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.
Arthas was pushing his men too hard and he knew it, but time was a precious resource and could not be squandered. He felt a tug of guilt when he saw Jaina chewing on some dried meat as they rode. The Light refreshed him when he worked with it; magi drew on different energies, and he knew that Jaina was exhausted after the superb effort she had put forth earlier. But there was no time for rest, not when thousands of lives depended upon their actions.
He’d been sent on a mission to find out what was going on and stop it. The mystery was starting to unravel, but he was beginning to doubt his ability to halt the plague. Nothing was as easy as it had looked at first. Still, Arthas would not give up. Could not give up. He had vowed to do whatever it took to stop this, to save his people, and so he would.
They saw and smelled the smoke rising in the sky before they reached the gates of Andorhal. Arthas hoped that if the town had burned, then maybe at least the grain had been destroyed as well, and then felt a twinge of guilt at the callousness of the thought. He buried it in action, kicking his mount hard and riding through the gates, expecting to be assaulted at any moment.
Around them buildings burned, black smoke stinging his eyes and making him cough. Through tear-filled eyes he peered around. There were no villagers, but neither were there any undead. What was—
“I believe you have come looking for me, children,” came a smooth voice. The wind shifted, driving the smoke in a different direction, and Arthas could now see a black-robed figure standing only a short distance away. Arthas tensed. This, then, was the leader. The necromancer was smiling now, his face dimly glimpsed in the shadow of his hood, a smirk that Arthas burned to cut off his face. Beside him were two of his pet undead. “You’ve found me. I am Kel’Thuzad.”
Jaina gasped in recognition at the name, and her hand flew to her mouth. Arthas spared her a quick glance, then returned his full attention to the speaker. He gripped his hammer tightly.
“I’ve come to deliver a warning,” said the necromancer. “Leave well enough alone. Your curiosity will be the death of you.”
“I thought this magic taint felt familiar!” It was Jaina, her voice shaking with outrage. “You were disgraced, Kel’Thuzad, precisely for your experiments along this line! We told you it would lead to disaster. And you have learned nothing!”
“Lady Jaina Proudmoore,” Kel’Thuzad purred. “Looks like Antonidas’s little apprentice is all grown up. And quite the contrary my dear…as you can see, I have learned a great deal.”
“I saw the rats you experimented with!” Jaina cried. “That was bad enough—but now you—”
“Have furthered my research and perfected it,” Kel’Thuzad answered.
“Are you responsible for this plague, necromancer?” Arthas shouted. “Is this cult your doing?”
Kel’Thuzad turned to him, his eyes glittering in the shadow of his cowl. “I ordered the Cult of the Damned to distribute the plagued grain. But the sole credit is not mine.”
Before Arthas could speak, Jaina had burst out, “What do you mean?”
“I serve the dreadlord Mal’Ganis. He commands the Scourge that will cleanse this land and establish a paradise of eternal darkness!”
A chill swept over Arthas despite the heat of the surrounding fires at the tone of the man’s voice. He did not know what a “dreadlord” was, but the meaning of “Scourge” was clear. “And what exactly is this Scourge meant to cleanse?”
The thin-lipped mouth beneath the white mustache again curled in a cruel smile. “Why, the living, of course. His plan is already in motion. Seek him out at Stratholme if you need further proof.”
Arthas had had enough of teasing hints and taunts. He growled, gripped the haft of his hammer, and charged forward. “For the Light!” he cried.
Kel’Thuzad had not moved. He stood his ground, then, at the last minute, the air around him twisted and puckered, and he was gone. The two creatures who had stood silently at his sides now clamped their arms on Arthas, trying to wrestle him down to the earth, their fetid stench vying with the smell of smoke to choke him. He twisted free, landing a strong, clean blow to the head of one of them. Its skull shattered like a fragile piece of blown glass, brains spattering the earth as it collapsed. The second was as easily dealt with.
“The granary!” he cried, running to his horse and leaping atop it. “Come on!”
The others mounted up and they charged down the main path through the burning village. The granaries loomed up ahead of them. They were untouched by the fire that seemed to be racing through the rest of Andorhal.
Arthas drew his horse up sharply and leaped off it, running as fast as he could toward the buildings. He pulled open the door, hoping desperately to see crates piled high. Grief and rage swept through him as the only thing to meet his gaze were empty chambers—empty save for small, scattered bits of grain and the corpses of rats on the floor. He stared, sick, for a moment, then raced to the next one, and the next, yanking the doors open even though he knew exactly what he would find.