Chapter 4 – Growing Darkness
The prince's group had made it as far as Hearthglen before something else went awry.
As soon as they approached the gates, Arthas and Clark knew that something was very wrong. The local forces appeared to be in a state of high alert, gathering in front of the gates at a frenzied pace as a contingent of riflemen surveyed their surroundings with spyglasses from atop the fortifications. A few more riflemen below were going through training drills, shooting at targets and practicing their reloading motions or performing maintenance on their weapons.
"What's going on here?" Clark wondered. "Everyone seems to be on edge."
"Prince Arthas!" a footman cried out, recognizing the prince's face and prominent mane. "Thank goodness you are here!"
"What's going on?" Arthas asked.
"During the night, a vast army of undead warriors emerged and began attacking villages at random!" the footman explained, struggling to contain his panic. "Now it's headed this way!"
"What?!" Clark interjected. "Where could it possibly have come from?"
"We have no idea." the footman said, his unease palpable even through the helmet. "It's as if it had simply… sprouted out of the ground! Some of those villages have been completely deserted since the crack of dawn. We have no idea what happened to most of the locals. It's as if they had simply… disappeared. The undead appear to be simply mopping up the rest."
It was then that Arthas noticed the stacked wooden crates next to the barracks, bearing a very familiar seal. Clark noticed his alarmed reaction and turned to them as well. The two rushed to the crates, finding them empty.
"What was in those crates?" Arthas asked, afraid of the answer.
"Just a grain shipment from Andorhal." the footman explained. "There's no need to worry, milord. It's already been distributed among the villagers."
As if on cue, a couple of average looking townsfolk, a man and a woman, who were walking around on some errand, started convulsing and fell to the ground, their skin turning an unnatural shade of gray as they vomited and howled in agony.
Finally, after a brief pause, they rose again, but something was definitely wrong. The life was drained from their eyes. Their skin was completely gray, with the surface blood vessels blackened. Letting out an inhuman groan, they started clawing at anyone in range.
"No..." Clark hissed as the horror sank in.
As the two paladins realized the true extent of the conspiracy that was afoot, an overpowering dread bloomed in the two men's hearts. They knew they had to act.
"The plague was never simply meant to kill my people." Arthas realized with horrified disgust. "It was meant to turn them… into the undead! Defend y-"
He was cut off as Clark, in another outburst, let out a roar. His eyes lit up with an eerie red glow and he grabbed the nearby crates and smashed them to pieces. Then he turned to the freshly turned zombies, and a tear rolled down his face. He had no time to grieve, however, as more villagers in the vicinity started to fall over in the same throes of agony.
This, he realized, was the reason why the Archbishop had sent him to meet with Arthas in the first place. The reason for such urgency and secrecy. Even if Faol could not have known for sure that the hand of the Burning Legion was at work, the immediate threat to the people could not have escaped his notice. To make things worse, he recalled how debilitated the Archbishop had seemed the last time they had spoken.
Realizing that it was too late to do anything to help the villagers dropping like flies around them, Clark felt more moisture pooling around his eyes… before it was violently evaporated by the beams of crimson light that erupted from them, reducing the two mindless undead to ashes on the spot.
Everyone else recoiled, caught completely by surprise, as he did the same to another group of zombies that were already bearing down on a hapless footman. Hearthglen erupted into chaos as the same scenes repeated themselves elsewhere within its walls. Despite being as surprised as everyone else, the prince gathered his wits, knowing that time was of the essence.
"To arms!" Arthas bellowed, raising his hammer.
And with that, the two paladins set about assisting the local forces, getting the situation under control after a few moments of unbridled violence. The prince was still shocked both by the sudden turning of the villagers and the strange abilities Clark was displaying, but knew that was not the time to confront him about the latter.
"Spread the word through Hearthglen!" Arthas commanded. "The grain from Andorhal is tainted! Burn all of the grain stockpiles!"
After they finished mopping up the undead in Andorhal, Clark darted around with frankly inhuman speed, gathering every single crate of grain he found find before singlehandedly throwing them all into a nearby bonfire where the soldiers were already throwing the remaining undead corpses he had not incinerated on the spot. The stench was overwhelming, and while it was possible that not all of the grain in Hearthglen's stockpiles was tainted, after what they had just seen, nobody was willing to take any chances.
Once they were finished with the grim task of disposing of the last of the corpses, Clark gazed at the pyre, let out a sigh and turned to Arthas.
"Prince Arthas..." Clark said in an understandably somber mood given the circumstances. "Listen carefully. There is something I need to do. Take as many men as you can muster and head for the closest village. I will scout ahead and check the state of the others."
"What are you talking about?" Arthas contested, still trying to make sense of what was going on. "How are you planning to get there? And what the hell was that thing you did?"
"The Archbishop warned me about discretion." Clark said with a frown, looking at the prince straight in the face. "About playing my hand too soon. In the days to come, you will see many more strange things. Some possibly terrifying. Regardless, I hope you will remember that I am a Knight of the Silver Hand, just like you, and that all I do is in service to the Light and the people. We will speak again later."
And with that, he took off straight into the air, with enough speed to displace the air around him and startle the men and horses in the vicinity.
"What the hell was that?!" Arthas muttered, his eyes wide as dinner plates as he watched Clark streak thorough the sky in a blur, his sight barely enough to keep track of him for a brief moment before he disappeared into the distance.
Ignoring everything else, Clark darted across the landscape, scanning the surrounding area and trying to determine what exactly was happening below. With growing horror, as he surveyed each location, he saw the same scenes.
He remembered the first time he had flown, back at the family farm, kicking up a gust of wind in his wake and startling his mother off her feet. All because he didn't want to interrupt his playful shenanigans in order to take a bath. This event had forced her to get a little more creative, convincing him to cooperate in return for regular batches of homemade pies and other treats.
He had never consciously used his abilities inside the house out of fear of breaking something or bringing the place down on his parents, but outside he had always been pure and wild, and forever free, exploring the land of Hillsbrad with glee, chasing the trails of comets in the night sky, but never venturing too far, remembering his parents' warnings about the savage monsters that lay in hiding and the terrible magic they wielded. No one could truly have forced him to do anything in those days, given his strength and the temper that had never faded completely, but his heart would always be tied to the verdant farmlands and to the kind couple that had taken in a lost, confused and starving boy as their own.
One day, an unusual old man had visited the farm, bringing change to his life again.
The Archbishop's words on that day would forever remain in his memory.
"You are exceptional. Not just for your strength. But you are young and still have much to learn. I can help with that if you will let me."
Something about the old man's certainty and the kindness in his eyes had swayed the child. Now, practically but not quite yet a grown man, he was out in the world, finally putting his training to use, doing what he felt he had been born to do. Soon enough, however, his resolve would be tested like never before.
The enemy's plan had been a simple one, going by the Lich King's script. Spread the plague through the tainted grain and cultists hiding in the midst of society. Wear out the prince and his entourage with consecutive battles, give him a taste of the horrors awaiting farther out, feed his unease, in preparation for the next step of the plan.
All that had gone out the window once word spread among the Cult of the Damned about the towering beast of a boy who had seemingly come out of nowhere and made short work of the forces in the area around Andorhal, going as far as to inflict a most humiliating demise upon Kel'Thuzad himself. This nuisance had to be dealt with before it could get out of hand. Thus had the plans for the offensive on Hearthglen been set in motion early, in hopes of still breaking the prince's resolve and amassing enough forces to deal with the interloper.
"Monsters..." Clark hissed, clenching his teeth and fists. "Whoever you are, you damned cultists will never escape me."
He landed silently and stone faced, and immediately felt countless pairs of lifeless eyes staring at him. Facing what had until very recently been regular villagers, traders, farmers, craftsmen and children, he sighed.
"Forgive me for not being fast enough..." he said, lowering his head.
"But at least I can do this much!" he roared, charging at the nearest pack, his hammer raised.
Meanwhile, Arthas rallied the troops and made haste for the nearest village, where he found some peasants, seemingly still alive and well.
"We're not too late..." he muttered to himself. "Thank the Light..."
It was then that he saw what looked like a series of wagons chained to each other, pulled by an unusually large pair of black horses.
"Who goes there?!" he demanded, walking up to the figure riding the front wagon.
"Just a grain shipment from Andorhal, milord." the man, seemingly an average villager with a rather rotund form said, clad in plain earth colored clothing.
"You've got a lot of nerve..." Arthas thought indignantly.
Arthas was overcome by a fury like he had never felt before, not even when the Blackrock orcs had kidnapped and sacrificed villagers for their unholy rituals. The head of his hammer flared with both the Light and the fiery enchantment he had been bestowed upon helping take down the dragon Searinox, and with a single swing, the man's head burst like a ripe watermelon, letting out a fetid stench.
"Milord?!" one of the footmen cried out in shock.
"Look." Arthas hissed, motioning at the corpse sprawled on the ground as black blood spilled out of it and into the earth.
Though not as obviously putrid on the outside as the villagers they had watched turn, there was definitely something wrong with the remains of the man. While the villagers they had faced before seemed to rot overnight from the inside out, the man, despite his seemingly normal skin tone, appeared to have been completely putrid for a very long time. The implications were evident to those present.
"Cultist scum!" Arthas snarled. "How stupid do they think I am?!"
After following the trail of plagued grain and watching his people turn in front of his eyes, he knew he couldn't take any chances.
"Send scouts and messengers to every settlement in the region and the capital." he commanded. "All grain from Andorhal is tainted and must be burned on sight!"
Then, a low growl echoed through the air and ht prince turned around to see another pack of ghouls approaching from what he knew to be the direction of Caer Darrow.
"It looks like I missed some..." Clark said with a sigh as he lifted his hammer, once again feeling the weight of what he had seen.
They were interrupted by a flash of light and the increasingly familiar thrum of teleportation magic. Spurred by Jaina's words, Uther and his knights had readied themselves in a frenzy. She had apparently managed to secure some aid from Dalaran as well, seeing how she was standing next to Uther, flanked by a small contingent of mages. As the knights fanned out, trampling the undead in their path and the mages set about hurling fireballs at every of the creatures in sight, Arthas and Clark led the local forces in a charge alongside them, disposing of every undead they found find in the region.
The presence of one of the founding figures of the Silver Hand alongside the crown prince galvanized the men, driving them beyond their ordinary strength. The contingent of mages led by the talented sorceress definitely bolstered their confidence as well. The towering young man accompanying them, however, despite being an imposing figure and an overwhelming presence on the battlefield in his own right, remained silent through the rest of the battle with an unreadable expression as he plowed through the opposition.
Later, once everyone had regrouped…
"How did you find us?" Arthas asked. He had not expected to hear from Jaina again before reaching Stratholme.
"There is only so much ground one can cover in a day on foot." Uther said, accustomed to the long marches of the Second War. "Plus, a convoy such as yours is only as fast as its slowest members."
"What is this?" Jaina asked, distraught as she saw the putrid remains and her nose caught the stench of the bonfire in the wind.
"The grain is all tainted." Arthas said, clenching his fist. "I watched as several villagers dropped dead and turned into undead abominations. I've already given the order to spread the word. This one looks different though. He was acting as one of the living."
"Could it be…?" Uther pondered, absolutely horrified. "An infiltrator?"
"I doubt this would be the only one." Arthas said. "If they managed to corrupt a former member of the Council of Six under everyone's noses, then..."
"This Cult of the Damned is far more dangerous than we first gave it credit." Jaina said. "To think that they are not only doing this to the general population… but also that some people would turn themselves into that willingly..."
"The Legion though..." Uther said. "Not that I am questioning your word, but..."
"I know it is difficult to wrap our heads around that." Arthas said. "But regardless of whether or not it's true, at the very least it's what that necromancer believed, and after what we've seen, we cannot take any chances."
As if on cue, Clark returned to the scene, having discreetly landed some distance away, with his boots, gauntlets and the head of his hammer coated in substances best left unmentioned. There was a look of profound grief on his face, and he seemed exhausted, as if he had aged ten years in the span of a few minutes.
"A moment… Brother Kent." Arthas said, beckoning him aside.
Uther and Jaina looked at Arthas in confusion.
"We will be back shortly." he said, without breaking stride.
Clark followed him to a secluded corner out of earshot, awaiting the inevitable questions. He had been trying not to draw too much attention to himself despite his obvious size and strength, but he had been unable to restrain himself.
"Are you all right?" Arthas asked. "Are you injured?"
"Not on the outside." Clark said, letting out a deep sigh and letting the stained head of his hammer rest on the dirt.
"I can relate." Arthas said. "It was not an easy day for anyone present. Just… what happened out there?"
Clark did not say anything, instead staring into the distance as he tried to push the still fresh images out of his mind.
"Care to explain what exactly all that was, then?" the prince asked with an even tone.
"As you have probably surmised by now, I am not exactly like everyone else." Clark said, his expression inscrutable. "I possess certain… abilities that are beyond most. Not magical, mind you. They are part of who I am. The Archbishop learned of my existence and saw my potential… and possibly the danger of leaving me unsupervised, and so I became his pupil."
"I heard some curious rumors coming from Hillsbrad." Arthas said, narrowing his eyes as he watched Clark intently. "About a child who was found by a farmer's family and singlehandedly wiped out a pack of marauding ogres. A boy who could lift boulders with a single hand, juggle horses and once halted the course of a flood before disappearing from the public eye. Might you know anything about that?"
"I only tossed Blanchie once and that was an accident!" Clark protested in indignant embarrassment, though the look on his eyes betrayed the mischievous amusement of someone recalling their youthful shenanigans. "But yes… I was the Wild Child of Hillsbrad."
"I knew the name sounded familiar." Arthas realized, his expression somewhat softer. "Your father is a decorated war veteran. He fought valiantly during the Second War before going back to his family farm."
"He doesn't like to talk about those days." Clark said. "He lost too many friends. Saw too much."
"Many survivors did." Arthas said with barely concealed disgust. "To this day I still don't understand why my father did not simply wipe out the last of those orc after everything they did."
"You might be surprised..." Clark said with a sour look on his face. "Regardless, I have a very bad feeling about this whole situation."
"We should probably not keep Uther and Jaina waiting though." Arthas said before leading him back to the others.
"Well then..." Arthas said as the four gathered again. "Now that we have finished discussing… our assessment of the situation, it is time for us to share our findings."
"The plague is indubitably spreading across this region, as you have witnessed." Clark said. "There is no doubt about its effects now. Not only is it killing our people, but it is also turning them into undead monstrosities."
"So the suspicions that the plague was magical in nature… are definitely proven." Uther concluded with a somber look. "Light have mercy on us all."
"The settlements I scouted between here and along the road to Tirisfal Glades were already lifeless..." Clark said, downcast. "There was no one left to save."
"We will need to move swiftly." Jaina chimed in. "The Kirin Tor are already on high alert, but I have yet to hear from the elven representatives after we parted ways. We may not have the luxury of waiting for them."
"If this plague is being spread through the grain, then they would want to distribute it in densely populated areas as well." Arthas pondered. "Who knows how long they have been brewing this plot and setting all the pieces in place? We definitely need to get to Stratholme, and fast."
"Seeing how Andorhal is the main grain supplier for the entire region, these shipments could be reaching as far as Tirisfal and the shores of Lake Lordamere." Uther pondered. "The village of Pyrewood may be mostly self-sufficient but it has been steadily growing in recent years."
"The Kirin Tor's arcane familiars may be able to deliver the warning about the grain faster than troops on horseback." Jaina said. "I will see to that. But for now, our destination is clear."
"Yes..." Uther pondered with a nod. "This cult will most definitely strike at the capital sooner or later, but after what we have seen here they will want to turn as many innocents as possible first. That means the second most important city in the realm will likely be their next target."
"To Stratholme." Arthas said. "With all haste."
Out of sight, a pair of diminutive green eyes watched, lingering on Clark in particular.
"What am I going to do about all this? Things are definitely straying from the path… and just by being here, he is already changing events. He doesn't even realize it..."
A gnome in a white dress with golden embroidery scurried away, concealed from everyone else's sight by some strange magic. She let out a sigh, then ran a hand over her short golden hair before scratching her head.
"I now it's not your fault big guy." she thought regretfully. "But I can't let things continue like this… What to do, what to do?"
