Chapter 3 – Derailed Plans

The rest of the advancing undead proved no match for the combination of the soldiers of Lordaeron, an increasingly incensed crown prince and the Archbishop's surprise envoy. By the time Jaina Proudmoore returned from a scouting trip, she found only scattered piles of ash, a few mangled undead corpses and a towering young man she had never seen before, frowning as he stared intently at the empty granaries.

"What just happened here?" she asked, utterly befuddled.

"He happened." Arthas said, nodding towards Clark, who still seemed completely oblivious to her presence.

There was something amiss, and he could feel it. The others seemed not to notice, but there was a stench in the air that did not escape his senses. Something foul that made him want to scream. He was not used to this sensation. The Archbishop had warned him about the dangers of magic, especially when put to nefarious uses, but this was something else entirely.

His train of thought was derailed by a spray of cold water washing over his face. Startled, he shook his head and flailed clumsily as he took a step backward. As he wiped his face with his gloved hand, he found himself face to face with a beautiful young lady of regal bearing, with shoulder length golden hair, staring at him with a mischievous glimmer in her sapphire eyes… and for some reason sitting on the shoulder of a rather large water elemental. He was taken aback for a moment, by her features, the expression on her face… and the odd choice of clothing. He was lightly flustered by the sight for some reason, as he tried to figure out why a wizard of Dalaran would combine the traditional traveling cloak, adorned with runes that both denoted her allegiance and provided magical protection and the open robes, purple with a white undershirt that for some reason left her midriff exposed.

Quickly regaining his composure, he spoke.

"Lady Jaina, I presume?" he asked, trying to keep a neutral tone.

"He speaks!" she replied, looking rather amused. "Since you know my name, it would be common courtesy to give me yours, no?"

"Of course." he stammered, not having expected the gifted mage he'd heard about to be quite so lively. "Where are my manners? I am Brother Kent of the Silver Hand, on a mission from the Archbishop."

"And what has you so distracted, Brother Kent?" she asked as the elemental gently eased her back to the ground.

"Tell me." he started, to say with a deep frown. "Did you find anything strange about the grain crates in the villages on your way to Andorhal?" he asked intently.

"As a matter of fact, we did." Arthas said, mirroring his frown. "Back in Strahnbrad, we found crates bearing the insignia of Andorhal… and traces of something foul."

Clark sighed, fighting off the growing sense of dread.

"Then we may be too late."

"What do you mean?" Jaina asked, looking rather puzzled.

Clark raised one of his large hands and pointed at the granaries he had been studying so intently.

"There was something vile stored inside. It's gone now, but it has left its stench."

"In the grain? Again?" Arthas asked, the gears in his head already turning. "But that would mean..."

They were interrupted by the sound of shambling feet treading across soft earth. As the trio turned to face the source of the sound, they saw a man of indeterminate age, with white emaciated skin and an equally white beard, wild and unkempt, clad in ragged black robes. He was clutching a long, gnarled wooden staff and a grotesque horned skull of some malformed animal ornamented his head like the mockery of a crown. A small group of about five similarly dressed figures were standing behind him, only wearing smaller animal skulls and less elaborate robes that looked even more ragged.

"Who is this meddler?" he spat through crooked teeth, glaring at Clark with a rather furious expression. "No matter… One more fool will not change the outcome."

"Excuse you?" Clark retorted, glaring back.

"Are you the one responsible for this plague?!" Arthas demanded, clutching the shaft of his hammer.

The man grinned, turning his attention to the prince. As if delivering a speech he had already spent hours practicing, he clawed his fingers dramatically and leaned forward.

"Yes, I ordered the Cult of the Damned to spread the plagued grain. I am Kel'Thuzad. But this was not my doing alone. I serve the dreadlord Mal'Ganis-"

His speech was abruptly cut off as Clark literally flew at him with a roar, fist raised and eyes ablaze with an ominous red light. Ignoring the necromancer's entourage, he lifted him off the ground by the collar of his robe, glaring straight at his eyes. For their part, Arthas and Jaina were rather startled by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"And where exactly is this so-called dreadlord, necromancer?" Clark demanded in an eerily low tone.

This was definitely not how Kel'Thuzad had planned for things to play out. His master's plan had accounted for one impulsive prince as the main focus, with everyone else being secondary at best. The Lich King had not told him anything about a towering brute, easily as dangerous as Arthas.

As his entourage scrambled to protect their master, the necromancer gathered magical energy in his hand. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction created by his minions, he hurled a bolt of shadowy energy at Clark's face.

The Archbishop had warned numerous times to be careful around magic. It was, after all, among the few things that had turned out to be able to do any damage to him during his training. Momentarily blinded, Clark reflexively covered his face with one hand, just as he used the other to hurl the necromancer at his minions. The impact sent them tumbling unceremoniously through the ground, with some of them almost definitely having broken something in their tumble.

Arthas and Jaina took the cue to bear down on them, her fireballs setting robes on fire while his hammer crushed heads. Clark too moved to the offensive and soon only the leader remained.

The old man, more agile than he appeared, somehow managed to roll out of the way of the first blow, but soon found himself pinned down by Jaina's water elemental. Clark took the time to mend the shallow shadowburn to his face with a quick flash of golden light, silently cursing himself for having let his guard down.

"Start talking." Arthas growled, positioning his hammer as if about to crack open a crab's shell at a banquet. "Where is your master?"

The necromancer growled, glaring daggers at them, especially Clark. There was still time to salvage the plan, but he would need to be quick.

"The dreadlord Mal'Ganis is not at the beck and call of mortals." he hissed. "He will show himself when and where he deems fit. But if you are in such a hurry to meet your doom, then I suggest you make for Stratholme."

"That was almost too easy." Clark thought. "And yet again he uses the term dreadlord… Is this what the Archbishop meant? But wait..."

He then turned to Jaina.

"Lady Proudmoore… Correct me if I am mistaken, but was there not one Archmage Kel'Thuzad among the ranks of the Kirin Tor until relatively recently?"

Jaina reacted as if someone had dumped a bucket full of icy water on her head. As a pupil of Archmage Antonidas, standing member of the Council of Six, she could not fathom how she had failed to notice it. Perhaps it had been due to the combination of stress and fatigue brought about by the entirely ludicrous situation of having to deal with cultists and undead, but her mind had not made the connection until the moment he had pointed it out.

"Yes..." Jaina said with dawning horror. "But as far as I know, he resigned and… disappeared after… liquidating all his assets..."

"So the brute does have a brain..." the necromancer remarked, a hint of amusement dancing along his sunken eyes and seeping into his tone. "A surprise coming from the lot of Uther's zealous and oh-so-pious manchildren."

"Hold your forked tongue, necromancer!" Arthas spat, incensed at the insult to his mentor. To his confusion and anger, this only seemed to amuse the old man further.

"So easy you are to rile up..." Kel'Thuzad remarked with glee and a certain amount of venom. "I can see how you have singlehandedly ruined every good thing in your life… and will continue to do so."

"What the hell do you-" Arthas started to say, before the old man opened his mouth and a fetid black cloud escaped it, blinding the trio. Being the closest, the water elemental moved to shield them and took the brunt of it.

Managing to free himself, the necromancer fled under the cover of the noxious cloud, but he made one fatal mistake that had caused the downfall of many a villain. Thinking himself beyond their sight and reach as they struggled to withstand what he had unleashed upon them, he stopped to gloat.

"And now you see how powerless you truly are before the might of a servant of the Lich King!" he proclaimed with a sinister laugh.

He clearly had not anticipated Clark's unnatural hearing, or the flying two-handed hammer that was soon flying towards his face, hurled by a strength far beyond what any human should rightly possess. As he gazed upon the instrument of his impending doom about to connect with his face, he only had time to mutter one simple question.

"What… are you, boy?!" he hissed, once more dumbfounded.

As he crumbled into a lifeless heap, the spell he had cast dissipated, leaving a lingering stench not unlike rotting eggs. As the trio approached, he mustered the last of his fading strength to cast a venomous look upon them.

"You may consider this a victory, Prince Arthas, but in the end you too will serve my master. We shall meet again, mark my words. As for you, brute… we are not done yet."

And with that, he became completely motionless.

"I will NEVER serve whatever master pulls your strings." Arthas spat as he glared at the lifeless corpse.

"We must hurry." Clark said, casting his gaze over the horizon. "I have a terrible feeling about all of this."

"For other than the obvious reason?" Arthas asked.

"I can see what he means." Jaina said, casting a glance at the necromancer's remains. "That this enemy could reduce a member of the Council of Six to… this..."

"Not to mention that despite all his theatrics, he put up very little of an actual fight." Clark pointed out.

"So you noticed too?" Jaina asked, feeling suspicious about the whole thing.

"Yes." Clark said gravely. "It is as if he wanted us to witness this. As if all of this was just..."

"An act?" Arthas pondered, unsettled by the implications. "But for what? Why would he do all of this just to end up like that?"

"Interesting conjectures, indeed." a male voice interrupted.

The trio turned and spotted a small group walking their way. Two elves were leading the way, one male and one female, clad in white priestly robes ornamented with the insignia of the Church of the Holy Light on the chest and the crest of Silvermoon on the shoulders. Behind them stood a pair of female elves in blue robes adorned with the insignia of the Violet Eye, marking them as agents of the Kirin Tor.

"Apologies if we startled you." the male priest said as he gazed upon them with luminescent blue eyes framed by an ageless face crowned by a mane of golden hair.

Arthas and Jaina had encountered the small group before reaching Andorhal, during their sweep of the small villages in the region before meeting with Clark. They did not know they were still in the area, however.

"I am not sure if you have noticed..." his female companion said, bearing a striking resemblance to him. "But it is not only the granaries and the crates. The very ground underneath our feet appears to be rotting. Just like last time."

For emphasis, she knelt down and with a gloved hand scooped up a handful of earth.

"So the stench I felt was not just from the plagued grain..." Clark pondered, clearly unsettled.

"That you felt it at all was already quite a feat." the male said. "Then again, we should expect as much from the Archbishop's new pupil."

"Did he send you?" Clark asked.

"We were informed that the three of you might be in this area." the priestess clarified. "But it is good that we have found you. We have much to discuss with the three of you."

"It would seem our trip to Stratholme will have to wait." Jaina conceded.

A few minutes later, after the troops under their command gathered and formed a perimeter where they could rest…

"So the rumors that the plague striking the north was magical in nature..." Jaina pondered.

"Yes." the priest said with a nod.

"And it only gets worse from there." the priestess said.

"What do you mean?" Arthas asked, with a growing sense of dread.

"It clearly affects not only living beings..." the priest explained. "But it also seems into the land itself, the water… and possibly more. After we left you we conducted a more thorough analysis and collected some samples."

"So these are not just a random band of cultists then." Jaina realized. "In order to create something like that, they would need considerable power."

"What do you make of this then?" Clark asked, turning to the elves. "Your people lead long lives that make a human's pale in comparison. If I recall, the very existence of the Kirin Tor is in large part due to the mages of Silvermoon. Are you familiar with the name of the dreadlord Mal'Ganis?"

The group of elves paled as they heard the words.

"Where did you hear that name?" the priestess asked.

"The leader of this little band of cultists made sure to rub it in our faces before we ended him." he replied. "Not to mention that if Lady Proudmoore is correct, then he was also no mere cultist but a former member of the Council of Six. The Archmage Kel'thuzad."

"The plot thickens..." the priestess said.

It was then that one of the female mages spoke up.

"Lady Jaina, you are the pupil of Archmage Antonidas." she pointed out, brushing a crimson lock of hair out of the way of her azure eyes. "Did he ever tell you specifically how and why the Kirin Tor were formed?"

"He said they were formed after the recklessness of some early mages caused incidents across the land and threatened the stability of the realms." Jaina said, surprised by the question.

"Did he also tell you of the wars between the human nations of old and the Amani trolls?" the mage asked.

"You mean how a hundred humans trained in the magical arts by the elves helped turn the tide and marked the beginning of humanity's entanglement with the arcane?" Jaina asked.

"Yes." the mage said with a nod. "It is good to know that history is still being taught properly… though in this case I fear your teachers left out a fundamental gap."

"What do you mean?" Jaina asked, somewhat confused.

"It was not merely rogue mages causing havoc that gave the Kirin Tor a reason to exist." the priest said. "Their dabbling in the arcane without restraint also drew… a different kind of unwanted attention."

"Demons." Clark said, straight to the point, finding the winded explanation somewhat aggravating when they were seemingly racing against time. The plague was not going to wait for exposition. "Lesser demons, but still minions of Sargeras."

"And how do you know all of this?" Arthas asked, eyeing his fellow member of the Silver Hand warily.

"The Archbishop wanted to ensure that I was prepared for my mission." Clark explained. "There is much that is no longer taught, at least among the lower ranks, and too much that has been dismissed as ancient superstitions or overlooked altogether."

"Lord Uther did fight against demons in the Second War..." Arthas conceded. "Though he does not like to speak of such things. But what does this have to do with our current situation?"

"According to the surviving records, the dreadlords were among the most powerful agents of the Burning Legion." the priest pointed out. "They were specialists in subverting mortals and sowing strife and discord. If they are involved, then that would explain how a member of the Council of Six could have been swayed."

"Then why would he openly gloat about such a thing?" Jaina pondered. "Why would he show his hand this early in the game?"

"Either he was counting on our ignorance..." Clark mused. "Or he wanted to spur us into hasty action… By what the Archbishop taught me, the dreadlords are quite adept at manipulation. We could be walking into a trap."

"In that case, should we not head back to Dalaran first?" Jaina asked. "Get some additional help?"

"No." Arthas cut in. "We can't afford to waste time. If a greater menace is behind all of this, then our people are in even bigger danger than we realized. Even a day of delay might doom them to this plague."

"If what the necromancer said was true, then we will need a plan." the priestess intervened.

"One does not go against the likes of a dreadlord lightly." the second of the mages said, finally breaking their silence.

"So you do speak!" Jaina remarked.

"My counterpart saves her words for when she feels they are appropriate." the crimson haired mage said.

"There is a long history that would take far too long to recount here and now." the second mage said, gray eyes shining in the midst of a raven colored mane, and with a face that was androgynous even by elven standards. "Needless to say, if agents of the Burning Legion are afoot, then our approach will need to change."

"Then what do you propose?" Arthas asked.

"We need Lord Uther back, I think." Jaina suggested. "Sooner rather than later."

"Did the Archmage give you the means to communicate with him in a hurry?" Clark asked.

"There is a tool I can use." Jaina said with a nod. "But it can only relay short missives at a time. I will be concise."

She then turned to the elves.

"How good are your teleporting skills?"

"Not as good as yours." the raven haired mage said. "We can move a small group, but not across the distances you reputedly can."

"Then I will fetch Lord Uther and his knights." Jaina said.

"And we shall deliver a warning to King Anastarien." the crimson haired mage said.

"Will he listen though?" Arthas asked, recalling how Quel'thalas had mostly focused on its own affairs since the end of the Second War.

"He must." the raven haired mage said. "If he does not, then we will find someone else who will."

"So we shall take the forces we have here and head for Stratholme." Arthas said. "Any objections, Brother Kent?"

"Only one." Clark said, before turning to the elves. "I make it a point of getting acquainted with everyone I meet, peasant or king. You know who we are, but we do not have your names."

"Fair enough." the priest said. "I am Zaram Sunchaser. This would be my sister Aura."

"I am Elara Dawnstar." the crimson maned mage introduced herself.

"You may call me Solune." the raven haired mage said, the unusual name as inscrutable as the face.

"Well then, now that we are acquainted..." Clark said with a slight smile. "No getting yourselves killed out there. We will make for the gates of Stratholme at our best speed and meet you there."

Their exchange was silently observed by a pair of green eyes, and as they parted, a diminutive figure scurried away, a flash of white cloth with golden embroidery peeking out of the shrubs…

"You are not supposed to be here… Kryptonian..." the mind driving the limbs thought.