Silver Arena (11)

Alone and lost in thought, Tirion Fordring sat atop the broken stones, reflecting on the events of the tournament: Rend Fizzlebang, a Gnome who died because of his arrogance, whose summoned demons killed him and unjustly accused the Alliance. Betrayal and deception had further strained relations; then came the devastating blow of a shocking truth: the entire arena had been built directly above the ruins of Nerub. The Lich King's sudden arrival had revealed everything; Frostmourne shattered the earth, dragging all the warriors who had participated into the spider kingdom, where they faced the long-dead Anub'arak.

Tirion now sits within these ruins, the ground littered with stones from the arena's construction. He truly owes a debt of the Holy Light; the resurrected Anub'arak has been defeated once more.

Of course, this league match still cost the Argent Crusade Army a great deal in terms of manpower and resolve. Tirion, reflecting on the battles in Northrend, looked weary, as if he had aged many years in an instant. And from any perspective, this league match was truly a disaster; he himself was now beginning to doubt the league's original purpose.

A sudden chill ran through his skin, Tirion realized he wasn't alone. He looked up and saw something he hadn't expected: Nathanos the Witherer and three Death Knights were standing before him.

"The Witherer." Tirion's voice was hoarse; it was the most sincere greeting he could offer at that moment.

"It looks terrible," Nathanos replied. He seemed to have almost fully recovered by this visit.

At first, Tirion remained silent, unsure how to respond or understand, and at one point he even thought the other person was mocking him.

"Absolutely terrible," he replied cautiously, suddenly recalling Nathanos's question about what lay beneath the arena. Thinking about it now, Tirion's hair stood on end. The Paladin wondered if Nathanos had known all along, or if it was just a coincidence. "Quite a few men have been lost."

The Orcs standing next to the Witherer was Korok. He stepped forward a few paces and bowed in salute. "Greetings, Highlord Fordring," he said, his voice as rough and confident as his race. "I am Korok the Deadman, and it is an honor to be here at your league arena, representing the Death Knight."

The knightly etiquette returned to Tirion. "Just as we are honored to host you, Korok the Deadman. I look forward to witnessing your extraordinary skills in the match."

After Korok and the other two Death Knight saluted, they left, leaving the two leaders to talk alone.

"An Orcs warrior," Tirion said. "A very interesting choice."

"Darion is sending a message to the Alliance and the Horde," Nathanos replied. "Racial disputes are meaningless among the Death Knight, because they must face the common enemy and ultimately stand united."

Tirion tried to suppress a smile. "Of course," he said, then added after a moment, "But it looks like a deliberate provocation against my league."

"When did the Argent Crusade and the Death Knight start to distrust each other?"

Another silence fell between them. Tirion remained seated on the rock, while the Witherer stood unchanging before him. Then, the Forsaken leader, seemingly with understanding, approached Fordring. He silently chose a seat next to Tirion, the silence mirroring that of two days prior in the Shadow Vault, though the atmosphere in the two places was distinctly different.

"The Alliance and the Horde are probably quite unhappy with you," Darion finally asked.

A laugh escaped Tirion's lips, followed by a shake of his head. "The Alliance is fine."

"So, does this mean the Horde intend to hold onto this incident? Or does the commander of the Warsong Expeditionary Force want to use this as an opportunity to declare war on the Alliance and the Argent Crusade?"

"Grommash isn't the chieftain yet!" Tirion roared. "It's just that the Alliance and the Horde can no longer cooperate to attack Icecrown Citadel."

"Then we don't need to make them cooperate." The Witherer's words forced Tirion to turn his gaze to him. "Just make sure they can send troops to you."

Tirion scoffed, "They'll fight each other! Isn't that exactly what the Lich King wants to see?"

"Weaknesses can be turned into strengths if they are used properly."

Ashbringer carefully observed the young man, only then remembering that Nathanos was Uther's disciple and a participant in both wars; in terms of experience, he might even surpass him. Tirion took a moment to respond, his tone devoid of any arrogance. "So, what should we do?"

"If you attack the main gate, you may need the Alliance's siege weapons, then the Horde can use zeppelins to raid the upper levels of Icecrown Citadel."

Tirion looked at the other man and noticed a subtle change: Nathanos's dead eyes flickered for a moment. "You mean, separate them?"

"Don't get it wrong. The one who will deliver the final blow to the Lich King should be you, along with the warriors you trained in the arena. They defeated Anub'arak and have already proven their strength. As for the others..." The Witherer's gaze locked onto the banner fluttering atop the Alliance tent. "Their role is to buy you time. Once the Lich King falls, the Scourge will crumble in an instant."

Tirion suddenly felt a chill. "That's using someone else."

"Do you have a choice?" Nathanos asked.

No more! Fordring had already answered in his mind. The abyss of the Nerub ruins had replaced the arena. There were still a lot of things to be done at the league venue. It was past noon, and the sun was gently setting behind the western mountains, looking quite small compared to the Shadow Vault. The shadow of the vault stretched eastward, almost reaching the league venue.

Around them, the Argent Crusade and many volunteers toiled to repair the damage inflicted on Arthas. Korok the Undead and other Death Knight set up their tents among a row of vendors; some seemed displeased with their new neighbors, but most showed respect for their new guests. The main tents of the Silver Covenant and the Sunreavers still stood facing each other on opposite sides of the arena, the air thick with the animosity born of their differing ideologies.

"My men will help you rebuild this place." Nathanos stood up. "When do you plan to attack Icecrown Citadel?"

"I need to assemble the army and discuss matters with the Alliance and the Horde. Material preparations and tactical planning will take time." Tirion wanted to continue, but the Witherer's eyes were fixed on him. He realized that his explanation sounded like an excuse. After thinking it over, Tirion gave a specific time. "In half a month."