The War of the Dead - Finale (The Siege of Icecrown) (Patreon)

The march upon Icecrown was swift as it was brutal.

The darkness of the night had faded, but one could hardly tell beneath the oppressive black clouds.

The storms tamed to the Drakkari’s will clashed against the warped skyline under the Scourges dominion, turning it into a writhing mass of rumbling and roaring. Crackling lightning and screeching icicles tore from the sky in a discordant and wild display.

Winds howled and even when forced to abate the land itself was but a frozen wasteland, bereft of life but churning with a sort of cold spitefulness that left even the Ice Trolls pained.

Traps and curses rose to stall their march, some even spewing forth toxic sickness that had to be sealed in ice, while others were the more expected exploding waves of icy spikes and demonic fire.

In a bid to keep spirits high the priests led their fellows in a song, divine voices rising over the deafening winds, hoarse but powerful as they belted out odes to Zul’Drak and their future glories as heroes.

But the singing had to a halt when the true battle began to dawn on them; ambushes from Undead Nerubians and ghosts bursting from the ice and shadows. Skeletal warriors and rotted hunters raced out from ravines, but it was the children warped into ghoulish nightmares screaming for mercy even as they thrashed and bit and clawed in harrowing charges that left even hardened warriors in dread.

Then came the demons, giant in body and fierce in battle their blistering red skin and mighty wings gave them the look of dragons. Their armor was black as Saronite and looked to be shaped of screaming skeletons. In their giant claws they wielded spears of green flame, while the elegant tongue and gentle voices slithered through wards and mental defenses.

They crashed against the dragoons with a reckless fervor that belied their skill and strength, nearly breaking the ranks of the Sky Legions before spellfire from the ground evened the playing field, but they fought and died without a care, as if death meant nothing!

More demons began to emerge along with the dead, and in the distance, they could see a tower of gnarled and twisted ice, its very presence radiating dread and malice.

Malakk drew Zerat and roared over the storm, “We must not idle, spear formations and break through! Slay their leader and the rest are but rabble!”

The demons swirled around them, letting loose bolts of fire and steel in a bid to break their advance, but this time it did not succeed. They bore the blood and the flames, breaking through the killing field to gather at the enemy's capital. Surrounded the towering citadel of ice that was bound in grim chains was a horde of undead unlike any they’d seen, thousands of humans, trolls, Nerubians, and more were amassed at the citadel like a small ocean of flesh.

The demons and dead held firm against their oncoming charge, haunting cries and baleful roars booming as they braced for battle.

Disruption in their ranks came from the cavernous breaches in the mountains; living trolls and Nerubians spilled forth from torn stone and ripped earth.

The dead could not seal the breaches, let alone break into the tunnels on numbers alone when magic and webs greeted them as more and more Nerubians surged out from the ice and rock.

“There are coming for the four ziggurats, as Barafu said!” Quetz’Lith bellowed. Surging back into the air as a troop of Frost Wyrms took to the skies.

“Well, let us not keep them waiting! Break the siege on the caverns and let us receive our reinforcements, claim the pillars, and fight until nothing but dust remains! For Zul’Drak, for the Drakkari Empire!” he roared and was answered with “For Frost King Malakk!”

That was all that needed be said, now only the cries of battle and the song of war would fill the air as they fell upon the dead as a blizzard did the weary traveler, in the thousands, bereft of mercy and with unrelenting wills.

The battle was well and truly joined.

________________________________________________________

Malakk wasn’t sure how long the battle had gone on for, but it must have been nearing an hour. The tower was close, but the dead’s stamina showed no signs of waning even as the last of their demonic allies faded into flames.

A host of dead Drakkari surged towards him, their wailing cries bombarding his ears.

Malakk brandished the twin axes of ice, Frost and Gale, growling, “Fear not my subjects, your king shall liberate you!”

Elite guards at his back, Malakk dove into the melee, deflecting Saronite and plague tipped spears with axes and delivering devastating slashes that scattered the dead like broken snow. It was a well-practiced dance; one he fell into easily.

Too easily, when a fallen commander he cut down swelled and surged with a burst of shadows and birthed a demon with wild slashing claws.

Burning pain exploded on his chest as he was launched back by the blast, the cackling purple-tinged demon exploding towards him, a burst of Fel air flinging back his guards. Malakk slammed Frost into the ground, raising a wall of ice; but was forced back into retreat by a wave of shadows that tore it to shreds.

The demons moved to strike, and he made to guard when the ground exploded as Anu’Barak burst forth, latching onto the demon’s stomach with claws and fangs, skittering parasites swarming across their foes body.

The demon roared, clawed hands moving like blades to pierce Anu’Barkak’s neck only to be bashed aside with a burst of blood as Malakk swung his axes over the Spider King’s head.

The air crackled and pulsed, and with a cry and a flash of magic accompanied torn flesh, the demon launched himself backwards, blood dripping from chest and arms, mangled metal clinging to its panting form.

Magic was dancing on his hands; wings flaring to escape and bombard them.

He didn’t get the chance.

Malakk and Anu’Barak surged forward and with a decisive pair of slashes each carved off an arm with claw and axe alike before skidding to a stop behind him. They turned, Anu’Barak letting loose a bolt of writhing magic which Malakk followed with a tempest of bladed ice.

The demons screamed, his back was struck, and his magical defenses breached, leaving him exposed to the ice blade that ripped through his armor and sent him staggering forward into a joint assault of Nerubians assassins and his elite guard who crushed him into the ground, impaling his body before he vanished into smoke.

The two king’s gazes met for but a moment before anguished screamed caught their attention.

Cutting a swathe of destruction through their forces was a towering icon of red and black. Standing taller than any of his kin, the demons let loose sharp spells that brought death for any struck as their attacks rebounded off his shield, scorching those who got too close.

‘So many?! You fiend!’ Malakk barreled towards him, weaving around, and jumping over allies and foes to finally leap upon the demon with a sharp cry for blood.

A gentle smirk greeted him.

The demon drew back his wings and Malakk was nearly sucked from the air, staggering as he crashed to the icy ground.

Rolling to his feet as he hit the ground, Malakk threw off the swarming dead with a roar and let loose a stored spell in potion form upon the demon. The green liquid crashes against his field and exploded in a flash, only for the smoke to be breached by a swarm of screeching shadow bats.

Malakk let loose a burst of light from his axes and brought ruin to most among them but felt many tear chunks of flesh from his frame. In a dual arc he embedded Frost and Gale into pouncing undead and with a heave, ripped Zerat from his back to crash it against the demons’ shield, “Kot’Zhun!”

The defensive spells writhed and lashed as the demon was forced back in shock, as a wave of counter spells fell upon him from their army, Vizier, Shaman and Word Priest alike finally sundering the fiery defense.

‘Die!’ Malakk went for the throat in a burning, soul-rending flash of metal and magic.

The demon weaved around his blow and Malakk barely brought Zerat up in time to shield himself from the pulsating claw strike that struck like a giant cloaked in flames, launching him back.

He crashed into a horde of undead, “Lot’Suth!” Spit from his lips on instinct and forcing them back; his head was pounding as the battle roared around him when-

The air shifted, a magical hum filled the battlefield and Anu’Barak roared. “The bridge has been raised, descend upon Icecrown!”

Malakk’s eyes flew wide.

He was close, the demon had thrown him so close!

Without a thought he let loose a word of power from his blade, burning bronze flames exploding from Zerat and incinerating the dead, letting him break through their line, almost as if he was meant to.

“Enough!” a booming, voice that echoed in his mind rang as the demon’s giant claws tore into his right arm, stopping him short, for even as flesh tore, magic was weaving around him, binding Malakk in place.

That was when the air screamed and the demon’s eyes grew wide; a bone dragon crashed into the ground, claws slamming against the demon’s chest as the dead swarmed over him.

The demons claws dragged down Malakk’s arms, shredding every muscle, but with a roar, he tore himself free to the cry of “Ner'zhul!”

He barely heard the ensuing explosion of magic.

He did not see the demons rip the dragon asunder.

He did not see them turn to chase him before a host of Drakkari and Nerubians fell upon their backs with Anu’Barak at the head.

All he saw was the towering pillar of ice and the rippling bridge that thrummed as his feet slammed against it, vanishing into dust and forcing him to leap the rest of the distance, slamming down at the icy towers Saronite Gates.

“You want me all to yourself?” He spat, “You got me.”

Slamming Zerat against the frozen doors, he watched as the ice shattered and the Saronite doors rang out with a discordant wail of defiance but Zerat won the day and cleaved them asunder, revealing the inner sanctum to the Frost King.

Chest heaving, arm bloodied and ruinous he stood tall before a crowd of decaying Drakkari, each one’s eyes alight with despair and anguish as they barreled towards him, weapons raised high.

“Your king DEMANDS YOU MOVE!”

The winds surged beneath his feet and Malakk exploded over their heads, slashing their weapons and spells from the air as he came crash down to the ice, barreling over a fallen soldier. They grabbed at his frame but a bellowed roar as he tore Zerat through the air like a club and rent their formations asunder, sending even the dead screeching back.

Snarling, he slammed his bad shoulder against those barring his path and launched them from the staircase. Zerat roaring as he slashed the blade behind him, keeping his attackers at bay and with a roar charged up the frozen stairway, words echoing in his ears.

‘You are not the one I thought to stand before me…’

The world was blurry and painful, the voice powerful and compelling, he ignored it all.

‘But perhaps this is better, an empire well in hand, combined with such strength and ferocity.’

More stood in his way, Malakk blurred and slashed and leapt around them, the icy steps troubling him not, Drakkari were born for snow and ice.

‘Yes, join with me, and together we will conquer a thousand, thousand, thousand worlds!’

He back handed away the last guard, Zerat scraping on the ice as he stood and looked upon his foe for the first time. 

Dark and twisted armor that looked to be screaming sealed within pulsing blue ice, shaped vaguely like a throne, and radiating so much power it made his mind ache.

‘Join with me and we shall rule as king off all!’

Spitting out blood he answered.

“Do you know what makes a king, a king?”

The presence drew back, the dead down the stairs bristled and Malakk’s muscled burned as he raised Zerat.

“It is because they inspired others to follow in their wake.”

‘No, no! Stop this!’

“You are but a tyrant, unworthy of speaking to me as an equal!”

He struck.

In one burning slash of shining bronze and twisted flame he cleaved the Frozen Throne down the middle.

An anguished cry echoed on his ears as it was sucked into the vacuum of force that followed in the wake of the armors sundering. Light flashed and the dead screamed as an explosion rang out from the throne and its magic was unleashed in a mighty blast, obliterating the pinnacle of the throne chamber.

Malakk threw himself from the ledge, blade digging into the fraying walls slowing his descent as the peak of Icecrown exploded and jagged ice rained down. 

Kicking off the wall he avoided being speared and with a roar tore through the screaming dead and out the doors as the citadel fell to engulf him.

At the last second, he was snagged by a passing Drakes talons and was swept away from the blast as it swallowed all that surrounded it in a crackling, roaring scream of ice and death.

And then, silence, but for the howling winds.

‘It’s over…’

___________________________________________________

The war was done.

With the Lich King fallen many of his creations fell into confusion or madness and were put down easily enough. Some fled, others submitted to death and Malakk knew a few would be returning home, be it to Zul’Drak or elsewhere. He could not promise them an ideal reception even in the heart of his empire, but as Frost King he was dutybound to care for all his subjects. Dead, alive or in-between.

“Damned spider!”

“Stand down, fool!”

‘But we aren’t done fighting yet, it seems,’ he thought with a sigh, his arm still stung a little despite having healed and he frankly wanted a damn nap. But instead, he forced himself between a crowd of bickering Nerubians and Drakkari.

Only to look upon the demon that had shredded his arm bound in webs, chains, and magic, though clearly it was barely holding as his jail strained at his every writhe and pulse of magic.

His gaze snapped to Anu’Barak, “What’s all this then?”

“The spiders won’t let us execute the demon!” Moorabi barked, hands on his daggers.

“Ignorant creature,” Anu’Barak hissed, “That would be a waste.”

“It’s too dangerous for your cursed experiments, Nerubian,” Moorabi seethed.

“This is not for mere… Curiosity,” Anu’Barak answered slowly.

Good hand brushing over Moorabi’s, Malakk motioned to the bound demon with a nod, their gaze following like a raptor, “I find my friends point to have merit, why keep this one alive?”

Anu’Barak clicked aggressively, rearing up menacingly before stilling and slowly lowering himself down, meeting Malakk’s gaze, “Demons do not die when they are killed. They reincarnate in the Nether. In battle to kill is fine, but we must trap this one. Permanently.”

Malakk clicked his tongue, "I do still have Zerat." 

“You think your petty magics can lay low Tichondrius the Darknener,” The Demon scoffed, the restraints pulsing and throbbing as he pushed against them.

Anu'Barak gave Malakk a measuring look, which eh took to mean vague offence at the prospect of a Saronite weapon, before the spider lord pressed on. "It could perhaps, but this one is power and prepared, I would not think him beyond a scheme to escape death at your hand." 

“You got a plan then, Spider-King Anu’Barak?” He asked.

He got the impression the Nerubian was grinning as it answered, “Of course, Frost King Malakk, but we will need you and yours as well.”

The demons suddenly quieted, before hissing, “You would not dare my master’s wrath so.”

“I dunno, I dare to do a lot of things,” Malakk chuckled. Before answering the Nerubian, “We have a deal, provided it can be done quickly.”

“We need only a spear and well carved tablet of… sufficient size, as well as runes,” Anu’Barak answered carefully.

“Well hop to it folks, it won’t get any warmer if we wait around!” Malakk bellowed, before turning on the demon as its slick words drifted into his ears. 

“Think this through little king, you believe your empires vast, but they are not even a twinkle in the eye of my master. Join us now, become immortal like I, and help us claim this world.”

His words were smooth, his tone compelling, one could almost forget he was the one trapped behind layers of spells.

Almost.

“For all your silky words, victory lays with us, tiny demon.”

___________________________________________________

It took less than an hour, the work was hasty but of the quality one would expect when the likes of the Drakkari combined with skills with the Nerubians.

A great stone tablet matching the demons’ size and mired in runes that all swirled across the back and edges before flowing into a singular empty circular heart on the tablets front. 

It was raised up behind the thrashing demon who struggled and snarled, “You fools have no idea what you are doing! He will not let you get away with this! Your planet will be burnt to a husk if you do not release me now!”

Malakkl’s head ached and he could see some of the guards growing fear as exhaustion weight heavily on them. Thus, he cackled, “Do you ever shut up?”

“The Cursed Spear is prepared,” Anu’Barak announced, stepping onto the field, dozens parting ways to let the Nerubian approach the demon from the front.

“I take it you want this one?” Malakk intoned, rubbing his arm.

Anu'Barak spoke, voice dry and echoing, “Your hand has struck low one enemy this day, I shall tend to the other, then we must speak.”

The demon howled, “Do not!“

Anu’Barak galloped forward, like a mounted warrior he charged, practically stampeded and with a roar droved the glowing spear through the demon’s neck. Their foe threw himself back, hoping to force the spear to chip the stone and disrupt the spell, but Anu’barak’s grip remained strong, and the blade tip met stone gently.

Eyes wide with fright and the binding spells fading in favor of new one’s; the demons howled and thrashed, spells bristly at their claw tips, battering against Anu’Barak’s shields.

“You cannot!” His body spasmed madly.

“You will not!” His skin stretched as his spirited writhed to get free.

“You are… Inferior!” The tablet thrummed and his body and spirit bled into one singular mass, of fangs and giant skull that was drawn away as though dust blown in the wind, right into the tablets heart.

The stone began to warp and shift, faintly glowing as the rock became malleable and the runes flowed liked fast-growing vines over a slowly emerging figure on the tablet.

With one, shuddering, grinding gasp, it ended and standing before them was a tablet bearing a perfect image of the demon in a rage as their body was bound in runic chains.

“Can he still think, or feel?” Malakk asked, striding towards the stone.

“No, sadly his mind and soul will be in dormancy, but he can do no harm in this state, pose no threat,” They added with a hiss, glowering at the trapped demon.

Malakk nodded, “Lets douse it in Saronite then and toss him into the ocean or some deep dark hole, so that no one will ever break it and let him lose.”

Anu’Barak bristled, “The oceans are bad, twisted old ones reside there. I recommend an island off the North coast. It is the coldest place on this world and of worth to no one; let him be frozen and forgotten for eternity.”

Malakk shrugged, “I’ll have my dragoons fly out and inspect it. The rest of you, get it ready to be moved and be careful. Once we arrive home, I will treat you all to a feast in Gundrak itself!”

That drew a ragged cheer from the crowd as they began working, allowing he and Anu’Barak to slide away and converse in nominal privacy, with only their escorts close by and listening, eyeing each other warily.

“You wanted to speak, Spider-King, so the first turn is your own,” Malakk offered.

Anu’Barak’s eyes glinted oddly even in such cloudy climates, breaths visible as they spoke through dented armor that was bound to their frame.

“You aided us, this was not selfless of you, it was pragmatic, defeating an enemy that would pose a threat to you.”

“A damned funny way to say thank you, I am thinking,” Malakk countered, drawing a sigh from the Nerubian.

“All beings operate in their self-interest, even if they do not admit it, that is fact,” they stressed.

“You trying to make a point, it isn’t like you to dance around things and I’ve no music for us,” he smirked.

“You still think you are amusing? Tragic,” Anu’Barak muttered, before marching around to face him. “Your people believe in balance correct, of the scale? You make a sacrifice, your god awards it, a thief has their possessions taken, thus things are balanced, correct?”

Malakk’s brow arched even as he began to grin, seeing the Nerubian’s point, “Inelegant but apt.”

“I am seeking to balance the scales between our empires, that you or your successors do not use the aid rendered here as a pretense for something foolish in later years.” The Spider-King leaned forward, voice sharp, “We will help in your war as you helped in ours.”

Malakk lowered his voice, “Not to sound ungrateful, but you lot in any fit shape for that?”

“We are stronger than you know,” Anu’Barak answered, guttural voice rattling in their armor before they shook their head. “But our aid will not be warriors and numbers, you aided us but only so much; instead, I offer you arcanists, we can spare a chorus to help in your war. Keep them safe and there will be no debt between us.”

Malakk rubbed his chin and hummed idly. He could probably get more, but that was just as likely to end in a fight and as contentious as things could be, he wasn’t of the mind to agitate his neighbors lest he need to.

‘They might have other motives, but with so few involved we can moderate that. Trade and trinkets could be a blessing but maybe that can come later. For now... Better to just take the win, rather than go for extra points and lose it all. not like I was expecting this to begin with,’ He mused.

Then, a thought sparked, and he looked to Anu’Barak. “Your arcanists know a good bit about the Waygates do they not?”

Anu’Barak stilled before finally bobbing their torso, “We do.”

“And you still offer their aid?” He asked.

“I do, use their knowledge as you need and see fit. So long as it does not threaten my empire,” The Nerubian added.

Malakk held his arm out, “A kings bargain then, ey?”

Anu’Bara’s voice rattled in their maw, “A Kings Bargain,” taking his arm in his long, clawed grasped and shaking.

“You got a good grip on you.”

“You as well.”

___________________________________________________________

The march back to Zul’Drak was a solemn one, not bereft of joy or revelry, but it was definitely a muted affair.

‘Hard not to be when we’re carrying thousands of earns,’ Malakk thought bitterly even as relief clutched at his heart. ‘How dangerous could they have become if they took the Nerubians, took the humans, took everyone and gave traitors time to fester before they marched on us?’

The thought would almost make him shudder, but a king could not entertain cowardice in one’s self, so he refuted it and focused his mind on the here, the now and the future. They’d made camp amidst Crystalsong for the night and would arrive at the steps in the early morn to fanfare but not celebration. The dead needed to be given their due before they could celebrate their sacrifice and the heroism of the living.

Not that it was stopping the accompanying illusionists from getting down every detail from any and every passing soldiers that they might recreate the epic battles to adoring crowds. ‘I expect they’ll gloss over my wounds as they usually do, or perhaps try and shrug them off…’ Neither thought disturbed him much, save that it was a reminder of the now buried demons power and of the fact he held to greater masters, locked out of the world for now but for how long?

‘We cannot afford to linger behind our walls, it’s made us complacent, the Great Mothers coming truly did thaw the frost that was enshrining even I in indolence,’ Malakk thought.

He looked across the meeting yurt he and his advisors had taken to. Thick woven floors, walls & roof of reeds, layered with thick animal furs for them to sit upon, with crystals of captured sun for light in place of flames.

They were scattered about the chamber and could hear soldiers chattering outside even as magic kept their own voices obscured if not totally silent.

‘It wouldn’t do for people to hear us bickering like brats,’ Malakk thought, resisting the urge to rest his chin on his hand lest he looked lackadaisical.

"The question of what to do with the free dead, remains?" Gal'Darah said, fingers tapping along his robes.

"They are kin, they are free," Malakk said hotly, "They must be checked to ensure no sickness spreads, but I will not turn away my subjects."

Moorabi was quick to cut in, "Noble to be sure, but what kinda life will they lead with us as they are? I already know many of mine will hold a grudge, it isn't far but..."

"We should seek the council of the Loa," Slad'Ran hissed, "Undeath is unnatural after all, but they are victims."

"And in the meantime?" Malakk said absently. He could host them in Gundrak, in theory at least, but he needed to tread carefully lest people think him mad or corrupted.

Zim'bo raised his hand, "Frost King Malakk, if it pleased yourself and your honored advisors, I could host these lost souls in Drak'THaron Keep. The_Prophet_Tharon'ja has shown interest in the undeads condition and the fortress god is not unwelcoming, or so I am thinking."

Malakk clicked his tongue, to quell any raised voices as he thought, it was convenient in truth, Drak'Tharon was a city unto itself and would grant the afflicted privacy but safety.

"Provided Tharon'Ja indeed approves, I will endorse this decision, and allow you, your Legionaries and the fallen to make your way to Drak'THaron as we near Zul'Drak."

Zim'bo bowed his head, "I shall have word sent to the Prophet at once," before turning to leave the yurt.

Silence reigned for but a few moments as they let him leave, before Moorabi slapped his drinking saucer against the ground, firmly. “New business. Can we trust Nerubians, really?” Moorabi groused, sitting directly across and in near open opposition to him, unusual and unpleasant.

Malakk waved airily even as his voice grew sharp, “That was a bargain between kings, I’d not doubt it.”

“Kings other than you have felt otherwise,” Zol’Maz muttered.

“And they are dead,” Malakk answered.

Arctikus scowled, her small, sharp tusks practically glinting in the enchanted crystal lights as she added, “He hosted my tribe and treated us as our agreement demanded. I’d not call him a friend, but his word bound him, you doubt one who held to their obligations as host? Who bled alongside us on the battlefield?”

Warlord Zol’Maz rumbled, “Nerubians hold to their word only so long as it suits their needs.”

Gal’Darah chuckled, “If you are unmoved by the Great Mothers wisdom and our liege’s authority.” The last half came out biting and accusatory, “Then simply accept that the Nerubians needs are best met by holding to their word and let us move on.”

Moorabi was grunting, fangs grinding but he could not find the words he wanted, maybe he knew it was pointless to start with but needed to air his grievances. ‘I shall give him some time, we can talk again soon.’ 

“The matter is settled,” Malakk said as several moved to speak, this time his gaze and tone shut each right up and he sent a grateful glance to Arctikus and Gal’Darah before moving on.

Zol’Maz beckoned to speak and Malakk waved the troll on, eyes cold and critical.

“If that matter is settled then I think we must talk of the lost legions,” he said with a certain level of pomposity.

‘A miscalculation,’ Malakk thought hiding his scowl, ‘You who merely escorts us home; had you fought you might have clout and honor, but right now you have nothing.’

“The Thousand Legions of Zul’Drak isno more, even Gundrak’s own mighty Ten Legions has been nearly cut in half,” he tapped a line of leather parchment, “Nineteen Legions lost to this battle all together and with so many dead others will retire, diminishing our army more.”

Arctikus carefully kept her piece, but fortunately she had allies, such as Slad’Ran who hissed, “I hope you are not counseling cowardice for our war against the Alliance, Warlord, for that would be a grave sin indeed.”

“I counsel nothing,” He snapped back, “I speak the truth, we no longer have five hundred thousand soldiers, those who replace them will be fresh and inexperienced.”

“And those who fought, and stay will have garnered experience in mass warfare unfamiliar to the skirmishing and turf wars of broken Zul’Drak,” Malakk cut in. A reminder of not just the bitter gains, but also their fractured past and unified present behind him.

“That is true, Frost King Malakk,” Zol’Maz said, trying to rally, but no one who fought was about to give him a chance.

“There were no plans to launch an ill-prepared invasion, Zol’Maz,” Arctikus said carefully, “your caution does you credit,” she left that hanging and Gal’Darah snatched it.

“But we cannot let caution become cowardice, how easily this war of the dead could have been worse had we waited to act.”

“You think me cowardly, but one must guard their home as well as fight at the front, and this Alliance is a much larger force than these dead,” the Warlord countered.

“The dead have no fear, the living have much,” Arctikus countered pointedly.

“The living also adapt,” Moorabi muttered, “We cannot be arrogant.”

“In this,” Quetz’Lith said, speaking up for the first time, flying for days had worn on her, the dragons and bats alike, “We must proceed with care, strategy and fine information. I do not doubt the Great Mothers wisdom, but more recent reports would serve us well."

Slad'Dran's tongue flickered out, "Perhaps the Amani could be convinced to scout, or failing them, we send an expeditionary force ahead?”

Malakk clicked his tongue, “A wise motion and one I support. I would not want us to become dependent on the Amani though. They can be commissioned to advise our advanced teams but nothing more.”

With a light sigh he pushed himself to his feet and proclaimed, “This was a lesson, one steeped in pain and blood, but from it we can gleam much. Our forces are well schooled in battle, but less so in open warfare, we must improve this.”

Holding up a second finger he added, “What’s more, the environment played as much a role in our losses as the dead, the south will be kinder in this, but bright open planes we do not know must be treated with caution.”

A final thumb unfolded and in harsh tones he spoke. “We must not fight the enemy on their own terms lest we have no other choice. We must study them further, prepare our forces and lay such a groundwork to await them that we can take a decisive lead in this war." his voice grew harsher, "Breaking their leaders, sundering their army, and shattering their mighty forts before they come to know us.”

His gaze swept over the room and all bowed their heads in acceptance before he sat back down and added more airily, “But that is for the future. Now let us focus on the fallen, the ice urns will hold until we return home, but the families must be compensated, their lives honored, and communities given a memorial.”

Gal’dDarah nodded, stroking his tusk as he added, “I believe a week of mourning would give us the time we need to honor the dead and enshrine their souls as need be.”

“Then it shall be done,” Malakk said, “After that, we shall celebrate their lives, honor their sacrifice and lionize those that fought alongside us and returned home. We should ensure they receive an extra stipend from the food backs as well, along with any healers they need, whether they remain among the legions or not.”

“It will be as you order, Frost King Malakk,” They answered in unison.

“Very well then, if we are done for the night…” he said, accepting a crate from Bith’Sa and removing from it richly detailed stone cups and a bottle of wine sealed in a bronze jug, “Let us share a drink.”

He tossed each a goblet and soon enough the wine was flowing, and the tense air began to fade as they spoke not of wars, but of plans when they returned home and boastful jests.

It was not long before they slipped from the yurt to sit out among the others still awake in the camp to listens to the crystals sing and watch the stars together.

‘This peace is what all kings fight for.’