The Winter War: Part 9 - Chaos & Counterattacks

Malakk had been pulled from a deep sleep to a castle in a growing state of frantic chaos. Reports falling upon his ears as fast as his mind could stir and each one chilling his heart.

Kel’thuzad was a traitor.

The prince had been wounded.

His healers were trying to save him.

But nothing they had tried could stir him.

Malakk had found Lianne and Callia watching in desperate worry as Alonsus prayed and beseeched his light, eyes flaring gold, the room shimmering with a blinding light. Ice was force him his veins, necrosis was beaten back and skinned mended and yet…

It had not been enough.

Even when Gal'Darah joined hands with the Archbishp and they desperately invoked the power of Light and Death, Life and Holy energies coalescing...

It had not been enough. 

The words still fell heavy upon him, the memory of looking at the youth’s pale and stiffened features as the news broke and the princess wailed, throwing herself upon her brother and weeping as her mother consoled her, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Why!? Why can't you save him!?" 

"Arthas, darling, come back to us!"

Heads were bowed low in misery, voices touched by energies not of moral ken echoed from shamefaced healers. 

"Though the body is willing, the spirit is not." 

"We cannot force him to return, such would be Necromancy." 

As one they bowed, heads pressed to the floor as mother and daughter cradled their golden prince between them. 

A final prayed was raised, one desperate chant, the words and spirits of mother and sister raised as one to beseech the boy between them, Calia's eyes even blazing gold. 

It had still, not been enough. 

An hour had long since passed but the castle was still locked down, Alonsus would not be leaving, nor anyone else who knew the truth, not yet.

‘It cannot be held back forever but I just need time to resolve this…’ He thought, a frown set upon his features as he stood within the castle’s armory. The Archishop had remained with Calia, while Gal'Darah, his guards and Lianne stood with him, awaiting the crucible. 

’The scales must be balanced.’

“Bring him in,” Malakk snarled.

The doors flew open instantly and a pair of dark armored, Frozen Warlords dragged a bloodied and sleeping Kel’thuzad into the chamber.

“Wake him.”

With a snap of his finger, Gal’Darah broke the spell and Kel’thuzad weakly sputtered to consciousness.

“wha… What is happening here!?”

Malakk pressed a bare for against the frail man’s chest, encompassing his entire rib cage and pressing him back firmly as the warlords held his straining form in place.

“Justice is what is happening,” Malakk spat. “I welcome you, treat you as a guest and ally, but you repay it with betrayal, attempting kidnapping and murder.”

Chest heaving, he rattled, “So I got… That much done... I wonder, was it my spell? The fool healer… Or did he not want to come back… Ack, aah… Stop it!”

“You are guilty of crimes aplenty, Kel’thuzad,” Malakk said.

“If you… Had just… Dealt with Rivendare…”

“People are not things to be traded away for favors, wizard,”

“Can we please see this done?” Lianne whispered, voice rough and hoarse, hands clasped so hard he thought they might break.

“Of course,” Malakk said gently. “Kel’thuzad, you are guilty of all accused crimes and will be summarily executed, now.”

“No!” he heaved, “I am too useful to die!” He begged.

“Lianne, did you wish to do the deed?” Malakk asked, ignoring the man’s prattling.

She shook her head, “I just wish for this to be finished, that he might know the same pain he forced upon my son.”

“He will,” Malakk swore.

“Wait. I can help! I know Dalaran, I can-”

Malakk drew Zerat, the Soulburning Greatsword, its flat-bladed tip now enshrined with blessed ice and with one fell swoop he rammed it through the man’s chest, hoisting him off the floor in one fell motion, piercing through his entirely. 

A guttural, spluttering gasp escaped Kel’thuzad’s lips, he tried, desperately to force magic from his Saronite poisoned frame but could do nothing but shudder and shiver.

Crackling ice bloomed across his body, tainting his skin a sickly blue hue that crawling along his body like fire across parchment until he was frozen solid, agony marring his features.

Malakk was not done. 

With a roar, he unleashed another wave of accursed magic, mystic flames from the swords heart burst into Kel'Thuzad's frozen form and dragged a spectral scream. Finally, Malakk hurled him to a wall and watched the body shatter into thousands of shards, each one now aflame. 

Turning, he bit out, “Gather the remains, grind whatever's left into powder and feed it to some pigs.”

Lianne let out a soft, shuddering breath before her composed mask was back in place, “If it pleases my Frost King, I would like to return to my daughters’ side now.”

“Of cour-” He froze as frantic shouts struck his ears.

“Frost King Malakk is very busy, hey!”

“He needs to hear this!”

“Damn your eyes, let me through first, now, Malakk!”

“My Frost King, a report from the front!”

As if conjured from the ether or his own nightmares, four figures, haggard and wide-eyed burst into the chamber, the Barov’s, Beve and Arctikus.

None stopped to bow, all moving to speak when he snapped, “Silence!” His gaze snapped De'jana who bowed, “Apologies Frost King Malakk, some just arrived, others have been searching for you, and all will only answer to you.”

“Speak, Barov,” He said, seeing how her eyes were red with tears, sunken in dread and exhaustion.

“My daughter, I… Dalaran found her, captured her. They sent demands for our surrender,” She knelt before him, golden threads growing mired in dust, “They are going to place us under siege, I… They promised her safety if we surrendered but…”

“You want me to save her,” Malakk intoned.

Illucia bowed her head.

“Rise, we will find a solution, I promise.” His gaze moved to Beve who swallowed nervously, nails digging into her stave.

“I just got word. My father is dead, Aliden killed him before slipping from the camp. He intends to reveal our plan to Blackmoore and aid the Alliance reinforcements in taking the South. He may have already arrived.”

Malakk fought against himself to keep his heartrate steady and his composure firm. 

Eyes steeled, and manner resolved he looked to Arctikus who bowed, wiry frame riddled with tension.

“I received word from Zol’Maz…”

“Why did he not contact the palace?” Gal’Darah snapped.

“He could not,” She answered, “Dalaran is closer than we thought to breaching our defenses and can now interfere with our portals as much as we theirs. They have forsaken interfering with Fenris Isles for this which is how he contacted me but,” she sighed. “From his words, the Alliance is readying to march, and I know that so too is Dalaran, they intend to end this over the next few days.”

‘Too soon, Dalaran was not meant to move yet, the South was to be locked in chaos, the Lordaeron army tied by the Bulwark!’

“They march with only half their army to the Bulwark?” He asked, mind awhirl and latching onto whatever hope it could.

Arctikus bowed her head, “The Word Priests in the Warlords company sense a great and vibrant light and it is growing… We believe they have a secret weapon and will march on us soon.”

Malakk’s fingers twitched, his skin tingled numbly and his mind was flashing between blankness and frantic recriminations for his own failings.

Lianne’s sharp tone cut through as she intoned, “Well, Frost King Malakk, you wanted to wear the crown, so what shall you do now?”

.

.

.

‘I am king.’

“Everyone. To the war room. Now.”

_______________________________________________

Zol’Maz did not need to look from his fortified chamber to know the battle was progressing poorly. Shouts of the enemy’s approach rang constantly, an aura of gold lit up the bulwark as canon fire roared.

‘We were meant to lure them into a fight by looking desperate, but it was for an ambush! We were not meant to be in real danger!’ He glared down at the map before him and seethed, ‘If they break through, they will wear us down, inspire rebellion in every corner…’

“Report?” He said, as a flyer landed on the balcony’s ledge and leapt from their bat to kneel.

“Gundraki Brutes have rallied behind Battok_the_Berserker and the Warlords hold fast under High Priestess Tao Tao, but they cannot withstand this much longer. Their armor bounces back the Light, the flames and barriers, but the concussive force is still wearing on them, and some have been felled through sheer numbers.”

“Do the humans numbers dwindle?” He asked, tugging on a tusk in frustrated worry.

“… Some, Warlord, but not enough, the healing waves and revivals keep all but the most broken of their forces moving. Their Siege Engines keep the rest of our number back and we Sky Shriekers cannot break the magic dome erected at the Lights Heart.”

An advisor stepped forward, “We Spirit Wardens could conjure an earthquake and try to bury the advancing army, or at least block them off.”

“A waste of time,” Zol’Maz muttered. “Golden flames, healing light and divine shields; whatever they have to empower their vanguard it will not be overcome so easily.”

“Then what will you do,” Grik'nir the Cold piped up, “even our Shadowcasters can do nothing to this light!”

‘We can try and contain them and wait, but with them on the offensive a drawn-out battle will not favor us…’

Chittering echoed in his ears, “You need act soon, your defensive line breaks and we cannot yet call reinforcements.”

“Accursed wizards!”

A side door swung open and a novice priest fell to her knees, “Warlord, the Prophet of ZimRhuk sends word. We have been gifted one hundred idols by the grace of our god.”

His mind latched onto the offer as a beast did meat, “Order these guardian idols into a three line formation and have them march into the Bulwark and someone send the signal for our legionaries to fallback in five minutes!”

“As you say Warlord!” Several voices bellowed.

“The stone idols will not hold for long,” the Nerubian rasped.

“I know, but if the humans want to play with their secret weapons, we should return the favor.” Marching through the long chamber he bellowed, “Have the Shaman and diggers raise the earth and craft trenched behind us so that if they break through, we can make this as frustrating as possible!”

Turning he looked to a priest in medication and ordered, “Revered Disciple of Mam'toth, rally your kin and awaken the War Mammoths we are readying the charge!”

Blinking in surprise the serene troll bowed their head, hands clapping together as the Loa’s visage flickered around them.

“Arcanists, hold the illusions for as long as possible, but once we break through turn all of your energy to barriers. Someone, begin moving the Saronite Ballista to the front and Word Priests, ready your prayers to guard against our foes power.”

Within his fort, Zol’Maz thumped a fist against his chest, “Drakkari, get ready to march!”

__________________________________________________

The dimly lit chamber of the Council of Six was filled with a fervor of conversation. Antonidas listened intently, one hand gently running through his beard as he pondered the ever-shifting tides of this strange and sudden war.

“The savages have begun to change the spell-works around the capital, I can only assume they know we have begun to unravel their inner workings,” Drenden murmured.

Kael'thas_Sunstrider hissed, “You give mongrels far too much credit to think they had anything to do with this.”

“Underestimating these trolls has caused Lordaeron much harm, Prince Kael’Thas, I would caution against pride,” Antonidas intoned.

The elf rolled his shining eyes, “I do not deny they have skilled arcanists in their service. I merely want the record to show it cannot be the trolls doing this, such magic is beyond them.”

“Who is casting the spells is irrelevant, Kael’thas,” Modera snapped, “What is pertinent is that it is happening, your wounded ego is none of our concern.”

“My friends, if we can turn out attention to the matter at hand,” Antonidas cut in gently. “I believe we should consider how this effects our deployment strategy. With their defenses shifting we may no longer stand a chance at breaching the capital even briefly.”

“I am left wondering how, we were so careful,” Drenden said.

Each of them froze as the air began to hum and shift, a familiar twang of energy strummed in Antonidas’s mind that left him both relieved to know who it was and wary at their news. Few knew of the council and even fewer could access them at a whim, let alone would risk their ire by doing so.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Several voices snapped as Archmage_Cedric appeared in a flash of light and offered Antonidas a bow.

“Forgive me, councilors, but we have news from the front,” he looked up, brow furrowed, “The trolls on Fenris Isle are making their move.”

“Insanity," Kael’thas said, "even with their reinforcements they could not rally the ships in time."

Cedric nodded, “They have gun-ships, but they are not the problem I… believe you should assess the matter yourselves, noble councilors.”

Shrugging, Antondias rose from his seat and drew the arcane energies from around him, resonated them with those suffusing his being and in a flash of glorious magical unity the energies combined, and he was gone.

Re-materializing at the northern watch tower, Antonidas was followed by his comrades, all of whom joined him in staring out across the vast lake that had come to brush up against the city proper with the rainy season.

“My, my, that is a rather unique solution,” Antonidas hummed.

“Creative only in its sheer stupidity,” Kael’thas sniffed.

Stretching across the still waters was a shimmering ice bridge, one stretching nearly a quarter of a mile wide and all the way back to Fenris Isle. Amassing at the forefront were cannons and ballista, while a smattering of gunboats, obviously stolen from Lordaeron and under the control of collaborators arrayed alongside it protectively.

“This would have taken hours to prepare; I take it they know of Jandice then?” Drenden said, tapping the stone fortifications.

“That would explain the sudden changes in their magical defenses and this…” Modera said, motioning to the ice bridge as it began to grow outwards so as to allow more soldiers and long-range weapons upon it.

Antonidas frowned, “That will make marching our army through Alterac difficult, lest we can contact the Lordaeron main army, or Trollbane and Ironforge’s forces to strike down Caer Darrow and march on the city from there.”

“Do not be so quick to dismiss our initial plans,” Kale’Thas insisted.

“And the Barov could still yield useful information,” Modera added, a scowl on her features.

Antonidas bristled, “Her information has been unreliable thus far, revealing nothing or false leads.”

“Kassan and I will need more time with her, I shall go now, and will not stop until her mind unravels if that is what it takes,” Modera snapped, before vanishing in a flash of light.

“I suppose we should intensify our defensive barriers here,” Drenden murmured.

“And array some of our forces as well, I do not want the trolls to use one of their tricks to breach our defenses as they did in Lordaeron,” Antonidas said.

“We should take up positions across the city to ensure the spell-work is up to standard,” Kael’thas said, “They may try and use more of their collaborators in a surprise assault.”

“A prudent decision, we can reconvene when Modera is done with her work, thank you Cedric,” Antondias added with a nod. “If you would assist me in marshalling our troops and inspecting the defenses?”

His old friend bowed, “Of course, lord Antonidas.”

_______________________________________________________

Arctikus tapped her toes against the rough ice, “Barafu, you and your casters are doing good work, but this is wide enough, focus on raising fortifications now. If you can,” she added, seeing some of the casters weary faces.

Bonechiller Barafu toyed with a lock of bound red hair before slipping it into her robes and bowing, “As you say Great Mother and do not worry. We shall make this look good,” she added with a smirk.

‘I certainly hope so,’ Arctikus thought, before shaking the doubt away from her mind as she heard the approaching slap of her soldier’s footsteps. With a roar she slammed the butt of her spear against the ice, “Warriors of Zul’Drak, a servant of Frost King Malakk lies chained within that city and its cunning masters seek to tear down all our liege has built!”

A baleful roar rose up from the legion.

“Ready the cannons, prepare the ballista and let this city no know peace, for Zul’Drak!”

“For Zul’Drak!”

In the distance she could see the arcane barrier surrounding the city intensifying and soldiers were beginning to marshal near the coastline.

‘They believed this much at least, now let us just hope it is enough for our agents!’

_____________________________________________________

The Dalaran sewers were large, only mildly rank, and the flowing waste shimmered. All facts the pair shuffling through them on a frail ledge had become depressingly accustom to in recent days.

“The Violet Hold should not be far from here,” Rose murmured.

Lisa glanced over her back at the bag on her back, or more, its contents, “This will work, right?”

“Mistress said to trust her, and she has never steered us wrong before,” Rose answered.

“And what if we’re spotted by some watcher?” Lisa asked. They were a long way from the underground markets, but one could usually find some form of life scuttling about between every crack or cranny.

“Well try not to act suspicious,” Rose whispered back as they rounded the corner and saw the sewers were barred off. Or more, that they should have been. Because by simply brushing her hand along the steel, Rose touched nothing but sickly air and with easy confidence marched through the illusion.

She almost tripped on the remnants of the warped bars before gently guiding her partner through the bent metal remnants of the bars.

“Seems we aren’t alone here,” she whispered.

“You are not,” a rough little voice growled, and one of those Wolvar they had seen at Fenris Isle popped out from a hole in the brick work, tail wagging happily as it rocked back and forth on its paws, its robes strangely clean despite the sewage.

“It is just you?” Lisa gasped.

The creature chuckled and motioned up ahead, “Your friend came sooner, others elsewhere too. We are… Marshalling our forces, so to say.”

Glaring through the shadow, they Rose blinked at the sight of Singer, still in her elegant dress and Syndicate mask standing over a dead mage and delicately waving to them.

“Now,” the Wolvar said, “Let us get to the start of our mission, yes?”

Rose and Lisa looked to one another and answered, “Yes.”

__________________________________________________________

“What!?” Saidan’s scowl was mighty as he looked upon the panting page kneeling before him.

“Milord, I am deeply sorry but yes… Tyr’s Hand is under attack, the message arrived but moments ago and I came to you as swiftly as I could but…”

Saidan was already pacing around the map table, “Damned, accursed creatures, did the Elves let them through or are they merely incompetent? And what of their Fleet on the Western Coast? Where do these trolls spawn from?”

“Ah, that is... Apologies milord, but these are not the new trolls, but older enemies,” the boy looked up, “They are the Amani Fleet.”

That stopped him short “Of course. Of course, they would use our turned backs as a chance to strike.”

“Milord, what shall we do?" Doan asked, "Lord Fordring is pacifying Caer Darrow and Lord Morgraine marshes on Trisfal in the Lights Glory but if we leave our backs exposed?”

Saidan waved him off, “Do we have any word from the Fleet of Tyr’s Hand”

The page gulped and shook his head, “No milord, no word of their arrival in Southshore either.”

Tapping at his chin Saidan weighed his options and swiftly came to his conclusion.

“Had the fleet landed I could have spared troops from the front soon enough, but as matters stand; Tyr’s Hand shall have to hold without us. If we break off the attack now the trolls will have time to rally or hit us from behind.”

The Page shot to his feet, “But Milord, Tyr’s Hand is sacred, you cannot leave it to those Amani monsters!”

His guards rounded on the boy, but Saidan slashed his hand and they stilled, “Mind your tongue when you speak to your superiors.”

Falling to his knees, the page pressed his head to the grass, “Please forgive me… Tyr’s Hand is my home milord, I just worry.”

“We are all concerned, but the Amani will not breech such a sacred place, its walls are strong, and the cannons reach far. When the fleet arrives and we break through the Bulwark, I shall send a detachment to reinforce the city,” He offered soothingly.

“But until then, we cannot break the march,” His gaze turned to the half open tent flaps where his remaining soldiers milled around to guard their supplies, and in the distance shone a golden star of fire and pulsing light.

“Our glory shines like the dawn and shall be a beacon to the people of Trisfal to rise up and for Dalaran to strike.” He smiled, “and when that moment comes our victory shall be assured.”

___________________________

Alexandros Mograine’s soul sang.

Glittering crystal held aloft he rode at the heart of their main force, surrounding him was a host of paladins, clerics, and magi. The Paladins stood ready to guard against any surprise attacks, the mages made ready to raise barrier in case of a sudden wave of cursed metal and the clerics?

Well, their job was the most important of all, they sang. 

Each one chanted their prayers and sang their hymns, staves held aloft and charged with light they channeled into the ‘Hopes-Beacon’. The shining crystal that had once cursed him now would bring salvation, its form purified, and energies enhanced by prayer it suffused the foot soldiers with holy power.

With the purifying energies of the Holy Light suffusing their very beings each soldier could run heedlessly into the enemy lines. Even when their armor was torn asunder and their bodies mangled, they healed as swiftly as their wounds could be made!

When bottles of fire rained down from the sky, the healing light was turned to a hardened barrier that repelled the flames. Even when the army’s numbers grew too great, it became a golden fire that eventually drove away those bedecked in cursed metal.

“They grow desperate my brothers! Their unholy armor breaks before our glory and their stone idols shall be sundered by our might! Push on my brethren!” Already his soldiers were breaking through the seemingly last desperate battle line of the invaders. Stone warriors that felt neither pain nor fear, a living wall that was still being washed away by his forces.

“Soon we shall arrive in Tirisfal and return the Light to this land!” He roared.

His warriors cheered, footman stamping so heavily as they marched the land seemed to… rumble?

A mage shouted, “The illusion is breaking!”

‘So, this must be their secret weapon, we must be making them desperate,’ he thought.

The sky before them bent and shifted, warping as if fraying material being stretched thin until it broke, akin to a fist punching through water.

Now it was the invaders cheering, their rough, guttural voices howling on the wind as the ground rumbled and roared at the weapons approach, music was playing, and trumpets blared. 

For but a moment, Alexandroes was frozen in shock.

But the Light grounded him, as it always did, and he could think clearly.

It was as if they had blended a sailing ship and a barracks into one towering fortification, a mobile fortress. Hewn from wood he could only assume had been culled on Lordaeron’s shores, it was adorned in a rich tapestry of color and patterns, many of which glowed with some unholy magic.

A wicked troll face was carved just above the front-facing balcony upon which stood a host of chanting trolls’ casters. The roof sloped and domed watch tower like structures were bolted onto the sides. While the unholy steel was melded onto the front of the fortress and tipped with similarly vile spears the size of ballista bolts.

Unholy symbols flooded the air and arcane magics thrummed to life around the structure as it roared forward, gargantuan wheels and the sound of stamping feet echoing and shaking the mountains.

“Fall back brothers!” he roared.

But it was too late for those who had raced ahead, their legs were too short and soon enough they were swallowed up in the horrendous structures wake. Wheels crushing their bodies into the earth while the stamping feet of whatever beasts stood cloaked beneath it, pushing it forward crushed them into the dirt.

‘The Light cannot save those soldiers, their bodies remain ruined beneath the fort and once they are freed, even if they revive, they will be isolated and fallen upon!’

He drew back his mount, making it bray as he bellowed, “Sons of Lordaeron, fall back, we shall become the vanguard and shatter this unholy fixture! Roll the Siege Engines forward and have them join us!”

His army surged like rapid waters as they hastened to obey and Alexandros grasped Hopes-Beacon tightly, thrusting it forward like a blade. The golden light flowed from the air and coiled together, forming a thick, golden barrier between his advancing foes and his army.

“You will not break our resolve; we shall be victorious!”

____________________________________________________

“Warlord, they bring forth their mobile cannons and have raised a mighty barrier, even with our efforts, I am unsure we can break through!”

“But can we survive it?”

“I believe so,” The Word Priest answered tightly.

“Good, then ready our cannons and ballista, send word to the Sky Shriekers and let us show them that their trinket may well block our path, but that we have the high ground.”

“As you say, Warlord!”

____________________________________________________

The sound of echoing cannon fire drew Alexandros’s gaze to the sky and ripped a gasp from his lips.

‘Cannons, they have cannons atop that eyesore!?’

With nary a thought he cast a glanced back, behind the barrier where soldiers bereft of priests and mages to conjure barriers shouted and shields raised high as they braced for impact. In one calamitous moment giant steel balls and long spears crashed down into their numbers, blitzing dozens of soldiers apart in an instant.

Bat like shrieks and dragons’ roars boomed from the mountaintops and Alexandros could already envision the slaughter to come.

‘They have used our formations against us!’ He seethed, nearly crushing the crystal in his grasp. ‘We must weaken our barrier to defend our troops or let our umbers be thinned, damn their eyes!’

“Paladins, mages, fall back and reinforce your brethren, now, now! Cleric we shall hold the line!”

Some had begun racing to their fellow’s sides before the orders even left his mouth, while others hastened to obey with cries of “Yes Milord!” and “For Lordaeron!”

Turning his gaze back to the ship, Alexandros teeth ground at the mobile forts approach.

‘We can bear its weight, but can we break through now?’ He doubted it, and with a bit back curse he understood what this was.

‘A stalemate.’