Prologue
Lit by a faint green glow, Sylvanas Windrunner walked silently through the twisting halls of the Undercity. For the moment she was alone, and she savored the peace. Yet she did not slow her pace.
Something was happening. A hundred thousand plots were woven and shattered each day in the dark city of the Forsaken, but this was somehow different. She could trust nobody.
The Banshee Queen of the Forsaken never trusted anybody, actually, but this time...this time she felt as if she couldn't trust herself. As if somebody else were controlling her actions. As if every move she made, every step she took, had been meticulously planned by sinister minds.
She shook her head. The strain of ruling the undead was getting to her. Trying to control the chaos of the Undercity, and at the same time supporting the war against both the Lich King and the wretched Alliance, took every moment of every day and every night. And being undead, she didn't even have the pretense of sleeping to fall back on. She almost missed being a high elf.
No, she told herself firmly. That life is behind me. The Forsaken are my people now. That damned fool Lor'themar and his sin'dorei can fling themselves off Blackrock Spire, for all I care.
Sylvanas sighed. Her momentary peace ruined by her tumultuous thoughts, she quickened her step and entered a huge tunnel. The guards stationed at the entrance nodded to her; she didn't bother to acknowledge them.
The tunnel opened into the Royal Quarter. Sylvanas made her way to the central dais, where she two of the battlemasters engaged in a heated debate. Varimathras was notably absent.
"Dark Lady." Lyrlia Blackshield, a blood elf who oversaw deployment of Forsaken forces in the Outland, waved to get her attention. "Thank the Light you're here. Perhaps you can make this brute see reason." She ended with a sneer, directed toward the orc Kurden.
"Outland means nothing," Kurden shouted back at her. "Kil'jaeden is no more, nor is your precious Sun-King still–"
"We foreswore are allegiance to Kael'thas some time ago. Since –"
"There is nothing there for anyone! That broken world is a waste of time. We should waste no more warriors there, when the battle against your dark-skinned sisters still rages across Kalimdor."
"Sisters?" Lyrlia scoffed. "The night elves are far removed from the glorious–"
"Enough." Sylvanas spoke softly, but the argument abruptly died away. Both battlemasters turned to face her.
She looked Lyrlia up and down, taking in her perfect form, only minimally hidden by the revealing cut of her. Sylvanas had been like that, once. She had been beautiful, once.
Lyrlia smiled expectantly. Sylvanas despised her.
"Kurden is correct," she declared. Lyrlia looked as if she had been slapped. "We will waste no more time in Outland. However." She looked sharply at Kurden. "Neither will we squander our resources in Kalimdor."
Lyrlia raised an eyebrow. "What, then? Will you simply sit in your beautiful city and do nothing?" The way she said "beautiful" made what she really thought of the Undercity quite clear to Sylvanas.
"As your people did during the Third War?"
An angry gleam came into Lyrlia's eye. "They were your people too."
"Indeed. And so you thought I would side with you, out of kinship?" Sylvanas crossed her arms. Lyrlia started to reply, but Sylvanas cut her off. "No. Even if I was still loyal to Quel'Thalas, I would allow no sentiment to affect my decisions. No sentiment save for vengeance.
"Outland, Kalimdor, even Lordaeron, mean nothing to me." She looked north, though she could see nothing but a stone wall in that direction. "From this day forward, we will concentrate all our efforts on taking Northrend."
"A most excellent plan." The voice echoed through the chamber, accompanied by the beating of wings. Sylvanas felt a powerful presence behind her.
"Varimathras," she said reproachfully. "Where have you been?"
The dreadlord came forward to stand beside her, folding his leathery wings behind him. Lyrlia recoiled, and Kurden, though he stood his ground, set a hand on the hilt of his axe.
Sylvanas realized she'd missed his presence. She didn't rely on him – certainly not! – but she did feel safer with him by her side.
"The Apothecarium," Varimathris replied. "Meeting with Grand Apothecary Putress, who has his own designs for Northrend." Despite her trust in the demon, Sylvanas didn't like the look in his eye just then. "With his knowledge, we will be unstoppable."
Sylvanas nodded slowly, looking Lyrlia in the eye. "The Lich King shall fall."
Varimathras smiled. "Indeed." He, too, looked north. "The Forsaken's greatest hour is upon us."
