaran. Uther’s rational mind boggled to estimate the scale of the thing, considering how far it must be right now. The massive, glinting object was vaguely ovoid in shape, but already the back of Uther’s stunned mind could make a guess as to who such a gleaming, golden object…construct might belong to.
And then small, glinting specks seemed to break away from it, like wasps leaving a nest, and then thin strands of blue fire could be seen strobing from the specks before they dipped below the tree line.
Not for the first time, Uther didn’t know whether to harbor gratitude or dread for the mage-king of Alterac.