Arthas's eyes scanned the area as they approached the farmhouse. "Look," he said, pointing. "The gate's been smashed and the livestock is gone."
"That's not a good sign," Jaina muttered.
"Nor has anyone come out to greet us," Falric said. "Or even to challenge us."
Arthas and Jaina exchanged glances. Arthas signaled the group to halt.
"Greetings to you all!" he said in a strong voice. "I am Arthas, prince of Lordaeron, and my men and I mean you no harm. Please, come out and speak with us-we have questions concerning your safety."
Silence. The wind picked up, flattening the acres of grass that should have been grazing ground for cattle or sheep. The only sound was its soft sigh and the creaking of their own armor as they all shifted uneasily.
"No one's here," Arthas said.
"Or maybe they're too sick to come out," Jaina replied. "Arthas, we must at least go and see. They could need our help!"
Arthas glanced at his men. They looked none too keen on walking into a house that might be infested with plague victims, nor in truth was he. But Jaina was right. These were his people. He had vowed to help them. And so he would, wherever that promise led, whatever it took.
"Come on," he said, and swung down. Beside him Jaina did the same. "No, you stay here."
Her golden brows drew together in a frown. "I told you, I'm not a fragile little figurine, Arthas. I was sent to investigate the plague, and if there are indeed victims here, I need to see them for myself."
He sighed and nodded. "All right then."
He strode forward to the farmhouse. They were almost at the garden when the wind shifted.
The stench was horrific. Jaina covered her mouth and even Arthas struggled not to gag. It was the sickly sweet smell of the slaughterhouse-no, not even that fresh; it was the reek of carrion. One of his men turned and vomited. It was by sheer will that Arthas did not emulate him. The foul odor was coming from inside the house. It was by now obvious what had happened to the inhabitants.
Jaina turned to him, pale but resolute. "I have to examine-"
Horrible, liquid-sounding cries filled the air along with the stench of death as from inside the farmhouse and behind it things things came at them with startling speed. Arthas's hammer suddenly began to glow with a light so bright he had to narrow his eyes against it. He whirled, lifting the hammer, and stared straight into the eye sockets of a walking nightmare. came at them with startling speed. Arthas's hammer suddenly began to glow with a light so bright he had to narrow his eyes against it. He whirled, lifting the hammer, and stared straight into the eye sockets of a walking nightmare.
It wore a rough shirt and overalls, and its weapon was a pitchfork. Once, it had been a farmer. But that had been back when it had been alive. It was obviously dead now, the gray-green flesh sloughing off its skeleton, its rotting fingers leaving smudged bits on the pitchfork handle. Black, congealed fluids oozed from pustules and its gurgling roar spat flecks of ichor on Arthas's unprotected face. So shocked was he by the apparition that he barely had time to swing the hammer before it jabbed him with the pitchfork. He got his blessed weapon up just in time, knocking the farming implement from the hands of the walking dead man and bringing the radiant hammer crashing into its torso. The thing went sprawling and did not rise.
But others came to take its place. Arthas heard the fwhump fwhump and telltale crackling of Jaina's firebolts and then suddenly another smell was added to the sickly miasma-the odor of burning flesh. All around him he heard the sound of weapons clashing, men screaming battle cries, the crackle of flame. One of the corpses stumbled distractedly into the house, its body and clothing ablaze. A few moments later, smoke began to billow from the open door. and telltale crackling of Jaina's firebolts and then suddenly another smell was added to the sickly miasma-the odor of burning flesh. All around him he heard the sound of weapons clashing, men screaming battle cries, the crackle of flame. One of the corpses stumbled distractedly into the house, its body and clothing ablaze. A few moments later, smoke began to billow from the open door.
That was it- "Everyone get out, now!" Arthas cried. "Jaina! Burn the farmhouse! Burn it to the ground!"
Despite the horror and panic that was racing through his men-trained soldiers, all of them, but not trained for this this-his orders were heard. The men turned and ran from the house. Arthas looked over at Jaina. Her mouth was set in a grim line, her eyes were fastened on the house, and fire crackled as comfortably in her small hands as if the flames were innocuous as flowers.
A huge fireball as big as a man exploded into the house. It burst into flame and Arthas lifted his hand to shield his face from the blast. Several of the animated corpses had been trapped inside. For a moment Arthas stared at the conflagration, unable to tear his eyes from it, then he forced himself to turn his attention to slaughtering those that had not been caught in the pyre. It was the work of a few more moments, and then all the things were dead. Really dead this time.
For a long moment, there was silence except for the crackling sound of flames consuming the burning house. With a slow sigh, the building collapsed. Arthas was glad he could not see the corpses as they were turned to ash.
He caught his breath and turned to Jaina. "What..."
She swallowed hard. Her face was black with soot, save where streams of sweat had cleared a path. "They-they are called undead."
"Light preserve us," Falric muttered, his eyes bulging and his face pale. "I'd thought things like this were just stories to scare children."
"No, they're real enough all right. I just-I've never seen one. Never expected to. The, ah..." She took a deep breath and calmed herself, getting her voice under control. "The dead sometimes do linger on, if their deaths were traumatic. It's what gave rise to ghost stories."
Her demeanor was calming after the horror. Arthas noticed his men turning to listen to her, eager for some understanding of what the hell had just happened to them. He, too, was more grateful for her book learning than he could ever recall being before.
"The...the animation of corpses by powerful individual necromancers is not unheard of. We saw examples of this in both the First War, when the orcs were able to animate skeletal remains, and in the Second, with the appearance of what would come to be known as death knights," Jaina went on, as if she were reciting a passage rather than trying to explain a horror that the mind could barely grasp. "But as I say-I've never seen any of them before."
"Well, they're really dead now," one of the men said. Arthas gave him an encouraging smile.
"We have your swords, the Light, and the Lady Jaina's fire to thank for that," he told them.
"Arthas," Jaina said. "A moment?"
They walked away a little bit while the men began to clean themselves up and recover from the unnerving encounter. "I think I know what you're going to say," Arthas began. "You were sent here to see if this plague was magical in nature. And it's starting to look like it is. Necromantic magic."
Jaina nodded wordlessly. Arthas glanced over at his men. "We haven't even hit the main villages yet. I have a feeling we're going to see more of these...undead."
Jaina grimaced. "I have a feeling you're right."
As they departed the cluster of farmsteads, Jaina drew her horse up and paused.
"What are you looking at?" Arthas stepped beside her. Jaina pointed. He followed her gaze, to see a silo standing alone on a hill. "The granary?"
She shook her head. "No...the land around it." She dismounted, knelt and touched the soil, scooping up a handful of dry dirt and dead grass. She examined it, poking at a small insect, its six legs curled up in death, then sifted the dirt through her fingers as the slight wind took the powdery soil and bore it away in a little puff of dust. "It's as if the land around that granary is...dying."
Arthas glanced from her hand to the earth. She was completely right, he realized. Several yards behind him, the grass was green and healthy, the soil presumably still rich and fertile. But beneath his feet and in the area around the granary, it was as dead as if it were the middle of winter. No-that wasn't a good analogy-winter was when the land slept. There was still life in it, dormant, but ready to be awakened when spring came.
There was no life here.
He stared at the granary, sea-green eyes narrowing. "What could have caused this?"
"I'm not sure. It reminds me of what happened with the Dark Portal and the Blasted Lands. When the portal was opened, the demonic energies that sapped the life from Draenor spilled through into Azeroth. And the land around the portal-"
"...died," Arthas finished. A thought struck him. "Jaina-could the grain itself itself be plagued? Carrying this-this demonic energy?" be plagued? Carrying this-this demonic energy?"
Her eyes widened. "Let's hope not." She pointed at the crates the men were hauling out of the granary. "Those crates bear the regional seal of Andorhal, the distribution center for the northern boroughs. If this grain can spread the plague, there's no telling how many villages might be infected."
She almost whispered the words, looking wan and sick. He stared at her hands, pale with the dust of the dead land. Fear suddenly shot through Arthas and he grabbed her hand. Closing his eyes, he murmured a prayer. Warm light filled him, spread from his hand to hers. Jaina glanced at him, confused, then down at her own hand clasped in his gloved one. Her eyes widened with horror at what she only now realized could have been a very narrow escape.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He gave her a shaky grin, then called out to his men, "Gloves! Every man here wears gloves in this area! No exceptions!"
His captain heard him and nodded, repeating the order. Most of the men were in full armor, and so were already wearing gauntlets. Arthas shook his head, dispelling the worry that still clung to him. He had sensed no sickness in Jaina at all.
Thank the Light.
He pressed her hand to his lips. Jaina, moved, blushed and smiled softly. "That was foolish of me. I wasn't thinking."
"Lucky for you I was."
"A reversal of our roles," she said wryly, offering him a grin and kiss to take the sting out of the gibe.
Their mission was now clear-to find and destroy any infected granaries they could. Their task was aided the following day when Arthas's troops crossed paths with a pair of quel'dorei priests. They, too, had begun to sense the wrongness that was starting to creep through the land, and had come to offer what healing they could. They offered more tangible help as well-they were able to direct Arthas toward a warehouse at the far end of the village they were approaching.
"There are some houses up ahead, sir," Falric said.
"Well, then," Arthas said, "let's- A sudden boom boom took him completely by surprise and his horse reared, spooked. "What the-?" He looked in the direction from which the sounds had come. Small shapes, barely visible, but there was no mistaking the noise. "That's mortar fire. Come on!" He regained control of his horse, yanked its head around and galloped toward the sound. took him completely by surprise and his horse reared, spooked. "What the-?" He looked in the direction from which the sounds had come. Small shapes, barely visible, but there was no mistaking the noise. "That's mortar fire. Come on!" He regained control of his horse, yanked its head around and galloped toward the sound.
Several dwarves looked up as they approached, as surprised to see Arthas as he was to see them. He wheeled to a halt. "What the hell are you shooting at?"
"We're blasting those damned skeletons. This whole flaming village is crawling with them!"
A chill ran up Arthas's spine. He could see them now, the by-now-too-familiar figures of undead shuffling with their unmistakable gait closing the distance. "Fire!" cried the leader of the dwarves, and several skeletons were blown into bones that flew in several directions.
"Well, I could use your help," Arthas said. "We've got a warehouse to destroy at the end of town."
The dwarf turned to him, brown eyes wide. "A warehouse?" he echoed in disbelief. "We're being set upon by tha walkin' dead and ye're fretting about a warehouse warehouse?"
Arthas had no time for this. "What's in the warehouse is killing these people," he snapped, pointing at the remains of the skeletons. "And when they die..."
The dwarf's eyes widened. "Och, I ken ye now. Lads! Move up. We're tae be helping this bonny boy's troops!" He peered up at Arthas. "By the way, who exactly are are ye, bonny boy?" ye, bonny boy?"
Even in the midst of the horror, the offhanded nature of the question made Arthas grin. "Prince Arthas Menethil. And you are?"
The dwarf gaped for just an instant, then quickly recovered. "Dargal, at yer service, Yer Highness."
Arthas did not waste further breath on pleasantries, instead attempting to calm his steed sufficiently to keep up with the now-moving unit. The horse was a charger, bred for battle, and while it had not given him a moment's trouble while he was fighting orcs, it clearly did not like the scent of the undead in its nostrils. He couldn't blame it, but its skittishness made him think of Invincible's great heart and utter lack of fear. He forced the thought away; it was a distraction. He needed to focus, not mourn a beast even more surely dead than the lumbering corpses that were being blown to bits.
Jaina and his men fell in behind him, catching those who weren't quite destroyed by mortar fire and those who stumbled in from the sides and behind him. Energy filled him, flowed through him, as he swung his hammer tirelessly. He was grateful for Dargal's timely arrival. There were so very many of these undead things, he was not sure his troops could handle them all.
The combined units of humans and dwarves made slow but inexorable progression toward the granary. The undead came more thickly as they approached, and by the time they saw silos looming in the distance, there were still more. He leaped from his unhappy mount and charged into their midst, gripping his hammer that glowed with the power of the Light. Now that the initial shock and horror had passed, Arthas found that slaughtering these monstrosities was even better than killing orcs. Maybe the orcs, as Jaina had said, were indeed people-were individuals. These things were nothing more than corpses, jerking around like marionettes, activated by some twisted necromantic puppeteer. They fell like puppets with the strings cut too and he smiled fiercely as two undead toppled from the same broad, sweeping blow of the mighty weapon.
These had been dead longer, it seemed; the stench around them was not so ripe, and the bodies were almost more mummified than decaying. Several of them, like those of the first wave, were nothing more than skeletons, bits of clothing or makeshift armor on their bony frames as they rattled toward Arthas and his men.
The acrid odor of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils and he grinned, grateful again for Jaina's presence, and he still fought on. He glanced about, panting. Thus far he had lost not a single man, and Jaina, though pale with exertion, was unharmed.
"Arthas!" Jaina's voice, strong and clear, pierced through the din. Arthas dispatched the carcass that was attempting to decapitate him with a scythe and in the brief pause that afforded him glanced at her. She was pointing up ahead, preparatory fire already glowing in her palms and limning her fingers. "Look!"
He turned his gaze to where she was pointing and his eyes narrowed. Up ahead was a cluster of humans-obviously living humans judging by their movements-clad in black. They were gesturing-casting, or pointing-clearly directing the movements of the waves of undead that were being hurled at them now.
"Over there! Target them!" Arthas cried.
The cannons were swung around and his men charged, hacking their way through the undead, their eyes fixed upon the living men in black robes. We've got you now, We've got you now, Arthas thought with savage delight. Arthas thought with savage delight.
But as soon as they came under fire directly, the men ceased their activities. The undead they had been controlling suddenly halted, still animated, but no longer directed. They were easy marks for the dwarven mortar fire and Arthas's men, who cut them down with single blows and pushed forward. The magi gathered together and a few of them began casting, their hands fluttering, and Arthas recognized the familiar image of whirling space that indicated they were attempting to create a portal.
"No! Don't let them escape!" he cried, slamming his hammer into the chest of a skeleton, bringing it back around in an arc to cave in the head of a shuffling zombie. From the Light only knew where, the wizards summoned more of the walking dead-skeletons, rotting corpses, and something that was huge and pale and had altogether too many limbs. Across its maggoty-white, glistening torso it sported stitches as wide as Arthas's hand, looking like a disturbed child's idea of a rag doll. It towered above the others, ghastly weapons clutched in its three hands, and fixed Arthas with a single working eye.
Jaina had somehow appeared by his side and cried, "By the Light-that creature looks like it was sewn together from different corpses!"
"Let's study it after after we kill it, okay?" Arthas shot back, and charged. The abominable experiment approached, uttering guttural noises and swinging an axe as big as Arthas was tall. He leaped out of the way, rolling and springing lightly back up on his feet to charge the monstrosity from behind. Three of his men, two with polearms, did the same, and the hideous thing was quickly dispatched. Even as he battled fiercely, he watched the magi out of the corner of his eye as they turned and rushed through their portal. And then they were gone. The undead they had abandoned all stopped in their tracks, undirected corpses that were quickly destroyed. we kill it, okay?" Arthas shot back, and charged. The abominable experiment approached, uttering guttural noises and swinging an axe as big as Arthas was tall. He leaped out of the way, rolling and springing lightly back up on his feet to charge the monstrosity from behind. Three of his men, two with polearms, did the same, and the hideous thing was quickly dispatched. Even as he battled fiercely, he watched the magi out of the corner of his eye as they turned and rushed through their portal. And then they were gone. The undead they had abandoned all stopped in their tracks, undirected corpses that were quickly destroyed.
"Dammit!" Arthas cried. A hand fell on his arm and he jerked it back, his features softening slightly as he saw it was Jaina. He wasn't in the mood for comforting or explanations, and he had to do something, anything, to compensate for the men in black robes vanishing on him. "Destroy that warehouse, now!"
"Aye, Yer Highness! Let's go lads!" The dwarves surged forward, as eager as he to seize some kind of victory. The cannons rolled over the dead men and the dead soil, until they were within range.
"Fire!" Dargal cried. As one, the cannons roared, and Arthas felt a hot surge of pleasure as the granary crumbled beneath the assault.
"Jaina! Burn what's left of it!" She was already lifting her hands before he started speaking; they did work well together, he thought. An enormous ball of crackling flame sprang from her hands, and the granary and its contents ignited immediately. They waited, watching it burn, so that the fire did not spread. With the land so desiccated, a fire could quickly get out of control.
Arthas ran a hand through his sweat-stiff blond hair. The heat coming off the burning granary was oppressive and he yearned for a breeze. He walked away a short distance, and prodded the fallen pale thing with a plated boot. His foot sank into the soft flesh and he wrinkled his nose. Jaina followed him. Upon closer examination, it looked like she had been right-that the thing was indeed cobbled together out of other body parts.
Arthas suppressed a shudder. "The magi-dressed in black..."
"I-I'm afraid they were necromancers," Jaina said. "Just like we discussed earlier."
"What noo?" Dargal had come up behind them and was eyeing the fallen abomination with disgust on his face.
"Necromancers. Magi who have dabbled in dark magic-who can raise and control the dead. Obviously, they and whomever they serve are behind this plague." She lifted her serious blue eyes to Arthas. "Demonic energy may be involved, but I think it's clear that we started down the wrong path."
"Necromancers...creating a plague to get more raw material for their unholy army," Arthas murmured, glancing back toward the now-smoking ruins of the granary. "I want them. No-no, I want their leader." His gauntleted fists clenched. "I want that bastard who is deliberately slaughtering my people!" He thought about the crates they had seen earlier, and the seal they bore. He lifted his eyes and looked down the road. "And it's a good bet that we'll find him, and the answers we're looking for, in Andorhal."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Arthas was pushing his men too hard and he knew it, but time was a precious resource and could not be squandered. He felt a tug of guilt when he saw Jaina chewing on some dried meat as they rode. The Light refreshed him when he worked with it; magi drew on different energies, and he knew that Jaina was exhausted after the superb effort she had put forth earlier. But there was no time for rest, not when thousands of lives depended upon their actions.
He'd been sent on a mission to find out what was going on and stop it. The mystery was starting to unravel, but he was beginning to doubt his ability to halt the plague. Nothing was as easy as it had looked at first. Still, Arthas would not give up. Could Could not give up. He had vowed to do whatever it took to stop this, to save his people, and so he would. not give up. He had vowed to do whatever it took to stop this, to save his people, and so he would.
They saw and smelled the smoke rising in the sky before they reached the gates of Andorhal. Arthas hoped that if the town had burned, then maybe at least the grain had been destroyed as well, and then felt a twinge of guilt at the callousness of the thought. He buried it in action, kicking his mount hard and riding through the gates, expecting to be assaulted at any moment.
Around them buildings burned, black smoke stinging his eyes and making him cough. Through tear-filled eyes he peered around. There were no villagers, but neither were there any undead. What was- "I believe you have come looking for me, children," came a smooth voice. The wind shifted, driving the smoke in a different direction, and Arthas could now see a black-robed figure standing only a short distance away. Arthas tensed. This, then, was the leader. The necromancer was smiling now, his face dimly glimpsed in the shadow of his hood, a smirk that Arthas burned to cut off his face. Beside him were two of his pet undead. "You've found me. I am Kel'Thuzad."
Jaina gasped in recognition at the name, and her hand flew to her mouth. Arthas spared her a quick glance, then returned his full attention to the speaker. He gripped his hammer tightly.
"I've come to deliver a warning," said the necromancer. "Leave well enough alone. Your curiosity will be the death of you."
"I thought this magic taint felt familiar!" It was Jaina, her voice shaking with outrage. "You were disgraced, Kel'Thuzad, precisely for your experiments along this line! We told you it would lead to disaster. And you have learned nothing!"