“If he’s so all knowing, then how can the dreadlords control him like they do?”

“They are agents of the one who created our master: the fiery lords of the Burning Legion.”

The words sent a shiver through Arthas. Burning Legion. Two words only, but the power they promised was heady, somehow. In his lap, Frostmourne flickered.

“It is a vast demonic army that has consumed countless worlds beyond our own.” Kel’Thuzad’s voice was almost hypnotic, and Arthas shut his eyes for a moment. Behind the closed lids, scenes played out in his mind as the lich spoke. He saw a red sky arcing over a red world. Over a ridge poured a wave of creatures. They ran like hounds, but no natural beasts were they—they had fearsome jaws crammed with teeth, and strange tentacles sprouting from their shoulders. Stones crashed to the earth, leaving trails of green fire, to come to life as animated rock that marched on their foes.

“Now, it comes to set this world to the flame. Our master was created to pave the way for its arrival. The dreadlords were sent to make sure he succeeded.”

The scene in Arthas’s mind shifted. He was looking at an ornate carved gateway. He knew it to be the Dark Portal, although he had never seen it with his own eyes. It radiated green fire, and a host of demons were clustered around it. Arthas shook his head and the vision evaporated.

“So the plague in Lordaeron, the citadels in Northrend, the slaughtering of the elves…it was all just to prepare for some huge demonic invasion?”

“Yes. In time, you will find that our entire history has been shaped by the coming conflict.”

Arthas pondered this. Frostmourne was definitely awakening, and he removed the gauntlet from his right hand to caress it. Cold, bone cold it was, so cold that even his death knight’s hand, which had been tempered for such a task, ached as he touched it. He felt the whispers again, and smiled.

“There is more, lich, is there not?” he asked, turning to regard Kel’Thuzad. “You have said that the dreadlords imprison our master. Tell me now.”

Not possessing flesh any longer, Kel’Thuzad had no facial expressions with which to betray his emotions. But Arthas knew by the slight hunching of the undead’s form that he was uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he spoke.

“The first phase of the Lich King’s plan was to engineer the Scourge, which would eradicate any group that might resist the Legion’s arrival.”

Arthas nodded. “Like the forces of Lordaeron…and the high elves.” He felt a vague knot in the pit of his stomach, but dismissed it.

“Exactly. The second phase is to actually summon the demon lord who will spark the invasion.” The lich lifted a bony finger and pointed in the direction in which they traveled. “There is a nearby encampment of orcs who maintain a functional demon gate. I must use the gate to commune with the demon lord and receive his instructions.”

Arthas sat quietly atop Invincible for a moment. His mind went back to when he had fought orcs alongside Uther the Lightbringer at Strahnbrad. He recalled the orcs had performed human sacrifices to their demon lords. He and Uther had both been disgusted and appalled. Arthas himself had been so infuriated that Uther had had to lecture him on not fighting with rage in his heart. “If we allow our passions to turn to bloodlust, then we will become as vile as the orcs,” Uther had chided.

Well, Uther was dead, and while Arthas was still killing orcs, he was now working with demons. A muscle twitched near his eye.

“What are we waiting for?” he snapped, and urged Invincible into a gallop.

The orcs fought bravely, but in the end, it was futile, as all attempts to halt the Scourge would be futile. Arthas galloped forward, Invincible leaping nimbly over fallen orc bodies. He regarded the gate for a long moment. Three stone slabs, strangely elegant for so brutal a race. Erected nearby, though, were huge animal bones that glowed a dull red hue. In the confines outlined by the slabs of stone, green energy swirled sluggishly. A passage to another world. Jaina would be intrigued—but too horrified to pursue her curiosity. That was what made her weak.

It…was what made her Jaina….

“The brutes have been slain,” Arthas spat. “The demon gate is yours, lich.”

The skeletal form shivered with delight, floating forward and lifting his arms imploringly. Steps led up to the archway; Arthas noticed that the lich did not ascend any of them. He stood at the bottom, out of respect—or out of a more pragmatic desire to avoid harm. Arthas hung back, watching intently from atop Invincible.

“I call upon thee, Archimonde! Your humble servant seeks an audience!”

The green mist continued to swirl. Then, Arthas realized he could make out a shape—features—that were both like and unlike the dreadlords he was more familiar with.

The being had what Arthas guessed to be blue-gray skin, though with the green light tingeing him, it was difficult to be certain. There was no question, however, that the demon’s body was powerful, with a mighty barrel chest, large, strong arms, and a lower body that seemed to be shaped like that of a goat—Archimonde’s legs curved back, ending in a pair of cloven hooves instead of feet. A tail twitched, perhaps belying Archimonde’s calm, in-control demeanor. Arms, shoulders, and legs were encased in golden, gleaming armor adorned with shapes of skulls and spikes. Twin tentacles, long and thin, dangled from his chin. But the most arresting feature of his elongated face were his eyes, which glowed a sickly green color that was brighter and more compelling than the green mist that whirled about him. Even though Archimonde was not yet here, not yet physically in this world, Arthas was not unmoved by the demon’s presence.

“You called my name, puny lich, and I have come,” said the demon, his voice resonant and seeming to vibrate along Arthas’s very bones. “You are Kel’Thuzad, are you not?”

Kel’Thuzad bowed his horned head. He was all but groveling, Arthas noted. “Yes, great one. I am the summoner. I beg of you, tell me how I may expedite your passage into this world. I exist only to serve.”

“There is a special tome you must find,” the demon lord intoned. His gaze flickered to Arthas, examined him for a moment, then dismissed him. Arthas found himself growing annoyed. “The only remaining spellbook of Medivh, the Last Guardian. Only his lost incantations are powerful enough to bring me into your world. Seek out the mortal city of Dalaran. It is there that the tome is kept. At twilight, three days from now, you will begin the summoning.”

The image disappeared. Arthas stared at where it had been for a long moment.

Dalaran. The greatest concentration of magic, other than Quel’Thalas, in Azeroth.

Dalaran. Where Jaina Proudmoore had trained. Where Jaina still would probably be. A flicker of pain blinked through him for an instant.

“Dalaran is defended by the most powerful magi in Azeroth,” he said slowly to Kel’Thuzad. “There is no way to hide our approach. They will be prepared for us.”

“As Quel’Thalas was?” Kel’Thuzad laughed, a hollow sound. “Think how easily this army crushed them. They will do the same there. Besides, remember—I was a member of the Kirin Tor, and close to Archmage Antonidas. Dalaran was my home, when I was nothing more than mortal flesh. I know its secrets, its protective spells, ways to slip inside they never thought to properly guard. It is sweet, to be able to visit terror upon those who would have seen me abandon my path and my destiny. Do not fear, death knight. We cannot fail. No one, no thing, can stop the Scourge.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthas caught movement. He turned and beheld the floating spirit that had once been Sylvanas Windrunner. She had obviously been listening to the entire conversation and seen his reaction to his new orders.