“You think it’s magical in nature somehow?”
He nodded his bald head. “It’s a strong possibility. And that’s why, Jaina Proudmoore, I am asking you to travel to these lands and investigate the matter.”
Jaina nearly choked on her nectar. “Me?”
He smiled gently. “You. You have learned nearly everything I have to teach. It’s time you utilized those skills outside of the safety of these towers.” His eyes twinkled again. “And I have arranged for a special envoy to assist you.”
Arthas lounged against a tree, turning his face up to the weak sunlight and closing his eyes. He knew he radiated calmness and confidence; he had to. His men were worrying enough for all of them. He couldn’t let them see that he, too, was anxious. After all this time…how would they get along? Maybe it hadn’t been so smart a decision after all. But all the reports had been glowing, and he knew she had the most level of heads. It would work out all right. It had to.
One of his captains, Falric, whom Arthas had known for years, stomped about, going a little way down one of the four paths at this crossroads, then returning to venture a short distance down another. His breath was visible in the chill, and his irritation was obviously growing by the minute. “Prince Arthas,” he finally ventured, “we’ve been waiting here for hours. Are you sure this friend of yours is coming?”
Arthas’s lips curved in a slight smile as he answered without opening his eyes. The men had not been told, for reasons of security. “I’m sure.” He was. He thought about all the other times he had patiently waited for her. “Jaina usually runs a little late.”
No sooner had the words left his lips than he heard a distant bellow and the barely decipherable words, “Me SMASH!”
Like a panther dozing in the sun only to waken instantly alert, Arthas sprang to attention, hammer in hand. He started down the road, to see a slender, feminine shape racing toward him as she crested the hill into his vision. Behind her loomed what he knew to be an elemental—a swirling blob of aqua-colored water, with a crude head and limbs.
And behind that…were two ogres.
“By the Light!” cried Falric, starting to race forward. Arthas would have beaten him to the girl except for the fact that right at that moment, he caught sight of Jaina Proudmoore’s face.
She was grinning.
“Stay your blade, Captain,” Arthas said, feeling his own lips curve into a grin. “She can take care of herself.”
And so indeed the lady could—and efficiently. At that precise moment Jaina wheeled and began to summon fire. Arthas realized that if he was going to feel sorry for anyone in this conflict, it was the poor baffled ogres, bellowing in pain as fire licked their pudgy, pale forms and staring in shock at the tiny human female responsible for such astonishing agony. One of them had the sense to run, but the other, seemingly unable to believe it, kept coming. Jaina sent a blast of rumbling orange flame at it again, and it cried out and collapsed, burning to death quickly, the rank scent of charred flesh filling Arthas’s nostrils.
Jaina watched the second one flee, dusted her hands off, and nodded. She hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“Gentlemen, meet Miss Jaina Proudmoore,” Arthas drawled, walking up to his childhood friend and former lover. “Special agent to the Kirin Tor, and one of the most talented sorceresses in the land. Looks like you haven’t lost your touch.”
She turned to face him, smiling up at him. There was no awkwardness in this moment, only happiness. She was glad to see him, and he her, the pleasure swelling inside him. “It’s good to see you again.”
So much in so few, almost formal words. But she understood him. She had always understood him. Her eyes were sparkling as she replied, “You, too. It’s been a while since a prince escorted me anywhere.”
“Yes,” he said, a slight hint of ruefulness coloring his tone. “It has.” Now it was awkward, and Jaina looked down and he cleared his throat. “Well, I guess we should get under way.”
She nodded, dismissing the elemental with a wave of her hand. “I don’t need this fellow with such stalwart soldiers,” she said, gifting Falric and his men with one of her best smiles. “So, Your Highness, what do you know about this plague we’re to investigate?”
“Not much,” Arthas was forced to confess as they fell into step. “Father just now sent me to work with you. Uther’s been fighting with me against the orcs most recently. But I’d guess that if the Dalaran wizards want to find out more about it, it’s got something to do with magic.”
She nodded, still smiling, although her brow was starting to furrow in that familiar fashion. Arthas felt an odd pang as he noticed it. “Quite right. Although exactly how, I’m not sure. That’s why Master Antonidas sent me to observe and report back. We should check out the villages along the King’s road. Talk to the inhabitants—see if they know anything useful. Hopefully they have not been infected and this is nothing more serious than a localized outbreak of some sort.”
He, who knew her so well, could hear the doubt in her voice. He understood it. If Antonidas really believed it wasn’t serious, he wouldn’t have sent his prized apprentice to check it out—nor would King Terenas have sent his son.
He changed the topic. “I wonder if it had anything to do with the orcs.” At her raised eyebrow, he continued. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the escapes from the internment camps.”
She nodded. “Yes. I sometimes wonder if that little family we saw was among those who escaped.”
He shifted uneasily. “Well, if they are, they might still be worshipping demons.”
Her eyes widened. “What? I thought that was stamped out long ago—that the orcs were no longer using demonic energy.”
Arthas shrugged. “Father sent Uther and me to help defend Strahnbrad. By the time I got there, orcs had already begun kidnapping villagers. We hunted them down at their encampment, but three men were…sacrificed.”
Jaina was listening now as she always did, not just with her ears but with her whole body, concentrating on every word with the focus that he remembered. Light, but she was beautiful.
“The orcs said they were offering them up to their demons. Called it a paltry sacrifice—clearly they wanted more.”
“And Antonidas seems to think this plague is magical in nature,” Jaina murmured. “I wonder if there is a connection. It’s disheartening to hear that they have reverted so. Perhaps it is only a single clan.”
“Perhaps—or perhaps not.” He recalled how Thrall had fought in the ring, recalled how even those ragtag orcs had put up a surprisingly good fight. “We can’t afford to take risks. If we’re attacked, my men have standing orders to kill them all.” Briefly, he thought about the fury that raged in him when the orc leader had sent back his response to Uther’s offer of surrender. The two men who had been sent in to parley had been killed, their horses returning riderless in a wordless, brutal message.
“Let’s get in there and destroy the beasts!” he’d cried, the weapon he had been given at his initiation into the Silver Hand glowing brightly. He would have charged in immediately had not Uther placed a restraining hand on his arm.
“Remember, Arthas,” he had said, his voice calm, “we are paladins. Vengeance cannot be a part of what we must do. If we allow our passions to turn to bloodlust, then we will become as vile as the orcs.”
The words penetrated the anger—somewhat. Arthas had clenched his teeth, watching as the frightened horses, their riders butchered, were led away. Uther’s words were wisdom, but Arthas felt he had failed the men who’d been on those horses. Failed them, just as he’d failed Invincible, and now they were as dead as that great beast. He took a deep, steadying breath. “Yes, Uther.”