"Oh...Kael'thas," she said softly, "he has done...terrible things," she began. "What your people have suffered-"
"You know nothing of suffering!" he cried. "You are a child, with a child's mind and a child's heart. A heart that you would give to that-that-he slaughtered them, Jaina. And then he raised their corpses corpses!"
Jaina stared at him mutely, his words having no sting now that she knew the reason for them. "He murdered my father, Jaina, just as he murdered his own. I-I should have been there."
"To die with him? With the rest of your people? What good would throwing your life away do for-"
No sooner had the words left her lips than she realized that it was the wrong thing to say. Kael'thas tensed and cut her off sharply.
"I could have stopped him. I should have." He straightened, and coldness suddenly chased away the fire in him. He bowed low, exaggeratedly. "I will be departing Dalaran as soon as possible. There is nothing for me here." Jaina winced at the emptiness, the resignation in his voice. "I was a fool of the greatest order to ever think any of you humans could aid me. I will leave this place of doddering old magi and ambitious young ones. None of you can help. My people need me to lead now that my father-"
He fell silent and swallowed hard. "I must go to them. To what pathetically few remain. To those who have endured, rebirthed by the blood of those who now serve your beloved beloved."
He had stalked off then, fury etched in every line of his tall, elegant body, and Jaina had felt her own heart ache with his pain.
And now, he was here; Arthas was here, at the head of the army of the undead, a death knight himself. Antonidas's voice startled her out of her reverie and she blinked, trying to return to the present moment.
"Pull your troops back, or we will be forced to unleash our full powers against you! Make your choice, death knight." Antonidas stepped back from the balcony and turned to regard Jaina. "Jaina," he said in his normal voice, "we will be erecting teleportation-blocking barriers momentarily. You must go before you are trapped here."
"Maybe I can reason with him...maybe I can..." She fell silent, hearing the unrealistic wanting in her own voice. She hadn't even been able to stop him from murdering innocents in Stratholme, or going to Northrend when she was certain it was a trap. He'd not listened to her then. If Arthas was indeed under some dark influence, how could she dissuade him now?
She took a deep breath and stepped back, and Antonidas nodded softly. There was so much she wanted to say to this man, her mentor, her guide. But all she could do was give him a shaky smile, now, as he fought what they both knew would likely be his last battle. She found she couldn't even say good-bye to him.
"I'll take care of our people," she said thickly, cast the teleportation spell, and disappeared.
The first part of the battle was over, and Arthas had gotten what he had come for. Arthas had obtained the requested spellbook of Medivh. It was large and curiously heavy for its size, bound in red leather with gold binding. Across its front was an exquisitely tooled black raven, its wings outspread. The book still had Antonidas's blood on it. He wondered if that would make it more potent.
Invincible shifted beneath him, stamping a hoof and shaking his neck as if he still had flesh that could be irritated by flies. They were on a hilltop overlooking Dalaran, whose towers still caught the light and gleamed in hues of gold and white and purple while its streets ran with blood. Many of the magi who had fought him hours before stood beside him now. Most of them were too badly damaged to be of use other than as fodder to throw at attackers, but some...some could still be used, the skills they had in life harnessed to serve the Lich King in death.
Kel'Thuzad was like a child on Winter Veil morning. He was perusing the pages of Medivh's spellbook, thoroughly engrossed with this new toy. It irritated Arthas.
"The circle of power has been prepared per your instructions, lich. Are you ready to begin the summoning?"
"Nearly," the undead thing replied. Skeletal fingers turned a page of the book. "There is much to absorb. Medivh's knowledge of demons alone is staggering. I suspect that he was far more powerful than anyone ever realized."
A blackish-green swirl had begun manifesting as Kel'Thuzad spoke, and Tichondrius appeared as he finished. Arthas's irritation deepened as the dreadlord spoke with his usual arrogance. "Not powerful enough to escape death, that is for certain. Suffice to say, the work he began, we will finish...today. Let the summoning commence!"
And that quickly, he was gone. Kel'Thuzad floated into the circle. The space was marked out by four small obelisks. In their center, a glowing circle with arcane markings had been etched. Kel'Thuzad bore the book with him, and once he fluttered into position, the lines of the circle flared to glowing purple life. At the same moment, there was a spitting, crackling sound and eight pillars of flame sprang up about him. Kel'Thuzad turned to gaze back at Arthas with glowing eyes.
"Those who yet live within Dalaran will be able to sense the power of this spell," Kel'Thuzad warned. "I must not be interrupted or we will fail."
"I'll keep your bones safe, lich," Arthas assured him.
As Kel'Thuzad had promised, it had been comparatively easy to enter Dalaran, slay those who had erected specific spells against them, and take what they had come for. Arthas had even been able to kill Archmage Antonidas, the man he had once thought so very powerful.
If Jaina had been there, he felt certain that she would have confronted him. Appealed to what they had once had, as she had done before. She would have had no better luck now than she had then, except- He was glad he did not have to fight her.
Arthas's attention suddenly snapped back to the present. The gates were opening, and Arthas's gray lips curved in a grin. Previously, the Scourge had had the element of surprise on their side. Yes, many powerful magi lived in Dalaran at all times. But there was no trained militia, nor were all the magi of the Kirin Tor in Dalaran. But they had had several hours, and they had not been idle.
They had teleported in an army.
Good. A solid fight was just what he needed to drive distracting thoughts of Jaina Proudmoore and the youth he had once been to the back of his mind.
He lifted Frostmourne, feeling it tingle in his hand, hearing the soft voice of the Lich King caress his thoughts.
"Frostmourne hungers," he told his troops, pointing the sword at the armor-clad defenders of the great mage city. "Let us sate its appetite."
The Scourge army roared, Sylvanas's anguished wail rising above the cacophony, causing Arthas to grin even more. Even in death, even though she obeyed his commands, she defied him, and he relished forcing her to attack those she would have preferred to defend. Invincible gathered himself beneath his rider and surged forward at a full gallop, whinnying.
Some of his ghastly troops stayed behind to defend Kel'Thuzad, but most of them accompanied their leader. Arthas recognized the livery of many of those whom the Kirin Tor had teleported in to defend the city. Friends they had once been, but that was all in the past, as irrelevant to him as yesterday's weather. It was getting easier now, to feel nothing but satisfaction as Frostmourne, glowing and all but singing as it feasted upon souls, rose and fell, cutting through plate as easily as flesh.
After the first wave of soldiers fell, raised to serve in the Scourge or abandoned where they had fallen as of no use, a second one came. This one had magi with them, clad in the purple robes of Dalaran with an embroidered symbol of the great Eye upon them. But Arthas, too, had additional aid.
The demons, it would seem, wished to protect their own.
Giant stones screamed down from the sky, their tails streaks of fel green fire. The earth shook where they struck, and from the craters caused by their impact climbed what looked like stone golems, held together and directed by the sickly green energy.
Arthas glanced over his shoulder. Kel'Thuzad hovered, his arms spread, his horned head thrown back. Energy crackled and coursed from him, and a green orb began to form. Then, abruptly, the lich lowered his arms and stepped out of the circle.
"Come forth, Lord Archimonde!" Kel'Thuzad cried. "Enter this world and let us bask in your power!"
The green orb pulsed, expanding, growing taller and glowing yet more brightly. Suddenly a pillar of fire shot skyward, and several answering lightning bolts crackled down outside the circle. And then, where there had been nothing, a figure stood-tall, powerful, graceful in its own dark and dangerous way. Arthas returned his attention to the battlefield. A retreat sounded-clearly the magi, at least, had seen what was transpiring, and their troops wheeled their mounts and galloped back toward the safety-temporary though Arthas suspected it to be-of Dalaran. Even as they fled, a deep, resonant voice cut through the sound of battle.
"Tremble, mortals, and despair! Doom has come to this world!"
Arthas held up his hand, and with that simplest of gestures the swarm of Scourge halted and retreated as well. As he galloped back to Kel'Thuzad, eyeing the giant demon lord all the while, Tichondrius teleported in. As usual, after after all the danger had passed. all the danger had passed.
The dreadlord made a deep obeisance. Arthas drew rein some distance away, preferring to observe.
"Lord Archimonde, all the preparations have been made."
"Very well, Tichondrius," replied Archimonde, giving the lesser demon a dismissive nod. "Since the Lich King is of no further use to me, you dreadlords will now command the Scourge."
Arthas was suddenly very grateful for all those hours spent in disciplined meditation. It was only that that kept his shock and fury from showing. Even so, Invincible felt the change in him and pranced nervously. He yanked on the reins and the undead beast stilled. The Lich King was of no further use? Why? Who exactly was he, and what had happened to him? What would happen to Arthas?
"Soon, I will order the invasion to begin. But first, I will make an example of these paltry wizards...by crushing their city into the ashes of history."
He strode off, his body erect and proud and commanding, his hooves landing firmly with each step, his armor gleaming in the rose and gold and lavender of the encroaching twilight. Beside him, still making obeisance, strode Tichondrius. Arthas waited until they were some distance away before he finally whirled on Kel'Thuzad and burst out, "This has got to be a joke! What happens to us now?"
"Be patient, young death knight. The Lich King foresaw this as well. You may yet have a part to play in his grand design."
May? Arthas whirled on the necromancer, his nostrils flaring, but he tamped back his anger. If anyone-either of the demons or the Lich King himself-thought for one moment that Arthas was a tool to simply be used and then discarded, he would soon show them the error of their thinking. He had done too much-lost too much, cut out too much of himself for this to be cast aside. Arthas whirled on the necromancer, his nostrils flaring, but he tamped back his anger. If anyone-either of the demons or the Lich King himself-thought for one moment that Arthas was a tool to simply be used and then discarded, he would soon show them the error of their thinking. He had done too much-lost too much, cut out too much of himself for this to be cast aside.
It couldn't all be for nothing.
It would not not all be for nothing. all be for nothing.
The earth rumbled. Invincible shifted uneasily, lifting his hooves as if to minimize contact with the earth. Arthas glanced up quickly at the mage city. The towers were lovely at this time of day, proud and glorious and glittering in the deepening twilight hues. But as he watched, he heard a deep cracking noise. The apex of the tallest, most beautiful tower in the city suddenly fell, slowly and inexorably, tumbling downward as if the length of the tower had been clenched by a giant, unseen hand.
The rest of the city fell quickly, shattering and crumbling, the sound of destruction loud and thrumming in Arthas's ears. He winced at the volume, but did not tear his eyes away.
He had instigated the fall of Silvermoon. Had directed his Scourge against it. But this-there was casualness about it, an ease...Silvermoon had been a hard-won prize. Archimonde appeared to be able to shatter the greatest of human cities without even being present.
Arthas thought about Archimonde and Tichondrius. He scratched his chin thoughtfully.
In his lap, Frostmourne glowed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Kel'Thuzad, Arthas mused as he waited atop the verdant hill for the one he had been assured would come, was a useful lich to have around.
He was utterly loyal to the Lich King, even to the point of convincingly playing the lapdog to Archimonde and Tichondrius while in their presence, if that was what was required to secretly serve. Arthas had opted for silence; he did not trust himself to lie as convincingly as Kel'Thuzad. The two demons had deemed them nonessential. They would soon see how wrong they were. Carelessly they had left the Book of Medivh in the lich's bony hands. In that mind, too, were spells and magic so powerful that Arthas knew he would never be able to fully grasp their scope.
"The third part of the plan," Kel'Thuzad had said once the demons were gone, as idly as if he were conversing about the weather, "was the true heart of the Legion's plot."
Arthas remembered what Kel'Thuzad had told him earlier. First had been the creation of the Scourge, then the summoning of Archimonde. He listened now with intense interest as Kel'Thuzad continued. "The Legion is after nothing less than the taking of all magic and the devouring of all life upon this world. And to that end, they plan to consume the concentrated, powerful energies contained within the elves' Well of Eternity. In order to accomplish this, they must destroy the single thing that contains within it the truest, purest essence of life energy on Azeroth. The Well of Eternity lies across the ocean, on the continent of Kalimdor. And the thing that would thwart the Legion is called Nordrassil...the World Tree. It grants the kaldorei immortality, and they are bound to it."
"Kaldorei?" Arthas was confused. "I know of quel'dorei. Are they another race of elves?"
"The original race," Kel'Thuzad corrected. He waved a hand dismissively. "But those details are of no consequence. What matters is that we must stop the Legion from achieving this goal. And there is one among the kaldorei who would aid us."
And so it was that using his magics, Kel'Thuzad had teleported Arthas to this distant continent and this hill that afforded an expansive view. The forests here were lush, healthy, but Arthas could already see what the Legion had wrought in the distance. Where the land, trees, beasts were not dead, they had been corrupted. Devour all life, indeed.
A figure crested another hill below him, and Arthas smiled to himself. This was the one whose arrival he had been awaiting.
They were certainly different, these "night elves." This one's skin was pale lavender, etched with swirling tattoos and scars cut into the skin in ritualistic patterns. A black cloth was tied around his eyes, but he appeared to have no difficulty in navigating the terrain. He carried a weapon that resembled nothing Arthas had ever seen. Instead of a traditional sword, which would be grasped by a hilt with a blade extending from it, this weapon had two jagged blades that glowed the sick green hue of something tainted with demonic energies.
So, this one had trafficked with demons before.
Arthas waited a while, observing. The night elf-Illidan Stormrage, Kel'Thuzad had said his name was-raged to himself. Apparently the list of wrongs piled against him was a lengthy one, and he ached for vengeance and power as much as Kel'Thuzad had said he would.
Arthas smiled.
"I am free after ten thousand years, yet still my own brother thinks I am a villain!" Illidan ranted. "I'll show him my true power. I'll show him the demons have no hold over me!"
"Are you certain of that, demon hunter?" Arthas said, his voice carrying. The night elf whirled, brandishing his weapon. "Are you certain your will is your own?"
The elf might have been blind in the traditional sense, but Arthas felt seen regardless. Illidan sniffed and growled. "You reek of death, human. You'll regret approaching me."
Arthas grinned. He was itching for a good one-on-one fight. "Come then," he invited. "You'll find that we're evenly matched." Invincible reared and galloped down the hill, as eager for action as his master was. Illidan growled and ran to meet him.
It was almost like a dance, Arthas mused as the two warriors faced each other. Illidan was strong and graceful, his skills demonically enhanced. But Arthas, too, was no mere soldier, nor was Frostmourne an ordinary blade. The fight was fierce and swift; Arthas had been right. They were indeed evenly matched. After too short a time, both combatants fell back, breathing heavily.
"We could go on fighting like this forever," Illidan said. "What is it you truly want?"
Arthas lowered Frostmourne. "From your muttering earlier, I hear that you and your allies are beset by the undead. The dreadlord who commands this undead army is called Tichondrius. He controls a powerful warlock artifact called the Skull of Gul'dan. It is responsible for corrupting these forests."
Illidan cocked his head. "And you wish for me to steal it? Why?"
Arthas's white brows lifted. This one was indeed quick. He deserved a semi-truthful answer, Arthas decided. "Let's just say that I have no love for Tichondrius, and the lord I serve would...benefit from the Legion's downfall."
"Why should I believe anything you say, little human?"
Arthas shrugged. "A fair question. Let me answer. My master sees all, demon hunter. He knows that you've sought power your whole life. Now it lies within your grasp!" His gauntleted hand clenched into a fist in front of Illidan's blindfolded face and, as he expected, the night elf's head turned toward the gesture. "Seize it, and your enemies will be undone."
Illidan lifted his head slowly and turned his face to Arthas. He was unsettling, this blind man who could so obviously see. The elf stepped back, nodding thoughtfully. Without another word Arthas turned Invincible's head around and galloped off.
Kel'Thuzad would summon him back shortly. All had gone according to the Lich King's plan. He only hoped that Illidan had been as fully obedient as he had seemed. If not...there could be complications.
She was nothing of the living. Nor did she have the power to resist the commands of the one who had brought her screaming into this new existence.
But Sylvanas Windrunner had will. Somehow, Arthas had not broken that. He had done so with others; why was she, seemingly, the only one who had not caved utterly to him? Was it her own strength, or was it because he enjoyed tormenting her? The banshee that she was now would likely never know. But if her will was her own because Arthas found it amusing, she would have the last laugh.
So she had vowed to herself, and Sylvanas always kept her promises.
Time had passed in the world of the living since Arthas Menethil and the Scourge had swept through her beloved homeland. And much had occurred.
Her so-called "master" had objected to being used as a pawn. Together with that arrogant, floating sack of bones, Kel'Thuzad-the one responsible for corrupting the glorious Sunwell-Arthas had conspired against both the dreadlord Tichondrius and the demon lord Archimonde, whom Kel'Thuzad himself had helped usher into Azeroth. Sylvanas had paid keen attention; anything Arthas had to reveal about the way he thought and the way he battled was useful to her.
He had not attempted to slay Tichondrius himself, as he had Mal'Ganis. Oh no, the wily once-human prince had tricked another into doing his dirty work for him. Illidan, the luckless being had been named. Arthas had been able to smell Illidan's hunger for power and used that against him, goading him into stealing the Skull of Gul'dan, a legendary orcish warlock. To do so, Illidan would have to kill Tichondrius. Arthas would be rid of the demon lord, and Illidan would be rewarded with an artifact to sate his lust for power. Presumably all had gone according to plan. Arthas-and therefore Sylvanas-had heard nothing of Illidan since.
As for Archimonde...so mighty that he had been able to destroy Dalaran, the great mage city, with a single spell, he had fallen to the power of the life he had come here to consume. Sylvanas now hated the living with the same passion the Legion had had, and thus it was with mixed feelings that she learned of his fall. The night elves had sacrificed their immortality to defeat him. The pure, focused power of nature had destroyed the demon from inside, and then the World Tree had surrendered its vast power in a cataclysm that sent out a massive shock wave. And when Archimonde had fallen, his skeleton all that was left, so too had the Legion's attempt to gain a foothold in this world been defeated.
Sylvanas returned her attention from her reverie to the present, as the name of the late unlamented demon lord caught her ear.
"It's been months since we last heard from Lord Archimonde," their leader, Detheroc, said. He stamped his hoof impatiently. "I grow tired of watching over these rotting undead! What are we still doing here?"
They were in what had once been the gardens of the palace, where Arthas had strode so long and so short a time ago to murder his own father and unleash doom on his own people. The gardens, too, were rotting as well as their populace.
"We were charged with overseeing this land, Detheroc," chided the one named Balnazzar. "It is our duty to remain here and ensure that the Scourge is ready for action."
"True," rumbled the third, Varimathras. "Although we should have received some kind of orders by now."