The Ebon Charge

[Sejavictrix]

Marshalling of the Host; The March on Icecrown.

In the dark skies of the early Northrend morning, a thousand pennants flapped and snapped in the crisp cold air. Torches flickered and guttered against the thick stone walls of the Argent Coliseum, casting a lurid light over the packed snow. The whole plain was alive with moving pinpoints of light, hinting at great movement still hidden in the lingering dark of an arctic dawn. Forges glowed cherry red, anvils rang at the strike of a hundred hammers, smoke and steam rose into the frigid air as the greatest host assembled in living memory armed itself for war.

A figure stood leeward of the colossal stone structure, almost out of the torchlight, well wrapped up in furs against the bitter cold. It looked out at the great hive of activity dispassionately, if any expression could be seen under the heavy hood. Only the occasional wisp of warm breath in the icy air suggested any living being inhabited the clothing. In all other aspects, it was as a statue. At length, a rather bulkier figure detached itself from the gloom around the building and joined the other. Together they observed the goings on for a while.

“Pathetic, is it not?” the larger of the two volunteered, gruffly.

Seja smiled in the privacy of her hood, but did not give away her amusement. “Highlord Mograine, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Don’t stand on ceremony with me, girl. The Argent knights might expect it, but we do not waste time on such fripperies. I know what you really think. Say it and have done.”

The woman sighed and nodded. “They make a good showing, but this allegiance is held together by nothing more than desperate diplomacy and crate nails.” She waved a hand lazily at the host forming up on the icy plain. “I give them four, maybe five hours march towards Icecrown before the Horde and Alliance contingents start fighting. Once it gets started, Tirion’s knights won’t be able to stop it. Arthas just has to sit behind his walls, let the besieging army destroy itself and raise the dead for his own. Fordring will have to lead from the front if he wants any chance at holding them together.”

“You seem very confident about Arthas’ strategy here.” Mograine nodded as if pleased.

“Of course, it’s what I would do in his place.”

“Exactly right. We were trained by him. Our minds were open to his will, and in turn we understood him. However, Fordring is a knight of the old guard; he is fettered by chivalry and honour and all manner of nonsense. Look at all this ridiculous pageantry.” The older knight waved a hand around and spat on the snow. “He clings to the comforts of tradition and ignores our advice. We, who know our foe better than any other. Think about it. Think how often Arthas has shown himself, every step of the way through this cursed land. Always he has dogged us, taunting us, and making some feint of resistance, only to appear defeated at every turn.”

“You think he was planning those defeats. Luring the Horde and Alliance and the crusaders on with false hopes?”

“Oh no, it is far more devious than that. He has been herding us, drawing us further into the net. Now all of our strength is gathered here, at his doorstep. It is too convenient. It smells like a trap, and Fordring is going to ride right into it, the gallant fool. We cannot let that happen. Although it pains me to say this, the Ebon Blade cannot breach Icecrown alone. We need Fordring and his knights, and yes, even the Horde and Alliance, to play their part in this. Fordring has to hold them together, and we have to ensure he does not do anything stupid.”

“Such as challenging Arthas to single combat?” Seja smirked a little.

“Do not joke, girl. He might, at that. He’s a paladin remember? They’re big on redemption and overblown gestures of clemency. Although if he tries to redeem the bastard I’ll kill him myself.” Mograine turned to face his companion for the first time. “You have to ensure he does not do this.”

For the first time, Seja looked taken aback. “Me? Isn’t that rather a tall order for one woman?”

“You and your companions. Fordring will be in the vanguard with his best knights. The champions of the Coliseum will be with him as well. That means you.” He gripped Seja’s shoulder urgently. “Watch out for him. If he falls, all will be lost. We are so close now to our goal. We cannot fail now. As for battling Arthas himself, well … I have plans for that. You will see in due time, perhaps.” He shoved a scroll into the woman’s hand. “Dispatches. You and your companions are in the vanguard, the thick of the fighting. See to your armour and join your unit. Remember what I told you about Fordring. Suffer well, sister.” He turned and strode away without another word or backward glance.

Seja stowed the scroll away inside the recesses of her cloak and stared out across the vast expanse of the glacier. Although it was shrouded in gloom, it was out there. So close now. Icecrown Citadel, the greatest fastness of the greatest tyrant the world of Azeroth had ever seen, with the blood of hundreds of thousands on his gauntleted hands. Soon, revenge for her shattered life would be hers for the taking. If she could manage it. She smiled a little, but without mirth, and began the long walk down towards the army. Her friends would be there. She tasted the unfamiliar word again, savouring its strangeness. Friends. Odd to consider them as such now. Deep in thought, she walked down the slope towards the twinkling lights on the grey snow plain, becoming swallowed up in the foggy air so completely as if she had never been there at all.

A dim winter sun could be seen now and then, a pale orb winking through dark clouds like a lidless eye. The clarion call of trumpets and warhorns echoed across the glacier, shattering the still morning air. Soon, the march would begin and at its end lay the battle which would change the world forever.
_________________