Wrath of the Light

Chapter Ten: Divergent Courses

Father,

I am writing you this letter that you might understand the events which have occurred since my departure from Strahnbrad. The plague which has spread throughout the grain caravans by the undead was not meant to slay our people. It was meant to turn them into the undead. When I arrived in Stratholme, I found it infected by the plague. The decision to purge the city was not made lightly, and even as I did so, the people began to transform into the undead.

It was during this that I encountered the demon responsible for all of this, Mal'ganis. Though I attempted to slay him, he evaded me and has fled to Northrend. I am pursuing him now, to put an end to this once and for all.

Do not interfere.

-Arthas

The letter was scrawled, written quickly as if as an afterthought. It was almost a command. King Terenas read it with shaking hands. The reports which had been brought back to him by Uther's forces were shocking. He'd scarcely been able to believe them. And yet with this most recent letter, he had to believe it.

He wondered what horrors his son had seen on the mission he had sent him on. And his mind turned to the warnings of the Prophet. Then his mind returned to what he had recently been doing, and its results. Rolling up the parchment, he tried to maintain his composure as he set it carefully down. Then he leaned back in his seat to look around his office. It was an ornate sort of place.

There were bookcases practically spilling with information on everything from farming, to theories on the afterlife. Beneath his desk were two crossbows, kept ready for use just in case. The windows were tinted so that it was impossible to see whether someone was inside. A suit of armor was to one side, kept in perfect condition though King Terenas hadn't used it in years. In its hands was a fine sword, used to defeat Graymane many years ago. A victory which had sparked the beginnings of Uther Lightbringer's illustrious career.

And for the first time in his life, King Terenas realized he didn't give a damn. He didn't give a damn about his people at this moment. Or about the careful political angling which had been ruined by the purge of Stratholme. He didn't care about the Alliance or the rebuilding of Stormwind. Nothing in that moment mattered except what had happened to his son.

He had somewhere he was supposed to be in an hour. But after the other letter, he had received, delivered by an apologetic elf, he didn't really feel up to it. He didn't know how long he sat there, doing nothing, feeling empty. He knew that, with his Kingdom falling to pieces around him, he should be in a flurry of activity. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

Perhaps an hour later, the door opened and Calia entered looking concerned. 'Father, the Alliance Council is waiting for you. Where have you been?'

'The Alliance Council can go to hell.' said King Terenas, staring up at the ceiling.

'Right,' said Calia, surprised at his apathy. 'well, I'm sure that will uh... go over well in the meeting.'

'The meeting can go to hell!' snapped Terenas as he arose. 'In fact, the whole damn nation can go to hell!'

Calia stepped back, frightened. Terenas became aware he had never shown this side of himself before. The side which had humiliated Genn Graymane in a lightning-swift war. The side which had seen Lordaeron become the dominant power in the north. The closest he'd ever come had been when she had questioned him about marrying her to Daval Prestor. A decision which had been oddly important to him. He'd never wondered why.

'Father,' she said, recovering somewhat, 'why are you doing this?'

King Terenas remembered what it was that had put him in this mood. It was not merely his son's descent into insanity. 'Because I finally received a response from the High Elves of Quel'thalas.' He said in a low tone. 'Do you know what that race of overprivileged parasites has said to my request for reinforcements?'