The traveler stood on the far side of the King's Road in the village of
Rockdale as he watched the men unload their wagons. There were twenty or
thirty peasants who were doing most of the labor, a handful of soldiers
socializing to the side of the dozen-long line of wooden wagons, and a
lone, burly man in heavy armor standing purposefully at the head of the
line, his massive form resting against a body-length wooden warhammer as
some local governor assaulted him with conversation. This would be the
paladin, the traveler knew. Similar groups as this one had been arriving
all day, and like it, each group had included a paladin, who was the
leader, and a varying number of footmen, horses and wagons. Like the other
paladins, this one had enlisted the local peasantry to hastily unload the
wagons and would soon retire into the village barracks to meet with those
already present.
Though he doubted anyone had noticed, the traveler had been standing in the same spot, watching the paladins gather, since they had begun to arrive at daybreak. The traveler himself had only arrived two days before, having heard tales of the caravans moving in this direction and guessed at their destination. He had stood, his own hammer in hand, all morning, waiting for an opening to strike up a conversation with one of the knights and perhaps discern their venture. Unfortunately, the traveler was not a brilliant conversationalist, and in anyway, the paladins had been overly busy to spare a moment for some old traveler.
Then, suddenly, the traveler saw his opening. The village governor had stepped aside momentarily to address one of the peasants who had injured his leg working, and the paladin was, for the time being, alone. Without hesitation, the traveler crossed the King's Road and spoke. Though communication was, as mentioned, not his specialty, he had been planning the conversation since the first paladin had appeared, and therefore knew exactly what to say.
"Ho, good knight!" The paladin turned abruptly towards him.
"Ho, man. What is your name?"
"All in good time, Sir. I am but a simple traveler, after all. I am... curious as to the Silver Hand's business in Rockdale."
"I am afraid, good traveler, that our business is not any of yours. Until you see fit to tell me who you are - what's this?" The paladin had just noticed the ornate head on the traveler's warhammer. Unlike the knight's own hammer, which bore the simple emblem of the Silver Hand, the sigil on the traveler's hammer was a sort of family crest involving an eagle and four stars. The paladin gazed at it for several long moments before he recovered.
"Maybe I do know you after all," the knight said thoughtfully. Nearby, the peasants had finished their task, and the foot soldiers were eying the paladin and his companion warily. "Listen, friend. I am Sir Lawdron. Why don't you come down to the barracks with us?"
He paused, then said softly, "I have a feeling you know something of our business already."
***
The barracks structure was typical - a squat stone building with four corner towers and a portcullis, probably designed to look like a miniature citadel. Sir Lawdron led the traveler underneath the raised portcullis and down a short stairway. The stairway was probably the most ingenious part of the structure, for it enabled the soldiers of the barracks to be housed beneath the earth, where space was in abundance. The castle-like stone building above the ground would present a smaller target for enemy troops, while the subterranean chambers would allow the barracks to house an almost limitless number of troops since the sleeping areas could always be expanded into the earth to fit more occupants.
As they descended, the traveler was sure such renovations had taken place recently (probably to accommodate the paladins and their caravans), for the dimly lit cavern that surrounded him as he stepped down from the last stair extended far off into blackness. In the distance, the sounds of packs and axes could be heard intermingled with the shouted orders and acknowledgements of the soldiers and peasants.
They reached a wall suddenly - for the black-brown barriers were the same color as the dim fog of war that engulfed the cavern - and Lawdron felt along it for something. He quickly found his prize, the edge of a dirty- brown door, and he rapped several times upon it. Answered by a loud shout and a return knock, Lawdron gripped a tarnished brass knob and the door opened inwards.
The chamber they now entered was infinitely tinier than the exterior cavern; it seemed to be some sort of small office room, as it was lined with dirty shelves and dirtier books. Like the outside, the walls here were of dirt and stone, as were the floor and ceiling. The room was empty of occupants aside from a trio of paladins who had been conversing at the far end. These three now faced the newcomers with expressions of boredom.
The tallest of the three spoke. "Sir Lawdron, is it? Yes, I thought I recognized you. Here to check in, are you?" The speaker lifted a piece of parchment and scribbled down Lawdron's name. "And you, Sir? I don't recognize you, I'm afraid. Old Sage Truthbearer's eyes don't work as well as they once did."
Lawdron opened his mouth, but the traveler cut him off. "I am not a paladin." Sage looked up. His two companions were also eying the traveler now. Obviously, they could not fathom what a non-paladin would be doing in the Barracks of the Silver Hand.
"Please, Sirs, if I may-" Lawdron began, but the paladin on Sage's left raised a gauntleted hand. Sage turned and looked at him. "What is it, Lord Uther?" He spoke.
"I know who this man is, and he lies. He is a paladin - though not of the Silver Hand."
Now everyone - even the traveler - was staring at Uther in curiosity. "Come now," said the paladin on Sage's right, who's name was Morte. "A paladin, but not of the Silver Hand? Whatever do you mean, Uther?"
Uther cleared his throat, indicating he had a story to tell. He closed his eyes and spoke.
"In the old days, generations before the news of the First War came to us, when Orcs and Ogres were still beings out of legend and myth, the first King of Lordaeron collected all the heroes and men of renown from the farthest corners of the realm, knighting them and christening them the Order of the Wolf, for at that time, the northwolves were the symbol of the King's coat of arms.
"For many years, the Order guarded the nations of Lordaeron, Gilneas, Stromgarde, Dalaran, Alterac and Kul Tiras from harm and danger. Every now and then, a hero would emerge who accomplished some great act of bravery or honor, and he would be inducted into the Order by the other knights, his family crest added to the list of knights who served the king. By the code of the Order, the firstborn son of each knight would be knighted as well, and thus the Order survived from age to age.
"Well, the years wore on, and the throne passed from king to king. The realm became a safer place to live, until one day, the king decreed that the dangers of the old world had vanished back into myth, and the knights were no longer needed to stand against them. The Order was disbanded, and the knights went home to look after their families. Years later, the survivors of Stormwind arrived on our shores, warning of the Horde that faced us, and a new Order was commissioned to turn the tides of darkness away: the Order of the Silver Hand."
"So you're saying," Morte interrupted, "that this man is one of the Wolf Knights?"
"Not exactly, although I don't doubt that's where he picked up the hammer. No," here Uther paused and looked at the traveler, "our visitor was a second son, and so by the code of the old Order, the line was broken. However, he is the only living heir of his family, since his older brother died in the Orc Wars, so the hammer belongs to him - and as our own Code says, 'with the hammer comes the knight.' So you see - you are looking at the only living member of the ancient Order of the Wolf, and a paladin in his own right." All eyes returned to the traveler.
"Well, good Knight, now that we know your history, might we know your name?" Sage peered at the man as he spoke, as if the very dust on his cloak fascinated him.
The traveler answered, but his own gaze was on Uther, not Sage.
"Perenolde," he said.
"Perenolde?" Morte's face was contorted in a combination of confusion and resentment. "Perenolde of Alterac? Perenolde, who sold out to the Horde?"
"The same," the traveler replied.
"I thought so," Lawdron murmured. Uther raised his eyebrows. "Oh, no," Lawdron said, catching Uther's gaze. "I didn't know all that about the Wolf Knights - I just saw the Alterac coat of arms engraved on his hammer." He reached out and lifted Perenolde's hammer so the others could see it. The dim light of the torches illuminated the ancient engraving of an eagle with four stars emblazoned on the head. "I says to myself, 'If the Lord of Alterac himself is prancing around, I better make sure Uther knows about it." As he spoke, he absently turned the hammer over so the other side of the head was visible. There, a wolf with a crown in its paws was carved into the granite. "That must be the Wolf Knights' sigil," Sage said softly.
"Am I the only one who finds it hard to believe that the sole representative of the oldest knighthood in the world just happens to be the greatest betrayer that the Alliance has ever known?" Morte's voice was furious.
"It is rather incredible, I know," Uther said to him. "I imagine I would doubt it myself if I did not know it to be true." He turned to face Perenolde again. "Tell me, old friend. Why have you returned?"
"To repay my debt," Perenolde replied.
"Your debt was repaid long ago, paladin. You have worked for nigh on a decade and a half to rebuild the lands the Horde destroyed. Whatever service you once owed the people of this land has long been balanced."
"Not my debt to them, Uther Lightbringer," Perenolde said. "My debt to you."
"To me? What debt do you owe me, paladin?"
"I am no paladin, Uther; just an old man with a hammer." He paused. "My debt to you is one I shall never be able to repay, for it is the debt of life. It was you who convinced the king to spare me the noose, and it was you who 'sentenced' me to live rebuilding my lands rather than die for them.
"I am here," he concluded, "to announce the end of my toils. Alterac, trampled by the Horde as a result of my... weakness, is rebuilt as beautiful as it ever was. My debt to my people is ended; my debt to you remains. I am here, therefore, to offer my services - my life, which I owe to you - to whatever venture you intend to pursue. Surely," he asked, "the great and powerful Lightbringer does not gather all of his knights together for a picnic?"
"No," Uther admitted, "it is far from that."
"Please," Sage interrupted, "let me tell him, since I can see you're going to anyway. You've done enough storytelling for one day." He cleared his throat and began.
"One of our most gifted Paladins has gone missing. Sir Frederick, Duke of the northern duchy of Wintermaul, disappeared on his way to Stratholme, where he was to investigate the extent of the plague in the region. The last message we received from Frederick was sent just before he entered the forest of Jherynn, west of Stratholme. He had been my student, so I asked Uther if I could go in after him, and assist him if necessary. He agreed and I departed at once with my two best knights, Sir Markus and Sir Burke.
"We reached the edge of the forest without incident, and made camp for the night at the edge of the trees. We had intended to rest up for our endeavor, but none of us slept that night. From nightfall until dawn, unnatural sounds echoed from the forest. In the morning, shaken and un- rested, we set off along the forest path.
"There, surrounded by the green and the shade, our spirits began to return. We called out for Sir Frederick, but no answer came. We continued farther along the forest path until we came to a place where the wide road had been sundered down the middle by the collapse of a giant tree. We agreed to split up and meet at the far end of the tree - Burke and Markus took the left side, and I the right.
"For a time, all was calm. We called back to one another from behind the tree, making pleasant conversation and calling out to Frederick as if we were still walking side by side. Then, all at once, I heard a pair of screams - Burke's and Markus'. I rushed to the end of the tree, for it was by then in sight, and doubled back to the place I had heard the screams. There, in the path, lay Frederick's warhammer, broken in half, with Markus' and Burke's weapons similarly crushed nearby. I looked all around, but I could find no trace of the bodies.
"I returned to Uther and told him what I had seen and heard, and his face grew grim. The loss of on fine knight is frightening enough, and three proved more than we alone could handle. Uther called for a Gar'Thon'Dalas - a great meeting of the Order. All of the Silver Hand, be they knight or squire, are to gather here in Rockdale to hear of what has transpired in the forests of Jherynn, and to offer thoughts of how to retrieve them - or avenge them, if it comes to that."
Morte spoke. "The Silver Hand arrives today, and the Gar'Thon'Dalas begins at sundown. Now, Uther," he said, without taking his eyes from Perenolde, "will this chap be joining us?"
Uther paused a moment, then said, "If he wishes. The Gar'Thon'Dalas, after all, means 'meeting of the knights', and whether he thinks so or not, our friend qualifies." He looked at Perenolde. "If you wish to be of service, I suggest you attend, Sir Perenolde. I can't say I blame you for wanting to help - after all, you do have the Knighthood in your blood.
"Besides," he finished, "it is awfully strange, you turning up at a time like this. Perhaps the fates believe you will be of use to us."
***
Perenolde gripped his hammer in mild annoyance. He had hoped, with his show of his hammer and support of Uther's tale, that he would be able to join the knights in their endeavor. He had, he admitted to himself, vaguely imagined riding at Uther's side through the country, slaughtering orcs or some similar enemy and performing minor miracles with the paladins, and winning back some of his banished honor.
He had not expected to sit here and listen to a bunch of paladins argue with one another.
"We can't deploy our forces until we know what it is we're up against," one paladin said.
"We won't know what we're up against until we deploy our forces!" another replied. Shouting broke out.
Perenolde sighed quietly, steeling himself against the boredom. If this is what Uther wants me to do, he thought, I guess I'll do it...
Suddenly, there was a low whistle - the scouts had seen someone approaching the camp. Everyone who had been talking and shouting stopped and listened. The sound of footsteps drew near, then stopped as their source reached the guards' post. There were the sounds of a struggle and then a woman's voice shouting.
"Uther! Uther Lightbringer!"
Uther stepped forward, just as the woman was dragged into view, kicking and protesting, by a pair of paladins. At a motion from Uther, the paladins let go and the woman ran towards the Lightbringer.
"Jaina? What is it? Where's Arthas?" At the mention of the young prince of Lordaeron, a snicker went up among the paladins. The crusading young prince who had so captivated the public eye was obviously not taken very seriously by his superiors, and it was well known that he and this girl, Jaina Proudmoore, had once been lovers.
"Arthas is in trouble! An army of the dead attacked our forces at Hearthglen. He sent me to find you."
"Hearthglen! Why, that's near where Frederick disappeared!" Uther turned to Sage Truthbearer, who was standing nearby. "Sage! I and my knights will ride with Miss Jaina to Hearthglen; we haven't got time to spare. You and the others rally the soldiers to follow us, and meet us there as soon as you can." Sage nodded and began shouting orders to the assembled paladins, many of whom protested loudly.
Uther turned back to Jaina. "Young lady, can you lead us to where Arthas was attacked?" The girl nodded. "Good. We'll need cavalry and footmen... Damnit! We haven't time!" He looked around at the few soldiers nearby. He pointed to several of them. "You, you and you. And you two. Get your horses and come with me. You and you..."
In the chaos of the moment, no one noticed the forgotten Perenolde walk quickly over to Uther's side. He had overheard everything said since the girl's appearance, and he was snow forcefully grabbing Uther's shoulder.
"Wha-" Uther turned, recognized who was shaking him, and opened his mouth to speak. Perenolde never gave him the chance to say no. "I'm coming with you." Uther looked as though he was going to protest, but, remembering the dire situation, decided the argument would take precious time. Instead, he nodded and went back to his recruiting. Moments later, a dozen knights, Uther, Jaina and Perenolde left the clearing of the Gar'Thon'Dalas of the Silver Hand.
They rode in silence, for there was nothing to be said. Now and again, Jaina would point or gesture which direction to take at some fork in the path, but no sound escaped anyone's lips as they trudged for a quarter of an hour through the wooded countryside.
As they neared what had been the village of Hearthglen, the sounds of battle and the smell of smoke reached them. They pressed on, and presently, the township came into view. The scene there wrenched Perenolde's stomach.
Everywhere the bodies of the dead littered the ground. In the center of the town square, a young man in a paladin's attire faced a vast army nearly by himself. The boy was surrounded by a myriad of horrid creatures. Some seemed to be hastily re-constructed collections of bone, others were immense monstrosities of skin and teeth that seemed to be sewn together from different corpses. There were men in black robes with helms of bone and tiny, creeping, impish things that devoured the corpses of the fallen. The buildings burned and clouds of noxious gases filled the air. Someone said, "Their numbers seem limitless." Maybe it was Arthas. Maybe it was Uther. Maybe it was Perenolde himself. He couldn't tell.
Next to Perenolde, Uther dug his heels into his steed. "For Lordaeron!" he cried. "For the King!" He charged ahead. Jaina, the knights and Perenolde followed.
"Uther!" Arthas cheered as they drew near. "Your timing couldn't have been better!"
"Easy, lad," the elder paladin retorted. "This battle is far from over."
As Perenolde watched, Uther circled wide around the attacking horde, swinging his warhammer angrily and removing the head of one of the larger abominations as he passed. Perenolde raised his own hammer to shield himself, but it was too late. The dead were upon him. Grimacing, he swatted one of tiny corpse-eaters on his right side, crushing its skull with a satisfying 'thwump' sound. He turned abruptly to repeat the process with another such creature on his left, but at that moment his horse gave a startling whimper and began to buckle. Perenolde looked down. A trio of the tiny creepers had attacked his mount's legs, and the beast was collapsing in a mixture of terror and pain.
As the horse crumpled to the earth, Perenolde threw himself from the saddle, landing a yard and a half away. Wiping the mud from his eyes, he looked around, instinctively reaching for his hammer. The creepers were scurrying towards him with hungry looks in their eyes. He had seen them devouring the dead - would they eat the living too? Deciding he didn't want to find out, Perenolde leapt to his legs, turned, and ran away as quickly as he could.
***
Though he doubted anyone had noticed, the traveler had been standing in the same spot, watching the paladins gather, since they had begun to arrive at daybreak. The traveler himself had only arrived two days before, having heard tales of the caravans moving in this direction and guessed at their destination. He had stood, his own hammer in hand, all morning, waiting for an opening to strike up a conversation with one of the knights and perhaps discern their venture. Unfortunately, the traveler was not a brilliant conversationalist, and in anyway, the paladins had been overly busy to spare a moment for some old traveler.
Then, suddenly, the traveler saw his opening. The village governor had stepped aside momentarily to address one of the peasants who had injured his leg working, and the paladin was, for the time being, alone. Without hesitation, the traveler crossed the King's Road and spoke. Though communication was, as mentioned, not his specialty, he had been planning the conversation since the first paladin had appeared, and therefore knew exactly what to say.
"Ho, good knight!" The paladin turned abruptly towards him.
"Ho, man. What is your name?"
"All in good time, Sir. I am but a simple traveler, after all. I am... curious as to the Silver Hand's business in Rockdale."
"I am afraid, good traveler, that our business is not any of yours. Until you see fit to tell me who you are - what's this?" The paladin had just noticed the ornate head on the traveler's warhammer. Unlike the knight's own hammer, which bore the simple emblem of the Silver Hand, the sigil on the traveler's hammer was a sort of family crest involving an eagle and four stars. The paladin gazed at it for several long moments before he recovered.
"Maybe I do know you after all," the knight said thoughtfully. Nearby, the peasants had finished their task, and the foot soldiers were eying the paladin and his companion warily. "Listen, friend. I am Sir Lawdron. Why don't you come down to the barracks with us?"
He paused, then said softly, "I have a feeling you know something of our business already."
***
The barracks structure was typical - a squat stone building with four corner towers and a portcullis, probably designed to look like a miniature citadel. Sir Lawdron led the traveler underneath the raised portcullis and down a short stairway. The stairway was probably the most ingenious part of the structure, for it enabled the soldiers of the barracks to be housed beneath the earth, where space was in abundance. The castle-like stone building above the ground would present a smaller target for enemy troops, while the subterranean chambers would allow the barracks to house an almost limitless number of troops since the sleeping areas could always be expanded into the earth to fit more occupants.
As they descended, the traveler was sure such renovations had taken place recently (probably to accommodate the paladins and their caravans), for the dimly lit cavern that surrounded him as he stepped down from the last stair extended far off into blackness. In the distance, the sounds of packs and axes could be heard intermingled with the shouted orders and acknowledgements of the soldiers and peasants.
They reached a wall suddenly - for the black-brown barriers were the same color as the dim fog of war that engulfed the cavern - and Lawdron felt along it for something. He quickly found his prize, the edge of a dirty- brown door, and he rapped several times upon it. Answered by a loud shout and a return knock, Lawdron gripped a tarnished brass knob and the door opened inwards.
The chamber they now entered was infinitely tinier than the exterior cavern; it seemed to be some sort of small office room, as it was lined with dirty shelves and dirtier books. Like the outside, the walls here were of dirt and stone, as were the floor and ceiling. The room was empty of occupants aside from a trio of paladins who had been conversing at the far end. These three now faced the newcomers with expressions of boredom.
The tallest of the three spoke. "Sir Lawdron, is it? Yes, I thought I recognized you. Here to check in, are you?" The speaker lifted a piece of parchment and scribbled down Lawdron's name. "And you, Sir? I don't recognize you, I'm afraid. Old Sage Truthbearer's eyes don't work as well as they once did."
Lawdron opened his mouth, but the traveler cut him off. "I am not a paladin." Sage looked up. His two companions were also eying the traveler now. Obviously, they could not fathom what a non-paladin would be doing in the Barracks of the Silver Hand.
"Please, Sirs, if I may-" Lawdron began, but the paladin on Sage's left raised a gauntleted hand. Sage turned and looked at him. "What is it, Lord Uther?" He spoke.
"I know who this man is, and he lies. He is a paladin - though not of the Silver Hand."
Now everyone - even the traveler - was staring at Uther in curiosity. "Come now," said the paladin on Sage's right, who's name was Morte. "A paladin, but not of the Silver Hand? Whatever do you mean, Uther?"
Uther cleared his throat, indicating he had a story to tell. He closed his eyes and spoke.
"In the old days, generations before the news of the First War came to us, when Orcs and Ogres were still beings out of legend and myth, the first King of Lordaeron collected all the heroes and men of renown from the farthest corners of the realm, knighting them and christening them the Order of the Wolf, for at that time, the northwolves were the symbol of the King's coat of arms.
"For many years, the Order guarded the nations of Lordaeron, Gilneas, Stromgarde, Dalaran, Alterac and Kul Tiras from harm and danger. Every now and then, a hero would emerge who accomplished some great act of bravery or honor, and he would be inducted into the Order by the other knights, his family crest added to the list of knights who served the king. By the code of the Order, the firstborn son of each knight would be knighted as well, and thus the Order survived from age to age.
"Well, the years wore on, and the throne passed from king to king. The realm became a safer place to live, until one day, the king decreed that the dangers of the old world had vanished back into myth, and the knights were no longer needed to stand against them. The Order was disbanded, and the knights went home to look after their families. Years later, the survivors of Stormwind arrived on our shores, warning of the Horde that faced us, and a new Order was commissioned to turn the tides of darkness away: the Order of the Silver Hand."
"So you're saying," Morte interrupted, "that this man is one of the Wolf Knights?"
"Not exactly, although I don't doubt that's where he picked up the hammer. No," here Uther paused and looked at the traveler, "our visitor was a second son, and so by the code of the old Order, the line was broken. However, he is the only living heir of his family, since his older brother died in the Orc Wars, so the hammer belongs to him - and as our own Code says, 'with the hammer comes the knight.' So you see - you are looking at the only living member of the ancient Order of the Wolf, and a paladin in his own right." All eyes returned to the traveler.
"Well, good Knight, now that we know your history, might we know your name?" Sage peered at the man as he spoke, as if the very dust on his cloak fascinated him.
The traveler answered, but his own gaze was on Uther, not Sage.
"Perenolde," he said.
"Perenolde?" Morte's face was contorted in a combination of confusion and resentment. "Perenolde of Alterac? Perenolde, who sold out to the Horde?"
"The same," the traveler replied.
"I thought so," Lawdron murmured. Uther raised his eyebrows. "Oh, no," Lawdron said, catching Uther's gaze. "I didn't know all that about the Wolf Knights - I just saw the Alterac coat of arms engraved on his hammer." He reached out and lifted Perenolde's hammer so the others could see it. The dim light of the torches illuminated the ancient engraving of an eagle with four stars emblazoned on the head. "I says to myself, 'If the Lord of Alterac himself is prancing around, I better make sure Uther knows about it." As he spoke, he absently turned the hammer over so the other side of the head was visible. There, a wolf with a crown in its paws was carved into the granite. "That must be the Wolf Knights' sigil," Sage said softly.
"Am I the only one who finds it hard to believe that the sole representative of the oldest knighthood in the world just happens to be the greatest betrayer that the Alliance has ever known?" Morte's voice was furious.
"It is rather incredible, I know," Uther said to him. "I imagine I would doubt it myself if I did not know it to be true." He turned to face Perenolde again. "Tell me, old friend. Why have you returned?"
"To repay my debt," Perenolde replied.
"Your debt was repaid long ago, paladin. You have worked for nigh on a decade and a half to rebuild the lands the Horde destroyed. Whatever service you once owed the people of this land has long been balanced."
"Not my debt to them, Uther Lightbringer," Perenolde said. "My debt to you."
"To me? What debt do you owe me, paladin?"
"I am no paladin, Uther; just an old man with a hammer." He paused. "My debt to you is one I shall never be able to repay, for it is the debt of life. It was you who convinced the king to spare me the noose, and it was you who 'sentenced' me to live rebuilding my lands rather than die for them.
"I am here," he concluded, "to announce the end of my toils. Alterac, trampled by the Horde as a result of my... weakness, is rebuilt as beautiful as it ever was. My debt to my people is ended; my debt to you remains. I am here, therefore, to offer my services - my life, which I owe to you - to whatever venture you intend to pursue. Surely," he asked, "the great and powerful Lightbringer does not gather all of his knights together for a picnic?"
"No," Uther admitted, "it is far from that."
"Please," Sage interrupted, "let me tell him, since I can see you're going to anyway. You've done enough storytelling for one day." He cleared his throat and began.
"One of our most gifted Paladins has gone missing. Sir Frederick, Duke of the northern duchy of Wintermaul, disappeared on his way to Stratholme, where he was to investigate the extent of the plague in the region. The last message we received from Frederick was sent just before he entered the forest of Jherynn, west of Stratholme. He had been my student, so I asked Uther if I could go in after him, and assist him if necessary. He agreed and I departed at once with my two best knights, Sir Markus and Sir Burke.
"We reached the edge of the forest without incident, and made camp for the night at the edge of the trees. We had intended to rest up for our endeavor, but none of us slept that night. From nightfall until dawn, unnatural sounds echoed from the forest. In the morning, shaken and un- rested, we set off along the forest path.
"There, surrounded by the green and the shade, our spirits began to return. We called out for Sir Frederick, but no answer came. We continued farther along the forest path until we came to a place where the wide road had been sundered down the middle by the collapse of a giant tree. We agreed to split up and meet at the far end of the tree - Burke and Markus took the left side, and I the right.
"For a time, all was calm. We called back to one another from behind the tree, making pleasant conversation and calling out to Frederick as if we were still walking side by side. Then, all at once, I heard a pair of screams - Burke's and Markus'. I rushed to the end of the tree, for it was by then in sight, and doubled back to the place I had heard the screams. There, in the path, lay Frederick's warhammer, broken in half, with Markus' and Burke's weapons similarly crushed nearby. I looked all around, but I could find no trace of the bodies.
"I returned to Uther and told him what I had seen and heard, and his face grew grim. The loss of on fine knight is frightening enough, and three proved more than we alone could handle. Uther called for a Gar'Thon'Dalas - a great meeting of the Order. All of the Silver Hand, be they knight or squire, are to gather here in Rockdale to hear of what has transpired in the forests of Jherynn, and to offer thoughts of how to retrieve them - or avenge them, if it comes to that."
Morte spoke. "The Silver Hand arrives today, and the Gar'Thon'Dalas begins at sundown. Now, Uther," he said, without taking his eyes from Perenolde, "will this chap be joining us?"
Uther paused a moment, then said, "If he wishes. The Gar'Thon'Dalas, after all, means 'meeting of the knights', and whether he thinks so or not, our friend qualifies." He looked at Perenolde. "If you wish to be of service, I suggest you attend, Sir Perenolde. I can't say I blame you for wanting to help - after all, you do have the Knighthood in your blood.
"Besides," he finished, "it is awfully strange, you turning up at a time like this. Perhaps the fates believe you will be of use to us."
***
Perenolde gripped his hammer in mild annoyance. He had hoped, with his show of his hammer and support of Uther's tale, that he would be able to join the knights in their endeavor. He had, he admitted to himself, vaguely imagined riding at Uther's side through the country, slaughtering orcs or some similar enemy and performing minor miracles with the paladins, and winning back some of his banished honor.
He had not expected to sit here and listen to a bunch of paladins argue with one another.
"We can't deploy our forces until we know what it is we're up against," one paladin said.
"We won't know what we're up against until we deploy our forces!" another replied. Shouting broke out.
Perenolde sighed quietly, steeling himself against the boredom. If this is what Uther wants me to do, he thought, I guess I'll do it...
Suddenly, there was a low whistle - the scouts had seen someone approaching the camp. Everyone who had been talking and shouting stopped and listened. The sound of footsteps drew near, then stopped as their source reached the guards' post. There were the sounds of a struggle and then a woman's voice shouting.
"Uther! Uther Lightbringer!"
Uther stepped forward, just as the woman was dragged into view, kicking and protesting, by a pair of paladins. At a motion from Uther, the paladins let go and the woman ran towards the Lightbringer.
"Jaina? What is it? Where's Arthas?" At the mention of the young prince of Lordaeron, a snicker went up among the paladins. The crusading young prince who had so captivated the public eye was obviously not taken very seriously by his superiors, and it was well known that he and this girl, Jaina Proudmoore, had once been lovers.
"Arthas is in trouble! An army of the dead attacked our forces at Hearthglen. He sent me to find you."
"Hearthglen! Why, that's near where Frederick disappeared!" Uther turned to Sage Truthbearer, who was standing nearby. "Sage! I and my knights will ride with Miss Jaina to Hearthglen; we haven't got time to spare. You and the others rally the soldiers to follow us, and meet us there as soon as you can." Sage nodded and began shouting orders to the assembled paladins, many of whom protested loudly.
Uther turned back to Jaina. "Young lady, can you lead us to where Arthas was attacked?" The girl nodded. "Good. We'll need cavalry and footmen... Damnit! We haven't time!" He looked around at the few soldiers nearby. He pointed to several of them. "You, you and you. And you two. Get your horses and come with me. You and you..."
In the chaos of the moment, no one noticed the forgotten Perenolde walk quickly over to Uther's side. He had overheard everything said since the girl's appearance, and he was snow forcefully grabbing Uther's shoulder.
"Wha-" Uther turned, recognized who was shaking him, and opened his mouth to speak. Perenolde never gave him the chance to say no. "I'm coming with you." Uther looked as though he was going to protest, but, remembering the dire situation, decided the argument would take precious time. Instead, he nodded and went back to his recruiting. Moments later, a dozen knights, Uther, Jaina and Perenolde left the clearing of the Gar'Thon'Dalas of the Silver Hand.
They rode in silence, for there was nothing to be said. Now and again, Jaina would point or gesture which direction to take at some fork in the path, but no sound escaped anyone's lips as they trudged for a quarter of an hour through the wooded countryside.
As they neared what had been the village of Hearthglen, the sounds of battle and the smell of smoke reached them. They pressed on, and presently, the township came into view. The scene there wrenched Perenolde's stomach.
Everywhere the bodies of the dead littered the ground. In the center of the town square, a young man in a paladin's attire faced a vast army nearly by himself. The boy was surrounded by a myriad of horrid creatures. Some seemed to be hastily re-constructed collections of bone, others were immense monstrosities of skin and teeth that seemed to be sewn together from different corpses. There were men in black robes with helms of bone and tiny, creeping, impish things that devoured the corpses of the fallen. The buildings burned and clouds of noxious gases filled the air. Someone said, "Their numbers seem limitless." Maybe it was Arthas. Maybe it was Uther. Maybe it was Perenolde himself. He couldn't tell.
Next to Perenolde, Uther dug his heels into his steed. "For Lordaeron!" he cried. "For the King!" He charged ahead. Jaina, the knights and Perenolde followed.
"Uther!" Arthas cheered as they drew near. "Your timing couldn't have been better!"
"Easy, lad," the elder paladin retorted. "This battle is far from over."
As Perenolde watched, Uther circled wide around the attacking horde, swinging his warhammer angrily and removing the head of one of the larger abominations as he passed. Perenolde raised his own hammer to shield himself, but it was too late. The dead were upon him. Grimacing, he swatted one of tiny corpse-eaters on his right side, crushing its skull with a satisfying 'thwump' sound. He turned abruptly to repeat the process with another such creature on his left, but at that moment his horse gave a startling whimper and began to buckle. Perenolde looked down. A trio of the tiny creepers had attacked his mount's legs, and the beast was collapsing in a mixture of terror and pain.
As the horse crumpled to the earth, Perenolde threw himself from the saddle, landing a yard and a half away. Wiping the mud from his eyes, he looked around, instinctively reaching for his hammer. The creepers were scurrying towards him with hungry looks in their eyes. He had seen them devouring the dead - would they eat the living too? Deciding he didn't want to find out, Perenolde leapt to his legs, turned, and ran away as quickly as he could.
***