Victory for the Light:

It had been a truly gruesome few weeks.

What had begun as an investigation into the plague in the Northlands had escalated. Arthas and Jaina had journeyed through green lands for a time, hunting bandits and ogres. But as they crossed the river, they found blighted fields and blackened lands. Villages were populated by the walking dead or fortified and huddling against sieges.

But they had not allowed it to stand.

Rallying the people, they had led a great campaign throughout the villages. One after another was purified, saving all they could. Until at last, they found the Necromancer Kel'thuzad and learned of his plans. For he had used the plague as a means to weaken Lordaeron and provide corpses for his undead armies.

Kel'thuzad was dead now. Many of the granaries he'd sought to use were destroyed with their contents. And hosts of his armies had been destroyed piecemeal. Some plagued grain shipments had been sent out, but Arthas hoped they had been stopped.

For now, he and Jaina led their tired men toward Hearthglen.

It was a large town, nearly a city, and surrounded by a large stone wall with great gates. Smoke from cookies fires was rising out of chimneys, and it was a welcome sight. Even if it was a bit marred by the occasional blackened tree.

"Hearthglen, finally! I could use some rest!" said Jaina, sighing with relief. The blonde sorceress adjusted her blue cloak and then her white shirt. It had begun to cling to her ample form with sweat lately. And it was dirtied with blood and dirt from all the fighting, which could not be washed away.

Arthas' armor was much the same, no matter how he cleaned it.

But then he noticed that there were large ranks of troops in the village square drilling. They were patrolling with soldiers ready. At the same time, villages were working to mend defenses. Boards were being nailed upon the gates, and a large group of men were arming even now.

"It looks like they're preparing for battle," noted Arthas, having a bad feeling about this. He was glad he'd sent one of his best men on ahead here. Whatever they were preparing for would need a strong hand. "Marwynn, what news?"

Marwynn turned to Arthas and ran toward him quickly. People were beginning to gather by the army. "Prince Arthas! During the night, a vast army of undead warriors emerged and began attacking villages at random!

"Now, it's heading this way!"

Never a dull moment.

That was what he would have said if he'd just finished his first battle. But now Arthas was tired and had seen more corpses than he'd ever wanted or expected to. So he turned to Jaina. "Damn it. Jaina, I'll stay here to protect the village. Go as quickly as you can and tell Lord Uther what's happened." She could teleport, and that could halve the time for reinforcements.

Uther was likely preparing for war even now.

"But-" began Jaina.

"Go, Jaina! Every second count!" said Arthas.

Jaina nodded, ran a bit away, and teleported away. As she did, Arthas and Marwynn began to speak.

"I'm glad you're here, sir," said Marwynn. "We'd heard you were fighting in the south, but we've had a number of skirmishes ourselves.

"Several probing attacks have hit us already, and we've repulsed them.

"Where is Falric? Is he-"

"Falric is fine," said Arthas, pleased to report that much. He'd have hated for their reunion to tell Marywynn his oldest friend was dead. They'd been in the infantry together before even the Second War. "He's stayed behind to gather forces in case we need them. Tell me what-" And then Arthas saw a number of crates lying around them, discarded. "Wait-what did those crates contain?"

"Just a grain shipment from Andorhal," said Marwynn. "There's no need to worry, milord. It's already been distributed amongst the villagers."

"When?!" said Arthas.

"A day or two ago," said Marwynn, catching the fear in his tone. "None of the fighting men ate it, of course. We've got independent food supplies since the system was set up. The idea was to keep us from eating the locals out of house and home."

But Arthas was hardly hearing him now. He saw the people had bleary eyes, and then, with the power of the light, he saw. Before him, he saw the horrific corruption even now spreading through them. Some dark magic was taking hold of them, and they were throwing up or falling over and writhing.

It all clicked.

"Oh no," said Arthas. "The plague was never meant to simply kill my people. It was meant to turn them... into the undead! Defend yourselves!"

The warning was just in time. Soon the villagers rose up, their flesh going pale and rushed while snarling. The men were able to raise their shields and ward them off, and when they realized what they were, fight back. Even so, several were pulled down and torn apart by mobs.

Arthas raised his hammer, and a flash of light burned many of them to cinder. And it was at that moment the bloodletting began. The militia hacked and slashed, and Arthas led them to kill their own people. No, the monsters which had taken their place.

It was not a difficult battle; they were far inferior.

And yet, mere moments before Arthas had been looking at them and seeing them as his own kind. To see them become such a thing was a worse horror than anything he'd perceived yet.

But then it ended.

"Fan out!" said Arthas. "Go from building to building and wipe out all the undead you find! Anyone who has eaten the grain...

"Put them out of their misery.

"Marwynn, send messengers to the nearby villages. Tell them not to accept any grain shipments under any circumstances."

"Most of the villages provide their own grain," noted Marywynn. "But I will."

"Now," said Arthas. "We need a plan."

A plan was difficult to come by.

First, Arthas needed to know what he had to work with, and soon he was sitting at a desk with his officers before him. Marywynn leaned over the table, pointing to a map. "We're calling up the militias from further south, and they should be here in a day. Our advance scouts indicate that the undead army is consolidating. They seemed to have formed into two main columns, both under the command of a Lich.

"They are approaching from the north and the east respectively at a steady pace. A few days away. Less, actually, since undead don't sleep or tire."

"Numbers?" asked Arthas, feeling detached from it all. Was this real?

"By reckoning?" asked Marwynn. "Five thousand for the smaller column."

Arthas stared. "Five thousand?"

"They've emptied every graveyard in the surrounding villages," said Marwynn. "Most of those villages are untouched, however. By all accounts, the enemy came in the night, snatched the bodies, and left. Or perhaps they resurrected them.

"There are empty graves all over this place."

"Why not attack the village itself then?" asked Arthas.

"Perhaps they were expecting a grain shipment to arrive," said Marwynn. "Sometimes King Terenas sends them out on celebration days."

Arthas nodded. "We may have already destroyed that grain in our earlier exploits. We destroyed a number of warehouses filled with it."

"If we didn't, I doubt we can move to intercept such a shipment while fending off legions of undead," said Marwynn.

Arthas looked out the window to where men were setting up mortars on the walls. Together they would make a deadly barrage, but they were spread too thin. "How many men have we gathered so far?"

"The garrison was five hundred and sixty before you got here; we lost ten men in the fighting," said Marwynn.

"And our own numbers two hundred and forty-eight," said Arthas, shaking his head. This wasn't going to work. But what else could he do but dig in?

"In time, we'll gather more to us," said Marwynn. "The good news is that we have no shortage of weapons.

"I'd hoped to equip the populace of Hearthglen, but with the plagued grain..."

"That's not an option," said Arthas. What could they do? Flee? To where? Fight? With what troops?

"We could call on the other villages to come and bring their men at arms to our service, Prince Arthas," said Marywynn. "They have a great many fighting men there, veterans of the Second War. We already recruited from the surrounding area.

"It's probably why the undead is trying to use plagued grain."

"But that would leave the villages exposed," said Arthas. "And how could they even get to us? They'd have to take a roundabout way, and by the time they arrived, the battle would be in progress."

"It could shore up our defenses in a pinch. We're only stalling until the Silver Hand arrives," said Marywynn.

Stalling.

Was that all Arthas was capable of?

Not even that.

"...This is hopeless," said Arthas finally.

"Prince Arthas?" asked Marwynn.

"I don't care how many militias we call up, we call up," said Arthas. "Or how hard we fight. The second those undead arrive, we'll be brought down by sheer attrition. Yes, if they were orcs, we might hold.

"Orcs get tired; orcs don't like the idea of being thrown into a meter grinder for a strategic advantage. Orcs break and run and have to be rallied.

"But undead don't.

"Falric and I have fought several minor sieges. They don't let up; they just keep attacking until you or they are dead. The defense here is untenable."

"Prince Arthas..." Marywynn stared at him. "Are you preaching hopelessness?"

Arthas wondered if he was. Even if he did think it was hopeless, though, he had to fight on as though it wasn't. "No, of course not.

"But, everyone here is already dead, Marwynn. The villagers we came to defend are all dead. Dead by our hand, no less.

"Why are we here? In this place."

Why were they here? Where else could they be?

"If we don't keep the undead occupied, they'll move out to other villages," said Marwynn. "Or if we retreat, they may follow us and destroy the towns we rescued.

"That will swell their numbers even more and make them unstoppable."

"Right, of course, but why do we have to be in Hearthglen?" asked Arthas.

"It is a defensible location," said Marwynn. "We're unlikely to find a better one on short notice."

"No, it isn't," said Arthas. "Hearthglen is too large, and we are too few. At best, we'll hold out long enough for Uther to arrive, but that's a longshot. And the undead have no sense of self-preservation!" And then it all clicked. He went still and calm. "...They have no sense of self-preservation."

"Sir?" asked Marwynn.

"Don't talk to me, I'm thinking," said Arthas, standing up and looking out the window. Into view were appearing a large contingent of elves. They wore the garb of both priests and also mages. "If the undead are told to walk into a fire, they will unless the order is changed. Yes, they have some reflexes and instincts. But they ultimately totally obedient slaves with no creativity or ability."

"What are you thinking, milord?" asked Marwynn.

"What if we go on the offensive?" asked Arthas.

"What?!" said Marwynn.

"The undead haven't been sending any scouts, have they?" asked Arthas. "I mean, why would they? They think we're locked down here. And they have absolute superiority of numbers and weapons. Now, a trained soldier would send scouts anyway.

"But the Cult of the Damned aren't professional soldiers. They are led by necromancers who studied the dark arts. Not military tactics.

"What if we attack them first?"

Marwynn halted. "...If we attack, I guess we'll only have to fight one column at a time. With the element of surprise, we might actually do better. At the very least, we could bloody the enemy enough to make defense easier."

"Get me some maps and find me a location that we can strike at the northern column from," said Arthas. "Then get every rifleman and mortar team ready.

"We're about to risk everything to win.

"I'm going to see if I can rally some more men."

Arthas went out to meet the elves, and a beautiful, brown-haired elf woman greeted him. "Do you require aid, human?"

"Yes," said Arthas. "We're about to begin our counterattack."

Plans were made, and emergency recruitment was initiated. Arthas called up all the militia he could from the surrounding farmsteads. He also ordered the noncombatants to flee south to Anderhol. Things were well-fortified there, and he posted a rearguard behind them to block any raids.

Soon his number multiplied from a few hundred to a little over a thousand, and by that time, they had packed. Arthas led his men with help from some local woodsmen. They journeyed through the woods quickly and as silently could be managed. As they walked, Arthas heard nothing. Not a chirp of birds, not the running of water, nothing at all.

It was eerie and not to his liking at all.

All the animals had fled this place, and the waters in the streams seemed to keep quiet. As if the spirits of the land itself were in fear of what was coming.

And they reached it.

Arthas was surprised at Marywynn's idea of an ideal ambush sight. It didn't really look all that bad. It was a stretch of road running between two low hills with trees on either side.

"Are you sure this location will do, Marwynn?" asked Arthas.

"It's the best place for an ambush I can think of," said Marywynn. "The enemy already past the highlands.

"The good news it's not obvious as one, though. The land slopes on either side of the road, and there are trees on both sides.

"It should suit us."

"Alright then," said Arthas. "Let's prepare."

The basic problem with attacking the undead by ambush is that they couldn't be surprised. All they could do was not be in a good place to respond. It was their master who would be surprised, and the moment he got his wits back, they did. And because of the size of the enemy army, Arthas could not envelop the entire thing.

If he were going to annihilate it, preparation was required.

That was why he arranged for camouflaged, barbed nets to be set between the trees along the path. Behind these, he places his riflemen, supported by the mages of Dalaran. Mortar teams, meanwhile. They were focused toward the front of the main column while the path was left open on both sides.

Last, of all, he had brought with him a number of wooden walls lined with shields. Men stood by, ready to move them out front. At the same time, another brave volunteer had a length of the net, ready to close behind the enemy army as it passed.

Arthas had absolutely no idea if it would work. His only hope was that the nets would delay the undead long enough to destroy them piecemeal.

And soon, they would find out.

"Prince Arthas, the undead forces have arrived," said Marywynn.

Here they came, ranks upon ranks of decaying, bony creatures. Bleached white skeletons, carrying clubs and axes. Or hunched beasts with dagger-like claws clambering forward. Spiderlike, undead creatures Arthas had never seen before also walked with them. And there were also vast ogre-like brutes sewn together from different corpses.

They blundered forward without heed to their surroundings. And they were in such numbers that they seemed limitless. Arthas wondered if the men who were watching had reckoned poorly.

More and more came until at last, the enemy were nearing.

"Now!" said Arthas, raising his hammer. "For Lordaeron! Attack!"

The portable wall was moved forward as the footmen rushed with them, swords ready, and it was set across the path. A horn call sounded, and Arthas guessed that someone was setting the netting. The undead rushed forward. There they made their stand.

And then the mortars and riflemen fired.

A massive barrage of bullets and shells descended into the enemy ranks. At the same time, spells were cast, and many among the enemy were slowed. Others were transformed into small animals and crushed underfoot. Blood and entrails exploded before them as the enemy lines began to break up.

"Form up, shields readied!" said Arthas. "Hold your ground! We are the Chosen of the Light! We shall not fall!"

And with a blow, he smashed an abomination. Another cleaved down a skeleton, then a ghoul, then another, and another. The priests healed behind them as the men fought at their fortification. The undead rushed up the slopes toward the riflemen at the same time, only to be caught on the nets. Held at bay, most were blasted. Abominations moved forward to try and force a way through but were slowed by spells and shot down.

The enemy were trapped in close quarters, disorganized, unable to cooperate. Mortars were shelling them with every moment. Dozens were blasted apart with every explosion, and every rifle shot hit something. Their attempts at a breakout became ever more desperate, but Arthas and his men fought all the harder. And with the additional protection of the wall, their casualties were low.

Soon you could see gaps within the enemy formation break up, at least when the smoke cleared. Dirt and blood were thrown into the air with every moment, and as Arthas slew a ghoul, he saw part of the net fail. But here, his infantry reserves plugged it and held the enemy at bay.

The undead had lost.

Now, what remained was a brutal slaughter as they were blasted and picked off little by little. Now and then, you could see wizards and necromancers trading magic. But riflemen proved the deciding force there.

"Light, give me strength," said Arthas. "Light, guide my path.

"Light, save me."

"The undead are fleeing! They are retreating!" said a man in triumph.

And it was true. The undead were running from the fortifications, moving through a gauntlet of blood. They reached the net and began to tear through it. And Arthas feared they'd get out and terrorize the locals.

"For Lordaeron!" called a familiar voice. "Ready your swords!"

And a large force of men rushed out to meet the undead, stalling them in place. It was enough for the marksmen to do the rest of the work. As the undead fell around them, Arthas laughed and ran forward to meet his help. "Captain Falric, you're timing could not have been better!"

"Yes, well, I had intended to meet with you at Hearthglen," said Falric, coming forward and removing his helm. "But your messenger reached me, and I thought I'd best go around.

"You should know that the enemy army is nearing it even now.

"I fear they'll turn it into a bastion."

"They won't get the chance," said Arthas. "Men, take a few minutes to rest. Then ready yourselves. We must prepare to launch an attack on the other enemy army before they can threaten the innocent." Then something occurred to him. "The road to Stratholme is open.

"Captain, I want you to dispatch a contingent there. Tell them to find out if the city is held against us. If it is, observe. If not, warn the city about the plagued grain. If the populace there are infected, it could doom Lordaeron."

They left the rotting bodies of the undead for the vultures, pausing only to burn their dead. There were remarkably few of them; actually, the defenses had seen to that. Arthas thought he had already won a great victory. The greatest one won in years.

But the worst of it was yet to come. This was the smaller army.

When Arthas arrived, he was terrified. Soon he'd find a fortified Hearthglen brimming with green rituals. The idea of all those hosts of undead in a defensive fortification was not something he relished. He'd already decided to himself that if it was so, he'd wait for Uther and lay siege.

But he was disappointed.

The enemy had taken Hearthglen but had hardly damaged it. After walking through the empty gates, they'd just halted. With a spyglass from a hill, Arthas could see the enemy commander. It was a skeletal creature floating, speaking with his lieutenants. But his forces were all over the place. Large groups of troops were patrolling outside the fortifications. Others were wandering about.

"Look at that," said Falric in disgust. "They haven't even set up defenses."

"I think they were expecting to hit a solid target they could overwhelm. I imagine Mal'Ganis' orders were to 'kill Prince Arthas' or 'destroy the Lordaeron army.'" said Arthas. "Now they've taken the ground and have no idea what to do with it."

"I left men behind to guard the road with fortifications, Prince Arthas," said Falric. "But they won't be enough to hold back that."

"Yes, but that's not the point, Falric," said Arthas. "This not a trained soldier we're fighting. It's a necromancer who understands how war is fought. Mal'Ganis understands, his black genius is what caused all this. But his subordinate is just a psychopath with magical powers."

"What do we do then?" asked Marywynn.

Arthas considered things. "We'll bait them. Set in place an ambush up here.

"Falric, take some men down there and present them a target. Then make a retreat, and bring them back up the path. When they attack, we'll be waiting for them."

"Yes, Prince Arthas," said Falric.

And Falric did just that while Arthas set up his ambush. If the enemy had thrown everything at Falric all at once, Arthas thought they'd have been in trouble. But instead, he merely sends a large contingent after Falric. Large enough to outnumber him, even the main force. But not to compensate for the ambush.

As soon as the enemy went out of sight of Hearthglen, the Alliance sprang their trap. Blasting them from the flank, Arthas brought forces to hit them from behind. Falric's men then turned and stopped them in place. They were caught between a hammer and anvil; and the undead were crushed. Before long, the force of undead had been exterminated.

Of course, by this point, the enemy became aware that he'd been defeated. Apparently, he'd dispatched forces to reinforce those that had been ambushed. If the two forces had fought together, it would have been a serious challenged. But piecemeal as they were, the result was never in question.

Arthas and Falric formed up their troops and stalemated them. Then the riflemen and mortar teams shredded them from the flank. With the priests and the mages of Dalaran, casualties were low. There were some necromancers, of course, who brought back the corpses of the dead. But these were gunned down fairly easily.

The guns fell silent.

Having a moment to rest, Arthas quickly moved his forces back into the woods. He posted a few riflemen by the roadside to gun down any necromancers who came to raise the dead. They had orders to retreat if tested. Then they moved through the woods and came at last to the northern entrance of Hearthglen.

It was apparent now that the enemy was in a bit of a panic. He was actually taking steps to create fortifications. But those would take hours to achieve, so the only thing he was doing was wasting resources. His remaining forces, quite formidable. They were standing by, all having been withdrawn into the fortress.

Then Arthas heard several gunshots.

Instantly the enemy commander ordered his men forward. They rushed out of the gates in full force, all of them at once. But this time they did not rush around the corner but began advancing carefully into the woods. Arthas prayed that the riflemen would escape, especially since he heard more shots.

"Forward!" said Arthas. "Now is our chance!"

As one, the entire army surged forward through the city gates. The cultists summoning the spirit towers were cut down. The fortifications were manned, and the gates shut. It would have been comical if the stakes were not so grim.

"Hearthglen is ours! Well done, men, now to the walls! Prepare to repel the enemy counterattack!" said Arthas, looking down at his enemy.

They had a very formidable number of forces left, and Arthas men were tired. All the weapons and training could not beat exhaustion. As he observed from the walls, he saw the undead army turn and face them. At that moment, there seemed uncertainty in the air. The enemy seemed to turn between Hearthglen and beyond.

And then it happened.

"Look there," said Marwynn with a laugh. "He's dividing his forces! The fool has probably imagined he is chasing a much larger enemy! And now he's sending his army after us in bite-sized chunks!"

"Let's celebrate after we kill them," said Arthas.

At this point, Arthas would have cut his losses and retreated. But either out of fear of his superiors or anger at humiliation, the enemy attacked. They rushed at the gate, being shelled and fired at from above. Moving forward in a great mass, they tore at it. Meanwhile, siege engines hurled bloody carcasses over the walls.

The undead attacked without regard to their safety and heedless of casualties.

It ended with them slaughtered to the last against a scratched up, but very much intact, gatehouse. The enemy commander, meanwhile, had been blasted to pieces by sheer firepower. His dark magic had claimed a few dozen lives before he fell. But their overall casualties still numbered less than a hundred.

"It's done," said Falric.

"Not yet," said Arthas. "Begin burning the bodies immediately; I don't want any of them to ever return as undead. Marwynn, once you're rested, take a large force along the King's road. Make sure no more grain caravans arrive.

"Our lesser enemies might decide to take advantage of the situation. Ogres often live in these hills. If you find any, destroy them."

"Yes sir," said Falric.

"We've got a lot of work ahead of us," said Arthas.

And they got to that work as quickly as they could. Vast numbers of undead were piled into a huge heap and set ablaze. Cartloads of them were brought back from the road and put onto it, and the smoke of the burning could be seen from on high. The stench of death grew ever larger. Arthas ordered the men be given extra rations and drink in congratulation.

Scouts were sent out, and Arthas accompanied them. On these journeys, they found the undead fortresses. All their forces had emptied from them, and those who remained had fled at their approach. A caravan of plagued grain was intercepted and destroyed, and a clan of ogres came down from the hills.

This Arthas destroyed and, for good measure, wiped clean the rivers of many murlocs. The creatures had become too bold with the coming of the undead. In this venture, he freed many who had been taken prisoner, though to what goal he did not know.

A flurry of activity was on him.

Until at last, he could find nothing else to do with himself and simply sat at the top of a gatehouse, watching the sun wane. He was also drinking from a very large keg of beer because he was miserable and sick to death of war. Several new mountains of courses had been erected by now, and they had not even begun to clear the bodies.

"Prince Arthas, we've received news from Stratholme," said Falric, coming beside him. "Our forces arrived in time to intercept many caravans of plagued grain. It is now being destroyed and those responsible questioned."

"Excellent," said Arthas, glad of that, at least, pouring him a cup. "Quite a nice sunset, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, definitely," said Falric, drinking it. "I mean, the bodies detract from it, but the many pyres have a certain... desolate beauty to them."

"Well, they're certainly a monument to alliance ingenuity," said Arthas

"For Lordaeron! For the King!" came a cry.

And around the corner came a great host of mounted knights, clad in shining mail. Uther was at their head, and on a horse was Jaina. They rode forward into Hearthglen and slowed to a halt as they saw what lay before them. Murmurs of shock at the sheer carnage came from them.

Arthas finished his beer and stood up. "Uther, you're timing couldn't have been better! We've been shorthanded to finish up here!"

"Arthas what is..." Jaina halted.

"What is going on here?" said Uther. "I was led to believe you were hard-pressed by unending tides of darkness?! Not sitting on a wall... drinking with your subordinates?!"

"We are sitting upon a field of victory and resting," said Arthas, in a good mood now.

"I was led to believe thousands of undead were assailing you!" said Uther.

"Tens of thousands, actually. Our reckoning was way off," said Arthas. "And we're still rooting out pockets of them. I'm sure you can find some."

"Arthas are you..." Jaina looked around. "Are you telling me that you destroyed the entire undead scourge by yourself? In the time it took the Silver Hand to get here? We rode through the night!"

"Sorry for the inconvenience," said Arthas. "Still, we'll need your help. My men are exhausted as it is, and these corpses aren't going to burn themselves."

"You want to use the Lordaeron army as a funeral service?" asked Uther, faintly amused.

"Now's not the time to be choking on pride, Uther," said Arthas. "What we faced here will only be the beginning of a few stray necromancers arrive. And my men have been doing much the same duty for hours.

"But, I also need your men to fan out and hunt down any grain caravans or undead strongholds. If we're fast and decisive, we can root out all that remains of the undead before they go into cover."

Uther nodded. "I see your point."

Victory belonged to the Light.