“Glad you could make it, Uther,” he snapped.

Uther was a patient man, but he lost his temper now. Arthas and Jaina were not the only ones under strain. “Watch your tone with me, boy! You may be the prince, but I’m still your superior as a paladin!”

“As if I could forget,” Arthas retorted. He moved quickly to the top of a rise, so he could look over the walls and into the city. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Signs of life, of normalcy, perhaps. Signs that they’d gotten here in time. Anything to give him hope that he could still somehow do something. “Listen, Uther, there’s something about the plague you should know. The grain—”

The wind shifted as he spoke, and the scent that reached his nostrils was not an unpleasant one. Nonetheless, Arthas felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. The smell, the strange, unique scent of bread baked with the tainted grain, unmistakable on the air damp with rain.

Light, no. Already milled, already baked, already—

The blood drained from Arthas’s face. His eyes widened, staring starkly in horrified comprehension. “We’re too late. We’re too damned late! The grain—these people—” He tried again. “These people have all been infected.”

“Arthas—” Jaina began in a low voice.

“They may look fine now, but it’s just a matter of time before they turn into the undead!”

“What?” cried Uther. “Lad, have you gone insane?”

“No,” Jaina said. “He’s right. If they’ve eaten the grain, they’re infected—and if they’re infected…they’ll turn.” She was thinking furiously. There had to be something they could do. Antonidas once told her, if a thing is magical in origin, then magic can combat it. If they just had a little time to think, if they could calm down and react from logic and not emotion, perhaps a cure could—

“This entire city must be purged.”

Arthas’s statement was blunt and brutal. Jaina blinked. Surely he hadn’t meant that.

“How can you even consider that?” Uther cried, marching up to his former student. “There’s got to be some other way. This isn’t a blighted apple crop, this is a city full of human beings!”

“Damn it, Uther! We have to do it!” Arthas shoved his face within an inch of Uther’s, and for a dreadful moment Jaina was convinced they’d draw weapons on each other.

“Arthas, no! We can’t do that!” The words left her lips before she could stop them. He whirled on her, his sea-colored eyes now stormy with anger and hurt and despair. She realized immediately that he truly thought this was the only option—the only way to save other, uncorrupted lives was to sacrifice these cursed ones, these that could no longer be salvaged. His face softened slightly as she rushed on, trying to get the words out before he could interrupt her. “Listen to me. We don’t know how many people are infected. Some of them might not have eaten any of the grain at all—others might not have eaten a lethal dose. We don’t even know what a lethal dose is yet. We know so little—we can’t just slaughter them like animals out of our own fear!”

It was the wrong thing to say, and she watched as Arthas’s face closed up. “I’m trying to protect the innocent, Jaina. That’s what I swore to do.”

“They are innocent—they’re victims! They didn’t ask for this! Arthas, there are children in there. We don’t know if it affects them. There’s too much unknown for such a—a drastic solution.”

“What of those who are infected?” he asked with a sudden, frightening quiet. “They’ll kill those children, Jaina. They’ll try to kill us…and spread out from here and keep killing. They’re going to die regardless, and when they rise, they’ll do things that in life they would never, ever have wanted to do. What would you choose, Jaina?”

She hadn’t expected that. She looked from Arthas to Uther, then back again. “I—I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He was right, and despairingly, she knew it. “Wouldn’t you rather die now than die from this plague? Die a clean death as a thinking, living human being rather than be raised as an undead to attack everyone, everything you loved in life?”

Her face crumpled. “I…that would be my personal choice, yes. But we can’t make that choice for them. Don’t you see?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t see. We need to purge this city before any of them have a chance to escape and spread the contagion. Before any of them turn. It’s a kindness and it’s the only solution to stop this plague right here, right now, dead in its tracks. And that is exactly what I intend to do.”

Tears of anguish burned in Jaina’s eyes.

“Arthas—give me a little time. Just a day or two. I can teleport back to Antonidas and we can call an emergency meeting. Maybe we can figure out some way to—”

“We don’t have a day or two!” The words exploded from Arthas. “Jaina, this affects people within hours. Maybe minutes. I—I saw it at Hearthglen. There’s no time for deliberation or discussion. We have to act. Now. Or it will be too late.” He turned to Uther, dismissing Jaina.

“As your future king, I order you to purge this city!”

“You’re not my king yet, boy! Nor would I obey that command even if you were!”

The silence that fell crackled with tension.

Arthas…beloved, best friend…please don’t do this.

“Then I must consider this an act of treason.” Arthas’s voice was cold, clipped. If he had struck her across the face, Jaina could not have been more shocked.

“Treason?” Uther spluttered. “Have you lost your mind, Arthas?”

“Have I? Lord Uther, by my right of succession and the sovereignty of my crown, I hereby relieve you of your command and suspend your paladins from service.”

“Arthas!” Jaina yelped, her tongue freed in her shock. “You can’t just—”

He whirled on her furiously and spat, “It’s done!”

She stared at him. He turned to look at his men, who had stood by silent and wary as the argument had progressed. “Those of you who have the will to save this land, follow me! The rest of you…get out of my sight!”

Jaina felt sick and dizzy. He was really going to do this. He was going to march into Stratholme and cut down every living man, woman, and child within its walls. She swayed and clutched the reins of her horse. It lowered its head and whickered at her, blowing warm breath from its soft muzzle across her cheek. She was fiercely envious of its ignorance.

She wondered if Uther would attack his former pupil. But he was bound by an oath to serve his prince, even if he had been relieved of command. She saw the tendons on his neck stand out like cords, could almost hear him gritting his teeth. But he did not attack his liege.

Loyalty, however, did not still his tongue. “You’ve just crossed a terrible threshold, Arthas.”

Arthas looked at him a moment longer, then shrugged. He turned to Jaina, his eyes searching hers, and for a moment—just a moment—he looked like himself, earnest, young, a little scared.

“Jaina?”

The single word was so much more. It was both question and plea. Even as she stared at him, frozen like the bird before the snake, he reached out a gauntleted hand to her. She stared at it for a moment, thinking of all the times that hand had clasped hers warmly, had caressed her, had been lain on the wounded and glowed with healing light.

She could not take that hand.

“I’m sorry, Arthas. I can’t watch you do this.”

There was no mask on his face now, no merciful coldness to shutter his pain away from her. Shocked disbelief radiated from him. She couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. Gulping, her eyes filled with tears, Jaina turned away to find Uther regarding her with compassion and approval. He held out his hand to help her mount and she was grateful for his steadiness and composure. Jaina was shaking, badly, and clung to her horse as Uther mounted and, holding her horse’s reins, led them both away from the greatest horror they had yet encountered in this whole dreadful ordeal.