Chapter 7 – The Sword in the Icicle

Feeling his stomach rumbling, Clark glanced across the frozen wastes, trying to decide what to do about it. By the piles of colossal bones in the distance he deduced that he was somewhere in the area of Northrend known as Dragonblight, a place his mentor had told him stories of but which he had not expected to have the time to see.

"Strange that the dragons would leave their so-called burial grounds so unguarded." he pondered out loud.

"Oh, they are still here." Chromie said.

"Closer than you think." she thought, still in disbelief that he had not seen through her disguise.

"Hiding their presence, then?" Clark asked pointedly. "If this dreadlord is hiding around these parts, then why haven't they done anything about it?"

This remark irritated her slightly.

"Boy." she retorted. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Those creatures are masters of deceit and manipulation. They don't show themselves in person or in their true form unless there's something important enough to warrant their full attention… or someone makes them mad enough."

"Maybe." Clark conceded. "But I'm not going back until that thing is gone."

"And how exactly do you propose to kill it?" she pointed out. "Sure, you may have beaten the stuffing out of that thing before, but it's like striking at mist-"

"I never mentioned anything about beating Mal'Ganis before." Clark cut her off.

She instantly tensed up.

"Oh crap baskets..."

"What exactly were you doing here anyway?" he asked, getting rather suspicious.

She silently weighed her options. Leaving him unattended would probably end up derailing things even further, but she couldn't bring herself to simply arrange for an accident or let another pack of frostwyrms deal with him.

"I know this isn't your fault..." she thought bitterly. "But what am I going to do with you? How am I going to clean up this mess?"

Then an idea dawned upon her.

"It doesn't matter what I was doing here." she retorted dismissively, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. "You came here all by yourself, from what I can tell."

She carefully omitted being aware of his abilities, still mentally kicking herself for having blurted out too much already.

"I have my ways." he said with a shrug. "What about it?"

"You don't have much experience dealing with magic, do you?"

"How do you figure?" he asked, still fuming inwardly at himself for having ignored his mentor's warnings.

"Maybe because you're built like a dwarven tank." she pointed out. "I guess you got by without never really needing to worry about it… except for the Light."

"And?" Clark retorted, trying not to show his self-directed anger.

"Do you have any idea what the arcane can do to an unprotected target?" she asked with a scowl. "And then you start getting into nastier stuff like necrotic magic… and fel. Stuff that can burn you alive, rot you from the inside… and death is a mercy compared to some other fates."

"You have a point." Clark conceded, grumbling. "But what do you expect me to do? Let this so-called Cult of the Damned pop up again and finish what they started? After what they did to those villages… and Stratholme, that's not an option."

As she silently pondered how to try to get him to leave Northrend without exposing herself or making things worse, her musings were interrupted by footsteps on the snow.

"Oi! Flying man!" a male voice called out in the typical accent of the dwarves of Ironforge.

"Oh no!" Chromie thought in alarm. "Not him! Not now!"

Clark turned and spotted a stocky, powerfully built dwarf clad in a suit of shiny plate armor, engraved with the hammer shaped insignia of Ironforge and brandishing an axe in one hand and a hammer in the other. He was also sporting a helmet with massive horns and a magnificently ludicrous golden brown beard as would be expected of any self-respecting dwarf, elaborately braided and ornamented with metal rings engraved with runes. His blue eyes glimmered with a determined look as he stared straight at Clark.

"Bloody good job back there with those undead bastards!" the dwarf continued. "But what are ya doin' here anyway… and how the bloody hell did ya do all of that?"

"It's a long story..." Clark replied, not wanting to go into too much detail over his abilities. "For now, I will say that I am a Knight of the Silver Hand, hunting a monster who murdered entire villages and rendered Stratholme lifeless."

"Bloody hell..." the dwarf hissed. "Stratholme has fallen?! Wait… what happened to Uther and Arthas? What the bloody hell is the Silver Hand doing?!"

"We were caught unaware." Clark growled. "A cult led by a dreadlord spread a plague across the countryside that's killing people and turning them into the living dead."

"What of those two?" the dwarf insisted. "Where are they?! What happened to them?!"

"Last I saw them, they were both alive… and mostly unharmed." Clark recalled. "Witnessing something like that is bound to scar anyone for life though."

"A dreadlord..." the dwarf hissed. "Too bad Brann isn't here. He'd probably pester ya with a million questions."

"Brann?" Clark asked, recognizing the name. "As in Brann Bronzebeard, the explorer and archaeologist?"

"Aye lad. Not ta brag or anything, but I suppose daring runs in the family."

"And you are?"

"Muradin Bronzebeard, at yer service." the dwarf introduced himself.

"King Magni's brother?" Clark asked, still a little taken aback. "What are you doing this far up north?"

"Well lad… lookin' fer something of our own."

"No no no no no no no no no!" Chromie yelled inwardly.

"See, Brann has always been the bigger adventurer of the three, but a while ago some guy I drank under the table gave me a map as part of a wager. I'm not sure how wasted he was, but he claimed it led to the restin' place of a legendary artifact. A runeblade, he called it."

"Runeblade?" Clark asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Aye lad. Ye said yer huntin' a dreadlord? Those buggers are harder to get rid of than the Goldshire clap. Either ya chase 'em into the Twisting Nether and off 'em there, or… ya find somethin' powerful enough to get the job done here."

"So this… runeblade?"

"Might just do the trick, aye. The bloke called it… Frostmourne."

"W-Wait a minute!" Chromie interrupted. "Doesn't the whole thing sound a bit too convenient? Someone showing up with exactly what you need, exactly when you need?"

"What are ya gettin' at, pipsqueak?" Muradin retorted, glaring with an annoyed look on his face. "Arthas Menethil is an old pal of mine. Ya think I'd be schemin' against him or his brothers in the Silver Hand?!"

"I-I didn't mean to imply that..." she corrected, measuring her words more carefully. "But a lot of those so-called artifacts are cursed, heavily guarded… or just hoaxes. Not to mention the Blue Dragonflight have artifact vaults in the region, and they don't take kindly to strangers. Are you sure that guy didn't just send you on a fool's errand?"

"Only one way ta find out, pipsqueak." Muradin retorted. "Besides, a Bronzebeard isn't afraid of anything, dragons included."

"Only one way to find out indeed..." Clark said, clenching his fists.

"Oh crap baskets..." Chromie thought in alarm. "I should have known this would happen..."

"Aye..." Muradin growled. "Any bastard evil and dangerous enough to wipe out a whole city needs to be stopped… and we're actually not far from the location marked on the map."

"Well then..." Clark said, cracking his knuckles. "What are we waiting for?"

The two set out into the frozen wastes, with Chromie trailing behind, trying to find some way to put a stop to them without giving herself away or making things even worse. In the distance, the rest of Muradin's group caught up with them, armed to the teeth.

While Clark could have flown ahead and surveyed the region himself, he decided against it, not wanting to expend his remaining energy in vain or find himself on the receiving end of another magical attack. Instead he walked, nervously glancing around… until his stomach loudly growled, reminding him that he had not eaten in nearly a day.

Muradin laughed heartily and glanced at him.

"Can't hunt fer ancient artifacts on an empty stomach, lad. Don't tell me ya dinnae bring any food with ya."

"I was… in a bit of a hurry..." Clark grudgingly admitted.

Meanwhile, in the Eastern Kingdoms…

"Fools, all of them!" Zaram fumed as he stepped away from Silvermoon Keep, followed by Solune, Aura and Elara.

"The Second War has already taken a great toll." Solune pointed out in an almost infuriatingly calm tone. "Perhaps they simply do not want to believe that there is another threat on the horizon."

"The Second War is precisely why they should not stick their heads in the sand!" Zaram countered. "If another menace rears its head, will the Alliance lift a finger now that our oh-so proud king has turned his back on them?"

"You know..." a man's voice interrupted, silky and with a touch of smugness. "Some might construe your words as treasonous..."

Another elf strode out of the gate behind them, clad in regally lavish violet robes, ornamented with golden winged pauldrons and a crest, also golden, in the shape of a phoenix over the chest. In his right hand was a very familiar crimson blade, with a golden hilt, shaped like a pair of wings and decorated with a large gem and a crimson blade, shaped much like a barbed quill. In his left hand he carried an orb, seemingly containing a trapped flame.

"Just because the line of Arator is broken, does this mean we are to forget about gratitude and sacrifice?" Zaram countered, unimpressed by the other elf's entrance.

"And what exactly do you think you are doing with Felo'melorn?" Elara asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"While I cannot openly defy my king's command… as a member of the Kirin Tor I am compelled to investigate any claims of demonic activity."

"Is that so?" Aura retorted. "Or are you simply hoping to impress Lady Proudmoore yet again?"

"Why does it have to be a single choice answer?" Kael'thas Sunstrider asked in turn, momentarily putting the orb in a pouch hanging from his belt and using his free hand to absently brush a strand of his long golden hair off his face.

"Your obsession with the Lady is going to cost you one of these days..." Zaram said, rolling his eyes. "But if it means not allowing a repeat of Stratholme, then I have no objections to accepting your aid."

"I do wonder how you are going to justify taking Dath'Remar's blade out of Silvermoon, however." Aura pointed out.

"The Burning Legion nearly drove our people and the rest of the world to extinction once." Kael'thas retorted with a steely glimmer in his blue eyes. "If there is a chance that they are returning, then it is better to ask for forgiveness later than to ask for permission again. Besides, my father will be glad to have me out of here while he enjoys his wine and the company of the courtesans."

"It seems that our people have yet to learn that there is a price for overindulgence..." Zaram remarked bitterly.

"Well then..." Solune said, tracing a symbol of power into the air. "Let us see how our would-be companions are faring on their end..."

Meanwhile, in the outskirts of Dalaran…

"Kel'Thuzad..." the Archmage Antonidas muttered, scratching his long white beard with a sigh. "That fool..."

"I have never met him personally before this." Jaina remarked. "Did you know him?"

"Yes..." her mentor confirmed with a nod, and barely concealed sadness and disappointment. "I always felt that there was something off about him. The way he set himself aside from everyone else and never allowed anyone to become close to him. I never expected this though..."

"What would drive a man, let alone a member of the Council, to commit such atrocities?" Jaina wondered.

"I have no answers for you..." Antonidas admitted. "All we can do now is take responsibility. This dreadlord must answer for leading him down this path."

"There is… something else bearing down on my mind." Jaina admitted. "Arthas seems to be holding himself together through all of this somehow, but our newest companion..."

"Who do you speak of, Jaina?"

"A new arrival from the Silver Hand. Clark Kent, an emissary of the Archbishop."

"It is plain that dark times are here..." the Archmage pondered. "If Alonsus already sent the boy out before Stratholme's fall, then perhaps he already suspected something like this would happen?"

"Master?" Jaina called out, seeing that he appeared to be lost in thoughts.

"What do you make of the boy, Jaina?"

Surprised by the question, she paused for a moment before answering.

"Inhumanly strong." she summarized, before frowning. "A force of nature. I still don't know how he does half those things. His abilities do not appear to be purely magical."

"Is that all?"

"No..." Jaina added with a sigh. "The events in the countryside and especially Stratholme cut him deeper than anyone else… and that is part of the reason why I am back so soon."

"What happened?"

"The dreadlord was there. I saw him." Jaina confirmed. "The sight of the dying, their wails, their suffering and the dreadlord's gloating… sent Clark into a rage."

She proceeded to describe the events in Stratholme, sparing no detail. A few minutes later, she finally finished.

"He wailed like a broken child." Jaina said, openly misty-eyed and visibly disturbed. "And the rage… It was as if a Titan walked among us."

"And he flew into Northrend, you say? To pursue this fiend?"

"Yes..."

"I fear he may be heading straight into a trap..." the Archmage mused darkly. "This dreadlord was clearly baiting him."

"We have to do something..." Jaina said, clenching her shaking fists.

"We will. But tell me, child. This fear I see in your face. Are you afraid of him… or afraid for him?"

"What?!" she protested. "This is no time to be making light of-"

"Forgive me, Jaina. It was not my intention. I have been aware of Alonsus' pupil for some time now. He consulted me during the process of drafting his training and education plan. For a time the boy even stayed at Dalaran, though we kept his abilities concealed."

"Why did no not tell me anything sooner?" Jaina asked, rather accusingly.

"Forgive me, Jaina. Alonsus and I made a pact, in case something like this would ever happen. As you have seen, the boy has tremendous potential to be a force for good in this world, but he is young and reckless… and as you have seen, magic cuts through him like it does through anyone else."

"What are we going to do then?"

"What we must. If the boy is out there hunting the agents of the Burning Legion, he will need all the help he can get."

Hours later, at Tyr's Hand…

"It was all we can gather on such short notice..." Uther lamented. "But it will have to do."

Using his authority as the head of the Silver Hand and the king's right hand, Uther had gathered as many paladins and members of the army as possible, along with a contingent of ships from the royal navy. Ideally, he would have taken more time to prepare, but knowing that a dreadlord was on the loose and that one of his order had set out on his own, Arthas' own impatience had ended up affecting him as well.

As he stood on the wooden pier, he pondered the events of the last few days.

"A cult out to kill us all, the Legion returning, Stratholme… wiped out along with all those villages..." he mused darkly as he stared into the waves. "And then there's this boy."

Truth be told, Uther couldn't help feeling perplexed at his mentor's decision to keep Clark's existence hidden from him… as well as a little resentful.

"Why? Did you not trust me? Did you think I had grown too fond of the court and the trappings of power?"

For a moment, his thoughts turned to Hearthglen, and an old regret stuck on his side like a thorn.

"Tirion… I still don't understand why you did what you did, but you did not deserve that. Why did I let myself be swayed?"

Gripping the shaft of his hammer, the aging paladin sighed.

"Perhaps my mentor was right. Perhaps I have changed… and forgotten the true meaning of justice. Another reason to finish raising Arthas to be better than me… while I still have time."

His thoughts were interrupted as the wooden pier creaked under armored boots. He turned around and saw a familiar face.

"Alexandros..." Uther said as he moved to greet the man at the head of the group. "Glad you could make it."

"No true Knight of the Silver Hand would miss this." a powerfully built man clad from the neck down in azure plate and a tabard of the Silver Hand said, as he stood there with his cloak fluttering in the breeze. "Besides, we have a brother fighting out there against that fiend. I would very much like to meet this… Ashbringer."

"Ashbringer?" Uther asked, a little confused.

"That's what some of the younger ones are calling the boy." Alexandros Mograine explained. "A force of retribution, reducing the undead to ashes in his wake."

Jaina chose that moment to teleport in, along with a contingent of mages from Dalaran.

"The Council of Six stand with us." she announced. "While they cannot be here in person just yet, they have-"

She was interrupted by the flare of another teleportation spell, followed by the elves she and Arthas had met during the initial investigation of the Cult's activities. However, there was someone else with them – someone she did not expect to see there.

As the two princes eyed each other, each trying to hide their disdain, a singular thought crossed both of their minds simultaneously.

"What is this fool doing here?!"

Meanwhile...

After a rest and a hearty meal courtesy of the dwarves, the group continued its trek through the frozen wastes. Yet, something was wrong.

"There's something foul in the air." Clark hissed. "I don't think they know where we are just yet, but we must hurry."

The Lich King had originally planned to drive the overeager Prince Arthas to the brink of madness and then push him into betraying his own men for the sake of vengeance. With Arthas still en route, the master of the Cult of the Damned had little reason to move the undead through the Dragonblight, other than claiming more remains from the dragons' ancient graveyard. This allowed the group to move through uncontested, apart from the unforgiving weather.

Clark had somehow managed to endure dwarven ale without getting knocked out, but in his hunger he had overestimated his fortitude and was not feeling in full possession of his faculties. Still, he pressed on. As if affronted by the intrusion in the frozen wastes, a tremendous blizzard started raging out of nowhere, reminding Clark of the time he had been separated from the first family he had ever known. With a sigh, he paused for a moment, struggling under the weight of one particular memory.

"Krypto..." he thought dejectedly, recalling his old frost wolf companion. "Are you still alive somewhere out there, buddy?"

Of all the regrets in his still short life, failing to stop Mal'Ganis was closely seconded by having left his first and greatest friend behind. Casting aside such thoughts, he pressed on, through the blizzard, and after what felt like an eternity in an endless white, he heard Muradin's voice over the howling of the wind.

"This is the place." the dwarf announced grimly.

Ahead of them stood the mouth of a cave, and from its depths, Clark felt a chill deeper than the blizzard's own, which reminded him of the frostwyrms and their agonizing breath.

"All right lads." Muradin said as he looked over his shoulder. "Stay together and dig in. We're going inside to look for the blade."

"If any of those fiends come upon you, call out to us." Clark added, his face a mask of grim determination. "I will not see even one more life taken by them under my watch."

With that, they headed inside, through tortuous tunnels, all the while feeling a sense of impending menace. Still unable to come up with any ideas to stop or dissuade them short of confronting them head on, Chromie silently followed.

"This is a really bad idea..." she finally said, breaking her silence.

"You still haven't given me a single good reason to turn back." Clark contested, incensed at the mere thought of allowing the fiend to escape justice.

"You have no idea what you-" she tried to say before being cut off.

"Halt." a hissing voice interrupted, sounding like the embodiment of the freezing winds.

Clark and Muradin looked ahead and saw a towering, menacing form, clad in jagged, black plate armor with a horned helmet, brandishing what looked like an oversized scythe.

"Turn back, mortals." the creature Clark recognized as a frost revenant warned. "Death and darkness are all that await you in this forsaken vault."

"Death and darkness await us outside." Clark countered, already foreseeing a confrontation. "Who are you supposed to be? One of the dreadlord's minions?"

"Believe what you will, boy." the apparition retorted. You shall not pass."

"I think otherwise." Clark countered, his eyes already ablaze with crimson light.

Determined not to be caught by surprise again or to leave an opening for an opponent to blast him with magic, Clark simply fired his heat vision, not even bothering getting closer. Muradin nearly jumped in surprise, but stood firm as the beams quickly melted the creature.

"Turn away... before it's... too late." the revenant hissed, before its corporeal form evaporated into a cloud of mist.

"You really should have listened..." Chromie warned.

Ignoring her nagging, Clark pushed on, followed by Muradin.

"Bloody hell..." the dwarf hissed.

The three came upon a large chamber, seemingly carved out of the rock and covered in a layer of frost. The source of the unnatural chill that permeated the cave became readily apparent as Clark spotted a strange stone pedestal, carved into unsettling shapes. Hovering above the pedestal, encased in a block of ice, was a sinister-looking sword, far too large to be wielded by a normal human, forged from a strange metal that Clark did not recognize. Its jagged blade seemed sharp enough to easily slice through its icy prison, and the spiked crossguard, in the shape of a horned ram's skull, brought to mind scenes of barbarity and slaughter. In fact, the eye sockets of the metallic skull seemed to be glowing with an eerie, icy light that danced along the edge of the blade as well.

The entire object felt wrong to Clark's senses, warped, foul.

"Is this what I came to claim?" he pondered, feeling a sudden nausea that he was not sure if it was due to the meal and ale or the sword's foreboding presence.

"Hold lad… there's an inscription on the dais." Muradin warned as he stepped closer to the pedestal, studying the inscriptions intently.

"Are those… some sort of runes?" Clark asked.

"Wait..." Muradin repeated as he continued his study.

A tense moment later, he shook his head.

"Bloody hell… I owe me brother a cask for teachin' me the basics of Kalimag."

"Kalimag?" Clark asked. "I've heard the name somewhere… Is that…?"

"Aye. The elemental language. And ye're not gonna like this."

Feeling Clark's gaze upon him, he elaborated.

"It's a warning. It says, 'Whomsoever takes up this blade shall wield power eternal. Just as the blade rends flesh, so must power scar the spirit.' Oh, I should've known. The blade is cursed! Let's get the hell out of here!

Cursed. The one item that sounded like it might be the key to his vengeance turned out to be a trap, likely laid out by the dreadlord himself. Clark let out a loud groan of frustration, but still had the presence of mind to recognize that the dwarf had likely saved his life – possibly his very soul. Still, he was not ready to leave just yet.

"I don't want to say I told you so..." Chromie chimed in. "But..."

As rage and reason clashed in his mind, the Knight of the Silver Hand stood there, staring at the sword. The faces and the wails of all the Cult's victims were etched upon his memory, and would likely haunt his nightmares for years. Once again, he felt the pounding of his chest and the hatred for the demon. However, he was also reminded of the price of thoughtless actions as the memories of his magically induced injuries were just as fresh. After what felt like an eternity, he finally moved again.

"Well..." Clark conceded. "There's only one thing to do..."

With that, he strode up to the pedestal, his mind made up.

"Wait!" Chromie pleaded, rushing after Clark. "What are you doing?!"

"If it's as Muradin said, then this sword is too dangerous for anyone to use..." Clark said with a scowl. "And far, far too dangerous to leave lying around for some desperate fool to find."

"You haven't answered my question." she insisted. "What are you-"

"I don't know if I can destroy this thing on my own, and I'm not about to crack that block of ice to find out." Clark said as he lifted the pedestal with both hands.

Satisfied that he was still able to lift the whole thing with only one arm despite the unnatural chill of the cave threatening to seep into his very bones, he began to lift off the ground. Chromie had a very bad feeling about the whole thing, but as he turned around and started picking up speed, all she could do was try to catch up with him.

"Wait!" she cried out. "Where are you going with that?!"

Then, bursting into a full sprint, he kept making his way back out. She tried to use her powers as a Keeper of Time to stop him or at least slow him down, but he was moving at such as speed even her eyes couldn't keep up and her attempts failed.

"Get back here!" she shouted, chasing him through the mouth of the cave, while the rest of the dwarves glanced at them in confusion, surprised to see such a large young man chased by the tiny gnome and baffled by the ease with which he was carrying his load.

After a few moments she was finally able to catch up with him, finding him standing outside, looking into the distance.

"Are you finally going to be reasonable and listen to me?" she asked with an annoyed scowl. "Whatever you think you're doing, you have to stop it now!"

"And why's that?" he snapped. "You still haven't given me a proper reason."

"Things… are supposed to happen in a very specific way." she said, though her expression betrayed her discomfort with the whole thing. "Many of them terrible, but that is the path that was set long before life on this world was shaped by the Titans' hands."

"Why would I care about someone else's script?" he growled. "People are dying!"

"They are." she replied evenly. "But the alternative is far too terrible."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"There are… things out there." she said with a somber look on her face. "Things just waiting for an opening to break into this reality and feast on everything in it. Things whose very existence defies reason and whose very presence would be enough to make mortal minds unravel. The slightest disruption in the timeline could give them the opening they need. One change could spark countless others… and then everything would fall into chaos."

"I don't care for your abstracts and what-ifs." Clark retorted, clearly annoyed. "People are suffering in the here and now, and I have a duty to save as many as I can."

He then lifted up the pedestal again and turned his gaze back into the horizon.

"Wait!" she cried out. "What are you going to do with that? Let's not do anything ra-"

"What am I going to do?" he cut her off. "This."

And with that, he hurled the pedestal in the direction of the Great Sea with all the strength he could muster. After a few moments the ice block separated from the pedestal mid-flight and careened in separate directions.

Chromie froze in place, utterly shocked and let out an unnatural, half choked screech as the block of ice containing Frostmourne struck the surface of the water with a tremendous water spout and then plunged underneath the arctic waves.

Watching from out of sight, a diminutive figure clad in purple gasped and dropped the bucket of popcorn in its hands, spilling part of the contents on the snow, and started rolling on the ground laughing hysterically in a high pitched voice.

"Supes! Priceless as always!" the diminutive figure thought, as it pounded the ground with its tiny fists. "Never a dull moment with you around, old pal!"

In the distance, an inhuman voice let out a tremendous howl of rage, and the Icecrown Glacier violently shook to its very foundations. The Lich King's plan had just literally gone out the window, and Ner'Zhul had never been one to tolerate insults.