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.”
His calmness had been rewarded—Uther had charged him with leading the attack. If only he’d been in time to save those three poor men.
A gentle hand on his arm called him back to the present, and without thinking, out of old habit, he covered Jaina’s hand with his own. She started to pull away, then gave him a slightly strained smile.
“It’s so very, very good to see you again,” he said impulsively.
Her smile softened, became genuine, and she squeezed his arm. “You, too, Your Highness. By the way, thanks for holding your man back when we met.” The smile became a full-fledged grin. “I told you once before, I’m not a fragile little figurine.”
He chuckled. “Indeed not, my lady. You will fight alongside us in these battles.”
She sighed. “I pray there is no fighting—only investigating. But I will do what I must. I always have.”
Jaina withdrew her hand. Arthas hid his disappointment. “As we all do, my lady.”
“Oh stop that. I’m Jaina.”
“And I’m Arthas. Nice to meet you.”
She shoved him then, and they laughed, and suddenly a barrier was gone between them. His heart warmed as he looked down at her, at his side once again. They were facing real danger together for the first time. He was conflicted. He wanted to keep her safe, but he also wanted to let her shine in her abilities. Had he done the right thing? Was it too late? He’d told her that he wasn’t ready, and that had been true—he hadn’t been ready for a lot of things then. But much had changed since that Winter Veil. And some things hadn’t changed at all. All kinds of emotions tore at him, and he pushed them all away except one: simple pleasure in her presence.
They made camp that night before dusk, in a small clearing close to the road. There was no moonlight, only the stars, glittering in the ebony darkness above them. Jaina jokingly lit the fire, conjured some delicious breads and beverages, then declared, “I’m done.” The men laughed and obligingly prepared the rest of the meal, skewering rabbits over spits and unpacking fruits. Wine was passed around, and the feeling was almost more of a group of comrades enjoying the evening than a battle-ready unit investigating a deadly plague.
Afterward, Jaina sat a little bit away from the group. Her eyes were on the skies, a smile playing on her lips. Arthas joined her and offered her more wine. She held out her goblet while he poured and then took a sip.
“This is a lovely vintage, Your H—Arthas,” she said.
“One of the benefits of being a prince,” he replied. He stretched out his long legs and lay down next to her, one arm behind his head as a pillow, the other arm holding the goblet steady on his chest as he looked up at the stars. “What do you think we’re going to find?”
“I don’t know. I was sent as an investigator. I do wonder if it doesn’t have something to do with demons, though, given your encounter with the orcs.”
He nodded in the darkness, then, realizing she couldn’t see him, said, “I agree. I wonder if we shouldn’t have brought a priest along with us now.”
She turned to smile at him. “You’re a paladin, Arthas. The Light works through you. Plus, you swing a weapon better than any priest I’ve seen.”
He grinned at that. The moment hung between them, and just as he started to reach out a hand to her, she sighed and got to her feet, finishing the wine.
“It’s late. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well, Arthas.”
But he couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bedroll, staring up at the sky, the night sounds contriving to catch his attention even when he did start to drift off. He could take it no more. He’d always been impulsive, and he knew it, but dammit—
He threw back the blankets and sat up. The camp was still. They were in no danger here, so there was no one set to watch. Quietly, Arthas rose and went to the area where he knew Jaina was sleeping. He knelt down beside her and brushed her hair back from her face.
“Jaina,” he whispered, “wake up.”
As she had done that night so long ago, she again awoke in silence and unafraid, blinking up at him curiously.
He grinned. “You up for an adventure?”
She tilted her head, smiling, the memories obviously coming back to her as well. “What sort of an adventure?” she countered.
“Trust me.”
“I always have, Arthas.”
They spoke in whispers, their breath visible in the cold night air. She was propped up on one elbow now, and he imitated her, reaching with his other hand to touch her face. She did not pull back.
“Jaina…I think there was a reason we were brought together again.”
There it was, the little furrow in her brow. “Of course. Your father sent you because—”
“No, no. More than that. We’re working together as a team now. We—we work well that way.”
She was very still. He continued to caress the smooth curve of her cheek.
“I—when this is all over—maybe we can…talk. You know.”
“About what ended at Winter Veil?”
“No. Not about endings. About beginnings. Because things have felt very incomplete to me without you. You know me like no one else does, Jaina, and I’ve missed that.”
She was silent for a long moment, then sighed softly and leaned her cheek into his hand. He shivered as she turned her head and kissed his palm.
“I have never been able to deny you, Arthas,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.
“And yes. It feels incomplete to me, too. I’ve missed you very much.”
Relief washed over him and he leaned forward, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her passionately. They would get to the bottom of this mystery together, solve it, and come home heroes. Then they’d get married—maybe in the spring. He wanted to see her showered with rose petals. And later there’d be those fair-haired children Jaina had talked about.
They were not intimate, not here, surrounded as they were by Arthas’s men, but he did join her under the blankets until the steely dawn called him reluctantly back to his own bed. Before he left, though, he caught her in his arms and held her tightly.
He did sleep a little then, secure in the knowledge that nothing—no plague, no demon, no mystery could stand up to the joined efforts of Prince Arthas Menethil, paladin of the Light, and Lady Jaina Proudmoore, mage. They’d see it through together—whatever it took.
CHAPTER NINE
Jaina raced through the gardens, late to her meeting with Archmage Antonidas. She’d done it again—lost track of time with her nose buried in a book. Her master was always chiding her about that, but she couldn’t help it. Her slippered feet took her down between the rows of goldenbark apple trees, the fruit hanging heavy and ripe. She felt a brief brush of sorrow as she remembered a conversation held here only a few short years ago—when Arthas had appeared behind her, slipping his hands over her eyes, and whispering, “Guess who?”
Arthas. She missed him still. She supposed she always would. The breakup had been unexpected and hurtful, and the timing couldn’t have been worse—she still cringed as she thought about having to continue through the formal Winter Veil ball as if nothing had gone wrong—but as the initial shock had faded she had grown to understand his reasoning. They were both young yet and, as he had pointed out at the time, they had responsibilities and training to complete. She’d promised him they’d always stay friends, and she had meant it, then and afterward. In order for her to keep that promise, she had had to heal. And so she had done.
Certainly much had happened in those few short years to keep her busy and focused elsewhere. Five years ago, a powerful wizard named Kel’Thuzad had drawn the ire of the Kirin Tor with his dabbling in unnatural necromantic magic. He had left, suddenly and mysteriously, after being severely reprimanded and told in no uncertain terms to cease his experiments immediately. The mystery had been one of many things that had helped distract her over the last three years.
Outside the gates of the magical city, things had happened too, though information was scattered, rumor-ridden, and chaotic. As best Jaina had been able to determine, the escaped orc Thrall, now calling himself the warchief of the new Horde, had begun attacking the internment camps and freeing the captive orcs. Later, Durnholde itself had been razed by this self-styled warchief, crumbling into ruins as Thrall called forth what Jaina had learned was the ancient shamanistic magic of his people. Blackmoore had fallen too, but by all accounts, he would not be mourned overlong. While troubled at what this new Horde might eventually mean for her people, Jaina could not find it in herself to mourn the loss of the camps. Not after what she had seen of them.
Voices reached her ears, one raised in anger. So unusual was that in this place that Jaina slid to an abrupt halt.
“As I told Terenas, your people are prisoners in their own lands. I repeat to you now—humanity is in peril. The tides of darkness have come again, and the whole world is poised upon the brink of war!” The voice was male, resonant and strong, and Jaina did not recognize it.
“Ah, now I know who you must be. You are the rambling prophet who was the subject of King Terenas’s last letter. And I am no more interested in your babble than he is.” The other speaker was Antonidas, as calm as the stranger was insistent. Jaina knew that she should discreetly withdraw before she was noticed, but the same curiosity that had driven the girl she had been to go along with Arthas to spy on the orc encampments now prompted her to cloak herself in invisibility and learn more. She moved closer as quietly as possible. She could see them both now; the first speaker, whom Antonidas had sarcastically referred to as a “prophet,” clad in a cloak and hood decorated with black feathers, and her master on horseback. “I thought Terenas was quite plain in his opinion of your predictions.”
“You must be wiser than the king! The end is near!”
“I told you before, I’m not interested in this nonsense.” Clipped, calm, dismissive. Jaina knew that tone of voice.
The prophet was silent for a moment, then he sighed. “Then I’ve wasted my time here.”
Before Jaina’s startled gaze, the stranger’s shape blurred. It compressed and shifted, and where an instant before a man in a cowled robe had stood, now there was only a large black bird. With a caw of frustration, it sprang skyward, flapping its wings, and was gone.
His eyes still on the interloper, now a vanishing dot in the blue sky, Antonidas said, “You can show yourself now, Jaina.”
Heat washed over Jaina’s face. She murmured a counterspell and edged forward. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping, Master, but—”
“It’s your inquisitive nature that I’ve come to rely on, child,” Antonidas said, chuckling a little. “That crazed fool’s convinced that the world’s about to end. That’s taking the whole ‘plague’ thing a bit far, in my opinion.”
“Plague?” Jaina started.
Antonidas sighed and dismounted, sending his steed off with an amiable slap to the rear. The horse pranced a little, then trotted obediently off to the stables, where a groom would attend to him. The archmage beckoned to his apprentice, who stepped forward and took the outstretched, gnarled hand. “You will recall I sent some messengers to Capital City a short time ago.”
“I thought that was regarding the orc situtation.” Antonidas murmured an incantation, and a few moments later they appeared in his private quarters. Jaina loved this place; loved the untidiness, the smell of parchment and leather and ink, and the old chairs into which one could curl and lose oneself in knowledge. He gestured for her to sit and with the crook of a finger had a pitcher pour nectar for them.
“Well, that was on the agenda, yes, but my representatives thought that a more dire threat was at our doorstep.”
“More dire than the Horde re-forming?” Jaina extended her hand, and the crystal goblet, filled with golden liquid, floated into her palm.
“Orcs, potentially, could be reasoned with. Disease cannot. There are reports of a plague spreading in the northlands. Something I think the Kirin Tor should be paying close attention to.”
Jaina peered at him, her brow furrowing as she sipped. Generally disease fell under the auspices of the priests, not magi. Unless—
“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.”
Arthas: Rise of the Lich King wow-6 Page 11
