Wrath of the Light

Chapter Eight: March of the Scourge

They made good time as they traveled onwards from the place where Kel'thuzad had met his end. Falric stayed behind at Arthas' suggestion. His task was to arrange for the burning of all corpses, to ensure they could not rise again. Behind him, the forces of the Alliance were mustering for war. The villagers watched the show, expressions of fear on their faces. For his part, Arthas could only hope that there would be some time to breathe and prepare for the next battle.

They rounded a bend and came upon the welcome sight of Hearthglen. The village, almost a town, was quite pleasant as far as sights go, even at night. The windows were lit with many candles, and they made their way towards the town.

'Hearthglen finally,' said Jaina, 'I could use some rest.'

As they neared, however, Arthas saw a host of soldiers drilling in the town square. Riflemen fired at targets. Infantry trained in formation. 'It looks like they're preparing for battle.' said Arthas as they came into view. 'There is Marwynn.'

Marwynn rushed forward. 'Prince Arthas,' he said, 'during the night a vast force of undead warriors arose and began attacking villages at random! Now it's heading this way!'

So much for rest. 'Damn it,' said Arthas. 'Jaina, I'll stay here to protect the village. Go as quickly as you can and tell Lord Uther whats happened.'

'But-' she began.

'Go Jaina,' said Arthas, 'every second counts.' There was no time. No time to rest.

Reluctantly, she moved away and summoned her magic around her, teleporting herself away. Arthas then set about preparing the defenses. As he did so, he had a terrible sense that something had gone wrong, yet he did not know what.

Hours passed, and the defenses were prepared. The towers were manned to defend the approaches to the town. Every man and strong lad able to bear arms was drafted to fight in battle, and still, nothing happened.

Then he saw them, a collection of crates which lay abandoned, emptied. The bore the regional symbol of Anderhol.

'Wait...' said Arthas. 'what did those crates contain?'

'Just a grain shipment from Anderhol,' said Marwynn, 'there is no need to worry milord. It's already been distributed amongst the villagers.'

Horror overtook him, rooting him in place. 'Oh no...'

As if by the cue of some wicked force, the people of Hearthglen began to choke and wheeze. They fell on their knees and threw up. Their eyes rolled back in their head as they rose in a new form, as green mist filtered into the town. The soldiers backed away as the once healthy villagers now advanced on them. Their hands were grasping like claws as they moaned.

'The plague was never meant to simply kill my people.' said Arthas, realization dawning on him. 'It was meant to turn them... into the undead! DEFEND YOURSELVES!'

At his words, the men of Lordaeron drew their swords and charged into battle. Some were slain because they hesitated. Others warded off the enemies attacks long enough for their friends help. The villagers rushed at them from every house, children, men, and women hungering for flesh. Arthas smashed a zombie woman's skull in, then sent a surge of light to put a gang of boys out of their misery.

Marwynn backpedaled as a woman rushed at him with a butcher's knife. He stepped aside and brought round his sword to slice off her head.

The men of Lordaeron, no longer surprised, slaughtered the undead villagers. Dwarvish Riflemen shot down the creatures. Swordsmen hacked them to pieces. Finally, the soldiers stood in an empty village. Empty save for the corpses of those they were meant to protect.