Chapter 10 – A Nightmare in the Making

"Where did Muradin go anyway?" Arthas wondered as the group prepared to set out for the capital.

Clark scanned the surrounding area. Tyr's Hand, while an important town, was not that large. Once his eyes caught sight of a nearby tavern, he smiled sheepishly and shook his head.

"Take a wild guess." he simply said, slightly amused, before making his way to the two floor stone building with a yellow tile roof.

He paused near the hitching post near one of the ground floor windows just long enough to pat the head of the horse that was tied there, a magnificent brown stallion with a white stripe down his forehead and clad in the traditional blue barding with golden embroidery of the Silver Hand, and then headed inside. Sure enough, he found Muradin sitting at one of the tables, just as the dwarf was about to finish off a particularly large flagon of ale.

"Ah, that's the stuff!" Muradin practically purred, not having had the chance to quench his thirst since before the flight from Northrend.

Clark saw another dwarf sitting at the table, seemingly younger and with red hair tied in braids and a somewhat more subdued beard. His face was crisscrossed by some sort of azure paint and his green eyes had an unusual intensity to them. In contrast with Muradin's heavy plate, he was clad in a polished suit of chain mail, with thick leather gloves and boots. On the left side of the chest an insignia shaped like a gryphon's head was emblazoned in ocher tones.

"Am I interrupting something?" Clark asked.

"Oh bugger." Muradin interjected. "Guess I lost track of time."

He then stared at Clark and swept a hand in the direction of the other dwarf.

"This guy here is Gelmir Flagstaff, and old friend of mine from the Wildhammer Express." he introduced before turning to the dwarf in question. "Gelmir, this is the lad I was tellin' ya about."

"A pleasure." Clark said, extending a hand, which Gelmir caught in a firm shake. "I'm not familiar with the Wildhammer Express though."

"Only the best bunch of air couriers this side of Khaz Modan." Muradin said with a grin. "And probably the other side too."

With that, he stood up and reached for a pouch hanging from his belt.

"Right then. Gelmir, I've gotta now now. I'm countin' on ya to get that letter to my brothers. I'd start with Magni since ya know how Brann love runnin' off to Light knows where at the drop of a hat. We're headin' out to see King Terenas, but if ya can't find me once ya get back, then ask my pal in Brill."

Gelmir nodded in acknowledgment and Muradin headed to the counter. With practiced ease, he pulled out two golden coins and deposited them on the surface in sight of the tavernkeeper, a human in his forties with graying black hair and a matching beard, whose posture and alert eyes betrayed some sort of military past despite the plain crimson linen shirt and white apron visible over the counter.

"Keep the change." Muradin said, waving at him. "And thanks. I see your brew is as great as ever."

With that, Clark and Muradin stepped outside.

"I should have known." Arthas scoffed.

"Well lad, this dry spell looked like it was gonna be the end of me." Muradin joked. "Anyway, now that I've had another dose of liquid courage I'm ready to head out."

"Good." Clark said, before turning to the young sorceress among them.

"Since none of us brought steeds, maybe we can trouble Lady Jaina for a portal?" he asked, rather timidly. Thankfully she had replaced the rather unfitting garments she had worn during their first encounter with a fully fledged travel robe fashioned from some sort of enchanted blue and white silk with golden embroidery and a golden clasp below the neck decorated with a small purple gem.

Arthas blinked, once again surprised by the contrast between the unbridled fury he had displayed in Stratholme and his mild-mannered way of speaking in the presence of a lady.

For her part, Jaina simply smiled.

"No need to be so formal. Jaina will do."

The truth of the matter was that Clark was still a little embarrassed at his earlier breaches of protocol, first removing his damaged armor without noticing Lady Paletress and then greeting Kael'thas in such a casual manner. Court etiquette had not exactly been high in the Archbishop's priority list when educating his young pupil.

"I suppose a certain pompous elf could stand to learn a thing or two from him." Arthas scoffed inwardly, leering at Kael'thas. Arthas himself left courtly etiquette strictly within the confines of the court and many from both the army and the common folk admired him for his down-to-earth attitude.

"But to answer your question." Jaina asked, still smiling. "It's no trouble at all."

"Milady, are you not fatigued from your journey?" Kael'thas intervened. "I could handle this in your stead."

Not far from him, Zaram, Aura, Elara and Solune rolled their eyes. Even Al'ar seemed to be a bit embarrassed about her master's antics.

"Light's sake…" Arthas thought, fighting the urge to roll his eyes as well. "She's not made of glass and if she needs your help she will ask."

While he was tempted to make a remark, he knew that Jaina was more than capable of handling herself.

"While I appreciate the concern, I can handle this myself." Jaina said, trying to keep a neutral tone and straight face. "Besides, did you not just teleport all the way here from Northrend? You should conserve your strength in case something else happens."

Knowing it would be pointless to insist, Kael'thas finished the conjured mana bun he was holding and let her take care of the spellcasting. Jaina planted her staff on the ground, using it as a focus, and the azure gem atop it lit up. In a matter of seconds, a shimmering circular shape appeared out of thin air as if traced by an invisible hand in glowing azure and within it an opening in the fabric of reality formed. On the other side the throne room of Lordaeron was clearly visible.

Curious, Clark tentatively approached the portal and stared at it inquisitively. While he had heard of such magic before, he had never had the opportunity to witness it firsthand. For a moment, he faltered, thinking about the devastation he had witnessed in the farmlands in the eastern province and Stratholme. Silently thanking Jaina for sparing him the sight of those places again, he stepped through.

The abrupt transition was mildly disorienting, as if falling weightlessly in a void. Thankfully it only lasted a fraction of a second. As he got acquainted with his new surroundings – a circular stone chamber with a throne mounted on a dais and flanked by two azure tapestries with the crest of Lordaeron running down along the wall – Clark found himself confronted by stern-faced armored figures with long blue cloaks, wielding long spears.

"The royal guards, I presume? Weren't you expecting us?"

"Where is Lord Uther?" the man sitting on the throne asked with a tired voice. "And my son?"

Clark turned his attention to the man, quickly recognizing the aging Terenas Menethil, third of his name. Somewhere in his fifties or sixties, with his hair already mostly white, he still carried himself with strength and dignity, sitting straight in his regal suit of armor and with the crown of his forefathers on his head. Clark definitely saw the resemblance to Arthas as the king studied him intently with very similar eyes, burning with determination, framed by a weathered, wrinkled face that still showed some of the vigor of his youth.

As if on cue, Uther emerged from the portal, followed by Arthas and the others.

"My liege." Uther said, stepping forward and respectfully bowing his head.

The guards relaxed their stance and return to their posts, each standing with their backs to one of the pillars at the edge of the chamber.

"Well now…" Terenas said, quirking an eyebrow. "When you said you were on your way back, I was not expecting such a crowd."

"Fate and circumstance are strange things." Uther said.

"Prince Kael'thas." Terenas called out. "It is good to see you in good health in these strange times."

"Likewise." the prince answered. "Reports of the events in Andorhal and beyond reached my ears and I felt the need to investigate this threat personally."

"It seems that there was some actual substance to that so-called Prophet's ramblings." Terenas noted with a heavy, pensive expression.

"Yes, Father." Arthas said. "A pity he couldn't have been a little more straightforward."

"So it is true then?" Terenas asked. "This cult is behind all of our recent problems?"

"I have consulted Archmage Antonidas on the matter." Jaina informed. "Not only was the apparent head of the cult a former member of the Council of Six who was dabbling in necromancy before his disappearance, but he also had the backing of a darker power."

"We already encountered demons during the Second War, but we thought they had simply been brought along or summoned by the Horde." Uther recalled. "It appears that we were wrong."

"If I may." Clark intervened, stepping forward.

"Do you have something to add to this discussion, boy?" Terenas asked.

"Actually, yes." Clark said with a nod. "I understand that this may come as a shock to those present… and bring my loyalties into question, but there is something you need to know."

"Bring your loyalties into question, lad?" Uther intervened. "After everything you've done so far, I find that difficult to believe."

"Still, I'd ask that you keep what I'm about to tell you between those present here, at least for now." Clark insisted. "You see…"

Terenas, seeing his reluctance and earnestness, decided to go along with it.

"Very well. Guards, kindly give us some privacy."

The royal guards quietly saluted and exited the chamber, closing the doors behind them.

"Thank you, my liege." Clark said. "As I was saying, I don't know how much you've heard about me, but my childhood wasn't entirely normal."

"I know the Archbishop took you in as his pupil." Terenas mused. "Alonsus started his life as a humble farmer, but it was still unusual that he would take such personal interest in your education."

"I was quite surprised myself." Clark admitted. "He passed by Hillsbrad on one of his yearly visits when I was a boy and one thing led to another. But what I need to tell you about happened a few years before that. Before Hillsbrad."

"I am listening."

"Make no mistake, my liege. The Kents have been my family for many years and I love them as a son loves his parents, but… I was adopted."

"And how is this relevant to our situation?" Kael'thas asked.

"You see…" Clark continued. "I never knew who my birth parents were or where my… unusual abilities come from. But before Hillsbrad, I have memories of another place. Up in the Alterac mountains."

"The Alterac mountains?" Uther asked. "But there are no settlements in that area since the fall of that kingdom of thieves."

"No human settlements." Clark politely corrected. "I do not know where exactly I came from, but my earliest memories are from the snows of Alterac… where I was raised by…"

He stopped abruptly, his hesitation plain to see. Taking the initiative, Jaina stepped forward.

"I don't know why is so difficult to you, but after what we've seen nothing you say would make us doubt you."

He knew she meant every word. For someone of his size and strength, feeling genuinely vulnerable was something he had never been able to fully accept. The sting of his perceived failure to protect the innocent citizens of Lordaeron and the burn of magic in Northrend due to his recklessness were still bearing down on him but Jaina's acceptance and the trust of his companions eased his uncertainty. Knowing there was no turning back, he straightened up and looked at the king eye to eye.

"I was raised by orcs, my liege. Of the Frostwolf Clan."

"What?!" Arthas and Kael'thas shouted at the same time.

"So they were hiding in the mountains all this time then." Terenas realized, seeming the least surprised among those present. "I have had my suspicions."

"Father?" Arthas interjected.

"My son… The Second War left terrible wounds upon the land and its people. You know how my refusal to have the remaining orc prisoners exterminated tore the Alliance apart."

"Those self-important fools only cared about their own interests." Arthas retorted. "I have no love for those green-skinned savages, but they weren't the ones who stabbed us in the back."

"How dare you?!" Kael'thas hissed. "The Horde and their Amani allies put our forests to the torch and slaughtered countless of our people!"

"Yes, and that was an atrocity in itself." Arthas growled. "But your people were content to sit there and let the rest of us face that menace until you were reminded of your debt to Lord Lothar's bloodline."

"Enough!" Terenas shouted, bringing silence to the room. "There is more to this than you are aware of. The Horde was fueled by an unnatural bloodlust and after their defeat they fell into a near catatonic state. It is one thing to execute criminals, but exterminating a defeated foe that was barely conscious is another matter entirely."

"The Kirin Tor strongly suspected that this bloodlust was fueled by magic." Jaina added. "Fel magic, to be precise."

"Well, that suspicion was correct." Clark intervened. "The Frostwolf Clan were exiled because they refused to partake in demon blood or to be a part of Gul'dan's mad plans."

"That would explain a thing or two." Arthas conceded. "But there is still the fact that they assaulted the internment camps and killed several of our soldiers. Not to mention the Blackrock scum and other demon worshipers are still on the loose."

"The Blackrock and the others were leftovers from the corrupted Horde." Clark pointed out. "The Frostwolf have plenty of reasons to kill them on sight. As for the internment camps, that was after my time, but I doubt they would have done that without some sort of reason."

"As if those savages needed any reason to spill more blood!" Kael'thas sneered.

"Their culture may be more warlike, but they are not the mindless bloodthirsty savages you think they are." Clark countered. "I lived among them, so I got to see it firsthand. Not to mention they took in a child from another race. Some of the younger ones may not have liked me very much due to me being somewhat stronger than them, but I was still part of the clan."

"The internment camps were a mistake." Uther lamented. "Or at least their implementation."

"I still do not understand why those monsters were not put to the sword." Kael'thas grumbled.

"As I said, they were barely aware of their surroundings." Terenas insisted. "Some of them could not even eat by themselves. They were utterly broken and many died on the first winter of their imprisonment. If you had seen the state they were in, you would not be so quick to pass judgement."

"Yes." Jaina confirmed. "I have seen the reports. Once they no longer had access to fel magic the withdrawal devastated them. Archmage Antonidas suspected that they had been under this influence since long before the First War."

Kael'thas narrowed his eyes. He did recall reading something along those lines in the archives of the Kirin Tor and as much as he hated the thought of extending any leniency to the butchers of his people, he still had to recognize the facts.

"Not to mention that not all of them partook willingly." Clark pointed out. "After all, the Frostwolf Clan was exiled after their chieftain refused. The only reason why they were not simply exterminated is because that chieftain was still respected among the clans… though Gul'dan did send his assassins for him later."

He carefully omitted the part about his furious reaction as a child upon hearing about Durotan and Draka's deaths, trying to spare himself further embarrassment.

"I have no reason to doubt your character and integrity." Kael'thas said, his words slow and pondered. "But that is quite a tale you are spinning."

"I understand." Clark said. "And I hope to be able to provide proof eventually."

"But…" Arthas added, turning his gaze to Terenas. "You were not surprised that there would be orcs hiding in Alterac?"

The king's shoulders slumped.

"As a king, I always have to keep what is best for the people and the realm in mind. Even if those concerns find themselves at odds with my personal sense of justice. But in this matter, I…"

He sighed and gripped the armrests of the throne.

"I made poor choices. Choices that allowed foul deeds to take place right under my nose."

"What do you mean?" Arthas asked.

Terenas straightened up again and his face twisted into a bitter, angry scowl.

"After Danath Trollbane and the others led the expedition into Draenor, a new warden for the internment camps was chosen. Aedelas Blackmoore."

The way the king had practically spat that second name did not escape Clark's notice and he cast him a quizzical look.

"That animal Blackmoore not only abused his position at Durnholde Keep, wantonly abusing and starving his charges, but he also tried to train them into an army of his own, which he hoped to overthrow the crown with."

"I seem to remember hearing something about that a few years ago." Clark recalled. "Wasn't the camp stormed by orcs?"

"Yes…" Terenas confirmed with a nod. "After the bastard beheaded a poor human girl and threw her head at the leader of the uprising as a sick taunt."

Even Kael'thas was disgusted by that notion.

"That alone would have been reason enough to hang him." Arthas growled.

"So this Frostwolf Clan and their new leader somehow led an uprising to free the other orcs and even got Orgrim Doomhammer and Grom Hellscream on their side." Uther summarized.

"Yes." Terenas confirmed. "It all fits together. And now you know why I have focused our efforts on combating the marauding orcs instead of hunting down and exterminating these escaped prisoners."

"You are playing a dangerous game." Kael'thas warned.

"I am aware. But as long as those escapees do not prove themselves a threat to the people, I will allow them to leave. The Blackrock and the other scum, however, will get no mercy from us."

"But so from this…" Jaina added, as an unsettling line of reasoning became clear. "And from the Kirin Tor reports after the Second War…"

"Yes." Clark confirmed. "My thoughts exactly. The Burning Legion shaped the orc clans into the Horde and set it upon Azeroth… and now they are pulling the strings on this cult."

"As we already faced a dreadlord in Stratholme, that makes sense." Uther reasoned. "That necromancer was all too eager to drop his name as well, but it took us too long to make the connection."

"So it is true then." Kael'thas intervened. "You faced an actual dreadlord? Describe the creature to me."

"About as tall as three men, pale as a corpse, with fangs and large horns." Clark recalled, his face curling up in anger. "Claws. Goat legs. Large bat wings and an infuriatingly smug voice. I thought I'd killed the bastard twice, but each time he simply turned into a cloud of bats and ran away."

The prince inhaled sharply. The description was far too close to certain materials he had access to, along with the stories of his people's history passed along the royal family.

"And then you ran off to Northrend…" he muttered. "Or rather flew, from what I have heard."

Clark nodded.

"Yes. And the continent was infested with undead. Reanimated human corpses, strange giant spiders I have never seen before, gargoyles of all things… and the reanimated bones of dragons."

Muradin finally broke his silence.

"It's all true. I was there. The lad probably saved my whole crew's lives."

"Even with my… unusual abilities, there was little I could do against such numbers on my own." Clark admitted. "So I bade Lord Uther to turn the fleet around."

"It was a sound call." Uther confirmed. "We would need an entire army to deal with those things."

Clark clenched his fists.

"It is one thing for me to make mistakes and act without thinking, but I will not have others pay the price for it again."

Terenas took a deep breath and placed a hand on his forehead.

"This changes everything. If we are facing an evil of this magnitude, then Lordaeron alone will not be enough. They already devastated a large portion of the realm with ridiculous ease… and I doubt we have seen the last of that accursed plague."

"We need the Alliance." Uther added. "Or at least leaders who will listen to us."

"Trollbane and Greymane will be difficult to sway." Terenas grumbled. "They probably still think they can just handle whatever threat heads their way or wall themselves up."

"What has been happening while we were away?" Uther asked.

"Nothing good." Terenas said wearily. "I have been getting more reports of this plague spreading southward. Brill and the capital are still untouched and under quarantine but Silverpine Forest and portions of Tirisfal are not faring so well."

Terenas sighed again.

"If we do not find a solution soon, this could be the end of our kingdom."

"And what of the city?" Arthas asked.

"After your previous reports we disposed of all the grain from Andorhal." Terenas informed. "This has, of course, damaged our emergency stockpiles, but we cannot settle for half measures when dealing with something so foul. I just hope the enemy has not contaminated other food sources… or our water."

"And what about a cure?" Clark asked. "Is there any progress on that?"

Jaina shook her head.

"Neither the arcane or the Light have had any success. We have the Kirin Tor and members of the church working on it around the clock, but so far it has been a desperate struggle."

"Something even the Light cannot cure…" Arthas muttered dejectedly.

"We will just have to find some way." Clark said. "But… what about Hillsbrad and Southshore?"

"They produce their own food locally, so they should be fine for the time being." Terenas pointed out. "Still, I have given orders to quarantine the region as well."

"I need to speak to the Archbishop." Clark said, feeling a growing unease. "And with your permission, I would like to check in on my family before anything else happens."

There was a loud knock on the throne room door and a herald rushed inside, fresh mud still stuck on his boots.

"My liege." the man said, bowing before the king, struggling to stay composed. "Dire news!"

Terenas had an ominous feeling, but felt it would be best not to delay.

"Speak."

"I have just arrived from the Tirisfal Monastery. The Archbishop… is dead."

"What?!" Clark weakly muttered, before rushing forward to press the man for more details.

"I'm sorry. The Archbishop's assistant sent me as soon as possible so I don't know much more. He seems to have been fighting off a terrible illness for some time."

Clark's eyes widened.

"No…"

It made too much sense. His mentor's debilitated state during their last meeting, the way he had been sequestering himself in his chambers and keeping his distance from almost everyone, the timing of his new assignment.

"They killed him…" he growled, clenching his fists as a sudden tear slid down his face. "The bastards killed him! Mal'Ganis… I'm going to kill you with my own two hands!"


Meanwhile, somewhere in the Twisting Nether…

"So it is done then." the dreadlord Tichondrius said as he stood before his peers, clad in a crimson felsteel suit of war armor.

"Yes." his kindred Detheroc confirmed, clad a green suit of armor that left his chest bare. "Procuring this specimen has taken a great amount of resources, but the results will be more than worth the investment."

With a maniacal grin, Mal'Ganis held a thick block of ice in his hands. Inside, a strange black object stirred, as if struggling to break free.

"I do suggest that you take some care with that thing." Tichondrius remarked disapprovingly. "If it escapes your control…"

"Once it reaches its destination, that will be a moot point." Mal'Ganis retorted with malicious glee. "Let it run rampant and do the Legion's work. We may not even need that aggravating puppet any longer."

As he held the block of ice close to his face, the item inside became more clearly visible – a black ring with an unfamiliar signet.

"You will regret humiliating me, boy." he hissed under his breath. "Your feeble mentor is only the beginning."

While dreadlords normally tried to project an image of aloof composure, he allowed himself a deep, diabolical laugh.