The light

"You've got it all wrong. They're not idiots, man. I do it too. Dive right in, no fear. And I do it for myself. You want to know why?"

The footmen lounged around the campfire, heavy steel helmets neatly arranged behind them, alongside a stack of swords and shields.

"Honestly, I think you've lost it, mate. I love my country and I love my king, but this is dirty work. I do it despite myself. I miss me mam and me kids."

"Lad, the alliance takes care of its own. How much do you know about healing magick?"

The younger soldier grinned. "Look, alright, the priests back in Stormwind can save a soul when God deems it right. And even then, it's God, right? Not so much the priests. But the men in robes here..." he jerked his head at the newly minted sacred halls. "They're mostly to get us fired up, right? Willing to die for the cause."

The older soldier shook his head. His face was deadpan, earnest, serious. "It's completely real. I have no idea how God figures in this-" he crossed himself briefly "-but they can and do heal you. Listen. I had a brute of an orc cut my leg open. Waist to knee. I could see white bone the whole way down. I'd a puddle of blood beneath me... well, I was pretty sure I was done for."

"Go on. You're having me on."

"Like hell I am!" The grizzled man flipped up his cuirass and lifted his breeches. Almost invisible in the flickering firelight, but sure enough, there it was: a long, thick, pale scar, meandering down all the way to the side of his knee.

"God, that must have been hell to recover from."

"But that's what I'm telling you! It wasn't. It wasn't at all. I was on the field, with his Lordship, clearing out murloc infestations. We'd just slaughtered a camp of little ones, and this pack of slavering grunts rounds the tree-line. We were bruised and exhausted, and outnumbered - I was pretty sure we were done for."

"So what happened?"

"They fell on us. Instantly. You've heard what they're like. No hesitation, no mercy. They were like a tide. I was closest, I took one of the first hits." He gestured to his leg. "But we had one of those battle-priests with us, right? So he starts murmuring. I didn't think much of it, but he was looking right at me, and I felt it."

"The headache from all the drink you'd had before making this up, you mean?"

"Piss off! I felt the holy spirit. It was hot, like my leg had been lying in the baking sun for hours, but it didn't hurt. It felt like I was standing right in front of something I'd been cowering from my whole life. And that something was right, and good, and pure."

The younger soldier blinked, bewildered. "That sounds incredible."

"It gets better. You know Mikhail? Came over all funny a few weeks back, started going to seven services a week?"

"Yeah, that was odd. I figured he had a near scrape."

"Those orcs had a troll with them, and that troll threw a spear right into his heart. It didn't miss. I saw it happen. Right into the centre of his heart. I saw his eyes. That man was dead. And Lord Manadar, he just turns around, opens that massive tome he's always carrying, raises his hammer into the air-"

"No bloody way."

"Yeah bloody way. This pillar of light streams down from the heavens, and the spear falls out. Not a single scratch on him. Once he got over the surprise he took to arms with more vigour than ever. Beheaded that troll himself."

The younger soldier was looking at the older with a mixture of fear and awe. His pulse was racing. "I... why don't they tell us about this? The stories get around, but everyone knows they're just stories. Nice lies to keep us hopeful."

"No idea, lad. I'm sure they've got their reasons. But let me tell you this. You sustain injury in service of the Kingdom, you'll be taken care of. And the feeling of holy warmth within your flesh..." He shuddered and closed his eyes. "Nothing comes close. Fight well, fight fiercely, and fight without fear." His eyes snapped open and he leaned close, his face a solemn rictus. "God is on your side."