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Scourge - 5.1
🕑 Added 2023-05-27 09:01:00 +0000 UTC"The Convocation has refused to hear your petition, my prince." Grand Magister Belo'vir said, the apologetic tone in his voice little more than an affectation. "It is the belief of the Convocation of Silvermoon that they have already acceded to your demands as of your last visit, and the support sent to aid the Farstriders will be sufficient to ward off this incursion."
Kael'thas stared silently at the grand magister, a man he had once respected for his acceptance and involvement in the Church of the Holy Light that was so disdained by others of his status.
"Do they not understand that the Scourge has brought low the greatest of the human kingdoms? That the horde of undead crash upon our borders at this very moment?" Kael'thas said, no little amount of frustration leaking into his voice. "Fourteen years ago, we assumed that the orcs were a human problem. They burned through our wards, our runestones, until they reached the walls of Silvermoon itself. The Convocation would allow that to happen again?!"
Belo'vir looked at him exasperatedly, his eyebrows twitching as the old mage suppressed whatever retort he wished to utter. "Even should these half-rotten corpses that the humans failed to deal with themselves reach our walls, the Doorkeeper will stand strong once more." He said instead.
Not for the first time in his life, Kael'thas felt a deep-seated disgust for the attitude so many of his people held. That his father encouraged. Of all of those who lived in Quel'Thalas, Belo'vir and his father should know better; both lived through the Troll Wars where their home was threatened with destruction and they required the aid of outsiders, of Arathor, to survive.
His time seeking the aid of the Convocation, of the Magisters, had been entirely wasted. The dark necessity of the twin vials beneath his robes, which weighed so heavily upon his heart, seemed ever closer.
Two had been sent by dragonhawk to Quel'Danil Lodge before the first sighting of the Scourge. Orders for the Farstriders that they were to be carried with utmost protection and urgency.
And the last two of the six he had gathered were aboard ship, the only hope for a portion of his people to survive should the worst come to pass. When the worst came to pass; the Farstriders could not match the might of Lordaeron, and that greatest of human kingdoms had already succumbed and swelled the ranks of the Scourge.
Kael'thas turned on his heels. "Lordaeron fell to deception, to traitors and infiltrators that sought power with the Scourge at the expense of others." He said bluntly. "Knowing the families as I do, I am not so sanguine that we shall remain safe. This is a war a decade in the making and our foes are not fools."
Without waiting to hear whatever rebuttal the Salonar would form, he walked away. If the leaders of his people would not act, then there was only one course of action left to him.
He had already committed the greatest heresy, what was a little usurpation of power and treason compared to that?
-oOoOo-
"Your Highness, the p-people are ready and wait only for your appearance." Ranger Lethvalin said nervously, the young farstrider one amongst many that Kael'thas had drafted for his purposes from their hall within Silvermoon. "M-might I ask what the reason for this is? Captain Helios said it was to help the ranger general, but... how?"
Kael'thas didn't answer, though he met the boy's blue eyes and fixed his face in his memory. Perhaps that memory would stand as the only memorial the trainee would have come the end of this war.
Spreading the word that he wished to address his people had been a task he could not complete alone. The Farstriders, so much more understanding of just how much had been lost beyond the walls of Silvermoon to the orcish incursion, had been so very willing to follow him when he offered his support. And with their numbers, their voices, many had gathered.
Enough that he could hear them from the spire overlooking the Bazaar in which he sat. "My thanks, ranger. You may go."
To his credit, the trainee ranger hesitated only a moment to bow and retreat from the room. His nerves were understandable, though he was the Prince of Silvermoon and heir to the Sunburst Throne, his last public appearance must have been before the boy of three decades had been born. A century or more, when he still resided in Quel'Thalas rather than finding the halls of the Kirin Tor more appealing.
Now alone, Kael'thas withdrew one of his most treasured possessions: the feather of a true phoenix that had willingly bound itself to him. If there was a time for theatrics and a grandiose entry, this was it.
"Blazing A'lar, I summon thee by our pact and bid you come to my aid." The words were like burning embers upon his tongue, the pyromancy inherent to Ignan causing little harm but deeply unpleasant for a mortal. "A cold death comes for my people and the flames must burn bright for hope to remain."
The feather burst into flames that engulfed the chamber and licked at the walls beyond, slowly coalescing and forming into the form of his beloved pet. A'lar screeched loudly, nuzzling his hand as it beat its wings to remain in the air.
"I must stand before my people and show them the seriousness of what comes. Carry me to the podium below, my ever-burning flame." Receiving an affirmative response, he stepped astride the phoenix. His flame wards flared around him in a colourful display of arcane sigils to protect him, but they would only add to the appearance of urgency he wished to project. "Go."
As A'lar soared out of the spire Kael'thas took the time to survey the crowd below. Thousands of gathered civilians, hundreds of students from the academies of the city, and a scattering of Magisters and Priests who had heard word and grown curious. Many farstriders and spellbreakers stood guard, yet they would also be the target of his coming speech.
Reaching the podium, Kael'thas did not dismount. To do so would imply there was time for such an action and there was not. With each passing moment the defences of Quel'Thalas crumbled, the hope of protecting their home faded.
"My fellow Quel'Dorei! My people, my subjects! I come before you to speak of the grave threat that bears down on our home, just as another did fourteen years ago." He yelled, his voice amplified to carry across the crowd by the magic of the podium. Even the beat of A'lar's wings would be heard from the farthest reaches of the Bazaar. "Lordaeron, the mightiest of all human kingdoms, has fallen to an undead Scourge. Each of their fallen swelling the ranks of the menace that bears down upon us, razing outlying villages, pillaging farms, and slaughtering our fellow elves who dwell beyond these walls."
"Sylvanas Windrunner, our brave Ranger General, fights this menace just as she always has. The Farstriders, our first line of defence, fight and die to protect our forests. And yet, though I sought the aid of the Convocation, to prevent the tragedies of the last war – a war that many of you will know the pain of well – they have refused to even hear my plea."
Spellbreakers stood stiffer and the farstriders amongst the crowd began to whisper to one another, overheard by those around them and spreading it farther. Both groups were most often recruited from the outlying villages, the towns and homes within the Eversong Forest, rather than the ranks of Silvermoon.
They knew well the price paid when the orcs came to the forest, when runestones were stolen and the siege was allowed to squat outside the boundaries of the Doorkeeper.
"I cannot in good conscience stand by and allow others to defend our home without the might of the Sunwell behind them. Though the Convocation, the Magisters, offer no aid, I shall go. Alone if I must. And so, I beseech you, proud and noble Quel'dorei, will you stand with me? Will you stand in defence of our home? Will you aid the ranger general in protecting our forests from those that would defile them?"
He had antagonised a number of the magisters within the crowd. Their furious glares at being called out plain to see. Yet, though they wielded more influence than every other elf here combined... he did not care.
A girl stepped forth, even more youthful than the farstrider who had brought him word. She wore the robes of Dath'Remar Academy, a prestigious place where only the best and brightest were trained.
"I'll go with you, Your Highness!" She yelled, her eyes alight with zeal and fervour. "My best friend is a farstrider! If they need help we can't let them be, no matter what the stuffy old convocation says!"
Almost immediately two fellow students from Dath'Remar followed her, one loudly affirming her agreement to follow her friend into battle for the kingdom, and the other protesting that she was being a fool but couldn't be allowed to go alone.
The girl's joint declaration, the bravery of the young magisters-in-training of Dath'Remar, saw the dam holding others back fall away. Unwilling to be outdone, almost the entire contingent from Dath'Remar stepped forward as one, and other academies followed suit behind their more prestigious kin. More than one student declared they couldn't let the arrogant bullies hog all the glory.
Not the sentiment he would have preferred, but he was in no position to be picky at this time. No matter how their youth weighed upon him.
Regular civilians were more reluctant, with little experience in battle, offensive magecraft, but here and there those that explored the hobbies of fencing, archery, or even simple conjuration and elemental manipulation offered their services.
That the farstrider trainees and the spellbreakers of the city guard answered, one and all, had been without question. There was an eagerness and determination in their eyes that mirrored his own.
At the very last, some, and only some, of those magisters who were granted such privilege within their society gritted their teeth and pledged themselves to battle. If they had done as they ought, if they bent their magic to the service of the kingdom as they were pledged, if the might of the Sunwell and the magi of the Convocation of Silvermoon were brought to bear, there would be no doubt of victory.
But many more simply left. The traces as they teleported away, or rode off towards the Court of the Sun, made clear that they meant to inform the convocation of his actions.
And so, it came to this. Children, civilians, and those looked down upon as mundane by the ruling elite would lead the charge while the vaunted leaders and defenders of the Quel'Dorei would cower behind their barrier. Innocents would be sacrificed so that they could play games of politics with one another.
"What is your name, child?" Kael'thas said, looking at the first girl to step forth. He burned her face into his memory, the innocence and adoration that sparkled in her bright eyes for all to see. "I would know who was first to show the bravery needed to defend our home."
"Syllia Dawnguard, your highness!" She chirped, looking at him with no little awe for being personally addressed. "And this is Verana Coldwater and Elsia Emberbirth! We won't let you down!"
Verana Coldwater, a brown-haired girl, crossed her arms. "Idiot, you shouldn't have volunteered us like that." She muttered quietly.
The Emberbirth didn't look away from Syllia as she nodded, otherwise remaining silent.
"But I knew you would do it, you're always going on about your noble duties and how we must demonstrate a proper example to the people!" Syllia countered, bringing a smile to Kael's lips. "I just went first because I knew you would be too nervous to do it."
She truly believed in the concept of Noblesse Oblige. Kael'thas knew well the names of Coldwater and Emberbirth, two of the great families whose mutual animosity was all but legendary, but Dawnguard... there was no such noble family in Quel'Thalas.
Blushing furiously, Coldwater turned away from Syllia and bowed gracefully to Kael'thas. "Of course, the Coldwaters will do their duty. I will speak with Father at once and acquire a suitable guard for our troop."
"My family too." Emberbirth added. "We have always defended Quel'Thalas, and always will."
"Do not fear my disappointment, Lady Dawnguard. You have already proven yourself brave enough to step up where others shy away." Kael'thas praised the girl. If she survived, if they survived, he would see that the title he offered her became truth. "Let none question your worth."
"My Prince!" One of the city guard yelled, a captain by his insignia. "When do we move? What provisions are we to be provided?"
"As soon as we are able, and none save what you can acquire for yourselves or the guard and Farstriders may provide." Kael'thas bowed his head regretfully. "The convocation wishes to ignore what comes for Silvermoon and argue over petty trivialities." Kael'thas urged A'lar to take to the air. "I shall await those first able to act outside the gates of the city until this evening! Captain Helios shall gather those that tarry and direct them to my aid! For Quel'Thalas! For the Glory of the Sun!
"For the Glory of the Sun!" The crowd roared in answer, and with determination set upon his face Kael'thas flew to war.
-oOoOo-
"Down with ye!" Falstad roared, slamming one of the flying rock beasties out o' the sky with his hammer. The flight were well into elven lands now, golden and red canopies shielding the ground as far as the eye could see. Save where it were rottin', a tide o' corpses rolling over it an' leaving behind a black scar all the way from the gates to the river an' beyond. "Clear them out, lads!"
Swiftwing tore another beastie limb from limb as Falstad threw his hammer into a scrum between a pack o' the things and a pair o' riders.
It dinnae matter he had half o' Aerie Peak with him, they were outnumbered what felt like a hundred tae one. Mebbe only ten tae one in this particular fight, but it weren't the first like it. Not even close.
Every time they got close tae the scar, every time he thought he saw the elves skirmishing with the undead at the front an' went tae intervene an' bash in that traitor prince's heid, more an' more o' the beasties rose up to block him.
"Dragon!" MacGraff yelled, all attention drawn tae the monster as a bolt of lightning thundered from the sky to strike it. "Hammers up lads!"
The hulking skeletal monstrosity snapped its jaws at a rider, who narrowly avoided the closing fangs. Frost spilled from its maw an' froze feathers an' skin, but they got away. All around it riders free of the scrums gathered, setting up the perfect angle for their strike, an' it remained blindly oblivious in its chase.
"Hammers down!" Falstad ordered, and as one the riders struck. Twelve hammers tae a wing and the bones cracked, the wings coming apart an' the hulking skeleton fallin' from the sky with a bellowing roar.
"Dumber than the reds." MacGraw spat, supporting a second dwarf on his gryphon. They were losin' riders even if it hurt the undead. "Much dumber."
"Much deader, tae!" Talonaxe laughed as a victorious cheer went through their pride as the dragon fell. Another battle won.
Looking out over his forces, the burning forest, Falstad grimaced. They weren't gonna cut off the head o' this snake anytime soon an' the dead weren't keeping tae their Scar; villages were burning an' dying an' they needed help.
Much as he wanted tae press on with all his riders, it weren't the right choice. Not with people dyin' and some o' them wounded.
"Form up!" He bellowed, Swiftwing adding his screeching cry tae draw attention from the whole o' the pride. "Form up!"
His council closed in, the flight leaders. MacGraff, head o' the... not so crazy Wind Speakers, MacGraw who reared the chicks, an' Talonaxe who knew how to supply a campaign inside an' out.
"MacGraff, head east. If there be ships on the water see they make it through safe." He ordered without hesitation. He couldnae save the elves, not all o' them, but if they had enough sense tae be leggin' it already? 'at be wee bit easier than carrying their skinny arses out on gryphonback. "Make sure the trolls dinnae make trouble, ye ken they hate elves more'n they hate us. An' they be hatin' us lot."
"Ye heard the high thane!" MacGraff yelled, raising his crackling hammer high. "Stonehands! Kindfeathers! With me, we're gonna save some stuffy knife ears!"
Like a blessin' from Hestra, the wind turned and gave speed tae their flight. As it had all the way north. He'd been wrong, Falstad weren't so hard-headed as tae not ken 'at. Be a while afore he could tell them 'at though.
"MacGraw, take yer wing an' cross the Scar. There be a harbour over there, if they ain't already leggin' it, make them. Follow them west an' find a port somwhere. It be a long trip, but ye ain't no strangers tae 'at."
"Aye, my thane." MacGraw said gravely. "Wildbeards! Graws! Trollhunters! If the edjits ain't leggin' it, it's up to us tae give them reason to run!"
Flying across the Scar would be the worst o' it, fer sure. But MacGraw could handle it. Long way tae safety once across, though. Stratholme were gone, Eastweald, Tirisfal... if he had tae go tae Gilneas tae find safe port they wouldnae be home fer months.
"Talonaxe, take the wounded an find a peak tae rest on. If we ain't back in a fortnight, head home. Make camp an' ready for refugees in the time between. If ye see anyone, scoop them up." He looked back, at the long flight home that awaited them. "Gonna be a hard ride when we go."
Talonaxe grunted unhappily, but nodded his head. "Got me share o' bashin' in, I suppose." He said, taking MacGraw's passenger from him. "Ye'll have yer hideout fer elf kids, my thane. Dinnae worry. Gonna keep an eye out fer any tae."
Falstad nodded gravely back to him an' then set Swiftwing to circle around the rest of his riders. "We came here tae bash heads in an' rescue some elves." He told them, receiving a grumble o' approval. "We done a lot o' the first one already. Lot o' heads tae go around. But where's the elves? Where's the wee buggers who ain't learned tae call us stunties yet? Och, I dinnae like most o' them, same as the rest o' ye, but the kiddies can be cute. Mebbe 'cos they cannae talk proper yet."
A chorus of tired chuckles answered him, riders forming up behind his circling. Weren't no one afraid o' this fight, but they had the right tae turn back if they wanted. He were High Thane, first amongst the clans, not a king.
Mebbe if he were Kurdran an' the proper high thane he'd deserve that kind o' respect, but he weren't an' 'at were 'at.
"We're gonna fight. We're gonna fight until we cannae fight nae more, riding in an' rescuing the elves from the dead. They nae deserve that, no one deserves tae be made tae turn against their kin." The chuckles stopped, dead seriousness settling on the pride. The gryphons felt it and cried angrily. "We'll ride on wings until they break an' hammer skulls in until there's no skulls left tae hammer. Lightning we'll ride until death comes on stilled winds."
They were all behind him now. They be in it until they died, fer better or worse.
Ahead there be villages, houses an' farms where there might be survivors. Outa' the way. An' off in the distance, just afore the horizon, were one o' the arcane thingymajigs. Plumes of fire broke out from it, lashing into the Scar, even though the dead had moved on.
"We'll fight fer friends back home. Not all the damn elves be bleedin' knife ears! They may not like a good drink, but them at the lodge hate trolls just as much as we do! An' tha's good enough fer me!" Falstad roared, aiming them northward. "Now, onward! Fer Aerie Peak!"
"Fer Aerie Peak!" Came the answering cry. "Fer Quel'Danil!"
Laughing as he pulled himself closer to Swiftwing's back, Falstad wondered what the elves'd think o' them coming to rescue them in the name o' a lodge known tae be for those unwanted back home in their fancy city.
-oOoOo-
The fighting had pulled away from the arcane thingymajig by the time they pushed through the undead an' got there. Stopped at two villages an' found a few hiding out on roofs, one in a tree. Mebbe ten in all. Weren't much, but it were ten glad elves clinging tae his mounts.
Though the thingy were little more'n a burning ruin filled with corpses now, they weren't tae late. A gaggle o' elves, practically an army, had retreated tae the hills behind, backs tae a river an' lake. Above them a bird o' fire spat fireballs at an' tangled with the rock beasties, an' arrows soared out beside spells tae take out more.
Not that they ended, 'at didnae seem tae be a thing the damned dead ever did. Always more corpses, always more rock beasties, always more o' the lumbering monsters 'at could spit webbing and tangle wings up to pull a gryphon from the sky.
Only thing they ever seemed short on were the bawbags that raised good birds from the dead tae throw back at them.
Weren't many o' those here, it were mostly the big lumbering bastards. Meaty but sittin' ducks tae a gryphon in the air.
Big walls o' fire an' a brightly glowing sphere were holding them back, bashing on the barrier an' getting stuck as they burned tae ash an' more spells rolled out. Lots o' mages here, archers an' elves with shields too; weren't just fighters, plenty o' kiddos an' cowering common folk – fancy dressed common folk, but compared to elves it were downright poor – amongst them tae.
"Hold strong! Reinforcements are here!" A magically boosted yell called out from below, an' Falstad bloody well recognised that voice.
"Fer Aerie Peak!" His riders roared as one, sweeping the distracted rock beasties from the sky in a single pass. Weren't dead, nae, but knocked from the sky they were easy pickings fer the elf's magics. "Fer Quel'Danil!"
Laughing uproariously at the sight of an elf cringing as they butchered their fancy tongue, Falstad bellowed his encouragement. "At them, lads!"
He dinnae follow as the riders descended on the monsters down below. Something were gnawing at his gut, instinct like that'd kept him alive when filchin' the Demon Soul. It drew his eyes north, where the damned Scar kept going on an' on. It were wrong, something were missing. He could see the spot the orcs'd camped, across the last river an' right by where the scar ran through. Held back by the big magic shield the elves were so proud of for weeks an' weeks while Kurdran an' his riders had harassed them.
That were it, the barrier, the bar-ding-del thingy, it weren't there. Silvermoon be completely open an' the dead be pouring in.
There weren't even any fighting happening at the gates, they were blown wide and the undead were in the city. The Scar continued through the city. It were falling an' there were nothing he could do about it.
Between here an' there, flying over the field an' into the city, were a hundred, a thousand, o' the rock beasties. A few o' the elves' wimpy dragonhawks skirmished here an' there, but they were dying. Two big wyrms took turns freezing an' knocking down towers which spat magic into the air.
Clenching his reins tightly, Falstad turned away from the doomed city. There were tae much, more'n all his riders could manage if they were all ready. All the clans, mebbe, but they weren't all here. It were just Aerie Peak, an' less'n half 'o them at that.
He weren't no glory seeker. He were the damn high thane an' he'd see his people home, mission accomplished an' elves saved. They had the damn prince an' tha'd have tae do.
Spurring Swiftwing downward, he landed heavily in front of the impeccably dressed prince o' the elves. "Yer not in Dalaran, yer haughtiness."
One o' the archers must've understood Khazud, as they spluttered magnificently at his words. The prince, though, he just raised a tired eyebrow.
"A fortuitous meeting, High Thane of Draughty Peak." He replied, then with a flick of a hand sent out a blast o' fire that blew apart a line o' corpses. "But we have little time for pleasantries. Our position here is untenable."
"Aye, it is. Yer fancy magic shield thing be gone."
Tae Falstad's surprise the prince didnae flinch, didnae protest, didnae even look surprised. "The Ban'Dinoriel... Belo'vir did not heed my warnings, then." Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider closed his eyes sadly. "Silvermoon is lost... is it not?"
Falstad didnae nod, his momentary silence were enough. "Get on. Yer gettin' out o' here." Looking around, at the fightin' force that'd held their position he couldnae count how many were gonna get left behind. Because none bleedin' were. "All o' ye. There be ships in the water tae the east, we'll get ye aboard."
"With the destruction of the sanctum the leylines have destabilised and teleportation has become temporarily impossible." Prince Kael'thas said, his eyes still closed "We are too many, High Thane. Take the students and the children, we shall fight our way out as best we can."
"Your Highness! You can't stay behind!" A young girl cried out, her blonde hair scraggly and wispy as she focused hard on the shimmering barrier that'd been keeping them safe. "You're too important."
The prince rounded on the girl. "It was my decision that lead us here, and I shall–"
"Nae." Falstad retorted, his hands trembling angrily. "I said all o' ye an' I meant it. Shave me damn beard off iffin one o' ye dinnae make it."
If it took a dozen trips, a hundred, if he fell asleep in the saddle. It didnae matter. He came here tae save elves an' he were gonna damn well save as many as he could.
"Ye've got yer damn thingymajig tae build at the lodge, prince. Gave yer farstriders plannin' permission an' everything." Falstad said Common; he weren't gonna afflict them with his elfish. He knew it were bad. On the other hand, he weren't gonna be polite; he reached down and grabbed the prince's arm, muscles bulging as he hauled the dainty elf up onto Swiftwing's back. "Yer people'll be happier knowin' yer safe. We'll be back fer them. I swear it on Hestra's Wings."
"I shall handle the defence in your absence, Your Highness." An old elf surrounded by an aura of icy cold air said in absolutely dainty Common. "Until the last elf falls or is carried to safety, I shall remain. I only ask that you take my daughter with you."
"Och, aye. Can do." Falstad responded, trying to figure out which o' the dozens of dainty elf girls it could be. "Which one?"
"I'm not going–"
"Yes you are!" The blonde-haired girl swept a hand, wrapping her up in chains of magic which she levitated onto Swiftwing. "Take her, High Thane. And thank you."
"Your service shall not be forgotten, Lord Coldwater." Kael'thas said. "No matter what happens."
"We should have listened, Your Highness." Coldwater said, turning back to the defence of the hill. A tide of undead still clambering up endlessly from the Scar. "To my regret, I thought to punish my daughter for entering our house into this mess. Now I shall have to heap praise upon her for wisdom beyond her years. Live, Your Highness, and Quel'Thalas cannot truly fall."
One by one gryphons landed and picked up the wounded, the tired, and the young. Children and babes and mothers, rescued from villages. Hundreds with more than three tae a gryphon. As he clutched a wee laddie tae his chest, Swiftwing chirped his assurances he could handle it but he knew it were gonna be a gruelling flight.
With no more words tae be said, they took flight. An' behind them Quel'Thalas, Silvermoon, burned.
-oOoOo-
"This be the last o' the lot from Duskwither Spire." MacGraff, said, the surly Wildhammer's runes crackling with shackled lightning as he helped a terrified apprentice down from his gryphon. "Place were overrun while we were there. Nobody left tae save."
Liadrin clasped her hands and bowed her head, tears welling up at the loss. The spire wasn't a large settlement, more of a magister's personal academy than a true village, but as many as three hundred elves resided there at any one time.
The dwarves had rescued a hundred and thirty.
"My thanks, honoured thane." She said, one of the few who had learned to speak common – and only choosing to do so as part of her studies of the Light. "Light bless you and all you have done. Truly, it... it is more than we could ask."
When she had stood atop the walls and witnessed Ranger General Windrunner raised as an undead abomination by the flame-scarred human prince she had thought they would flee to the isle. Seek safety beside the Sunwell where its might could be used in the defence of their people. But it was not to be, the ships they boarded were not to sail to Quel'Danas, but further.
Arguments had broken out between her father and the grand magister, and the captains who refused to break their word to the prince. Liadrin had thought them mad.
They had lost the skies within an hour of the city walls being overrun, the dragonriders unable to contest the skies against the endless tide of stone-fleshed gargoyles. How could ships laden with mostly children, precious innocents who could not fight back, survive? Even if they passed the undead, the Amani would give them no quarter as they attempted to sail south.
Grand Magister Belo'vir had reached the conclusion that if they could not sail to the isle, they would teleport instead. A necessity in times of crisis. And yet it had been His Majesty who countermanded that order.
She and Magister Rommath, the grand magister's personal apprentice, were to escort the ships and their invaluable cargo of people and sacred relics as far south as Stormwind if needs be. Past the undead, past the Amani, through the Thandol Span, and into the arms of the Alliance where they were to beg shelter.
Though it was an order neither of them wished to obey, it was one neither of them could refuse. The Sun King had spoken.
"We could have asked for them to arrive sooner." Magister Rommath said bitterly in Thalassian, holding tight to the Stone of Light he had been granted to aid in their task. "Once again, the vaunted Alliance allows our forests to burn."
"It be the high thane's will, lass." Macgraff grunted, rubbing his gryphon's neck and eyeing the magister grumpily. Or perhaps that was merely how dwarves appeared all the time? "Tha's all it be."
It stung her pride to recognise that it was only by the high thane's will that they lived. Gargoyles had come, as she had feared, and though she and the magister had woven their magic with as much force as they could muster, and drawn those amongst them able to cast even the most meagre of arcane strikes into their ranks, it had not been enough.
With the Sunwell drawn to the defence of the Isle, there was little left for them. Even one of the three Stones crafted by the grand magister was not enough to make up for that lack.
They would have failed their king, failed their people, and failed their charges.
And then the gryphons came, hammers striking with thunderous force and the wild beasts of the Alliance tearing through the wings and flesh alike with beak and talon. Three dozen riders, a third of whom now rested aboard ships, a third who guarded them from above, and a third who prowled the coasts for more survivors.
"Still, we must offer our thanks." Liadrin demurred to MacGraff. "We are not so uncivilised as to forget our saviours."
He shot her a dirty look at her words, or perhaps just a normal look. Huffing loudly he brushed down his gryphon's feathers, then suddenly snapped his head up. A moment later he was atop his gryphon, and a great cacophony of screeches reached them.
"Cleat tha' deck! Clear it!" MacGraff roared, blasting them all with heavy gusts of wind as he took to the air. "The high thane's comin' an' needs space tae land! Clear the deck!"
Looking to the coast, Liadrin saw more gryphons approaching. Many more gryphons. As many as a hundred, and all flying slowly and heavily out over the water towards them. But that wasn't all, a fiery phoenix, the very same on which the prince had called their people to war in direct contradiction to the orders of the convocation.
He lived. They all thought he had fallen, lost like the ranger general, but he was there. The prince was alive.
"Clear the deck! Prince Kael'thas is coming!" She yelled in Thalassian, and moments later Magister Rommath mimicked her. His magically enhanced voice carried across to the other ships in the fleet, where gryphon after gryphon leapt into the skies.
Soon, the largest gryphon she had ever seen thumped down onto the deck. It was breathing hard, but made no indication of discomfort as its passengers, three elves and a dwarf, dismounted with varying degrees of grace.
Liadrin ignored the dwarf who turned to bellow orders into the sky in dwarven; she had only eyes for the prince, a promise that all was not yet lost.
"Your Highness." She said with relief. "We had feared the worst, when Sylvanas fell and was made into... into that thing, we thought you had suffered the same fate."
"I did not." The prince said in Common, scarcely giving her a second glance before turning his gaze onto Magister Rommath. "Belo'vir did not listen to my warnings and failed to find the traitor. What preparations did he make, Rommath? Or did he not bother to make any at all?"
"Your Highness, the convocation–"
"I do not care for excuses!" Prince Kael'thas snapped, some of those youngsters who had thought to approach flinching back at his vitriol. "I warned him of the traitor, I begged for aid from the magisters and was granted less than a dozen. Through the bravery of children and civilians I saw thousands of our people to the island of West Sanctum! I saw hundreds to Sunsail Anchorage! I prepared this fleet! I gathered all that I could to hold the East Sanctum and buy time! Do not make excuses, tell me, did the grand magister make any preparations at all?"
Liadrin stood stunned as the prince let out his fury.
Much the same, Magister Rommath took time to recover. "He and the king are to make their final stand on Quel'Danil, with all those who could find refuge there. He gave me–"
"With all those that will die there." Prince Kael'thas corrected with a disgusted sneer. "As I warned the convocation, the goal of the Scourge is the Sunwell." He turned away, staring north. "Can you not feel it? The magic locked away from us? The traitor claimed the Sunwell this afternoon. Despite the warnings I received the arrogance of my people was too great a foe to vanquish."
"Dinnae beat yerself up." The high thane grunted. "I burned the letter I got given. More fool than me there'll never be."
A deep horror filled her as she heard the prince's words. She had thought the Sunwell was tied up in the defence of Quel'Danas, its magic directed to the annihilation of the undead by the convocation and the king. The same distance they had all felt when the Horde had assaulted the Gatekeeper.
It couldn't be as he said. How could the Sunwell be stolen from them? How could it be denied to its people?
Uncaring of her plight, nor of the pallid colour the magister now wore, the prince turned to the high thane once more. "A girl, a child, from Gilneas?"
"Aye. I owe her an apology." He sighed loudly. "Some water fer my gryphon afore we go back fer more. MacGraff's on his way but there's a lot tae carry, an' I ain't gonna shave me bleedin' beard."
Liadrin watched in mute confusion as the Heir to the Sunburst Throne, the Prince of Quel'Thalas, calmly conjured water for a beast and a half-naked dwarf as if it was the most important task in the world. He spoke to the sailors, the common men and women who toiled aboard the ship, with respect, yet treated herself and the magister, disciples of two of Silvermoon's greatest, with disdain. It seemed... so wrong.
Even when the relic which Magister Rommath had been given began to glow, and he reacted by weaving a spell with utmost haste, the prince spared him no more than a disgruntled look.
Grand Magister Belo'vir fell from the air along with the broken and twisted body of her father in a surge of arcane light, a dozen more elves following them. Her heart froze as she saw her father's empty eyes and she screamed, all but falling to her knees as something broke inside her.
Only the gurgling cough of the grand magister returned her to her senses. His arm was gone, he was dying; she couldn't let her father's friend die.
She couldn't.
As she knelt by his side, desperately pulling upon the Light that seemed so distant without the Sunwell and pouring it into his wounds, she felt the presence of the prince loom above her.
"I warned you, Belo'vir." Prince Kael'thas said, his voice dripping with a cold fury. "I warned you and in your arrogance you did not listen. I order you to live, live and know what you have wrought. The blood of our people stains your hands this day."
