They had a rustic meal of roasted rabbit on a spit and retired shortly after dark. Once he was assured that everyone was asleep, Arthas threw a tunic over his breeches and quickly tugged on his boots. As an afterthought, he took one of his daggers and fastened it to his belt, then crept over to Jaina.

“Jaina,” he whispered, “wake up.”

She awoke in silence and unafraid, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. He squatted back as she sat up, putting a finger to his lips. She spoke in a whisper. “Arthas? Is something wrong?”

He grinned. “You up for an adventure?”

She tilted her head. “What sort of an adventure?”

“Trust me.”

Jaina looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “All right.”

She, like all of them, had gone to sleep mostly dressed and simply needed to pull on her boots and cloak. She rose, made a halfhearted attempt to comb her fingers through her blond hair, and nodded.

Jaina followed him as they ascended the same ridge they had explored earlier that day. The climb was more challenging at night, but the moonlight was quite bright and their feet did not slip.

“There’s our destination,” he said, pointing.

Jaina gulped. “The internment camp?”

“Have you ever seen one up close?”

“No, and I don’t want to.”

He frowned, disappointed. “Come on, Jaina. It’s our one chance to get a good look at an orc. Aren’t you curious?”

Her face was hard to read in the moonlight, her eyes dark pools of shadow. “I—they killed Derek. My older brother.”

“One of them killed Varian’s father, too. They’ve killed a lot of people, and that’s why they’re in these camps. It’s the best place for them. A lot of people don’t like the fact that my father is raising taxes to pay for the camps, but—come on and judge for yourself. I missed a chance to get a good look at Doomhammer when he was in the Undercity. I don’t want to miss a chance to see one now.”

She was silent, and at last he sighed. “All right, I’ll take you back.”

“No,” she said, surprising him. “Let’s go.”

Quietly they made their descent. “All right,” Arthas whispered. “When we were up here earlier, I made note of their patrols. It doesn’t look like they’re much different at night, except maybe even more infrequent. With the orcs not having much spirit left in them, I guess the guards think that the chances of escape aren’t that likely.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “Which works out well for us. Other than patrols, someone is always stationed in those two watchtowers. They’re the ones we have to be most careful of, but hopefully they’ll be looking for any disturbance to come from the front rather than behind, since the camp backs up against a sheer wall face. Now, let this fellow here complete his circuit, and we should have ample time to get close to that wall right there and take a good look.”

They waited for the bored-looking guard to meander past, then a few more breaths after that. “Put your hood up,” Arthas said. Both had fair hair, and it would be far too easy for the guards to spot. Jaina looked nervous but excited, and obeyed. Fortunately both she and Arthas wore cloaks of a dark shade. “Ready?” She nodded. “Good. Let’s go!”

They slipped quickly and quietly down the rest of the way. Arthas held her back for a moment until the guard in the tower was looking in the other direction, then motioned to her. They ran forward, making sure their hoods were securely in place, and a few steps later they were pressing against the wall of the camp.

The camps were rough but efficient. They were made of wood, little more than logs fastened together, sharpened at the top and embedded deep into the ground. There were plenty of chinks in the “wall” that a curious boy and girl could look through.

It was hard to see at first, but there were several large shapes inside. Arthas turned his head for a better look. They were orcs all right. Some of them were on the ground, curled up and covered by blankets. Some walked here and there, almost aimlessly, like animals in cages, but lacking a caged beast’s almost palpable yearning for freedom. Over there was what looked like a family unit—a male, a female, and a young one. The female, slighter and shorter than the male, held something small to her chest, and Arthas realized it was an infant.

“Oh,” whispered Jaina beside him. “They look…so sad.”

Arthas snorted, then remembered the need to be quiet. He quickly glanced up at the tower, but the guard had heard nothing. “Sad? Jaina, these brutes destroyed Stormwind. They wanted to render humankind extinct. They killed your brother, for Light’s sake. Don’t waste any pity on them.”

“Still—somehow I didn’t think they would have children,” Jaina continued. “Do you see the one with the baby?”

“Well of course they have children, even rats have children,” Arthas said. He was irritated, but then, maybe he should have expected a reaction like that from an eleven-year-old girl.

“They look harmless enough. Are you sure they belong here?” She turned her face to his, a white oval in the moonlight, seeking his opinion. “It’s expensive to keep them here. Maybe they should be released.”

“Jaina,” he said, keeping his voice soft, “they’re killers. Even if right now they’re lethargic, who can say what would happen if they’re released?”

She sighed softly in the darkness and didn’t answer. Arthas shook his head. He’d seen enough—the guard would be back shortly. “Ready to go back?”

She nodded, stepping away and running quickly with him back toward the hill. Arthas glanced over his shoulder and saw the guard start to turn. He dove toward Jaina, grabbed her around the waist, and shoved her to the ground, hitting hard beside her. “Don’t move,” he said, “the guard is looking right at us!”

Despite the rough fall Jaina was smart enough to freeze at once. Carefully, keeping his face as shadowed as possible, Arthas turned his head to look at the guard. He couldn’t see a face at this distance, but the man’s posture bespoke boredom and weariness. After a long moment, during which Arthas heard his heart thundering in his ears, the guard turned to face the other direction.

“Sorry about that,” Arthas apologized, helping Jaina to her feet. “You all right?”

“Yes,” Jaina said. She grinned at him.

They were back in their respective sleeping areas a few moments later. Arthas looked up at the stars, completely satisfied.

It had been a good day.

Late that next morning, they arrived at Dalaran. Arthas had never been there before, though of course had heard a great deal about it. The magi were a private and mysterious lot—quite powerful, but they kept to themselves save when needed. Arthas remembered when Khadgar had accompanied Anduin Lothar and Prince—now King—Varian Wrynn to speak with Terenas, to warn them of the orcish threat. His presence had lent weight to Anduin’s statements, and with good reason. Magi of the Kirin Tor didn’t get involved in ordinary politics.

Nor did they do the ordinary political maneuvering such as inviting royalty to enjoy their hospitality. It was only because Jaina was coming to study that Arthas and his retinue were permitted admittance. Dalaran was beautiful, even more glorious than Capital City. It seemed almost impossibly clean and bright, as a city based so deeply on magic ought to be. There were several graceful towers reaching skyward, their bases white stone and their apexes violet encircled with gold. Many had radiant, hovering stones dancing around them. Others had windows of stained glass that caught the sunlight. Gardens bloomed, the fragrances from wild, fantastical flowers providing a scent so heady Arthas was almost dizzy. Or maybe it was the constant thrum of magic in the air that caused the sensation.

He felt very ordinary and dingy as they rode into the city, and almost wished they hadn’t slept outside last night. If they had stayed at Ambermill, at least he’d have had a chance to have bathed. But then, he and Jaina wouldn’t have gotten a chance to spy on the internment camp.