Chapter Eight: March of the Scourge
They made good time as they traveled onwards from the place where Kel'thuzad had met his end. Falric stayed behind at Arthas' suggestion. His task was to arrange for the burning of all corpses, to ensure they could not rise again. Behind him, the forces of the Alliance were mustering for war. The villagers watched the show, expressions of fear on their faces. For his part, Arthas could only hope that there would be some time to breathe and prepare for the next battle.
They rounded a bend and came upon the welcome sight of Harthglen. The village, almost a town, was quite pleasant as far as sights go, even at night. The windows were lit with many candles, and they made their way towards the town.
'Hearthglen finally,' said Jaina, 'I could use some rest.'
As they neared, however, Arthas saw a host of soldiers drilling in the town square. Riflemen fired at targets. Infantry trained in formation. 'It looks like they're preparing for battle.' said Arthas as they came into view. 'There is Marwynn.'
Marwynn rushed forward. 'Prince Arthas,' he said, 'during the night a vast force of undead warriors arose and began attacking villages at random! Now it's heading this way!'
So much for rest. 'Damn it,' said Arthas. 'Jaina, I'll stay here to protect the village. Go as quickly as you can and tell Lord Uther whats happened.'
'But-' she began.
'Go Jaina,' said Arthas, 'every second counts.' There was no time. No time to rest.
Reluctantly, she moved away and summoned her magic around her, teleporting herself away. Arthas then set about preparing the defenses. As he did so, he had a terrible sense that something had gone wrong, yet he did not know what.
Hours passed, and the defenses were prepared. The towers were manned to defend the approaches to the town. Every man and strong lad able to bear arms was drafted to fight in battle, and still, nothing happened.
Then he saw them, a collection of crates which lay abandoned, emptied. The bore the regional symbol of Anderhol.
'Wait…' said Arthas. 'what did those crates contain?'
'Just a grain shipment from Anderhol,' said Marwynn, 'there is no need to worry milord. It's already been distributed amongst the villagers.'
Horror overtook him, rooting him in place. 'Oh no…'
As if by the cue of some wicked force, the people of Hearthglen became to choke and wheeze. They fell on their knees and threw up. Their eyes rolled back in their head as they rose in a new form, as green mist filtered into the town. The soldiers backed away as the once healthy villagers now advanced on them. Their hands were grasping like claws as they moaned.
'The plague was never meant to simply kill my people.' said Arthas, realization dawning on him. 'It was meant to turn them… into the undead! DEFEND YOURSELVES!'
At his words, the men of Lordaeron drew their swords and charged into battle. Some were slain because they hesitated. Others warded off the enemies attacks long enough for their friends help. The villagers rushed at them from every house, children, men, and women hungering for flesh. Arthas smashed a zombie woman's skull in, then sent a surge of light to put a gang of boys out of their misery.
Marwynn backpedaled as a woman rushed at him with a butcher's knife. He stepped aside and brought round his sword to slice off her head.
The men of Lordaeron, no longer surprised, slaughtered the undead villagers. Dwarvish Riflemen shot down the creatures. Swordsmen hacked them to pieces. Finally, the soldiers stood in an empty village. Empty save for the corpses of those they were meant to protect.
'What… what do we do?' asked a soldier.
Arthas wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to lament the deaths of so many innocent people. Yet he forced himself to composure and set a hand on his shoulder.
'Steel yourselves men!' said Arthas, trying to sound bold and in control. 'Man the defenses; the army is still coming! It must be halted here, or other villages will suffer the same fate as Harthglen!'
'Yes sir…' said the soldier, before rushing away.
Arthas turned to Marwynn and saw him kneeling on the ground by the dead women. 'On your feet, Marwynn, we have work to do. Your men need you.'
'…I was sweet on this girl.' said Marwynn. 'This morning she offered me a sweet roll, I'd already eaten, and I wasn't hungry. But I almost ate it just to make her happy. Now… now I've killed her…'
Soldiers in Lordaeron were fed from a different grain supply. It was a precaution set in place by Lord Antonidas during the Second War. It had been spurred by rumors of grain poisoned by the Shadow Council. It was paranoid then, but now it was the only thing that saved them.
'That was not her.' said Arthas. 'That was a monster which took her place. If there was anything left of her inside that body, then you've freed her. Now get on your feet! You are a Captain of Lordaeron! Was my choice in you misplaced?'
'No sir.' said Marwynn, rising to his feet. 'I'll see to the defense.'
'Good,' said Arthas, 'and send out scouts. I want to know if any more of these grain shipments are being sent to the villages. You understand, scout the landscape. And have them warn anyone they find about the grain, and tell them to seek shelter here. We might save some people yet.'
'As you wish milord.'
Then Arthas was left alone. He watched as off-duty soldiers began to arm themselves with sword and shield. Observed as the priests of the light took their places behind the defenses.
His own words haunted him. Was Fathers trust in him misplaced? He had done everything he could, and yet it had not been enough to save Hearthglen. Always he arrived too late. He'd been too late to save Strahnbrad. He'd been too late to save the hostages. Too late to prevent the grain shipments from being sent out.
Too little too late.
Arthas shook his head. He could still do this. He could still stop the undead from destroying any more villages. He could still prove that he was as good as Varian.
He just had to hold them in place long enough for Uther to arrive with reinforcements. He could do this. He had to do this. To clear his thoughts, Arthas took to scouting the region, seeking some sign of the enemy force. As he walked the lands, they were tranquil. But it was not a pleasant tranquility. Not a bird was singing. Not a squirrel or deer or chipmunk could be seen. They had left this place, fleeing the wrath to come. Eventually, he waded through a river and came to a cage, where a man was trapped within it.
'Please good Prince,' said the man, 'free me.'
Swinging his hammer, Arthas struck the lock and broke it open before helping the man out. Drawing out his water flask, he offered it to the man who drank of it.
'Thank you for helping me,' said the man, 'you must stop them! They're mad!'
'Who is?' asked Arthas.
'The Cult of the Damned,' said the man, 'they… they didn't seem that bad at first. They helped the old, the starving and the decrepit, the sort of people who society rejected. All those blasted Lords looking down on us, and taking our food to feed their armies for wars we don't care about. Taking our sons to fight and die in their name.
'I… I wanted to see what it was all about. Just curious you know. Kel'thuzad… he seems to warp reality. When you speak with him, all the horrors and plans he suggests seem to make sense. Then Mal'ganis appeared, and once that happened we became monsters.
'The grain! They mean to use the grain shipments to turn the villages that don't cooperate into undead! You've got to stop them! I tried to get away to warn Lord Uther but… they caught me and left me in that cage.'
Had this man only evaded the Cult of the Damned, so much death would have been avoided. Then again, had the Lords of the Alliance been less unkind none of this would have happened. Arthas had been aware that there were Lords who were cruel to their subjects, but it had never been before his eyes. Some of them must have been very cruel indeed to drive them to this end.
Some Paladins might have killed the man forever associating with the darkness. But Arthas felt pity for him, and more than that he wondered if he might have been like him, had he lived a different life. 'Because you have repented, I will spare your life, and say nothing more of this. Run to Hearthglen, and don't look back.'
'Thank you Prince Arthas,' said the man.
As the man departed, Arthas looked around him. There was still green in these lands. But it was waning, and he could sense terrible darkness just beyond sight. The tips of the trees were blackened, and the scent of death was inescapable. He made his way back to camp, and as he did so, he saw a group of people in the distance. For a moment he dared hope they might have escaped and ran for them. As he approached they clutched their faces and screamed. Their screams turned to moans. In moments they became undead monsters with slavering jaws and blood red eyes.
Arthas smashed one aside with his hammer. Then summoned the light to obliterate them all.
Was there no one who had escaped the plagued grain? He returned to camp and found Marwynn waiting for him. The Captain saluted. 'Milord, we've managed to gather some people from neighboring villages. We've secured them in the town hall. Some of them were infected, however, and…
'My men took matters into their own hands.'
'What do you mean?' asked Arthas.
'They… purged the infected.' said Marwynn.
'I see.' said Arthas. 'There is nothing to do about it now. We need every able man ready to fight. Go to the villagers. Recruit anyone willing to fight for their families as footmen.'
'Yes milord,' said Marwynn, 'yet there is something else…'
'What is it?' asked Arthas.
'A group of elven sorceresses has arrived,' said Marwynn, 'they wished to speak with you.' He motioned to a group of robed women, clad in flowing garments, then departed. Their leader was levitating over the ground and approached Arthas. She was a beautiful elven woman, with long brown hair and clad in a low cut blouse.
'Archmage Antonidas has sent us to assist you in defending Hearthglen.' she stated. 'What'll be hot shot?'
Arthas narrowed his eyes at her casual manner. 'Take a position and support my soldiers at the southern and western entrances to town.'
'What a good idea,' she mused as she departed, 'once again it's up to the elves.'
The elves? Where the hell were they when the Alliance needed them?! It was all Arthas could do not to say as much. Instead, he turned and began to wait. It was the waiting that was the worst part. Time was ticking by, slowly but surely, and he could do nothing but wait. On the hours stretched. Soldiers looked upon empty streets and survivors huddled in silent terror.
Nothing happened.
'Prince Arthas!' cried a soldier from the southern exit. 'The undead forces have arrived!'
It was almost a relief to see the hordes of corpses walking towards them. Almost.
'Hold your ground!' cried Arthas. 'We are the chosen of the light; we shall not fall!' And he rushed to their aid. The first wave of undead was easily repulsed. They were slowed by the elves and showered with arrows and guns. Those few that reached the front lines were hewn to pieces by the swordsmen who awaited them.
It was only the beginning. Another assault was launched, this one from the west and with them came abominations. Necromancers raised the corpses of those who fell. The fresh masses of bodies strained the line and yet more enemies charged from the south. Arthas raced from one entrance to another. He called out to his men, healing the wounded and striking down the creatures wherever they came.
Then the carcasses of animals began to fall amongst them. Several soldiers were crushed beneath them. Mechanical devices were launching them from behind the enemy forces! Mustering his strength, Arthas charged forward. He scattered the undead line with his hammer and smashed a path to the burned a group of necromancers to ash with the light.
Then he was near the devices.
Bringing round his hammer, he broke one to pieces, and his men came behind. The cultists manning them fled. All fell silent.
At last, there was a lull in the fighting. It was not over. Arthas could sense that the darkness that hung over this place had not retreated. He could hear the voices of ghouls on the wind. He could smell the scent of decay everywhere.
And then the scouts came back.
'Prince Arthas,' said the scout, 'we've spotted an undead caravan carrying a large load of plagued grain.'
No. Not this time. 'That caravan must be stopped before it reaches the outer villages!' said Arthas, a grim resolve growing in his tone.
'But milord,' said Marwynn 'we scarcely fended off this assault! We cannot stop both it and the army!'
A sense of serenity, of control, fell over Arthas. The darkness did not seem so great. A confidence grew within him. 'Marwynn,' said Arthas, 'take charge of the men in my absence. I will deal with the caravan myself.'
'But-'
Arthas did not heed him. He raced away on foot, guided by some force he scarcely understood. Slipping into the heart of the woods darkness, he made his way through. And it was as if he could see everything. Every event leading from time immaterial. It had stretched from the beginning of the universe to its end. He was meant to be here. This was his time.
He had to do this. He must do this, and prove that his Father's, that Uther's trust in him had not been misplaced.
As he walked, he saw there an undead fortress of black spires that scraped the clouds and eerie green lights. The moans of the damned issued forth from its buildings. From its pits and caverns issued forth great hosts of undead. Corpses were piled high. Cultists were working their magic on them, bringing them back as unholy beasts.
He could not deal with these now. He would fight them later.
Arthas pressed on and finally came to the King's road, having cut across country to reach it. The caravan was coming along it, heavily guarded by many monsters. Yet he would not let them stop him. He felt the light burning within him, and he charged forward.
'For my Father, the King!' he roared as he surged forward, hammer in hand. Light surrounded him, and an abominations cleaver broke upon his shield. In return, he struck it down with one blow, before seeing to the others.
The undead rushed to stop him. They made a wall of bodies to halt his advance as the caravan continued his grim mission. He smashed them one by one, without mercy or pity. Then he finished the necromancer who summoned them.
'Faster my brethren!' cried an acolyte. 'If we lose the shipment, the master will have our hides!'
Arthas reached them as they rounded a bend. He hacked and slashed his way through them, summoning the light around him to burn them. To burn the grain, and as the unholy magics within it was exposed it caught flame and withered away. He turned over the wagons, and slew their drivers. He sent the beasts of burden running away and finally turned to a cultist cowering beneath him.
'You are past redemption.' he said, before striking off his head.
He didn't feel any better for his victory. He had done the work of an army by himself, yet all he felt was bitterness. As the light departed him, he felt tired and quickly fading.
'I just pray that the grain hasn't reached any more villages.' He said to himself.
Then he made his way back to Hearthglen.
It took him a little over an hour to return, and he counted every second of it. He wondered if he would find it overrun, his soldiers slain for his absence. It was a small respite that it still stood tall. Several of the watchtowers had been broken down, and many corpses lay before the broken gates. Yet his men were still there.
A ragged cheer came from them as he arrived. Marwynn approached. 'Prince Arthas, we feared we could not hold out much longer without you. What of the caravan?'
'The caravan is destroyed.' said Arthas. 'Take heart captain. Uther will be here soon.' That brightened the faces of his soldiers.
Uther. The name stung a bitter note in his mind. This would be Uther's victory, wouldn't it? That is how it would be remembered, with Arthas as little more than a sidekick. Would he never escape his mentor's shadow? He pushed such thoughts away; they did not become a paladin. Besides, he would be held in high regard for keeping control of things. This would still be Arthas' campaign, Uther would just be the one to deal the finishing blow.
Then the enemy came back. And this time in far greater numbers. The ghouls came first, and they were shredded, yet there were always more of them! Then abominations came lumbering out of the countryside. The line began to strain, and all the arrows and guns could not keep it together.
'Marwynn!' called Arthas as he cast a spell of healing. 'Bring the defenders from the southern gate to help us here!'
'That would leave us unprotected-'
'Just do it!'
Marwynn obeyed, and soon fresh forces arrived to aid in the defense. Little by little the enemy was driven back. Then, all of a sudden, ice-filled their veins, as a skeletal figure appeared. It raised one hand, and with a flick of its wrist froze a group of footmen down to their marrow.
He had read about such creatures only in legend — a Lich.
Arthas knew at that moment that he must act, or all would be lost. He charged forward through the lines. A huge abomination rose above him, but he crushed it down with one stroke. Then he reached the Lich. The creature sent forth a chain which wrapped around the weapon and yanked it from Arthas' grip. It sent a bolt of power towards him.
Arthas summoned the light to defend himself from the blast, then returned with his own surge of light. The creature reeled, wounded, then made a motion with his hand. Darkness surrounded him, and Arthas screamed in pain as he found his body subjected to the rigors of time. His hands became pale and clawlike, as he shuddered with unnatural age. The weight of his armor was terrible.
The undead closed in around him. Yet the light filled him with strength, enough strength to finish things. He gripped his hammer and yanked upon it. The chains shattered! And bringing it around, he crushed the Lich's skull, before striking it again for good measure. An unnatural scream echoed and it was gone.
Arthas stumbled in exhaustion, and the undead were upon him!
Yet Marwynn and his soldiers came, hewing their way to them. They formed a wall of shields around their Prince and helped him to the safety of the defenses. The undead, weakened and disheartened by the loss of their master, fled. Arthas fell to his knees in exhaustion, realizing how close he had been to death there.
'Is it over?' asked Marwynn.
Then there came a cry from the south. 'The undead! The undead have broken through!'
Arthas wanted to stay down. His body demanded he stay down. His spirit was wavering, yet by sheer determination, he arose. His men needed direction; it was too late to hold the perimeter now.
'Fall back to the town square!' he cried. 'We'll make our stand there!'
His men fled from their position, abandoning the defenses in a rout as they rushed to defend the town hall. As they reached its gates, Marwynn had only a few moments to reorder them into lines. Then the enemy was upon them.
Zombies, ghouls, abominations, necromancers, even acolytes had come for this final attack. They died in droves, and always there were more to replace them. Abomination after abomination came and died, and was trod over by yet more of them. The line fell back, breaking apart, as Arthas stared in mute horror.
'This is a nightmare…' he said, 'their numbers seem limitless…'
His pride, his sense of duty, his honor, they all demanded he arise once more to save his men. To rally them to a victory to be remembered for all time. Yet it was not enough. His strength was spent. The light was waning in his heart. He was on his knees, scarcely able to think as his men fell around him.
The undead seemed to be focusing only on his men. He watched as they were driven away from him. A soldier fought bravely before Arthas. He hacked and slashed to defend his Prince, and finally was cut down. A group of ghouls made its way towards him, snarling hungrily at the body of his fallen protector.
He had to do something. Anything! Anything but just stand here!
'Light…' he said, 'give me strength.'
The light answered his prayer, filling him once more with power. He swung his hammer. With one stroke he scattered the ghoul's bones across the battlefield. He was going to die here, far from help, yet he now meant to die fighting.
'For Lordaeron!' called Uther. 'For the King!'
And here he came. Uther rushed down the path Arthas had come moments before, followed by a whole legion of knights. Light poured from the old Paladin, sending the undead cowering before them.
The knights of Lordaeron carved their way through the legions of undead. More undead came to halt the forces of light, but they were helpless to stop them. Uther led his forces to glorious victory, for none could withstand him!
'Uther!' called Arthas as he healed a wounded man. 'Your timing couldn't have been better!'
Uther came to a halt by him on horseback. 'Don't celebrate yet, son. This battles far from over.'
The words tempered his joy, and Arthas resolved to fight.
Yet in truth, the battle was over. All the surrounding regions had been emptied in the assault upon Hearthglen. The forces of Lordaeron descended upon the fortresses of undeath. They expected a terrible battle. Instead, they found only cowering cultists and empty structures. The corpses were gone. The undead bastions were put to the sword. They were broken stone by stone apart, and all who were found within were slain.
Finally, they regrouped at Hearthglen.
Arthas looked at the fruits of his victory. Hearthglen was empty. Most of the townsfolk were dead. Those few who did not eat the plagued grain were a traumatized and terrified lot. Scouts had returned. They told tales of empty graveyards, of deserted houses whose owners had all become undead. There were a string of villages who had survived unscathed during the battle. Yet it might take a century before the population reached its former levels.
He looked at the corpses, of men and monster along. Men he had failed to save. People he should have protected. He had failed, completely and utterly. And once again, his pride reminded him, he had been saved by Uther Lightbringer.
It was as if he had never left that blizzard he'd gotten caught in all those years ago. As if he were still standing over the corpse of his horse. He was never going to escape Uther. The man's legacy was too great. His inner light greater than any and all the accomplishments his student could achieve.
It didn't matter how hard Arthas tried. He couldn't escape the fact that history would remember him as the wise King that Uther trained. The Prince who continued his Fathers legacy of benevolence and wisdom. The tag-along kid who became the hero he was meant to be because everyone expected him to be one! He would never be given anything of his own, why would he?! Even the choice to court Jaina had been wrested from his control.
He, Arthas Menethil, was the hapless Prince that Uther had to save twice. Impotent fury that had been growing in him for years made itself known. He scarcely noticed Jaina and Uther approaching him. Yet he mastered it, he controlled it, he-
'I'm surprised you kept things together as long as you did, lad.' said Uther. 'If I hadn't arrived just then-' It was perhaps the worst thing Uther could have said.
He unleashed it. 'Look, I did the best I could, Uther!' snapped Arthas 'If I'd had a legion of knights riding at my back I would've-'
'Now is not the time to be choking on pride!' said Uther firmly. 'What we faced here was only the beginning. The undead ranks are bolstered every time one of our own falls in battle.'
The beginning, the beginning! This… butchery was only the beginning! 'Then we should strike at their leader!' snapped Arthas as he turned his back on him. 'I'll go to Stratholme and kill Mal'ganis myself if I have to!' He presumed that Jaina had filled Uther in on the details.
Uther came up behind him and set one hand on his shoulder. 'Easy lad, brave as you are you can't hope to defeat a man who commands the dead all by yourself.'
'Then feel free to tag along Uther,' said Arthas 'I'm going. With, or without you.'
And he marched away alone. No one would take this victory from him. Not this time.
Authors Note:
And Hearthglen is done. This part, I think, marks the point where I started to put story above gameplay.
I also noticed a higher level of quality. Fewer run on sentences and better grammar.
