Aaron Rosenberg - Tides of Darkness

The Horde warchief grimaced and backed away a step, a hand shielding his eyes. Turalyon took advantage of the moment to crouch again beside Lothar's body.

"Go with the Light, my friend," he whispered, touching a forefinger to the fallen Champion's shattered forehead, his own tears dripping down to mix with the dead warrior's blood. "You have earned a place among the holy, and the Light welcomes you into its loving embrace." An aura sprang up around the body, glowing a pure white, and he thought the features of his dead friend relaxed slightly, growing calm, even quietly content.

Then Turalyon rose again, and now he held in one hand the shattered greatsword. "And you, foul creature," he declared, turning toward the dazzled Doomhammer. "You will pay for your crimes upon this world and its peoples!"

Doomhammer must have recognized the threat in his tone, for the orc leader gripped his hammer with both hands and swung it up, blocking the blow he sensed was coming. But Turalyon had both hands wrapped around the broken sword's hilt and brought the blade down in a blinding flash of light—and the ruined weapon slammed hard into the massive warhammer's black stone head, the impact traveling down the heavy wooden handle and shaking it free of its master's grip. The hammer fell harmlessly to the side. Doomhammer's eyes widened as he realized what had happened, and then he closed them and gave a faint nod, waiting for the rest of the blow to fall.

But Turalyon had turned the blade at the last second, and struck the orc with the flat instead of the edge. The impact drove Doomhammer to his knees, and then he collapsed alongside Lothar, but Turalyon could see the rise and fall of the warchief's back.

"You will stand trial for your crimes," he told the unconscious orc, the light building around him. "You will stand in Capital City, in chains" — it was brighter than the brightest day now, and every orc turned away, cowering from the blinding light—"as the leaders of the Alliance decide your fate, and there you will acknowledge your full defeat."

Then he turned and glanced up, this time at the other orc warriors, who had stood frozen as they had watched their leader's apparent victory converted to stunning defeat. "But you will not be so lucky," Turalyon intoned, leveling the shattered sword at them. Light lanced from it and from his hand, his head, his eyes. The black rock around him was blanched white by the power that poured from his body. "You will die here, with the rest of your kind, and this world will be rid of your taint forever!" And with that he leaped forward, the sun—bright blade already in motion. It caught the first orc in the throat before he could even react, and the brute fell, blood spurting from the wound, as Turalyon charged past him toward the other half—blinded Horde warriors.

That broke the paralysis, and the other orcs and humans finally were able to move again. Uther and the other Silver Hand Paladins had joined the throng during Lothar and Doomhammer's battle and now they ran forward to follow their fellow, auras springing up around them as well as they dove into the gathered Horde. The rest of the Alliance forces followed.

The battle that followed was surprisingly quick. Many of the orcs had seen Doomhammer's defeat, and their leader's collapse sent them into a panic. Many fled. Others dropped their weapons and surrendered—these were rounded up for imprisonment and, despite his earlier statement, Turalyon found he did not have it in himself to kill helpless prisoners, no matter what they done beforehand. Many did stand and fight, of course, but they were disorganized and dazed and proved little match for the resolute Alliance soldiers.

"A band of them, perhaps four hundred strong, is fleeing south through the Redridge Mountains," Khadgar reported an hour later, after the combat had ended and the valley and grown quiet save for the rustling of the men, the moans of the wounded, and the growling of the prisoners.

"Good," Turalyon replied. He was tearing a long strip from his cloak and wound that around his waist as a sash, then stuck Lothar's shattered sword through it. "Form up ranks and pursue them, but not too quickly. Let the unit leaders know. We don't want to catch them."

"We don't?"

Turalyon turned and looked at his friend, reminding himself again that for all his talents the mage was no tactician. "Where is this Dark Portal that leads back to the orcs' world?" he asked.

Khadgar shrugged. "We don't know exactly," he admitted. "Somewhere in the swamplands."

"And now that the Horde has suffered an undeniable defeat, where will those few survivors go?"

The old—seeming mage grinned. "Back home."

"Exactly." Turalyon straightened. "And we will follow them back to this portal, and destroy it once and for all."

Khadgar nodded and turned to seek the unit leaders, but stopped as Uther approached them.

"There are no orcs left save those who have given themselves into our custody," the Paladin announced.

Turalyon nodded. "Good work. A handful escaped, but we will pursue them and destroy or capture them as well."

Uther studied him. "You have assumed command," he said softly.

"I suppose I have." Turalyon considered it. He hadn't really thought about it before. He had simply gotten used to giving orders for the army, both at Lothar's request and when the Commander was in the Hinterlands with the rest of the troops. Now he shrugged. "If you'd prefer we can send a gryphon rider to Lordaeron to ask King Terenas and the other kings who should assume command."

"There's no need," Khadgar said, stepping back to stand beside him. "You were Lothar's lieutenant and sub—commander. You were given charge of half the army when we divided the forces. You are the only choice to command now that he is gone." The mage turned toward Uther with a glare, clearly daring him to contradict the statement.

But to Turalyon's surprise, Uther nodded. "It is so," he agreed. "You are our commander, and we will follow your lead as we did Lord Lothar's." Then he moved closer and rested a friendly hand on Turalyon's shoulder. "And happy I was to see your faith finally emerge, my brother." The compliment seemed genuine, and Turalyon smiled, pleased to have the older Paladin's approval.

"And I thank you, Uther the Lightbringer," Turalyon replied, and he saw the older Paladin's eyes widen at the new title. "For so shall you be known henceforth, in honor of the Holy Light you brought us this day." Uther bowed, clearly pleased, then turned without another word and walked back toward the other knights of the Silver Hand, no doubt to tell them their marching orders.

"I thought he'd argue for taking control," Khadgar said quietly.

"He doesn't want it," Turalyon replied, still watching Uther. "He wants to lead, yes, but only by example. He's comfortable leading the Order only because they're Paladins as well."

"And you?" his friend asked bluntly. "Are you comfortable leading us all?"

Turalyon pondered that, then shrugged. "I don't feel I've earned it, but I know Lothar trusted me with it. And I believe in him and his judgment." He nodded and met Khadgar's gaze. "Now let's be after those orcs."

It took them a week to reach what Khadgar said were called the Swamp of Sorrows. They could have moved more quickly but Turalyon had cautioned his soldiers not to overtake the orcs yet. They needed to know the location of that portal first. Then they could strike.

Lothar's death had shocked everyone, but it had also galvanized them. Men who had been weary were now focused, hard, and resolute. They had all taken the loss of their commander personally, and seemed determined to avenge his death. And they all accepted Turalyon as his chosen successor, especially those who had followed him to Quel'Thalas and back.