The Winter War - Part 11: Family Feuds

The Winter War - Part 11: Family Feuds 

Even as morning came and the sun rose, the land remained dim and swallowed in shadows from the thick clouds that swelled in the air. 

Snow tracks on the slopes of the Hinterlands slowed Aliden and Skarloc’s race back to Durnholde. Though thanks to his friends ranks as captain they had been able to acquire a new horse from a nearby watch tower.

Braying, the raven mare kicked snow into the air, the mighty war horse thumped across the planes towards the looming walled city of Durnholde and within it, his cousin.

Aliden had to bite back a scowl at the thought of his greasy, self-serving relative, one who had handed his own kin over to the Alliance to help retain his rank and safety.

‘Mother trusted you, you bastard!’

But he held back rage back, swallowed the bile and kept his face carefully stone-like in its banal neutrality. ‘Blackmoore will get what’s coming to him, Skarloc may not see its necessity, but I do. And with his fall, I shall rise again, casting off the shade of treachery that has brought me nothing but ruin!’

“We are almost there!” Skarloc bellowed.

“Good, I rather think I have gone numb!” He Aliden tried to joke, drawing a hearty chuckle from his friend.

The sound was drowned out by a sudden burst of roaring flames. 

The blazing orb crashed against Skalrloc’s chest and with a blast of stinging heat, launched them from the terrified horse.

Crashing into the snow, Aliden swept his legs around, drawing a short sword and dagger in quick succession as he rose to his feet, eyes already tracing the path of the shot to see…

“Beve…”

Standing atop a thick branch of an ancient elm was his sister, black and purple lines robes flowing in the chill breeze as she leveled her stave at them, expression stiff as stone. From behind a raised bed of stone stepped her bodyguard, bladed-shield and squared off short sword drawn, with fire in her eyes.

“Foul traitors, you think to kill Blackmoore’s Spear!?” Skarloc seethed, forcing himself to his feet and drawing his weapon.

That was when a lurid and lazy voice wafted over them, “That title is no longer fitting,” Spoke Blackmoore, trotting into view from atop his horse.

“Milord!?”

“Cousin!”

Blackmoore just tisked, “To think you would betray me, but then you two always were close and yet is it not my symbol you wear upon your shield!?”

“I did not such thing my lord, I came to warn you of their treason!” Skarloc cried, motioning at Beve and Richelle. 

Blackmoore swayed in his saddle, “Do not mock my intelligence Skarloc if you were forthright, I might have trusted you, but you hid this from me!” An accusing finger was level at Aliden, drawing a pained cringe from Skarloc.

“My lord, he is-”

Blackmoore spat, “Aliden is a traitor born and bred, he intended to oust me to the Alliance and take my place!” The man’s twisted leer turned to Aliden, “Well, have at it boy, but your sister and her pet would like a few words first!”

They were given no more time, a bolt of flames flew at Aliden and he leapt backwards, barely avoiding the blast only to see Beve’s form flicker with magic before she surged towards him like a bolt!

Crashing down into the ground she raised her arms in a roar and a blast wave of arcane energy slammed against him like a giant fist as snow was kicked into, the air.

He could barely make out Skarloc’s shouting before it was drowned out by Richelle’s roar. Her shield crashing against his blade before she swiped at his face with her squared off short sword, forcing him back.

Staggering back, Aliden weaved around another bolt of magic, kicking snow into his sister’s face to obscure his frantic charge. Swords glinted and slashed through the air but met her stave with a clang!

His twin strikes won out against her one-handed grasp on her stave but in a flash, she freed the steel beam, letting it blur before him as a dagger slipped form her robed sleeve and slashed across his shoulder, barely missing his jugular.

‘She will kill me!’

Catching her staff with practices ease and levelling it at him, another bolt of magic flew, and he was forced to strike it out of the air with his blade, leaving his hands numb.

“Beve do you really want to betray humanity again!?” 

“Oh, come brother do not be so provincial," Her faux humorous tone was maligned by the edge f sheer rage. "Our world is rife with other species and the trolls are hardly the Horde.’

A burst of flames, he leapt around It and slashed, but his strike was caught on her stave and this time she let loose a spell from her dagger, skimming his shoulder.

His gaze snapped to Skarloc and a horrified choke ripped form his throat as he saw Richelle grasping his face beneath her gargantuan gauntlets before slamming him into the ground.

With a roar he dashed forward, weaving around her first spell, slashing her dagger from Beve’s grasp before thrusting his long sword towards her throat.

But at the last second, Beve weaved around it, sweeping at his feet with her staff.

He barely dodged it and made to swing again!

It would have taken her head clean off had she not released a burst of power from the staff’s base.

“Ah!” Pain exploded along his leg, as armor was ruptured by magic and he was thrown to his side, chest heaving, eyes wild as he brought a blade up to defend himself.

“Beve… Please.... I’m your brother.”

“You killed our father,” she seethed, staff rising high above her head, a blazing ball of fire swelled.

And then Richelle was upon him and in one fell moment there was a sharp thud of pain in his throat, it lanced through his head while everything else faded and then…

Nothing.

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Beve clutched her staff so tightly her knuckles went numb, “I had it under control, Richelle.”

Richelle spun on her knees and bowed, “Forgive me mistress, but it is my duty to bear the stains of blood wherever I can, not yours.”

Sucking in a low breath she turned away from her brothers’ body, setting it alight with a snap of her fingers, as Blackmoore’s slurred tones echoed across the snow planes.

“Very entertaining ladies, but perhaps we can be done now? I want to be out of this damned cold!” He was still swaying on his damned horse, the ease with which she could kill him... But no... Patience.

Richelle was scowling as she was wont to do, while Beve offered him a tense smile, “Of course cousin.” As they strode away towards him, she saw the mans toady had returned with her brothers horse and she quickly claimed. 

High on horse back and the vast planes of white capped trees and planes before her and mountains above... Her chest ached, her eyes stung, it all reminded her of home and days gone by.

'It will all be for nothing if we fail here!’

Pushing aside the melancholy that was seeping its way into her muscles and bones, biting down on the anger roiling in her gut, Beve rode alongside Blackmoore.

“So dear cousin, what do you intend to do now?”

The man’s response was an ugly snort, “I suppose you will be wanting me to saddle up with this savage king of yours?”

Beve answered with an elegant shrug, “You may do as you wish, his offer of neutrality still stands, so you could simply watch this war glide by.”

Blackmoore spat, “Think me a fool? Throas is marching to my doorstep and he will take my soldiers when he comes. He will be hungry for land and esteem and I will be left with a camp of slovenly animals. I doubt your king will see a reason to leave me to tend what is mine.”

“So, you intend to serve the Alliance?” She plied.

“I am wanting for options, Thoras will cast me down the first chance he gets but after Skarloc…” He ran a hand down his face, somehow sweating despite the cold. “He was my spear, my champion and yet he hid this from me. ME!? How can I trust the others to side with me?”

“He was friends with my brother, perhaps that compelled his betrayal rather than loyalty to the Alliance?” Beve said, keeping her tone honeyed and soft.

Blackmoore swayed in his saddle in thought, “Maybe, but he ruined your plan to smuggle soldiers in all the same and I cannot trust those that remain, not really…”

Richelle snorted, “You expect us to believe you have no criminals or gladiators among your number?” 

“Mind your tongue!” Beve said, swiping her staff across her bodyguard’s head so carefully as to avoid harming her, but to keep it looking good.

Blakcmoore scowled mightily, forcing himself to sit higher in the saddle, for all the good it did him. “I have many, but not enough to take the Durnholde without help and the orcs are too stupid to be organized so subtly.”

Beve was not a seasoned general, but she’d orchestrated her fair share of ambushes, more than her fair share of sabotage, and sat in on plenty of war meetings. So, the potential resolution came to her easily enough.

“But is it they who need to be organized, dear cousin?”

“What’s this you’re rambling?”

Beve bowed, “You have gunpowder aplenty and the soldiers believe in you well enough, could we perhaps… Call a meeting in the right place…”

“At the right time…” He rubbed his chin, “Yes, that could work.” He scowled at her again, “You would still leave me at the mercy of this savage king you love so much.”

“Hardly, dear cousin, in truth I think he will welcome you happily and it seems he has little desire to rule when he can plunder. Leaving matters of state to us. Why, he even allows little Lianne and her daughter the right to rule Tirisfal in his name and they are royal hostages.”

She motioned grandly around them, “Think of it, all of Arathi and Hillsbrad in your domain, and with myself in charge of Alterac, well…” She gave him a side eyed smirk, “I am sure someone of your ambition can see the potential.”

Blackmoore’s lost expression slowly grew more assured and cockier as he rubbed his matted beard, “Yes… Yes, there is potential in that… Still, we would have trouble manning the cannons afterwards and Trollbane may suspect something.”

“The Drakkari have been sabotaging guard towers, I can send Richelle to him in the guise of a runner and she can say an aerial raid was fought off. As to the walls,” She shrugged, “If we do not have enough to let loose the cannons, I may be able to summon some assistance once the mages have been dealt with.”

“You may?” He groused.

“It took no small amount of effort to simply get Richelle and myself here ahead of my brother,” she bit her lip for but a moment. “But if we compromise the defenses, we may be able to call on more soldiers.”

“Hmm,” Blackmoore groaned, hands running through greasy hair, “you really think he shall win?”

Beve smirked, “His armies have crushed all opposed so far, even the combined effort of Dalaran and Lordaeron are merely slowing his march, not stopping it.”

“And you think to accept a troll as king, even for a time?” He asked.

“We must play the hand fate has dealt us.” Beve smirked at him, “but there is no reason we cannot carry cards up our sleeves, no?”

Blackmoore guffawed, “Let us try it then, not as though I can trust Trollbane any more than a troll.”

“You are very wise, dear cousin,” Beve offered with a flourished half bow.

“Naturally,” he chuckled, throwing back a swig of wine as they approached the fortress town of Durnholde Keep, Beve pulling her hood over her head as they went.

‘The simple part is done, now we merely have to survive this.’

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Midday was fast approaching and even the thick clouds of winter were thinning to reveal cracks of sunlight, each of which was welcomed by the men and women of Durnholde, and even its prisoners. Shivering Orcs packed atop one another in flimsy cabins, draping every last scrap of dry cloth over themselves they could to fight off the cold.

It was a pitiful sight, one many took pleasure in, but that Sergeant had merely grown accustomed to after efforts to procure more blankets had failed. Though, with war afoot, the warriors mind was neglecting the orcs and the weather in favor of turning over his lord commanders’ words again and again.

“When Trollbane arrives, he will be taking many of my soldiers, I will not let him use my men to cover himself in glory. I will be joining them and leading them in battle, we shall leave a skeleton crew behind, the Orcs are feeble and even more useless in the cold, but if worst comes to worst.” 

He clapped Sergeant’s shoulder and offered a watery grin, “I know I can trust in you to see us through any hardship.”

It had been strangely sincere for a man Sergeant had long since come to view as a petty tyrant, more in love with tormenting orcs and servant girls while drowning in drink than anything else.

‘The men being left behind might consider themselves lucky,’ a treasonous part of him thought, but was quickly silenced as he continued his rounds and took in his remaining forces. Blackmoore had wanted to brief as many of the soldiers he expected to take with him as possible, so many that they were still marshaling in the keep.

‘And as expected, I am left with dregs,’ He thought bitterly at the sight of Blackmoore’s various “Personal hirelings”. They tended to range between tough but utterly un-respectable thugs to simpering bootlickers. He recognized a few good souls among them, but it seemed Blackmoore knew well enough his own employees were a useless lot…

‘Something in this, does not feel right, a tension in the air,’ he thought, looking down upon the Orcs who were peeking out from their huts and body piles as if confused and curious.

“Milord- ah I mean, lord Sergeant?” a youthful voice called.

Turning his attention to a young page, he answered, “Just Sergeant, what do you need boy?”

“Ah, well, some of the men and I had worries about this few of us being left as guards, they hoped you could tell us the strategy.” He shoulders slumped and he kicked the dirt, “I am smallest, so they sent me.”

Sergeant scoffed, “Lazy louts, they can hear from me once I speak with Thomas the mage and Chaplain_Mathers.”

A brief look of something flashed across the boy’s face as he raced after him, Sergeant unwilling to slow his gait as his concern grew. He took another glance at the keep and its neighboring tower, ‘Why are so many of the staff there? It’s a watch post?’

The boy piped up, voice cracking, “Sergeant we-. I mean, the men are concerned.”

“So am I,” he snapped, gaze locking onto the Chaplain’s private residence when a flash of something through the window caught his gaze and he took off running.

Steel boots clanking on the cobblestone path, Sergeant kicked in the door to the Chaplain’s home and saw one of Blackmoore’s Warden’s standing over the fallen man’s body.

“Shit!” she cursed, letting loose a burning fire light from her stave.

Pain ripped through his chest, his ribs felt to be burning, stretched, and bent all at once, but with a roar he pushed through it and burst forward, ramming his sword through the warden’s throat in one strike, and dispelling the pain a mere second later.

But a second was all it took for the boy who followed him to jump upon his back.

Sergeant barely angled away from a lethal blow, cursing as the dagger embedded itself above his ribs. With his good arm he grasped the boy’s hair and flung him to the floor; cries for mercy stalled his blade as much as a shout from outside did.

“Sergeant! Sergeant! Thomas is de- Aack!”

He turned to see a towering woman in heavy armor standing behind the private, grasping his head in her metal gauntlet covered hand and snapping his neck in one sharp motion.

“Who are you!?” He seethed.

“Alterac’s vengeance,” she answered, barreling forward, bladed-shield raised as if to tackle him through the walls!

His blade crashed against her shield, skidded across the steel and swipe across her helmet denting it before she crashed into him. Slamming him against the wall, it shattered, showering them in splinters as they crashed to the ground.

_____________________________________________

“What’s what!?”

“Someone just tackled Sergeant out a wall!”

“Bandits!?”

“We’re under attack!”

From behind the Mage made invisibility barrier Beve sighed, the sound swallowing by the sound of crackling fire in her grasp.

‘Really Richelle? Oh well, this will have to do.’

With that she let loose the spell, thrusting her palms forward, a choked roar escaped her lips and a mighty flamestrike burst to life in the gunpowder stuffed basement of Durnholde’s barracks.

Beve could hear the explosion roaring to life as the ground rumbled, she and her mage companions threw themselves to the ground as a roaring blast of fire and raining brick shrapnel exploded across the air.

Arcane barrier ate up the worst of the blast, but Beve hissed and cringed as scorching pellets cut and bruised her skin.

Pushing herself up, she saw a few of the soldiers who had been approaching the Backs had fallen in the blast, but not all.

Levelling her staff at the staggered soldiers, blades of ice shot forth, jaggedly impaling one after the other as her cousin’s agents sprung into action across the keep. 

Rogues bared daggers, warriors’ swords, while his Wardens and mages let loose spells as they swarmed over the surviving loyalists and the gates slammed closed before even the first civilian could escape.

‘We need to end this quickly!’

In the distance, the armies of Stromgarde and Ironforge froze in their march.

_____________________________________________

The united march of Stromgarde and Ironforge had, for but a moment, ground to a violent halt. Worried whispers and murmurs were washing across the long line of soldiers while Galen glared through his spyglass.

He could see only a blurry pillar of smoke and dust, clear signs of an explosion but little else.

"Durnholde has fallen, sabotage, treason or a surprise attack, it does not matter.”

Valorcall leaned in, a silent question in his gaze, and Galen whispered in his ear, “If my father is wise, we will either fall back or approach with caution.”

A sharp ringing bell cut through the air as a crier race down the line on horseback, “King Trollbane and Prince Bronzebeard demand we march with renewed vigor! We must reinforce Durnholde before it is too late! To arms, warriors of Arathi, to glory!”

Soldiers voices rose high in cheer, as Galen sagged in his saddle.

“My prince,” Valorcall whispered brushing a hand along his arm, “What do you, wish to do?”

Heart and soul stirred, Galen rose to his full height just as their column began moving and answered, “Get word to my Stromgarde Snipers Company and anyone else you know to be reliable, we will break off over the next hour and return home.”

“What then my prince?” Valorcall asked with anticipation and a grin.

Galen winked, “Let us see what the morning brings.”

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NOTES:

All the chapters in this area take place at around the same time, hence jumping from Jail Break to this and so on. 

So yeah, Beve and Richelle were flung ahead through no small amount of effort and basically filled Blackmoore's head with a lot of bullshit and wine. After that it was just a matter of heading off Skarloc before they arrived and not leaving enough time to speak. Though if Blackmoore had changed his mind, they'd have likely tried to kill him too and go to plan C.  

One thing I am aiming to do is to show a diverse range of people's and beliefs in both the Alliance and the Drakkari. So I hope using Seargent as I did served that role and avoided leaving the Defenders of Durnehold feeling too passive, even if they did ultimately loose out and also why they lost. 

So the treason seeds I planted are finally starting to grow XD