Chapter Four: Grand Hamlet
Arthas Menethil had been having a truly miserable time.
He'd been jerked away from home more suddenly than he'd hoped, and while the journey had been nice, he'd had no rest. Llane's assignment had exhausted him, and he'd been terrified he'd botch things up. It had been all he could do to keep things together, and calling out Bolvar had been a mistake.
He only hoped it would be forgotten.
Now he was walking without a command or any escort other than monks. Archbishop Faol asked him many questions. Each one was meant well, but they always focused on the living conditions in Lordaeron. They walked on a fine road that could never have been built in Lordaeron, away from Stonewind Keep.
When he had first seen it, Arthas had been awestruck by it. The sheer size and clean nature made it seem like something out of a story. Soldiers with shining mail and long spears stood guard, and King Llane had amazed him. Only for him to be immediately chagrined for doing what he had been told to do.
Now the sword beneath his monk's robes bit at him.
"So, tell me of this religion in Lordaeron?" asked Faol.
"The Holy Light?" asked Arthas. "Well, the basic idea is that the light is an energy field rather than a person. A person has flaws and traits. But we cannot imagine any person who would be able to relate to everyone in the world.
"The light conforms to those who worship it and lead them from their own angle to righteousness. It is based around a kind of mutual respect between all people, but only so far as they do not harm others. Though that's an oversimplification."
"Very nice," said Faol diplomatically.
"Thank you," said Arthas, hiding his irritation.
"Have you considered that persons your purpose in coming here is greater understanding?" asked Faol. "Or what you call the light?"
So he had initiated this conversation simply to convert Arthas. Best to play along and use the relationship to advance the interests of Lordaeron. "Not until this moment."
"Uther once thought as you did," said Faol. "He is holding to some of those old notions, I believe they came from the High Elves, you know. But he is among the best of the monks of your order, so the ideology has taught good students."
"Uther is a good man," said Arthas. "Some say the light worship originated with the trolls. But it was the humans who truly sought to use it."
"Perhaps, but you must understand, this concept of light you have is not the real God," said Faol. "The real God is personal in nature; how else could he have created the universe?"
"Yes, Archbishop," said Arthas. Just let him believe whatever he willed, Archbishop Faol seemed to assume what he wanted to see.
Grand Hamlet was much larger than Northshire. It was the central town of a series of armed villages. It had no walls, but the river protected it, and the only way across was by two bridges. One was some ways downstream and guarded by a force of knights. The other was closer at hand and had a more mixed force.
Arthas was pleased to see that many within the forces were bearing spears and shields and leather. They stood guard alongside the armed men. It looked like the men within were preparing for battle. Perhaps he'd have the chance to lead an army and put some of his training to use.
Uther was there, tending to an injured beggar, wrapping his wounds.
"Uther, all going well, I hope?" asked Faol after he finished.
"Well enough, Archbishop," said Uther. "Who is this?"
"This is a young boy interested in serving you," said Faol. "He does not yet have holy orders, but I ask that you take him under your wing.
"His name is Turylyon."
Turylyon?
Arthas was to be introduced under an alias?! This was terrible! Uther might not even recognize him. But he kept such thoughts to himself. Uther looked to him, and there was recognition. "As you wish.
"It's good timing you came here. We're about to face a battle, and that means things will get bad." Then taking up a package of cloaks, he handed them to Arthas. "If you're feeling up to it, I need you to distribute these cloaks to the soldiers near the bridges. Can you see them?"
"Of course, Uther," said Arthas. "Don't worry about me."
Uther nodded. "Then head for it. Hurry off, it'll rain soon, and they could catch a cold without it."
Uther was right.
Clouds were gathering overhead, and Arthas moved as quick as he could toward the first bridge. Moving as quickly as he could, he got to them as the clouds gathered. A man with a black beard and a mustache was waiting. He looked up. "What are you doing here, boy?
"Is that for us?"
"Uther from the Church of Light is sending these cloaks over to you," said Arthas, offering it. "He's afraid you might catch cold."
"Well that's kind of him," said the man somewhat snidely. "Ours have gotten a bit ragged with all the fighting and carnage. They say the war has been going badly.
"Not enough men with real steel."
"Hasn't Lord Lothar won only victories?" asked Arthas, surprised.
"Yes, but the orcs numbers are limitless," said the man, taking the passage and handing out cloak. Many men put them over the ones they already had. "We've been taking a defensive location to bleed them out. But they seem to be only sending inexperienced and weak warriors against us.
"The orcs are up to something."
"Could they be trying to cross the river?" asked Arthas. "By boat?"
The man paused and adjusted an axe. "Perhaps.
"But they've no skill with boats. They'd have to steal them somehow or get someone else to make them. And it'd have to be by night."
"Perhaps you could keep a watch," said Arthas.
"I may," said the man. "Though if they attack the bridge at the same time we won't be able to do anything. It'll have to be up to the militia of Grand Hamlet."
Arthas nodded. "Well, light keep you, Sir..."
"Garithos," said the man with a smile. "Us humans have to stick together." And he ruffled his hair.
Arthas smiled and hurried off.
He seemed nice.
Hurrying back, he got to Uther, who was speaking to several more monks and directing them. Looking up, he moved up as Arthas came forward. "Done, they've got the cloaks."
"Good," said Uther. "Do it for the other bridge. And be quick; rain is coming."
Arthas nodded and grabbed them before hurrying back toward the bridge. Before he got there, it began to rain heavily, and he hurried there. He arrived, soaked to the bone with a package sealed. "Excuse me; I have new cloaks for you men from-"
"Took your sweet time, did you brat!" said the footman. "We've endured at least three storms in these rags! Hand them over!"
"Yes, sir," said Arthas.
"Now get out of my sight. Some of us have the will to fight for this land," said the footman.
Arthas moved off. He decided to not hold it against the man. For one thing, the man had no idea who he was, and he looked to have been in a very bad temper. But the rain got worse, and he began to feel very cold. Pumping his legs and rubbing his hands together beneath the monk's robes. He wished he'd had a cloak for himself.
At that point, a golden-haired, pretty girl hurried out of nowhere. "Please, you have to help. There's a cat caught up a tree, and he can't get down.
"In this storm, he might freeze."
Arthas put aside the obvious question. What was a girl with aristocratic features was doing here? Her cloak didn't seem drenched at all. So it was magical. "Fine, lead me to him."
She did, and he saw the miserable, wretched creature hissing toward the back of a branch. The leaves were rustling, and Arthas scaled up the tree. He slipped, bumped his knee, and fell back before trying again. He got up the branch this time, and the creature immediately began to scratch at him. Struggling to hold on, he caught a paw, only to be bitten.
Screaming in anger, Arthas pulled away, grabbed it by the scruff of the neck, and leaped down. Landing on his feet, he fell to his knees into the mud, got up, and moved over to her. The cat scratched at him, and he shoved it into her arms.
"Here it is," said Arthas. "Get it to put down."
"It's not my cat," said the girl, dropping it. "I uh... I just didn't want it freezing to death."
Arthas walked toward town while she walked with him. "Am I understand that this miserable sequence of events was done on an offhand whim?"
"Well, it started raining after I started looking," said the girl. "I'm Jaina."
"Have it your way," said Arthas.
"Hey, could you help us out here?!" called a voice. "We've got supplies for the front, and our wheel is trapped in mud."
"I'll be right there," said Arthas. "Jaina, I need your help with this.
"We need everyone we can get."
"I can't push a wagon!" said Jaina.
"Go home then," said Arthas, going toward it.
Jaina hurried after him, and soon they joined the people in trying to move the wagon in the mud. The road here was badly in need of repair, with many cobblestones having been stolen. They did their best to keep going, but it got worse and worse, and you hardly see ahead of you. A man with a lantern kept them going, and the river to one side was swirling.
"Do you need help?" called a voice out of the fog.
"As much as you can give us," said Arthas. "The roads here have completely fallen apart. They're all mud and need repair."
"Let's go," said the voice.
Arthas was then surprised to find Bolvar Foredragon and a boy his age with dark hair showing up. He wore two swords at his sides.
"No escape for any of us, eh?" asked Bolvar ruefully as they began to push.
"Yes, I feel I should apologize for that," said Arthas.
"I had no idea you'd taken me literally," said Bolvar. "Our reports were that you'd gotten your horse killed and had no training at swordplay. The six farms and a barracks were not to be taken literally."
"You mean you actually built six farms and a barracks?" asked the boy. "I spent a month trying to figure out how to do it. How?"
"Well, I just asked the refugees for help in the name of the King," said Arthas. "They know their work well enough."
"What I want to know is why people are stealing bricks from the roads," said Jaina. "These supplies are important."
"Why is a girl working?" asked the boy. He didn't know, did he?
"Would you prefer the orcs to get all this?" asked Arthas. "There's no guard for these caravans. They must have either been sent elsewhere or been short-staffed. All they have to do is catch us, and we'll be done."
"Orcs don't come over the river," said Bolvar. "War is a game to them. I don't think they have much value for gold or jewels. And they keep attacking."
"Well," said Arthas. "What if they get sick of losing?
"If I were an orc, I'd want to cross this river by boat. Either by stealing or having boats built. Forest trolls are decent waterers, and there are ways to build fords."
Eventually, they got to Grand Hamlet. They came in to find Uther unloading cargo from other supplies. Beneath the covers were many spears and supplies. At once, he motioned to other monks who came forward.
"Dry yourselves," said a monk. "We shall unload these."
And they hurried indoors. Here they drank hot drinks and changed their clothes, though Arthas did it so as not to show his sword and clothing.
"Prince Varian Wrynn, the men and I are honored by your presence," said Uther in exhaustion.
Arthas looked to Varian and decided to say nothing.
"We managed to find your lost cargo," said Bolvar. "The Prince insisted."
"And I'm sure it will do great good if the orcs don't take this place," said Uther. "Our scouts have reported orc spies at the riverbank. Which means they are likely to come over the river in force soon. They were checking our numbers." He looked to Arthas. "Turylyon, what news?"
"The cloaks have been handed out per your instructions Uther," said Arthas. "I was delayed helping a cat out of a tree and other things. Then we ran into the wagon, and things started to go badly.
"We'd likely still be pushing it if the Prince had arrived."
"What is your connection to Prince Arthas?" asked Varian.
Arthas looked to Bolvar and then back to Varian. "The Lordaeron Royal family does not have many knights. The civil war that ripped my land apart decades ago killed many of the knights. The starvation made things even worse.
"Graymane expected to hand out positions and land to his own men. But Uther and King Terenas stopped him cold. The King convinced Trollbane there was nothing to gain by conquering us. And Uther simply defeated Graymane outright with a militia.
"However, Lordaeron is effectively run by appointed officials because of this. There are very few noble families who can be appointed. King Terenas and Prince Arthas appoint purely by meritocracy.
"Prince Arthas' two chief lieutenants were both of peasant stock. However, he could rely on them, and he did not trust his security to the competition. Aedalas Blackmoore's family has a checkered reputation and had already betrayed one king."
"That's how you did it," said Bolvar. "Those two couldn't explain the meaning of the code because they had no noble history. And they knew a thing or two about farming, so they were the perfect choice."
"The light works in mysterious ways," said Arthas. "Where's Jaina?"
"Here," said Jaina, reading to one side.
"But how are you connected to Prince Arthas?" asked Varian.
"Prince Arthas needs to prove himself worthy of his crown," said Arthas. "His position is unstable. With Falric and Marywynn, I was put into play to assist Archbishop Faol. Happily, this led to reuniting with Uther, which is, of course, what this is all about."
Silence.
They had a hot meal but spoke little. Eventually, Uther tapped Arthas on the shoulder. "...Turylyon, I have more jobs for you."
"You're joking," said Arthas.
"Well, your usual reward for a good deed is being handed another more dangerous one later," said Uther. "The communications center over there is having some major problems. They could use another hand."
"I'll get to work at once," said Arthas.
"I'll go as well," said Jaina. "I've got some experience with that sort of thing."
Bolvar was outside, inspecting a newly arrived group of soldiers. They stood in formation.
Looking about, Arthas saw them standing very still in leather and caps. Shields were at their sides as well.
"My compliments to you, Lord Uther," said Bolvar. "These men are extremely well drilled for the time they have been operating."
"It was not I who drilled them," said Uther. "Most have come from Moonbrook or people who sent them out. King Llane has had it rebuilt into a farming community."
"What are you staring at, boy? You've got work to do?" asked a man at the communication center. "We can't lounge around, there's a war on, and King Llane is counting on us. Leaves royal business to royals."
"Of course," said Arthas. "Uther said you needed another hand?"
He entered into a place with a lot of lessers all over the place with several people trying to organize them. There were a series of baskets by the desk.
"Take these baskets over to that desk and keep on doing it until there are no more," said the man.
"What are they?"
"Letters that get sent out between different villages," said the man. "King Llane relies on good communications to keep things operating. It was devised by Sir Lothar, though Medivh didn't think it worthwhile.
"That was years ago in better days."
"Fine," said Arthas.
"Sounds good," said Jaina.
It turned out that the process was mind-numbingly dull. Jaina quickly got herself a job sorting through letters. Meanwhile, Arthas carried one basket after another to various places. By the time he got back, they'd been emptied, and he had to take the baskets back. They were heavy, and he had no idea what was in the letters.
But someone would take them out down and give them to runners who showed up very regularly. Arthas began to wonder if Grand Hamlet was not much more important than it seemed. If this place fell, the communications would be shut down. All the orders being sent out would never arrive.
"This place is important," said Arthas.
"What do you mean?" asked Jaina.
"Grand Hamlet has all these messages," said Arthas. "Imagine if all of them burned up."
"They could relocate to Stonewind," said Jaina.
"It doesn't work that way, Jaina," said Arthas. "When you relocate somewhere else, you lose all your connections. You have to figure out new maps.
"If Llane is relying on these communications, then losing Grand Hamlet could be the end of the war. Not without intervention, and it would be a crippling blow. We cannot lose this place."
And then came the ringing of bells.
They tolled and tolled, and Arthas looked outwards. Putting down the basket, he moved to the window and opened the door. The militia were moving off toward the bridges at once.
Bolvar and Varian were heading toward Garithos. Uther was with the other. Arthas could see orcs, three columns under the starry sky, coming toward them now. One against the right bridge, one against the left, and the last toward...
Boats.
Boats had been mored on the shore, and the green-skinned brutes were getting into them. Arthas could seem by the light of the three moons. And something told him these things were much more intelligent than anyone had let on.
"Damn it," said Arthas. "They're not coming by bridge." And snatching up a sledgehammer lying to one side, he raised it. "To arms my brothers! Prepare to defend Grand Hamlet!"
"With what?" said one.
"Anything!" said Arthas. "Take up axe and shield, or plow hook or knife. Throw stones or wield sticks and shout harsh language.
"We must put up a fight!" But the people didn't get it.
"Arthas," said Jaina. "You can't just-"
"The orcs will murder your children," said Arthas. "They'll ravage your women and put the flame to your homes! We have to take action or all of us will die!"
"No," said Jaina. "We've got to meet them when they cross the river. If we catch them there, could drive them into the water.
"My Father has fought in battles in Kul'Tiras. Driving an enemy into the sea is a good move."
"It's worth a try," said Arthas. "Take up torches and anything else you have and prepare to catch them as they cross! If Grand Hamlet falls, the war is lost!"
"Arthas, you can't-" began Jaina.
"Slay the orcs," said a man, drawing his knife. "Slay them all!"
And the people gathered with the few guards, lighting torches and drawing weapons. Arthas led them on, carrying the hammer aloft. He guessed it would be better against the orcs than the sword, which was shorter.
They saw the boat docking and the orcs coming off. They looked like shadowy monsters, wolves in human form in the darkness. Yet Arthas wondered if they might be capable of good. Even as they did, however, Arthas descended, raising his axe. The orcs looked up in surprise and evidently had not expected to resist, let alone attack.
They drew their weapons, and then the townsfolk were on them, slashing wildly.
"Light," said Arthas. "Give me strength."
He swung his hammer, and moving it took an immense effort. The swing met an orc hammer and shattered it. Arthas staggered back as the orc fell, and then he brought it down to cleave the skull. The face caved in, and blood was everywhere. More orcs were coming off the boats now, and one was hurling a spear.
Dropping the hammer, he drew his sword from beneath his robes. It caught on his rope belt, and an orc swung an axe. Falling back, Arthas tore the blade through the robe and hewed at his enemy's foot. The orc screamed in agony as the foot came off as Arthas stood and slashed his throat. Blood spewed over him, and Arthas saw an orc raising a sword to kill a villager. Striking two-handed, Arthas hewed off the hands of the creature. Turning to see another targetting him, he stepped aside and slashed an artery. Two more were coming at him, so he leaped forward and stabbed once in the foot. Turning, he cut another's tendon, then rose up.
"Light, guide my path," said Arthas.
Villagers came forward to kill them while they were helpless. Others swung their flames. Others stabbed with pitchforks, bearing down the larger warriors to hit with stones. But the element of surprise was dying. Arthas saw a villager lose their head and another stabbed. Another was cleaved in two, and they were wavering.
"Retreat!" cried Arthas. "Retreat!"
Then seeing an orc trying to bar the way, he raced forward and ducked under their scimitar. Then he plunged it into the stomach. He felt a sharp pain on his brow as he ran him through before rising up and drawing his sword out. Another orc was scaling up the hill with blood on his mind while the villagers fled.
Using his momentum, Arthas rushed forward and leaped to clash swords. The orc lost his footing and slipped down into the blood-drenched beast. They fell over one another, and Arthas' blade was driven into his heart. Drawing it out, he was grabbed but lashed out and cut off the limb before disengaging. Stones began to fall from the hillside down onto the boasts as even more orcs came onto the shore. These ones were armored and experienced warriors. As the vanguard fell, they raised shields.
Blood was dripping down Arthas' face, and he was gasping for air.
They had only prolonged the inevitable. The stones were doing less and less. Several more orcs fell, but they'd lost two peasants for every orc they'd slain. Looking to the bridges, Arthas saw they were holding. Garithos and Bolvar were at the front of the guard, hewing down orcs as they came. Uther, too was fighting well against an unending tide of lesser orcs.
But this was only a feint.
A feint was strong enough to engage their full force.
An orc rushed at Arthas, armored, and he backed away, motioning for the villagers to flee. They stabbed at him, and he moved aside, but his blow slid off their armor. He nearly lost his head to a counter-attack. Seeing his hammer, he leaped back and stabbed the blade into the ground. Rolling forward, he grasped the hammer.
His enemy saw an opportunity and went at him.
Swinging the hammer around, Arthas brought it down to meet the shield. The blow jarred his hands, but it sent his enemy falling. Stumbling forward, Arthas brought down the hammer and knocked it away. It fell from his hands, but as the orc strove to rise, Arthas leaped forward. Then he grabbed a knife before cutting his throat.
Guessing an orc would be on him, he drew the knife and hurled it toward his enemy. By the light or mere chance, he caught one in the throat.
So, their armor was weak at the throat.
Now they were all coming at him, so he went for his sword. As they came at him as one, he leaped forward between the leader's legs. Swinging upward, he cleaved his tendon, then rose and stabbed through the throat of the armor. The orcs were turning, but they were tightly packed and clumsy. So grabbing the one, he'd cut the tendon off, he pulled him back as their blows rained down.
Arthas focused, desperately trying to stay conscious as the body fell on him. It was hit with blows meant for him, and he spat blood. But he lashed out wildly with his sword and hit the foot of his enemy. Crawling out in agony, he stumbled away from the fray, coughing and spitting blood. Nearby, he saw a spear but could not reach it.
Falling to one side, he let himself fall silent. Let them think he was dead. Controlling his breathing, he saw an orc coming near, a knife in hand, mutilating the dead then? Kneeling with an evil expression, it reached down-
And Arthas stabbed it through the throat. Drawing out the sword, he drew it back. Now the orcs came at him with a roar of rage, and he'd fallen to his knees. He could not withstand them or evade them, but he loosened his cloak and hurled it onto the leader. The leader fumbled, and the others bumped into him. As they stood in confusion, Arthas snatched up a spear and raced forward with a roar.
The spear plunged through the throat of the one next to the leader. Another orc shoved the leader down to get at him. But Arthas fell in exhaustion, every inch hurting, and the blade overshot him. Swinging his blade wildly, he caught his enemy in the face, and he fell back screaming. By now, the cloak had been torn away, and the orc pulled himself up and roared savagely.
Arthas stood up, taking a stance while the orc took none.
It came at him, the sum of all the rage and hatred in the world. It's axe fell, and Arthas roared in turn, pouring all his rage into a final strike. The blow met, and axe and sword shattered in hands. Arthas fell back, but his enemy was stronger and reached out to grasp his throat. A dagger should have served better; it had one.
His blade hilt fell to one side. It had been a gift given by his Father, and it was broken.
But the hilt would serve.
As his enemy reached to choke him, Arthas snatched the hilt and slashed. And he cut off several fingers. His enemy screamed in agony before grasping a fallen axe with the other, its hand too pained to use. Arthas' entire body was burning with agony, and he could hardly move.
Yet he saw a fallen spear.
Grasping it, he brought it up as his enemy fell forward. The orc screamed as it impaled itself on the spear. The axe fell from its hand, and it reached forward for him with bloody fingers.
It pulled itself along the spear, and Arthas gasped. He could not throw the spear away, and the orc had not yet remembered the dagger. But it was, and it was reaching for it.
Snatching the blade from its belt, Arthas got it in the throat. The blood poured over him as he shoved the orc away. His vision was fading, his body was exhausted and wounded, and he could hardly stand. Yet limbing forward toward his hammer, Arthas snatched it up and turned to the orcs. They had stopped crossing for only a moment to stare in awe.
"I stand for the light!" roared Arthas. "I shall not fall!"
Yet it was not enough.
It was only a moment, and the orcs rushed forward, and Arthas knew he was out of time. Fleeing up the slope as quick as he could, he found Grand Hamlet and people fleeing. But Jaina was setting up wood and oil and had created a line of spears. Those who had helped her were already fleeing.
Arthas leaped forward, and Jaina tossed him a green potion.
"That should heal you," said Jaina. "Quick."
Arthas drank it as Jaina lit the wood. A wall of flame arose, barring the path to Grand Hamlet. But it didn't last long; the orcs brought forth the dead to pile them on. Arthas drank the potion and was healed, and Jaina drew out two crossbows. Handing one to him, she tried to fire one.
"Let me," said Arthas. "I've hunted. You reload."
And he fired a bolt to catch an orc in the throat. Then he fired the other and hit again before Jaina gave him the newly reloaded one a bit later. It slowed them down, and he claimed quiet after a few orcs. The bridges continued to fight, and Arthas could see Varian wielding two swords to fight with his men. He was cutting down an orc while Bolvar covered him.
"Where did you find these?" asked Arthas.
"My Father gave one to me and forgot his in his room," said Jaina.
Arthas shot another in the heart, panting in exhaustion. And then they were out of bolts, and something changed. The stench of carrion was in the air, and the smoke could not disguise it. He felt an icy feeling in his heart. By now, the fires were completely beaten out.
"Jaina," said Arthas. "I'll stay here and protect the village. Go and get somewhere safe."
"I'm not leaving you out here," said Jaina. Then she halted. "Look! Corpses are walking!"
Arthas looked up and stared. Hordes of orcs and humans once dead were moving forward. They began to force their way through the spears, breaking them apart. Grasping his hammer, Arthas stood up. The bridges were holding, but barely. The tide was slackening, but it did not matter because Grand Hamlet had to hold.
"You know," said Jaina. "I don't think anyone could reasonably expect us to keep doing this."
"Speak for yourself," Arthas laughed. "It isn't easy being a Prince!"
And then he charged at the corpses, swinging his hammer beneath the light of the fading stars. His bloodied hair flew around him as he smashed a zombie to the ground, where it lay still. Another blow crushed another zombie, and they converged on him in great numbers.
Yet they were mindless and slow. Ceding ground and moving, he slashed down one after another. Some threatened to envelop him, but Jaina leaped beside him with two flaming brands. She swung them around wildly and beat off the undead long enough for him to help her. They fought and fought, cutting down the ghosts of those who had been killed while drawing back.
Soon the bodies lay around them, even as the orcs finished putting out the flames. Many rushed forward, pushing past the dead. Jaina hurled a brand at the leader, who knocked it aside and went for her. Arthas got him in the back, moved aside from an axe blow, and got another.
Jaina grabbed the brassiere she had snatched the brands from and upset it. It sent redhot coals into the path of the enemy. Arthas stepped behind it as the orcs had to go around. One more he got, as the undead were set aflame walking. Now they were being driven back toward the town hall.
"For the Light!" cried a voice. "For Azeroth!"
And then came the knights of King Llane, riding like so many heavenly angels to ride down the orcs and undead. So focused had they been on Arthas that they had no preparations. And clustered, they were driven in by a legion of knights. Llane himself was at the front, Lothar at his side as they cleaved their way through the hordes. Not one knight fell into the traps set by Jaina, moving over to cut them down and drive them into the river.
Arthas wanted to say something, anything. But there was no one to say it to, and no one addressed him. So he sat down at the doorstep of a home and just stared into space, covered in blood and gore.
"What happened here, boy," said Lothar.
Arthas tried to speak but couldn't.
"Turylyon he..." said a man. "He saw the orcs crossing by river, and he said if we didn't hold Grand Hamlet, the war would be lost. So he rallied us to attack them as they crossed.
"I saw him kill at least a dozen orcs. He was first in the attack and last to retreat, covering us the whole way. Even when they pursued us back to Grand Hamlet, he and Jaina here held their ground against them alone."
"Damn it," said Lothar. "Why did you go along with this?
"Llane's orders were that villagers should flee, not engage the orcs directly."
Arthas could have talked back, but he chose not to. "Both bridges were engaged. All our forces were committed. The orcs were landing in ships.
"Who else could have stopped them?"
Lothar looked around. "...We will not speak of this here, Prince Arthas. You should both come with us, you as well, Lady Proudmoore."
"Jaina Proudmoore?" asked Arthas. "Oh, I see. Let's go."
The command pavilion was past several rows of wounded men. Monks were tending to them. It seemed that the men of Stormwind pulled their wounded back for healing. While the orcs simply pushed them forward. When they got into the tent, Arthas moved forward in exhaustion.
Everyone was silent. All of the commanders were there, and also Uther and the one who'd snarked at him earlier. Arthas nodded to him, and the man blinked in surprise.
"Get the boy something to drink," said Llane.
The orc from before came forward and offered Arthas a cup of something. Drinking it, he looked to her. "I remember you, you are..."
"Garona," said the woman. "I'm a bodyguard and advisor."
"I see," said Arthas. Then he looked around and saw a very grim appearance. "What happened? What has gone wrong?" Uther was over to one side, looking very sour indeed. "Did I do something?"
"Nothing with any malice," said Llane. "Your defense of Grand Hamlet was heroic. Worthy of a song. However..."
"Just say it," said Arthas.
"You've screwed up our plan," said Varian finally. "The whole idea was to plant some boats for the orcs to steal. We fake a scouting expedition and accidentally leave them behind. The orcs take them and cross at Grand Hamlet.
"It's the ideal place to strike due to the strategic positioning."
"And Blackhand is obsessed with taking it," said Llane. "Though we had scouts observing the shore."
"To what end?" asked Arthas.
"It was our hope," said Llane. "To draw the enemy into the main heartlands of Stormwind in large numbers. The orcs have little discipline and would have broken apart. We could have destroyed them piecemeal."
"What about the people?" asked Arthas incredulously.
"It was not something we wanted to do," said Llane. "But we are losing this war. And we had to destroy the main force of the enemy."
"Never in my life," said Garithos. "Have I heard a great man speak such unworthy words. Llane, what you have just attempted would have had the exact opposite.
"The complete destruction of humanity."
"Lord Garithos," said Bolvar. "Be silent-"
"No, I will not be silent!" said Garithos. "I know a thing or two about marshaling forces! When armies march across fields, they destroy crops! They beat the ground into nothingness!
"And the orcs burn everything they can get their hands on! They'd have razed Grand Hamlet to the ground and killed every village around them! Even if we won, we'd be handing the country over to inhumane beasts!"
"Garithos, although out of line, has a point," said Uther. "Even with the reserves we brought up, we barely held." Someone knew ahead of time. "If we'd been any weaker, we'd have been driven in, or flanked.
"I fear this plan might have been doomed from the start."
Arthas looked at those in this room. There was a traitor among them. Not Uther, not Faol, obviously not Llane. "Perhaps we could seek terms with Blackhand? We've dealt him a major defeat."
"Out there is the truce with Blackhand," said Varian. "Every time we send a person to him, we get back a riderless horse. It doesn't matter what business."
"What about a third party?" asked Jaina.
Llane looked up. "What do you mean, child?"
"Well, the orcs hate Stormwind," said Jaina. "Perhaps some foreign power might be able to speak with them. They might not want to start a war on two fronts. My Father is here; perhaps he could negotiate something."
"It might be worth doing," said Llane.
"It does not matter," said Arthas. "We need to strengthen our defenses. And we need to become more versatile. King Llane, I believe you should mobilize all able-bodied men for war.
"I think we should create a force of men who use crossbows. They should be guarding the river constantly."
"Crossbows?" asked Llane. "Isn't that... unworthy of us."
"I used two," said Arthas. "They're easy to use, and they will take advantage of the orc's main weakness. They are large and like to fight up close. A few companies of well-trained crossbowmen on the bridges might hold them a long time."
"My Father has been selling them," said Jaina. "You could negotiate things with him."
Arthas looked around, hoping they would take it for analyzing things. Who would gain by being a traitor? Garona was the obvious answer, but it seemed too obvious. Lothar had an ancient bloodline with a claim to Arathor. But how would he benefit from the orcs?
He wouldn't.
Garithos wouldn't, Bolvar wouldn't, Llane certainly wouldn't.
"Do we have any way we can get a letter to Blackhand at all?" asked Arthas.
"Garona has some contacts in the Shadow Council," said Llane. "An organization of warlocks. They believe that she is a traitor. However, they are dangerously naive."
"What do you mean?" asked Garithos.
"If someone beat you, tortured you, told you were worthless, and then told you to betray people you liked, would you?" asked Garona.
"It would depend on what I was," said Garithos in turn.
Garona actually laughed at that.
There was magic that could control minds.
So, if a Warlock of this Shadow Council did want to betray Llane, they might have it. It was something Garona did not control. Jaina seemed to be considering things, and Arthas shared a glance with her.
"King Llane, I think the communications center in Grand Hamlet could use more staff," said Jaina.
"What communications center?" asked Llane.
"The place where all the letters of command get sorted and sent out," said Arthas. "I was afraid they'd all get burned."
"...I never ordered the creation of such a thing," said Llane.
"It grew up naturally," said Bolvar. "You see, King Llane, sending the letters directly to their locations didn't work. Often, the roads were bad or nonexistent, and messengers would often get lost. So it became easier to have them sorted at Grand Hamlet.
"We'd have people from those places arrive, pick up the letters and go. They know the way and the royal messengers get back on time. It did not seem worth troubling you about."
"What about the roads?" asked Varian. "Someone has been stealing stones from them. It was virtually impossible to move the wagons."
"It might be refugees," noted Uther. "Often, they have had to build new homes. And fortifications are expensive. People like thick walls these days."
"Your majesty," said Arthas. "May I have something to write on?"
"Why?" asked Llane.
"I'm trying to work out a map in my head," said Arthas.
Llane gave him some parchment, and Arthas conspicuously scratched on the parchment. He felt Garona's eyes on him and dipped in the ink before painting a single word;
Traitor? Unknowing traitor? Blackmail?
"King Llane," said Arthas. "Does this map match up with our surroundings?"
King Llane came by and looked at it. "...It may.
"But we have no time to discuss it now. Put it away, and I'll give you some pointers later."
"Thank you," said Arthas.
"Can I see?" asked Jaina.
"Of course," said Arthas. It was better than making a scene.
Jaina went around and looked at it. "... You're new to this, aren't you?"
"Yes," said Arthas.
"Best to get out of the profession soon," said Llane. "I'll have a lot more responsibilities for you going forward."
Arthas laughed and rubbed out the ink from the scroll. But inside, he felt only bitterness. The memory of the dead was still on him. Still, at least he had real work to do now.