Wrath of the Light

Chapter Fifteen: Frostmourne

King Terenas received the emissaries report with a stony bearing. He remained silent as the man finished telling him what he had seen. They were communicating over a mirror of scrying. After a moment Terenas took a deep breath.

'I see, that is unfortunate.' said the King.

'Unfortunate? Milord, he burned his own men's ships using-'

'I know.' said Terenas 'My son is not well. Whatever the case, we are committed, and all steps must be taken to ensure the expedition is a success. You are to tell your gryphon escort to disengage and head back to Northrend to assist however they may. Return on your own.'

'Yes sir,' said the emissary, 'I will do as you ask.'

The connection was cut, and King Terenas leaned back in his throne. He set down the mirror. 'Damn.'

Stratholme belonged to the scourge. Endless streams of undead marched forth from its gates in an endless tide. The defenders locked their shields together, and hacked them down as they came. Riflemen fired their guns, while priests of the light healed the wounded. Yet though they killed their enemies by the hundreds their were always more. Their limbs were tiring; their numbers were dwindling. Within mere minutes the forces of the Alliance would be overwhelmed. Then the villages would burn.

'The undead are overwhelming us,' said a soldier, 'we're all doomed.'

'Maybe,' said another, 'but we'll shed much of their blood before we're through.'

Then came the paladins! Three of them rode down the road, a force of knights at their back. Lord Uther led the charge and hewed down great swaths of undead, the light of his hammer burning away many more. Gavinrad the Dire was at his right hand, hewing this way and that. His light restored the strength of the tired and healed the injuries of the wounded. Sage Truthbearer, white beard flowing about him was at Uther's left. He rushed out into the fray and made himself an impenetrable barrier. The undead broke against him like water on a rock.

Cheers came from the men as they joined their brothers in a charge. The faltering undead offensive was overrun. Down they rushed, across the bridge and into the main gate of Stratholme. Nothing could stop them; they were untouchable!

Soon the undead melted away before the onslaught of the Alliance.

Those responsible, however, escaped. The necromancers and acolytes slipped away during the fighting. Stratholme belonged to the Alliance once more. The Paladins and men halted, looking around at the ruined city around them. The stench of death was everywhere, and there were now still more bodies to burn.

'You men,' said Uther, 'take teams and continue the burning of the bodies. We'll leave a garrison here to ensure nothing like this happens again. My paladins and I will continue our efforts to root out the cult.'

'Yes Lord Uther,' said the commander.

'We hold the advantage men!' called Uther, raising his hammer aloft. 'We need only continue our dark work a little longer! When the bodies of this place have been burned. When the cult is destroyed once and for all, then this land will know peace again!'

There was a ragged cheer from the soldiers. As he lowered his hammer, Uther realized he didn't believe a word of it. His own words sounded utterly hollow to him. He turned to Sage Truthbearer. 'Find some priests of the light, have them read these bodies their last rights. We... might at least give the dead here some dignity.'

'As you wish, Lord Uther.' said Sage, nodding.

As events played out before his eyes, Uther wondered what hope remained.