Chapter 5

Arvis didn’t flinch when Sylvanas called for him, but it was a close thing.

He had been so absorbed in the third form of Water Breathing, trying to understand how much stronger he needed to get to pull it successfully. Her approach came as a surprise, even though she wasn’t trying to hide.

He lowered his sword and turned to face her. “Lady Windrunner,” he greeted her, taking a note of her. She was leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, watching him with the evaluative gaze he was beginning to recognize as her default expression.

She was still in her ranger armor, bow across her back. She looked flawless except for the sense of exhaustion she radiated, not just physical exhaustion, but mental exhaustion. The kind of tired that came from fighting political battles.

He saw that expression on his own face too many times once he started dealing with his uncle.

“It’s a family style. From my grandfather,” Arvis said, wiping sweat from his forehead. He decided to test the believability of his story. “My father never had the discipline to practice it seriously, and my tutors preferred the standard Lordaeron military forms. I had always assumed it to be weak, but I realized it’s designed to be used in mana-rich locations, combining a weak form of meditation.”

It was a reasonable lie. Minor noble houses often maintained private martial traditions that faded and disappeared as the family moved away.

“It looks useful against the ghouls and other weak undead,” she said, but he could see she was being merely kind rather than interested. Her dismissal was not a surprise, as it was why he dared to practice it openly.

She walked closer and looked at the strawberry patch before she leaned and picked one. Her eyes widened. “Tastier than I expected,” she said. “You could actually make some money even in Silvermoon.”

He nodded. “I think the mana density helps, as well as the quality of the land,” he admitted.

“You’ve been busy,” she said, glancing at the clearing again. The evidence of his afternoon was scattered around: trampled grass where he’d practiced footwork, a thick branch he had grown split by repeated strikes, and another patch filled with slash marks.

“Staying busy keeps me from thinking too hard about… well, everything,” he said. “How is the evacuation?”

He expected it to be a light question, a casual way to change the topic. It was not. Sylvanas’s expression tightened, and for a moment, the mask of composed authority slipped just enough for the frustration to bubble to the surface. She said nothing for a moment, and he expected her to lie. “Poorly,” she admitted later.

Arvis waited. He might have talked only once with Sylvanas, but he could see that she was direct and stubborn. Such people responded better to silence than to prompting.

“The villages closest to the border have been cooperative,” she continued after a long pause. “They are familiar with my rangers, so they took their advice.”

“Not to mention close enough to see the changes in the undead and realize the threat is not simple.”

“True,” she admitted with a sigh. “The problem is the settlements further inland…” She shook her head. “They don’t believe the threat is real. Or rather, they don’t believe that it’ll threaten them.”

“How far inland are we talking?”

“Far enough that they’ve never seen a ghoul or smelled the blight. To them, the undead are a human problem and could be handled easily.” Her voice carried a bitter edge.

“That’s not all, right?”

“No. Several village elders sent magical messages to the council, complaining about my rangers disrupting their daily lives.”

Arvis winced. He recognized the pattern. It was the same complacency that had let the Cult of the Damned spread through Lordaeron’s farmlands while the nobility dismissed the threat again and again. “That’s not good,” he said.

“Worse. I have been summoned to report to the council immediately.”

That made him frown. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said.

“It’s just a report,” she said. “Technically, the Ranger-General can take any decision to protect Quel’Thalas, but in practice, I still need to respect the council.”

He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t make sense that they acted that fast. You mentioned that council is too slow to react. What suddenly changed? And why?”

She frowned. “Does it really matter?”

That sentence alone revealed how inexperienced she was when it came to politics. “It might,” he said. That was the strongest warning he could give without alienating her. “When is the meeting?” he asked.

“Tomorrow morning.” She paused.

“And the evacuation?”

“It’ll have to slow down seriously. The council’s warning was very explicit,” she added, then trailing off, showing that she caught on exactly what he was leading at. He said nothing else. He had no idea how Quel’Thalas politics worked. He just knew that when patterns broke in a political arena, dismissing it outright was never safe.

“Thank you for telling me,” Arvis said, expecting her to leave since she must have been in a hurry, already thinking about the implications. With the council’s explicit order, the evacuation would stall.

It shouldn’t be a problem. Even with the undead showing higher coordination, Quel’Thalas was a bad target for them. Evacuation was merely a precautionary measure.

However, while thinking, he realized that she didn’t move. More importantly, she was hesitant, a subtle tension in her shoulders visible. She was delaying something. “There’s something else,” Arvis said.

Sylvanas looked at him, her expression uncharacteristically soft.

“We finally have confirmed intelligence from Lordaeron,” she said. His stomach dropped. He had had no doubt about the fate of the King, but hearing it was still difficult. “King Terenas is dead,” Sylvanas said. “Assassinated in the throne room during Prince Arthas’ return ceremony.”

He exhaled slowly. “I’m assuming the prince shared the same fate,” he said.

Sylvanas’s jaw tightened. “No, and that’s the worst part.”

Arvis frowned. Worse than death when facing the undead. “Raised?”

“No.” She paused, and he could see her choosing her next words with the precision of someone selecting arrows from a quiver. “Prince Arthas was the one who assassinated King Terenas. Reports confirm that he has been turned in the north, along with a key portion of his army, striking the capital from inside.”

Silence ruled the clearing.

Arvis stared at her. His mind, usually so quick to calculate angles and implications, stuttered to a halt. The hero of Northrend, whose return the entire kingdom had been celebrating.

It wasn’t the tragic fate of Arthas that froze him. It was tragic, certainly, but not anymore than any citizen in Stratholme.

Sylvanas continued while he listened. “The details are unclear. There are people blaming his sword, some kind of cursed artifact that he found at the north.”

He spoke, but his voice was flat, clinical, delivering facts stripped of emotion, unfamiliar even to his ears. “It doesn’t matter how it happened. The problem is the implications,” he said. “Arthas was the crown prince and a paladin, preparing to take over the kingdom, starting with the military. He had known every single secret of Lordaeron, from the location of supply depots to confidential contingency plans.”

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Sylvanas’ gaze widened. “Does he? I thought he was just a young prince.”

“Young but capable,” he said. “It was an open secret among the nobility that Arthas would take over in a few years. Taking over the military seemed to be the smart idea back then, especially since he had been trained by Uther Lightbringer.”

Sylvanas paused. “That’s bad news,” she said.

Arvis shook his head. “Maybe it was the usual gossip, but I have heard too many people talking about just how much of a military genius he was. The fact that Uther graduated him confirms that. The same capability, with the merciless nature of the undead.”

Her eyes widened. “Lordaeron wouldn’t last long enough for the other kingdoms to send support.”

“Assuming they even try,” Arvis said, not feeling confident about the possibility. He suddenly realized why the System had been so confident about its prediction. “The Alliance is done for,” he delivered with an eerie certainty.

She looked hesitant. “It can’t be that serious, can be?” she asked.

“Of course it is,” he said. “We both know that Quel’Thalas is not going to move out and help Lordaeron, at least not at a speed that would help. Dalaran is Dalaran. I doubt they would care if the rest of the world burned. Stormwind is tied down due to unrest with the Stonemasons’ Guild and can’t move out. Stromgarde and Alterac would never take the initiative to help. Gilneas borders are still locked shut. Kul Tiras would have helped, but half of their navy was stolen by the orcs, and the other half is searching for a mystical another continent—“

“Kalimdor,” Sylvanas said. “It’s not mystical. It exists.”

“Fair,” he said. “Still, it doesn’t change the fact that they can’t help, not in a way that would matter.” He snorted. “Ironforge is the only one that will help, probably,” he snorted. “Ironic, isn’t it?” he asked. “Seven human kingdoms in the alliance, but when help is needed, Ironforge is the only one that will help.”

Sylvanas sighed. “They won’t,” she said. “More accurately, they can’t. We have received some reports that Dwarves and Gnomes are locked in fighting with some kind of underground enemy. Official message claims that things are under control, but…”

Arvis sighed, feeling a sudden sense of hopelessness. “It’s done. The Alliance is no more,” he said. “Lordaeron’s always relied on its natural defenses and large hinterland. No one expected an invasion to start from the capital, not by an army that actually grew with every kill. Add in the fact that we’re fighting against someone that knows every secret, every contingency plan…”