Blood and Stone

"One golem did this?"

"One golem can be very powerful."

"Yes. I'm well aware of that." Uther the Lightbringer kicked his horse – it gave out a whinny, and slowly plodded forward. Steadfast lived up to his name on the battlefield, but here, in the ruins of Noel, his warhorse was uneasy. He was uneasy. He, his retainers, and Archmage Wagner were all uneasy. A year had passed since the end of what scholars were already calling the Second War, and he'd been uneasy ever since the conflict ended, but at least that was a war fought against enemies who bled. A golem though…

He shook his head and kept riding. He'd passed through a handful of towns on his way to Noel already. Towns that had seen their share of damage in the war, as the orcs had burnt and murdered their way through Lordaeron. It wasn't just the material costs, but the sight of how empty many of those villages were. Many men had departed to fight for the Alliance, and many of them hadn't returned. He'd given what coppers he could to the townsfolk. He'd walked alongside Steadfast rather than rode, to show that even as a Knight of the Silver Hand, he was in no way above the denizens of the realm. He'd done what he could, rode on, and cursed the gods that fate had drawn him to this task. To clean up after the Alliance's mess, and not the Horde's.

"You'll have to answer for this," Uther said, looking at Wagner. The mage, mounted on a smaller, less armoured horse, looked at him.

"Hmm?"

"This golem," Uther repeated. "We may be in Lordaeron, but Dalaran remains part of the Alliance."

"Dalaran will cover its dues."

One of the two footmen walking ahead snorted. Uther let the slight pass – he had little love for mages. Especially mages who used golems as weapons, and then let them wander off to do Light-knew what. In this case, destroy an entire town, sending its people fleeing to the four winds. Some of those winds carrying them to fellow Knights of the Silver Hand.

"Halt."

Uther did so – Caldwell was his junior in both rank and age, but he knew the man well enough to take heed. The footman walked forward, and gestured to Kent to join him in pulling aside some detritus.

"There," Caldwell said.

Uther saw it – a footprint. Large and deep enough to be a golem. Not only were those things big, they were heavy as well.

"Very interesting," Wagner said. He dismounted and looked at the footprint. "I'd say this creature would be nine feet at least."

"At least?" Kent asked.

"Well, you have to understand that the creation of a golem isn't an exact science. They may be top-heavy, or bottom-heavy, or-"

"Yes, yes, we know that magic isn't an exact science," Uther said snidely, waving a gauntleted hand at the mage. He looked at the footmen. "Fan out. Look for any more tracks, as well as survivors."

The footmen nodded, drew sword and shield, and fanned out. Uther looked at Wagner – he clutched his hammer tighter than before. And Wagner must have noticed, because he smiled.

"You don't like me, do you?"

Uther remained silent. He was a paladin. A servant of the Light. He was meant to be above such petty things as dislike.

"Sir Uther?"

"I have some…issues with those who toy with magic," the paladin said. He glared at Wagner. "Especially those who let their pets wander about."

"I hope you realize that's hyperbole," Wagner said. "Much happens in war, of course."

"Don't lecture me about war," Uther snapped. "I was there, in Azeroth, when the kingdom burnt around me. I was there at Caer Darrow, in Lordaeron, even at Blackrock Spire itself. I know exactly what can 'go wrong' on the battlefield."

"And were you at Stratholme?" Wagner asked. "Dalaran?"

"…no."

"Well, I was." He sighed. "Not exactly what I had in mind, you know, when I began my studies in the Violet Citadel. I wanted to learn about magic, not use it to burn creatures alive."

"The orcs, you mean."

"Orcs, trolls, ogres…" He swallowed. "Fire, ice, the lot of it."

Uther remained silent. There wasn't a single man or woman in the Alliance that doubted that the war they'd fought against the Horde had been a war for their very survival. A war that now had the orcs in internment camps, and with the bulk of humanity demanding that the brutes be put to death. It was the same bloodlust that he fought against himself, that even those of the Horde deserved mercy, however much his baser instincts claimed otherwise.

So he loosened his grip on his hammer. War made for strange bedfellows, as the saying went.

That could include men like him and mages like Wagner. At least for now. Once this golem was destroyed, he could return to Stormwind, and Wagner to Dalaran. And then-

"Aieee!"

A scream rang through the ruins of the village, namely from Kent. Kent, who was flying through the air, crashing through the ruins of one of the houses. Caldwell, meanwhile, was running for his life. Running from a nine foot golem who looked very angry. Somehow. Golems didn't really express emotion but-

"Shit!"

It was from Wagner. Apparently mages could swear. Who knew? Uther kicked Steadfast and rode towards the golem, as it chased Caldwell. With a prayer on a lips, and fire in his eyes, he swung his hammer into the golem's leg. The blow tore out chunks of rock, enough to give the creature pause. Enough to give Caldwell time to keep running.

"See to Kent!" Uther yelled, as he reared Steadfast to pace. "Aid him!"

"Yes, Sir Uther!" Caldwell responded, as he rushed to his fellow soldier. The golem lost interest in the footman and turned to face the paladin. Steadfast remained strong, even while his rider felt a flicker of fear. This thing was a monster, at least in size, and the lack of any empathy made it as dangerous a target as a creature that deliberately sought harm. Because there was no desire for anything in this beast, only the most basic of directions. To destroy all around it. Once, that had been orcs. Now, it was the lands of humanity that felt its wrath.

And so it charged him, and Uther began to wonder if he should dismount. A rider charging into infantry was devastating, but while Steadfast granted him speed, it also made him a larger target. Yet the golem was coming, and-

…and stopped, as a water elemental erupted from the ground before them. The golem's charged carried it into the being, an automaton as cold and unfeeling as the beast of stone before it. The two locked arms, and the golem slowed. Uther glanced at Wagner, who was now sending fireball after fireball into the beast's hide. For a moment, he smiled.

And then he charged once more, hitting the golem again. No prayer to the Light, no cry of "for the Alliance," just the duty of a knight. The simple action of a task that had to be done. The golem focused its efforts on the water elemental, and if it only had to worry about that creature, it might have won. But Uther was free to strike at it. Again and again his hammer hit its hide. Fireball after fireball hit it as well. Until finally, the creature fell, and Uther brought Steadfast around. The golem had toppled, and what light was in its eyes departed this world. Uther let out a sigh of relief, and patted his horse's mane – both rider and mount were drenched in sweat. Yet another battle won in a world that had seen too many.

"My lord."

He looked around – it wasn't Wagner who spoke, but Caldwell. He'd led Kent out of the debris, and it was clear that the wounded footman could barely walk. As Uther dismounted and rushed over as fast as his armour would allow, he could see that Kent was barely alive.

"A beam," Caldwell said. "It impaled him."

A wooden spike had pierced the young man's armour – like a spear, and just as deadly.

"Should we move it?" Wagner asked.

"No," Caldwell said, even as Kent struggled to breathe. "He'd bleed out, and-"

"He won't."

All eyes turned to Uther. His eyes were on the wounded footman. "Pull the stake out," he said. "The Light will preserve him."

Caldwell spat. "You and your magics-"

"Magic got us into this mess," Wagner whispered. "Magic can get us out of it."

Uther looked at him, and nodded. He then turned to Caldwell. "Pull it."

Slowly, Caldwell nodded. He knelt down, and grasped Kent's hand. Uther slung his hammer over his shoulder, and drew out a book of the Light. Words long spoken, he'd say again. Words spoken too often. But always worth saying.

So the stake was pulled, and Kent screamed. Blood poured out of his wound. Whispering the words of the Light, golden energy emanated from Uther's hand, towards the wounded soldier. Slowly, surely, the flow of blood ceased. Slowly, surely, Kent's life was assured.

"It's done," Uther said. He knelt down. "How are you feeling son?"

"Fi…fine," Kent breathed.

"Not so fine that you won't need good food and a good rest." He held out a hand and Kent took it. "But, that shall come soon. For now, we check what's left of the town." He paused. "Together."

Both footmen nodded. Uther looked at Wagner, whose eyes were focused on the golem.

"It didn't bleed," he whispered.

"It's made of stone, how could it bleed?"

"You'd be surprised," the mage murmured. He looked back at the paladin. "But, I suppose you're right. It's just…" He swallowed. "It's so rare, to confront a foe that spills no blood. After the Second War…well, I think I've had enough blood for a lifetime."

Slowly, Uther extended a hand and put it on the mage's shoulder. "You and me both," he said. He looked at Kent, whose pace was slower than Caldwell's, but still enough to keep me going. "Enough that if that man had bled out then and there…" He sighed, and headed for Steadfast. "Well, enough of that. We have to ensure that blood never flows as freely again."

Wagner nodded and mounted his horse as well. Uther gave his mount a kick, and they headed into the ruins.

Steadfast.

A/N

Gee, a little drabble that incorporates elements of Warcraft II and Warcraft III - what could have inspired that? Maybe it's because StarCraft: Remastered is coming out, and as much as I like both StarCraft and its sequel, I can't help but wonder at this point if there'll ever be a Warcraft IV.

Something tells me I'll be wondering for a long time. :(