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Chapter summary: Unaware of the full impact of the undead invasion, Kael and his followers make their way toward Silvermoon.

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Deceiver, Chapter 9: The Halls (Vexallus), Part IV

by silverr


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~ : |9| : ~

Con… sume.

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Is that the best you can do? What a shock it must be for you to discover that brute force does not assure victory.

I am curious to see what your next move will be.

Will you respond to the unforeseen and unwelcome by cowering in a corner, pretending it doesn't exist as you desperately try to dream a pleasant dream? If you're lucky, the darkness might devour you as you sleep.

Or perhaps you'll admit defeat and attempt to flee. Be careful, though—that path often takes you directly into the heart of the abyss, where not even death is an escape.

I myself admire those who carve out a third option, who sound their war cry to the last and embrace the pain and absurdity of existence—for they sometimes find that reality is more malleable than it seems.

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Kael'thas knew he tended to think of the quel'dorei that followed him in the collective sense, as "his people," but regretfully, he simply hadn't had time or opportunity to get to know more than a dozen or so as unique individuals.

He learned quite a bit about all of them that night, observing their reactions in the moonless darkness of Tranquillien.

A reckless few set out for Silvermoon—after accusing Astalor and the other mages of withholding portals (though they dared not mention Kael in that group). Some clung in fear to friends, or announced their intention to find alcohol and drink until drunk; others emerged as natural leaders, helping Vanthryn herd everyone to the upper floor of Tranquillien's inn. A handful settled down like a drowsy litter of kittens in an alcove, but most were too stunned to sleep and instead talked quietly, wondering how the battle was going, fretting over their friends and colleagues in Silvermoon and whether the undead would attack Tranquillien in the night. A few sat apart, staring at the faintly-glowing gems of their affinity charms as if their loved ones could be summoned to them… if only they concentrated hard enough.

Kael heard Astalor say peevishly, "It's ridiculous! They've all been living in Dalaran, but they act as if they've never experienced the sunless period called night before."

"Fixating on the darkness will allow them to feel comfort when the sun rises," Andorath replied.

"Don't patronize me!"

"Stop taking it out on us," Vorath said. "Check your stone: he's probably fine."

"This isn't about Rommath!" Astalor snapped back.

"Of course not," Vorath said. "Of course not."

Kael had always admired the depth of Astalor and Rommath's bond, but it only now occurred to him to what extent Astalor's recent ill temper and hostility was due to his knowledge of Rommath's infatuation. He appreciated that his two most trusted advisors had put the good of Quel'Thalas above their individual considerations, and had had chosen to stay with him despite the personal difficulties it might have caused them.

He made his way toward the ramp that led outside and found Vanthryn watching for undead while waiting for Lana'thel to return with hawkstriders; it took Kael a moment to find him, a slightly darker shadow standing under a tree a short distance down the road from the inn.

"Is anyone in there getting any sleep?" Vanthryn asked as Kael came to stand next to him.

"Most are too worried about those they know in the city or on the Isle."

After several minutes of silence had passed Vanthryn asked, "What do you think is happening?"

"Something has overthrown a part of the world we knew," Kael said. "We will have to restore it."

"Where do we start?" Vanthryn asked.

"I will want to check Runestone Falithas—and possibly Shan'dor as well—on the way to Silvermoon."

"You think the invaders sabotaged the runestones?" Vanthryn nodded. "It makes sense. The runestones have been protecting us for so long they're taken for granted. Almost forgotten."

"At the very least," Kael said, "I suspect the runestones' wards were circumvented by the invaders. If so, we must know how, and address whatever weakness they may have found." He knew that his father wouldn't approve of his next action, but he would deal with Anasterian's disapproval later. "I want to ask the Kirin Tor for help in this."

"If you wish," Vanthryn said. "We'll send a rider as soon as Lana returns with the hawkstriders."

"It is taking a long time," Kael said. Lana'thel had taken only two scouts with her; had they run into more undead at the Gate, or more invaders at The Sanctuary?

"You're worried about her," Vanthryn said.

There was no point in denying it. Even though he told himself that Lana'thel could handle anything that was out in Eversong's now-shadowy woodland, he became more and more tense until he heard her returning.

She was on foot, and alone.

"Where are the others?" Vanthryn asked.

"I sent Hanariel and Felesaria to Quel'Lithien, to let them know what's happened. They should be able to spare a dragonhawk," she said, sagging against the tree, "because both our camps were empty. No people, no hawkstriders."

"Empty?" Vanthryn asked. "What do you mean, empty? Where did they go? They didn't just disappear!"

"I know," Lana'thel said. "I know. There was activity at The Sanctuary, but we didn't think it was our people."

"Why not?" Kael asked. "Perhaps the squads moved there to help rebuild—"

"No," Lana'thel said. "I'm certain that whoever—whatever—is working there isn't elven. Or human, or any other being we've seen before. We only got glimpses because it was dark and we didn't want to risk getting close, but…" She shuddered. "The sounds they made." She exhaled loudly. "Felesaria said it looked as though they're putting down footings for walls and a gate at the mouth of the valley."

"That's—all right, get some sleep, if you can," Vanthryn said. "We'll check it out once the sun comes up."

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The morning often seems as if it will never come to those oppressed by the night.

Kael, who had spent the night sitting under the tree in companionable silence with Vanthryn, watched his people begin to emerge from Tranquillien's inn at first light (or creep in pairs and trios from the woods). Some gaped at the sky as if they'd never seen such a color before; others seemed mesmerized by how the leaves in the treetops began to glow green with the first sunbeams; and a few stood hugging themselves, weeping with relief that they were still alive. "How strange," Capernian said wonderingly. "It seems like a new world."

Vanthryn said that they should divide into two groups so as to more quickly clear the undead from the remaining villages south of the river. Luthion countered that, as nearly half their number were unable to fight, the idea was a poor one. Bristling and glowering followed. Kael, who had no patience for their pettiness, told them to determine the wishes of the group as a whole and abide by that, then walked away, across the road and toward the arch that led to Tranquillien's small magisters' sanctum.

At the last moment, though, he decided not to go in—with his magical abilities so crippled, he hardly felt like a magister—and instead went around around the building to stand at the edge of the hill. Below him was the Dying Path, no longer dying but dead, its verdure entirely drained of color, the soil underneath looking as if it had been charred by flames. He was tired of bad news; he wanted to turn back the clock and erase the events of the past few days, the past few years. I want Quel'Thalas to remain forever untouched by the Scourge. I want Eldin to be alive, and Jaina to be happy. Whatever the price, even if it meant giving my own life in exchange, I would happily pay…

There was a sound behind him: Malande and Selin.

"It's so ugly," Malande said, making a face. "I hope it won't be that way for long."

"It won't," Selin told her. "You'll see. Freywinn and Navarius are already talking about fixing it. Soon it will be as if it never happened."

Kael wasn't as optimistic, but he said nothing.

"What do you think?" Malande asked him. "Can we heal this horrible wound on our land?"

She looked so uncertain and lost that Kael knew he couldn't answer honestly; but then he had been taught from infancy that moments like this were what it meant to be a Sunstrider, that his own feelings might at times be a luxury he must set aside for the good of his people. "Yes," he told her, " I'm sure we will find a way."

A moment later the group in front of the inn began to disperse, all but a few hurrying north toward Silvermoon.

Astalor—followed by Lana'thel, Ennas, Sarannis, and three young elves carrying bows—crossed the road to Kael.

"The majority" —Astalor gave this word a disdainful emphasis— "feel that, as the runestones obviously failed to stop the invaders, there is nothing to be gained by examining them. As they are not affected by whatever is affecting the arcane, they want to travel directly to Silvermoon, and not 'waste time' with anything along the way."

"I see." Kael did understand: there was certainly a part of him eager to get to Silvermoon and see how the city and the Isle had managed without Ban'dinoriel. But what if additional waves of invaders decided to march on Quel'Thalas while her borders were defenseless? It was a possibility: after all, the dozen elves missing from the southern camps hadn't evaporated into the air. He felt he could be most useful here, doing this small task… He looked away from Astalor, at the Dying Path. No, in truth, he was reluctant to go to Silvermoon, and the need to examine the runestones was little more than a scrabble for justification. Most of it was his reluctance to be subjected to yet more Your place is here with your people, not with the humans censure from his father; alongside that was an irrational apprehension that perhaps Sylvanas and her Rangers and the Convocation had not been enough to defend the city. He tried—and failed—to avoid thinking of Voren'thal's prophecy: in his mind's eye he saw that pall of white and red and black, bone and blood and death.

"Ennas and I will assist you," Astalor said. "Ennas tells me that Deryn has talked his ears raw more than once about druidic warding spells, so he might have picked up something useful."

"I will join the escort," Selin said. "You need protection."

"He's right," Lana'thel said. "There are almost certainly more undead north of us. I apologize for being blunt, my lord, but currently your magic is crippled. You're going to be vulnerable until it's restored to full power. We four," she nodded at Sarannis and the archers, "will come along as well."

"I appreciate these offers," Kael said, "but there's no need. Certainly one lone elf can escape notice by the undead; I'll await the Kirin Tor near Shan'dor or Falithas, and join you as soon as I can. "

"Three will escape notice," Astalor said. "The rest of you go on ahead."

Lana'thel almost smiled. "He needs more than just you and a priest, Astalor."

Astalor replied by pulling out a dagger.

Lana'thel shook her head. "Alright, then he'll need someone when you run out of blood."

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In the end, despite his demurs, Kael was surrounded by nine companions: Astalor, the priests Malande and Ennas, Lana'thel, Sarannis, Selin, and three archers.

Runestone Shan'dor was across the river, directly north of Suncrown Village, and so it seemed reasonable, as they had with Eversong's other villages, to look in on Suncrown and assess whether or not any undead had occupied it.

What they found at Suncrown was worse than undead. Nightmare creatures, twice the size of a hawkstrider. A spider-like lower body of six chitinous legs and a barbed, obscenely quivering abdomen was fused to an upright torso. Segmented arms ended in lethal-looking claws; pendulous mandibles in constant motion hung from the grotesque crested head.

"At least eight," Lana'thel said. "There are likely to be more inside the buildings."

"Garithos called those grasshoppers?" Malande whispered. "Obviously he's never seen grasshoppers."

"He said something large and murderous had burrowed into the riverbanks in Lordaeron," Astalor said, his eyes narrowing. "They fit the description. They're probably what tunneled into The Sanctuary; Stratholme's not far from the river." He pushed his sleeve up and took out his dagger. "I'm going to kill them all."

"No." Kael grabbed Astalor's wrist before he could draw blood. "You can't charge in with your flame shield the way you did at Windrunner." There was some trivial fact struggling to surface, something about tunnels and spiders and death, but at the moment it eluded him.

Astalor pulled out of Kael's grasp. "Why not? You saw what they did to—"

"Yes," Kael said, "I saw. Which is why I will not allow you to risk being torn apart. We must do this together."

Unlike mindless ghouls—who paid no attention when their comrades were picked off one by one—the spider-creatures seemed able to communicate, for when Kael and his group attacked one near the edge of the village it apparently called to the others, and an instant later they were swarmed.

Kael put up a shield-dome an instant too late to save one of the archers: her scream was cut short as she was sliced in half. Paralyzed in horrified disbelief as the spiders began to dismember her corpse, it was only Lana'thel's shout of, "Move!" that galvanized them into escaping across the river.

Expecting pursuit, they prepared to make their stand with their backs against Runestone Shan'dor, but the spider-creatures had not followed.

"I wonder if it's the water or the runestone that's stopping them?" Sarannis asked, watching the spiders carry off shreds of bloody flesh to various buildings.

"Does it matter?" Ennas asked. He was wringing out the hem of his robe.

"I think it does," Lana'thel said. "If it's not the runestone, we have to hope that they don't decide to teach themselves to swim."

"Why don't we leave clearing this village for later?" Selin said, looking to Kael for confirmation. "Until we can come back with a larger group from Silvermoon?"

"No," Sarannis said. "We can't. You saw these eggs—they're everywhere. What if they're about to hatch? In a few days we might be too late."

Kael suddenly suspected that the others might be imagining what he was now picturing—the remains of the archer being set out for imminent spider hatchlings to feast on.

"I agree," Astalor said. "We must kill them, now, and destroy all their eggs."

And so they began. Along with Malande and Ennas, Kael spent most of his energy shielding Selin, Sarannis, Lana'thel, and the two remaining archers—Astalor stood apart, sending out a steady barrage of fireballs from behind a flame shield—but maintaining the shields against the spiders' brutal, unrelenting attacks was so debilitating that Kael needed time to recover between each foray across the river. The others made a show of patience, but Kael wasn't fooled: he knew they were as disgusted with his weakness as he was. The only reason he didn't open a vein and attempt to power his shields with blood magic was his fear that he would wield blood magic as ineffectively as he was currently wielding arcane magic.

Then too, the creatures themselves forced Kael's people to be extra-cautious: not only did the spiders seem to have a method of silent communication, but enough intelligence to learn from each skirmish and change their tactics. During the third encounter fewer spiders charged the group of elves outright; most dropped down on them from the upper floors and roofs of nearby buildings. After the elves began forcing the fights to take place further from the buildings, the creatures ambushed from the trees, or tried to cut them off from retreating across the river.

Every battle was close: the elves were tiring, but the the number of spiders steadily decreased, and they even managed to incinerate the quivering clusters of gelatinous eggs in several buildings. Once it became too dark to fight, the group crossed the river and prepared to spend the night at the base of Runestone Shan'dor.

"This isn't what's disrupting my arcane energy," Astalor said, glaring at the runestone's erratically pulsing sigil as he tried once again to open a portal to Silvermoon. "If a suppression spell was centered here, the resistance would be much stronger than it was in Tranquillien, but it feels about the same. I think this stone's simply been deactivated."

"Alright," Kael said wearily. "We'll check the other runestones tomorrow, see if they've been deactivated as well. If the Kirin Tor can't help us restore them, we'll send Vandril or Deryan down here once we get to Silvermoon."

"The Kirin Tor?" Astalor asked. "Surely you don't expect any of the non-elves to rouse themselves on our behalf?"

"I am a senior member," Kael said. And one of the Council of Six. "The Kirin Tor will send someone."

He spent the night alternating brief naps with guard duty, but by morning felt even less rested than he had the evening before—although he did have a hazy half-memory that at some point, when he had awakened and started to relinquish his sleeping spot, Lana'thel had softly told him he could sleep a while longer, as it wasn't yet his time.

After a reconnaissance of Suncrown brought the welcome news that no new spider-creatures had joined their brethren overnight, they attacked the remaining invaders with renewed energy. By early afternoon they had killed the last of them, destroyed every cache of eggs (including a few that appeared to have been hastily buried), and crossed the river for the last time. When a final inspection of Runestone Shan'dor yielded no new insights, they set out for Runestone Falithas.

Although Shan'dor was the central of the five runestones spaced across Eversong along the north bank of the Elrandar, Runestone Falithas—to the west of the road that led to Silvermoon—was the closest to where the enemy had marched. Kael felt that if any of the runestones had been subverted, Falithas was the most likely candidate.

Under different circumstances the trek from Shan'dor to Falithas would have been a pleasant one; the sunlight was warm, the rustle as they trudged through the grass of the riverbank was soothing, and the murmur and splash of the small waterfalls they passed compensated somewhat for the lack of birdsong—although even here the trunks of many trees were marred by the greenish excrescences that were rampant in the southern forests.

The sun had slipped into late afternoon by the time they reached the Silvermoon road. Unsurprisingly, the nearby sanctum looked to have been hastily abandoned, but at least its well and provisions appeared untouched. As Sarannis and Lana'thel drew water to refill the canteens, Selin and Malande searched for anything edible that they could be certain pre-dated the taint of the plague; happily, there were several sealed containers of dried fruit and spiced meat. As the hungry group shared this impromptu feast—their first meal since the dwarven provisions they'd eaten in Tranquillien—Kael could almost pretend that events of the past two days had been a bad dream.

And then, as they set out once again for Runestone Falithas, they came in sight of the Dying Path. The brittle grey leaves crumbled into ash as they hurried across.

Unlike Shan'dor, Falithas' rune was entirely dimmed. Astalor tried once again to open a portal, and then shook his head. "Same as Shan'dor," he said. "This isn't the cause."

"We should examine one more," Kael said. "Belore'endal isn't much further, and we'll be able to check Goldenmist Village for invaders when we're there." Runestone Belore'endal was at the southern boundary of an ancient oak grove, on the high ground north of the waterfall that fed the Elrendar river into the sea. At the base of the waterfall, across the river, was Goldenmist, sister to Windrunner.

Borrowing Astalor's dagger, Kael incised the symbol of the arcane eye into the packed earth in front of the runestone. "I'll leave a message here for the Kirin Tor," he said, "so they'll know we were here."

"If they see it at all," Astalor said.

"I told you—" Kael started to say.

"I just mean that they'll probably teleport to directly to Silvermoon from Dalaran," Astalor said. "If they even get the message that you've requested them."

Lana'thel took offense. "Hanariel and Felesaria are absolutely dependable."

"Yes, and I'm sure they run very fast," Astalor said dismissively, "but what might they have encountered on their way to Quel'Lithien? And, assuming they arrived safely, how quickly will the Farstriders contact Dalaran—if they can even be convinced to do so?" He turned back to Kael. "Leave a mark here if you wish, my lord, but I think it best we not wait for assistance that may never arrive. After we check the last runestone and the village, I say we hasten to Silvermoon."

Kael could tell from the uneasy expressions of the others that they agreed but were reluctant to say so. He supposed that Astalor was right: they were not, strictly speaking, obligated to wait at a runestone. "Your point is well taken," he said. "Belore'endal and Goldenmist, and then we'll join the others."

They had covered about half the distance between Falithas and Belore'endal when Astalor stopped walking, reached into the collar of his robe, and pulled a small pendant with a glowing blue gem into view—a gem that looked like an affinity stone. When he noticed Kael looking at him he turned away.

Recalling Vorath's needling of Astalor at Tranquillien, Kael wondered if the stone's glow meant that Astalor's partner was nearby… and was it Rommath, or someone else?

Astalor had been scrutinizing the forest to the north, but now he turned suddenly and stared at the river. Someone in drab scout's leathers was swimming toward them while holding a rucksack high out of the water. As the swimmer splashed into the swallows and then stood, Astalor ran and embraced them briefly, then said, "Idiot. What are you doing out here?" His tone was gruff, but he smoothed a strand of dark wet hair back off the swimmer's forehead.

"I was looking for you," the swimmer replied.

It was Rommath. When he saw Kael he began rummaging in his rucksack. "Fortunately the alchemy lab in the Sanctum of the Moon was undamaged," he said as he pulled out two small vials filled with a pale lavender fluid. He handed one to Astalor and, avoiding eye contact, held the vial other out to Kael. "Arcane elixir. It will temporarily restore your magic. I'm… I'm relieved you're alive!"

"What has happened?" Astalor said. "How did you get here? Did you teleport? Did you know that the runestones have been deactivated? Is Ban'dinoriel holding? Has anyone been hurt?"

"I don't know how…" Rommath looked from one face to another, hesitating.

"Your eyes." Astalor took Rommath by the shoulders and, when Rommath tried to twist away, forced the other elf to face him. "What's happened to your eyes?"

Kael saw it too: Rommath's eyes were no longer the clear, pure blue of the sky; they were now darker, almost violet, and dulled as if overlaid by an oily haze.

"We don't know all of it," Rommath said, bowing his head to avoid Astalor's scrutiny. "Where to start… "

"At the beginning."

"He brought an endless army. Undead monstrosities... winged creatures of nightmare. Sylvanas… Grand Magister Belo'vir… hundreds… thousands slain. The city's children drowned." He looked up, and Kael physically recoiled from the pain in his tainted eyes. "The Convocation was betrayed. Murdered. Ban'dinoriel was gone. Your father held Quel'Danas as long as he could. They all did."

"The Isle?" Kael asked faintly. "The Isle is taken?" Somehow he knew what Rommath was about to say, had known it the moment the agony had lanced his heart two days before, just before the sun had set for the first time.

"Yes." Rommath made a sound, a sharp intake of breath. "Silvermoon is a ruin. The King has fallen. The Sunwell has been defiled."

Someone cried out.

"Who?" Kael'thas felt a firestorm unfurling from the core of his being. "Who did this? Who brought the army? Who killed my father?"

"Those that survived say it was Arthas Menethil."

He would find Arthas if he had to burn down every hiding place in Azeroth. Arthas, who had spread the trail of blight across Quel'Thalas; Arthas, who had taken everything, not just from Kael, but from his people as well—their King, their Sunwell, their forests, their lives. Overwhelmed with the need for vengeance, Kael shouted his rage at the darkening sky, and then, stretching up his arms, the flames rippled over the sleeves of his robe and became fiery feathers. Screaming his fury, with one savage wingbeat, he was aloft, breathing a cleansing flame on his forest. To save it from further degradation, he would set everything from the river to Goldenbough Pass ablaze, destroying what he could not save… until the sky itself was red. Through the shimmering fire, he saw spirals and wing-like furrows being carved into the barren ground below, intersecting overlapping circles that bloomed like ripples from a stone thrown into a pond—although instead of sinking, these stones rose up, became a thicket of pointed towers that for some reason reminded him of Dalaran. His wings gone, he resigned himself to death as he began to fall—and then, as the towers that rushed toward him inexplicably began to crumble, there was music, music such as he'd never heard before, crushingly sad and yet uplifting, regretful and yet full of hope, like a sliver of light in an oppressive darkness. He turned to look for the source and saw a ghostly figure with long white hair and a staff falling with him. Though the ghost's features shifted and blurred, Kael was certain that it was the spirit of his father. His heart leapt with sudden joy—a second chance to say everything he had never said!— but before he could speak, the ghost too began to burn. Kael reached for him, catching only a handful of ashes; as everything Kael fell into oblivion, he thought he heard the ghost say You must persevere.

And then there was only darkness, darkness so complete that he could not tell if his eyes were open or not. He was no longer flying or falling; the ground under his back was cold. Something pressed on his chest, weighing him down with softness and warmth. One of his hands was clenched tight around something that felt like a pebble. He heard soft indistinct words, laughter, and he became aware that he was very, very thirsty.

It took all his energy to open his eyes. He saw a deep blue nothingness, but then he realized that he was seeing the twilight of an early evening sky. There was the faint glow off to one outside of his field of vision; sunset? As he moved his head to look, he saw Lana'thel, sleeping with her head and arms on his chest. He tried to say something to her, but his lips were so parched they were sealed shut. He managed to lift his arm and touch her shoulder.

Startled, she gasped and sat up, and then her face crumpled with tears. In an instant, Selin and Sarannis had crowded around her to see, and Ennas and one of the archers helped him sit up. Astalor, sitting some distance away on the other side of a small camp fire, stood up when he saw Kael: for once, he was smiling. There was no sign of Rommath.

After taking a long draught of water from Selin's canteen, Kael asked, "What… happened?"

They all tried to talk at once, but after a moment they quieted and let Lana'thel explain. "There was an explosion," she said. "Knocked us to the ground. When we recovered, we saw an enormous fire shield where you had been standing. There was no sign of you, and we couldn't tell whether or not you were behind the fire shield."

"It was blinding, even in the sunlight!" one of the archers interjected, but she was quickly shushed.

"After a moment there was a loud cry, like a hawk's," Lana'thel continued, "and then, a bird of flame rose from it." She held up her hands and said wonderingly, "It flew straight up, high into the air as if it didn't want to harm us with the gusts from its wings, and then it circled around the oak grove, breathing fire until everything was burning."

"I thought that was… a dream." Kael looked at the grove. Apparently the fire had burned out quickly, for only scorched earth and blackened tree trunks with leafless branches remained. Now and again there was the crackling sound of cooling embers.

Lana'thel shook her head. "No, it wasn't a dream."

"And then it dove back into the flame shield," Astalor said, "which dissipated to show us what we thought was your lifeless body. The priests determined that you weren't dead, however, but in an unusually deep and unresponsive sleep." Astalor folded his arms and walked closer, "Since then, unable to save the grove and unable to help you, we've spent our time watching the one cool to cinders and the other hover at the edge of death."

"Rommath was right after all," Malande said to Astalor. "The gem must have kept him alive."

"You can't be certain of that," Astalor said. "He transformed into a phoenix. I'd think anyone would need time to recover from such a feat."

"What gem?" Kael asked.

"The one you've been holding since you collapsed," Sarannis said.

Kael finally opened his hand. What had felt like an ordinary pebble was actually a smooth oval gem of dark reddish-violet.

"Astalor thought it might be preventing you from awaking, but when he tried to pry it out of your hand, it burned him."

"Burned is too mild a word," Astalor said. He unfolded his arms and studied his fingertips. "It took my flesh off to the bone. Fortunately our healers are skilled."

"Rommath said that since the gem obviously wasn't harming you," Malande said, "that perhaps it was safeguarding your life force."

"It's a shame he couldn't stay long enough to have his theory validated." Astalor said this calmly, but to Kael any time Astalor spoke to him concerning Rommath, each word and expression now seemed eloquent with reproach. "We all agreed it was best for him to go back to Silvermoon and tell the populace that their new King was 'on his way while surveying the Scourge presence in Eversong.' "

Their new King. The words made Kael feel physically ill. "Rommath's going to lie to them?"

"I wouldn't consider it a lie," Astalor said. "Granted, it won't have been the truth when he first got there to tell it, but it is what you were doing last week before all of this happened, and it will be true again as soon as we begin to travel. We'll pass Fairbreeze and one of the sanctums, and could detour to check the Anchorage and the other sanctums as well, if you wish."

"What do you mean, 'when he first got there' ?" Kael wasn't sure he'd heard correctly: Astalor was talking as if this had all happened days instead of hours ago. "How long was I asleep?"

"Four days," Lana'thel said. She made a half-gesture, as if she were going to touch Kael's face, but instead quickly stood and moved away from him, toward the river.

"Why didn't you all return with Rommath?" Kael asked Astalor. He was angry; angry that they had lost four days, four days that they could have been helping the survivors in Silvermoon; angry that they hadn't left his useless carcass there, in the ashes of the grove he had destroyed; angry that he couldn't bring himself to feel grateful to them for watching over him… and under it all, an anger — no, a hatred — of Arthas, as constant and pervasive as the liquid rock that flowed beneath the skin of the earth.

"And leave you here to be eaten by lynxes?" Astalor scoffed, and then his expression softened slightly. "He made us promise to stay and protect you."

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Two days days later, Kael'thas walked toward the ruins of Silvermoon to face what was left of his father's glorious kingdom.

Even before he saw the toppled walls, the broken gates—the Sun Gate was utterly destroyed, buried in rubble—it was obvious that something terrible had transpired. The velvety green lawns were trampled into mud, and studded with broken weapons and siege wagons. The air, foul with the smell of rotting flesh, choked them; the buzz and scrabble of carrion flies and rats was unceasing. Though the scene was softened, tinted blue and gray by the gloom of twilight, Kael found it horrifying; he could only imagine how much more harrowing it would be in full daylight.

Passing through the secondary gate, Kael and his contingent were met by Rommath, a handful of Farstriders led by Lor'themar Theron—a leather patch over Lor'themar's left eye only partially concealed a grievous, half-healed wound—and a hundred grim-faced elves whose hostility toward Kael and his group was palpable.

And why would they feel other than hostile, seeing Kael arrive more than a week after Arthas' assault? Even though he knew his words would be entirely inadequate, Kael knew he needed to say something. "I know this has been difficult," he began, but in an instant the crowd was shouting, at him, at each other, and there was the feel of a gathering explosion.

Lor'themar and the others protectively closed ranks around him, and Kael asked to see his father's body.

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"They said they were hungry," Malande said as they made their way to the inn where Anasterian had been laid out. "Perhaps we can ask for a share of the rations that Ironforge sends to Dalaran?"

"No," Kael said without thinking, and then, recalling the dream he'd had after his transformation into the phoenix, he asked Rommath, "Something happened to Dalaran, didn't it?"

"Yes," Rommath said, looking only momentarily surprised. "I myself only just received confirmation. About a week ago, Dalaran's defenses were breached by a terrifying stranger who took the Book of Medivh from the Arcane Vault."

"Gorefiend again?" Astalor asked.

"No one knows," Rommath said. "Two days ago, according to those who witnessed it from the far side of Lordamere Lake, just as the sun was setting the very buildings of Dalaran crumbled like sand, levelled in an instant as if flattened by a titanic hand. Most citizens are presumed dead."

"And the Kirin Tor?" Kael asked. "What of Antonidas?"

"Many of the Kirin Tor are unaccounted for," Rommath said. "The only confirmed deaths are those who were killed by the stranger." He paused. "Antonidas was among them."

And then they reached the inn, and left Kael alone to with his father say farewell.

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Misery and powerlessness. Kael'thas had once thought he understood what those words meant, but in the days following the destruction of Silvermoon he came to realize that he had never truly comprehended the oppressive reality of them.

There were lists of names, so many names, of the dead or missing. His people all, among them his nephews and nieces, old teachers and lovers, many he had admired, or called friends. He knew he should rage and grieve for them as well, but he was a husk, at the limits of his grief. That evening, watching as they prepared his father for the pyre—it was not their way to burn, but all those killed by undead must be burned—thinking that everything he held dear had been taken from him, he felt no more emotion than a stone does when the wind flows over it.

In the hours that followed, Kael received report after report: the percentage of the city that had been destroyed, the locations of entrenched pockets of undead, the estimates of when the city would run out of fresh water and untainted food, the movement of the Amani, slinking north along the coast like lynxes stalking wounded prey. All of this was distressing, of course, but what hit him hardest was the hostility of the Silvermoon citizenry. He had seen their love for his father and his brother, and had assumed that love would be extended to him as well.

Rommath explained that not only was Kael being condemned for his absence during the battle and the days following, but that he was also seen primarily as a magister—and most citizens felt that the magisters had failed them. Even Astalor's judicious leaking of the truth about Ban'dinoriel—that the magical shield had had failed only when those who could have raised and maintained it were slaughtered by Dar'Khan—did little to effect the growing anti-mage sentiment.

Guilt began to coil in Kael's belly, gnawing at him day and night, because the people's anger was justified. He had been absent during Silvermoon's darkest hours. He became convinced that the only way to soothe their anger, to allay his feelings of guilt, was to destroy the monster who had tried to annihilate them.

His councilors, it seemed, did not agree. Astalor—whose eyes had now turned as dark as Rommath's—insisted that the Sunwell and the population of Quel'Thalas should take precedence over all else. "We can't afford revenge."

"So you would let Arthas go unpunished?" Kael asked, finally feeling a return of the rage he had experienced at Runestone Belore'endal. Flames began to ripple over his hands, charring the table, and although he dimly heard Rommath and Astalor shouting, it was a memory of the sublime music he had heard in his dream, of the ghostly figure saying You must persevere, that enabled him to calm himself enough for the flames to fade.

"Of course not," Rommath said quietly, "but you have asked for our counsel. Now is not the time to hunt him down, not when our people continue to be poisoned by the foul energies he left behind. Not when the few magisters and rangers we have left struggle to fend off the encroaching Amani."

Kael knew that Rommath was right. He wished it were not so, but he knew that it would be a mistake to deplete Silvermoon's remaining defenders so soon by taking them to pursue Arthas. "Thank you, my friends," Kael said, "for helping me see our path clearly. This I vow: Once we have quenched the Sunwell, provided for our people, and re-secured our borders, we will pay Arthas back tenfold for the suffering he has caused, even if we must harry him from the highest peaks to the depths of the sea."

"Let him think he has broken us," Astalor added, "that we are too frightened and feeble to retaliate. He'll become complacent and careless—and it is then we will strike him down."

And so, two days later, Kael once again destroyed what he could not save, when he, Astalor, and Rommath recovered the broken crystals that had sustained Ban'dinoriel's shield over Silvermoon and Quel'Danas, and rechanneled the last of the energy from the crystals into the shadow-corrupted Sunwell, causing a magical overload and detonation. The resulting arcane tempest scoured all undead from the holy island, and the few trolls who had witnessed the destruction from their offshore destroyers crept fearfully back to Zul'Aman.

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As soon as it was clear that the Farstriders were sufficient to protect Silvermoon, Kael and Pathaleon travelled to meet with Earthmender Govrum, who helped them negotiate a contract that would allow Silvermoon to buy food directly from Ironforge. It was Kael's first victory, and he cherished it.

He returned to Silvermoon to find that the work of rebuilding was in full swing. The eastern half of the city — which before the war had been the seat of commerce and administration — had more than enough buildings capable of housing the survivors, and would be even more defensible once they had completed a wall along the western perimeter just outside the pestilent soil of the Dead Scar.

More determined than ever determined to earn the favor of his people — and embarrassed by the luxury of the residence he found waiting for him in Sunfury Spire — Kael spent as much time as he could in the rebuilding efforts. He also led forays into the Eversong woodlands to hunt down Scourge, an activity he found especially satisfying. Although it would be some time before the undead were entirely eradicated, progress was being made; it was becoming possible to imagine a day when Quel'Thalas would be completely reclaimed.

His activities did not go unnoticed. As the weeks passed, his public appearances stopped causing outpourings of anger and frustration, and as he gradually gained the people's respect for him both as a Sunstrider and a mage, their approval became more tangible.

Still, not all went smoothly. "It's ridiculous!" Astalor had fumed upon hearing that the Farstriders were being hailed as the saviors of Silvermoon. "Were the mages and spellbreakers who battled alongside them invisible? Do they not see us now? They'd stop swooning soon enough if the rangers were actually in charge!"

To Kael's surprise, Rommath then suggested giving Lor'themar Theron, the Farstrider who had taken Sylvanas' place Ranger-General, full responsibility for the day-to-day operation of the city and carrying out Kael's directives as he saw fit. "Acknowledging the role the Farstriders played by elevating him to a position of visible authority will garner immediate goodwill; it'll be seen as a gracious gesture. And then," Rommath had continued calmly—with a ruthless practicality he had rarely displayed before—"if the people become dissatisfied with Lor'themar, you will be doubly heralded when you remove him from office." But the surprises didn't end there: when Lor'themar was offered the position, he warily agreed to accept it on one condition: that Rommath be named Grand Magister and have equal responsibility. "Without a high-profile mage presence actively contributing to the recovery of Silvermoon," he said, "the people will continue to feel abandoned." At that moment Kael realized that, rustic or not, Lor'themar was no fool: his subtle rebuke demonstrated that he grasped the situation every bit as well as they did.

"I have one final question," Lor'themar said. "Why now?"

"Because," Kael said, "I will want someone I trust as Regent of Silvermoon when it is time for me to go after Arthas."

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Next chapter: Alliances

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A big thank you to my beta Bryn, who caught several errors of canon, tidied my commas, tamed wild tenses, and in general guided me away from doing stupid things. Special thanks also to Raskol and shinyforce, who reviewed over on Ao3 and thus kept the embers going.

The events of this chapter are meant to mesh, as much as possible, with the timelines and events made canonical by Mickey Neilson's novella Blood of the Highborne.

This chapter is dedicated to Anne and Matthew; I was happy to see that you found a new home.

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posted 19 February 2015; rev 4 Nov 15