Chapter One: Finder of Children

Uther sped down the hill, wondering if he would be too late.

The knight had fought in the wars of Stormwind for years, but he was originally from Lordaeron. He'd killed more than his fair share of men already and more than his fair share of orcs. Too many.

Of course, the orcs were an utterly vile race, one that was pure evil.

But on reflection, Uther knew very little about them. Some theorized that the orcs were not part of the light. That they were a kind of outsider which existed entirely separate from the rest. But this was all nonsense to Uther.

Nothing was outside the light.

The light shone on everyone, innocent and guilty alike. It was all-powerful and all-benevolent. Evil existed because people were doing it wrong. There was a right way to do things and a wrong way. The light allowed people to do things incorrectly because that was the only way they would learn. The light could have created a universe where everyone always did what was right.

But then there would be no choice.

Uther made a lot of choices. Not all of those choices were good. He had paid for mistakes he had made, just like everyone did. But if the light had not allowed Uther to make those mistakes, Uther would not exist. There might be a machine named Uther that looked exactly like Uther.

It might talk like Uther.

But there could be no real relationship with that Uther. He would be nothing but a mirror image.

Rather like the orcs.

Uther had fought enough of them to know they had many similarities to humans. Of course, humans were, by and large, basically good, with an occasional bad person among them. Orcs were a dark mirror image of this. By and large, orcs were bad, though there might be one or two good ones. They had virtues, bravery in battle, cunning, and such, but it was largely a kind of tool.

Mankind loved virtue, even if some were too confused.

Orcs hated it.

But they needed it. They were pragmatic enough to realize that they could not survive without virtue. So they used it as a kind of weapon to be maintained and kept in good repair if they were smart. But never to be used at home or kept within easy reach of children.

It was for this reason the orcs were doomed.

They substituted pragmatic traditions for true morality and love for one another. However, it was obvious from their behavior that they hated one another. So, they projected their hatred and vitriol onto an outside target. Someone who had something they needed or who was a threat to them.

This could get them some ways.

But it would ultimately fail.

Uther had seen such qualities in the worst of humanity. Mostly in bandits, the people humans cast out of their societies. And bandit leaders all came to the same end. If they did not repent, they would either be killed by the righteous or consumed by their malice.

Good people could get on perfectly well without an outside threat.

Bad people needed one to function.

The path was getting rockier and needed to be more well-maintained. Uther halted as he realized there was a river to his left. That wasn't right; he was not going anywhere near the river now.

"I think I've taken a wrong turn," said Uther.

He'd been so caught up thinking about metaphysical realities. Uther supposed there was a lesson to be contemplated there as well. But for now, he had to get away from the river. Orcs and forest trolls sometimes came down it in boats, and they loved to prey on lone individuals. Uther was no coward, but he had no desire to face a contingent of orcs alone, in this place, far from help.

At that moment, Uther heard the howl of a wolf, more specifically, a warg.

He knew that howl.

Then, the sound of fighting came to his ears. A patrol of soldiers of Stormwind must have been in need. Or perhaps some travelers had fallen victim to the fate Uther had feared for himself. They might be dying even now.

Drawing his hammer, Uther rushed toward the sound of the fighting.

It took him off the road, and he rushed to the clearing, intent on joining the side of the righteous. Coming through the trees, he rushed forward with hammer heft, expecting to find the battle. Yet he halted dead in place.

In front of him, Uther did not see humans battling orcs but orcs battling orcs.

They were killing one another with savagery and viciousness, which befit their race. Uther had no idea who they were or what brought them out. What was their quarrel? Were they fighting over plunder?

He could not, in good conscience, simply leave. The winner might well cause great harm to innocents. Or they might well have already taken slaves. So he watched.

As the battle continued, Uther began to piece things together.

They were not of the same warband. They had two very different banners, but Uther had yet to learn what they represented. One side seemed to favor wolves, while the other had ogres among them. It was clear that the side with the ogres was far more bloodthirsty, while the other side was on the defensive.

They had formed a ring around something.

What were they defending? Plunder taken from destroyed farmsteads, perhaps? Uther had often seen their work. It seemed such a futile thing.

Then he heard a child crying.

As the crying continued, the battle was waning. Both sides were killing one another off. Fewer and fewer remained, and the screams of the dying were everywhere. Should he go to the aid of the wounded? And die?

To go to their aid would see him killed almost at once. Even if Uther were not willing to tell a human patrol of this, the orcs would not believe him. Why would they trust him? They trusted no one.

So Uther stood there, trying to find some reason to do something.

Where was the crying of the child coming from? Was there another observer nearby? He could not see one.

The ring.

The ring was protecting a child—or many children.

This was not a warband.

They were refugees!

Orcs who had broken from their kind and fled from some internal conflict. Their attackers were after them, seeking to slaughter them all.

Uther wanted to raise his hammer.

To go forth to their aid, to join the fray and wipe them out.

But it was too late.

Because both sides were dead.

And nobody would ever care who deserved the blame. Uther wondered what their names had been and why they had fled. Were they merely power-hungry monsters who had been exiled? Or were they defectors from decadence who had realized the error of their ways? Is it a mix of both?

Had the pursuers chased after them out of revenge or bloodlust? Was there some old vendetta at work here? Or were they merely trying to head off a future threat?

Uther did not know. War had made corpses of them all.

Then he heard the crying again and saw an orc fleeing into the woods. And she was fleeing into the woods, followed by two others. They were male and bore weapons.

In her arms was the child.

Uther followed.

He did not know who any of these creatures were. They were almost certainly all guilty of something. But the child was innocent, and he knew orcs well enough to know what would happen to it. So he followed, rushing as quickly as he could.

But as had happened before, he had been slow. And his armor slowed him further while the orcs went light. They were physically larger as well.

Uther came to the riverbank and saw the orc, no, the woman, put her child into a basket and push it downstream.

A moment later, her pursuers cleaved her skull in half. Blood spattered everywhere.

"That's it for the Frostwolves," said the orc. "Did you hear the way some of them screamed?"

"We could have some sport with this one," muttered the other. "You shouldn't have cut her up so quickly."

Uther walked up to them, and the clanking of his armor alerted them. They turned to him and halted in place. One of them stepped backward as he recognized him. Had Uther faced this orc in combat?

He tried not to dwell on such things.

The horrors of war were not something which he had ever loved.

"Who are you?!" said the orc.

"You won't be alive long enough to remember my name," said Uther.

Then he swung his hammer.

The blow hit the first orc in the head and smashed it into a thousand pieces. The helm upon the head was shattered as well. The hammer passed through it and hit the next orc, who fared better. His head was not smashed completely; it was simply caved in and knocked fully off his neck to fly away.

Uther walked past them as their still-standing corpses slumped to the ground.

Putting the child into the river had saved it, but it was now the primary threat to its existence. Murlocs, any number of other creatures who eat children, were present. And it was already rather far downstream. So Uther ran after it, hating the armor he was wearing. It had saved him many times, but now it slowed him down.

What was he doing?

Why was he rushing further off his right road to save an orc?

'What are you doing here, Uther,' he said to himself. 'You have no obligation to this creature. This child will likely die anyway. What will you do if you fish it out of the river? Raise it? You're bound for Stormwind to aid against its kin.

'It may die of cold anyway.'

"What of it?" muttered Uther.

The ground got rough. He had to go through several stones, and as he ran, the child continued to distance itself from him. Uther considered removing his armor, but he'd never find it again. And by the time he got it off, the child would be gone for certain.

The river seemed to be flowing faster than ever.

As he walked, Uther saw a murloc. It was sitting on the opposite side of the river, fishing. Its scaly face saw the basket as it washed down the stream. Its mouth opened and seemed to contemplate going after it. Uther knew he would never make it in time.

He had failed.

Then the murloc seemed to think better of it. It turned and left. Had it felt pity for the child? Or was it simply not hungry? Expending energy to try and take so small a meal would be a waste.

Then again, Uther was perhaps not one to talk.

So he hurried onward. As he did, he stepped on a log which gave way beneath him. Falling into the mud, he hit it hard. Trying to stand, his armor weighed him down. But seeing the basket going further downstream, he rose and hurried on.

The sun was beating down on Uther, and for the first time, he was cursing the light. His clothes were sticking to his body and covered in mud. His boots filled with water as he splashed into the river by accident. But he ran on, utterly miserable but determined, and soon began to gain on the basket.

Looking up, Uther saw a gnoll on the other bank of the river. It was carrying a crossbow and saw the child as well. Gnolls were known to devour human children and orcs as well. It, too, could reach the basket. After a moment, it thought better of it and left.

The basket now was drawn over to Uther's side of the river.

At that moment, Uther came to the river and halted.

"Uther?" came a voice. It was scornful. "I would have thought you'd be polishing Terenas' boots."

Uther halted and looked up. Aedelas Blackmoore stood mere feet away, having come down through the trees. Apparently, he had also come off his right road, but he looked like he had been drinking. There was an Alliance patrol with him.

Uther Lightbring and Aedelas had hated one another for years.

It was a vendetta that was little known. Mostly because both men had done all they could to avoid speaking of it. And since King Terenas was eager to put the matter behind him, it came up little. King Terenas had never been one to hold grudges, after all.

But Uther Lightbringer could have been Aedelas' vassal.

Aedelas had been the son of a General and notable noble convicted and executed, all for selling state secrets. Uther was the son of one of his knights, who had chosen to remain loyal to his Lord until the end.

That loyalty, however admirable, had gotten him killed. Aedelas' scoundrel sold out all his compatriots to try to save his skin. So, he'd become a traitor to his King and his friends. He'd failed, of course; treason was treason. Terenas had been so disgusted he'd had the man hung by the neck until dead. This was right before he smashed Graymane's armies into pieces.

Uther had led the charge himself. It had been a profoundly disgusting experience. At the time, he'd been caught between hatred of Terenas and hatred of Blackmoore. Graymane had offered him the chance to defect, but Uther was no traitor. So he'd fought for Lordaeron.

And his reward for that was being given another assignment to do later.

And another after that.

Uther had hardly been more than a boy at the time. Terenas had been much the same.

Uther had forgiven King Terenas. He had never forgiven the Blackmoore family, however. This, perhaps, was why he had left for Stormwind to observe the growing threat of the orcs. He'd left to go to war in Stormwind, specifically to shake off any association. Aedelas had also gone to war. There, he'd worked to redeem himself by plundering orcish villages.

Judging by the silver chain around his neck, he'd made much money. Uther's armor was rather simpler. No gilding or anything, just practical and meant for war.

Uther didn't know.

Frankly, he didn't want to know.

Uther could have called Aedelas a mercenary who joined a righteous cause for plunder. But he might defect from it if accused as such. He could call him a drunkard and a brute, but he had not seen him in years. Uther had heard of his brutality, but it occurred to him that he might have changed.

Perhaps Aedelas' Blackmoore's bad reputation was a result of his Father. Perhaps lies had been spread about him by jealous rivals. He had spoken disrespectfully to Uther, but he had reason to. Perhaps he regarded Uther as a spineless social climber. One who had abandoned his friends to advance his career. In another universe, he might have been correct.

If Uther allowed his dislike of the man to affect his judgment, passions could turn to bloodlust.

Then his eyes fixed on a young soldier behind Blackmoore, looking rather out of sorts.

"Falric?" asked Uther, surprised. "I never thought you would be among those to come help me."

"Sir Uther, I did not even know you were here," said Falric. "We've been tracking a group of orcs which came down this way. They seem to be on a mission of secrecy. They had not burned any towns so that they may be on a mission of some import."

"The orcs are dead," said Uther. "They were refugees. A group of their kind fell on them. I saw the battle in effort; only one survived." He halted. "The child. One moment." Turning, he moved to where the child lay and picked it up. It was swaddled with designs he did not recognize.

Moving forward, Falric drew his sword. "Give the order, sir."

"The child is innocent," said Uther.

"Well, why don't you raise it, then," scoffed Aedelas.

Uther shrugged and walked away.

He saw no reason to rise to Aedelas' barbs. Fabric was a commoner by birth but had been trained as a footman. He'd walked from Brill to the capital of Lordaeron to receive that training. And he'd gotten it before following Aedelas to war.

Personally, Uther thought the man could do better in a choice of masters.

But one could hardly begrudge a man with so few prospects. Falric wanted to advance himself and take what opportunities he could.

Of course, as he walked back, Uther realized he was taking the wrong path.

His right road was away from the river, not by it. But then, Aedelas Blackmoore was on that road. And the last thing Uther wanted was to spend more time with the man. He had contempt for Uther so Uther would not trouble the man with his presence. For one, he wouldn't put it past Aedelas to put a knife in him from behind.

Perhaps that was a thought unworthy of Uther, but he was annoyed. He'd been diverted from the path he'd wanted to go on. And now he was having to carry this child to...

Wherever.

"I think we'll take our chances with the murlocs," muttered Uther.

The child was still sleeping. How had it slept through all this?

No matter.

Uther considered what to do. Well, it was obvious that he couldn't keep the child for himself. He was a knight, and King Terenas had given him a task. He still had to deliver his report on the situation in Stormwind.

Logically, he should find someone to care for the child for him.

Walking along the river, he eventually came to a small cottage. There was a young couple in front of it, holding a child. A baby girl. They looked up in surprise.

"Milord," one said. "Can we help you?"

"I'm not sure," said Uther. And then he told them what had just happened to him. They listened with some interest. "Do you know of a monastery near here? I cannot raise this child myself and am bound for Lordaeron."

"The nearest one would never take the child," said the man. "The Abbot there is uh... not a kind man by nature."

A political appointee? Such things did happen and were a reminder that humanity was not perfect. Still, he could hardly ask them to take the child themselves; they were not of great means.

Then again, they were richer than most peasants. Yeoman by the looks of things.

So the only higher option is Blackmoore, who would do something stupid. And he'd already washed his hands of the business anyway.

"What is that child's name?" asked Uther after a moment.

"Teresa," said the woman.

An awkward silence ensured.

"Does the orc have a name?" asked the man.

"I don't know it," said Uther. He saw that there was writing on the swaddling cloth. "There is something written on the cloth. But I do not read orcish.

"I don't think anyone does. No one has had the time or opportunity. Except for the Guardian Medivh." Uther had always disliked Medivh, and he'd only seen him once or twice in person. Frankly, the man struck Uther as a liar, if not the devil incarnate.

"There might be something in the clearing," noted the woman. "Perhaps you could check it again."

"I don't enjoy seeing corpses," muttered Uther. "And I can hardly take the child back there. It might get sick."

"I..." the woman halted. "We can look after it while you finish your business."

Uther nodded. "Thank you.

"I will return when I can."

He passed the child to the man since the woman was already Teresa. And he felt bad doing it. Handing it over could endanger him, depending on who the child was.

Uther walked off, roughly trying to find the clearing.

As he did, he felt increasingly disgusted by the whole affair. How much time had he wasted for this child? How much misery did he have to endure for it before he could get rid of it? He wasn't even supposed to be here.

The whole thing had been a random chance of fate.

Uther had taken a wrong turn. All because he thought about higher realities instead of the road before him. Now, he was covered in mud, sweat-soaked, physically exhausted, and covered in orc blood. And to top it all off, now he was going on this meaningless quest to revisit a battlefield.

Uther hated revisiting battlefields.

Everyone he went to meant he had to remember losing friends. Or remember killing someone. And then he'd wonder whether they deserved it. The answer was always, 'It doesn't matter; war will make corpses of us all. You included.'

The whole world was just a neverending cycle of blood. Who wanted revenge on whom? And they suffered whenever somebody came up with the idea that they could just be nice to one another for a change. Everyone immediately ganged up on them as weak and brutalized them into a hollow shell.

And then, when the would-be peacemaker went full blood and decided to kill their enemies. Everyone did a one-eighty on them. They all started lecturing the person whose advice they had ignored on how far they had fallen.

The truth was, Uther sometimes wondered if there were any heroes at all.

There were times when Uther considered the possibility that this world was hell. That all these supposedly good people were here because they were all awful. They only pretended to be good people because it suited their purposes.

Some theologians theorized that a messiah would save the human race one day.

To reunify the world under one banner.

Personally, Uther did not buy this notion. Any King who dreamed of unifying the world would have his crushed. Probably by a warrior trained by Uther to fulfill his goal of a world that is not unified. A perfect worldwide empire might be heaven under the reign of someone like Terenas. But sooner or later, you'd get somebody like Blackmoore, and he'd turn the world into hell.

So, Uther realized he was glad the ancient Kingdom of Arathor had fragmented.

It was considered a tragedy by most royals. The regrettable loss of a golden age.

But the truth was that people, in general, were bad. Those two people Uther had met might have healthy spirits for the moment. But give them a sword and power to use it, and those spirits would be covered in scars.

In the end, they were all orcs.

Uther walked into the clearing, disgusted, hating everyone in the cosmos and everything. As he looked through the corpses, finding women and children hewn by many cruel strokes. He could no longer see them as monsters, just as people he had not saved.

He had left them to die.

At best, he could say he had not understood them. If Uther had known what he had known now, he would have gone to their aid. But it was all too late.

Too late.

And the worst part was that Falric might well have done the same thing. Aedelas certainly would have if Uther had pegged him right.

Uther picked up the fallen banners and, seeing several scrolls, put them in his pack. Then, he considered that he had no idea what these scrolls did or their purpose. For all he knew, they contained dark magics. Certainly, something you didn't want to put in reach of children.

Even so, he returned home, now feeling more tired than ever.

To his surprise, he noted the woman was leaning over the orc child with obvious affection. The man seemed more awkward about it but was holding where he was. He looked to Uther, obviously relieved. "Were you successful?"

"I found two banners," said Uther. "And several scrolls.

"I don't know what is on them, so I'll take them to the abbey for safekeeping. The banners should be easier to decipher. Anduin Lothar and several other men should know which clan they belonged to.

"And I remember which banner was which. The child's defenders fought under the banner with the wolf symbol." He halted. "I suppose I should find someone to care for the child. However, this may be of use to us. Knowing more of one's enemy can be valuable."

"We can take the child," said the man. "We have the resources to support more than one child. And if it will ease your burden, we can help you."

Uther nodded. "Thank you.

"I was afraid it would delay me even further. I have reports to make." He halted and considered what an imposition he was putting on these two. This could cause them all manner of trouble and pains. "I am sorry for your troubles.

"Light protect you."

And he hurried off, passing them the standard before he did. As he did, he realized he hadn't told them his name. Nor had he asked for theirs. And both of them were worse off for having met one another.

As far as happy endings went, it was a miserable one.

But whoever said life was fair? Where was that written in the lost Tome of Divinity?

One of these days, Uther was going to have to find out.

Well, at least the child wasn't going to be raised by Aedelas Blackmoore. That was just a disaster waiting to happen.

At that moment, the trees stirred. Light shone down through the branches as the clouds overhead parted. Uther looked around and sensed spirits gathering.

The forests rustled as the wind howled through it.

And a name was spoken;

"Arthas."

What the devil did that mean?

Was that a name?

Of who? One of the soldiers he'd run into earlier? That seemed highly unlikely. It didn't sound like a peasant's name. And the only other person present would be the orcish child. It didn't sound like an orcish name to Uther. Were the spirits of the land suggesting a name?

This was absurd.

There were thousands of sentient creatures which dwelled in this world. If the spirits were naming someone, it could have been anyone. A murloc or a gnoll. Certainly, both of them had demonstrated greater courtesy and moral fortitude than Blackmoore.

Uther could only assume the words were not meant for him. Indeed, they might not be meant for humanity at all.

Who was this Arthas anyway?

Maybe it was the miserable day he'd been having, but Uther hated them already.