Amber - 4 (An Order of Amber)

I marched into Darius' office with haste, Rodger barely able to keep ahead of me to open the door and announce my presence.

"Lord Crowley. The plague has arrived?" I said, my nerves on edge as I skipped over pleasantries. I had been working to advance myself, to gain prestige, trustworthiness, respect, and I had to hope it had been enough. That I hadn't failed before I ran out of time.

Lorna would back me, many of the villagers and Sister Roper would. Magroth likely would as well if I could contact him. I knew Celestine would now, and with her a large number of Witches, but in the end it all came down to Crowley as to whether I would have any success.

"It has." He said, his pen scratching at the paper before him as he continued to write. "Take a seat, while I finish my letter to the Marleys."

"My lord," Rodger said, bowing deeply. "Shall I bring refreshments?"

The scratching stopped for a moment. "A strong drink, perhaps. I suspect I shall need it."

I took a seat before his desk, my hands folded in my lap and presenting myself with dignity. For all I was a bundle of nerves and worries it wasn't right to show it. I needed to appear sensible, not a screaming child seeking attention.

I'd already found out where that lead me.

Eventually he put the pen down, carefully slipping the letter into an envelope, and sealing it with hot wax.

The silence and time taken was him reminding, and testing, me on our positions. He was my Lord, my employer, and though I had great leeway due to my friendship with his daughter and my power I was still his subject.

He folded his hands on the desk, his good eye staring at me intently. "I have been keeping abreast of the word from Lordaeron, and as you predicted a plague has come. It spreads across the north and word, as late as it is, speaks of scores succumbing. There has yet been word of any... walking dead, yet the Kirin Tor has attempted to pressure King Terenas to enact a quarantine. He refused."

I could remember that, faintly. But not from where. They had wanted it dealt with, the people sealed away to prevent the plague's spread.

They hadn't pressed too hard, I don't think, or maybe they didn't have the influence. Would they try harder if anyone remembered my warnings?

"And the orcs?" Thrall was the other key point I had provided, an early event which could happen and give Darius reason to believe me.

"Outside of more of the internment camps being raided and broken open?" He asked, an eyebrow raising quizzically. "Little. There has been no attack on Southshore as you claimed would happen. They do however seem to have unified under a new banner and leader, would you know his name?"

I met his gaze confidently. "Thrall. Son of Durotan, of the Frostwolves."

"Not an orcish name." Darius replied, his face impassive.

"He was raised to be a fighter under the lord of Durnholde Keep," I wish I hadn't forgotten the man's name, but even when I started making my notes as a child I hadn't remembered it. Blackmoore? Blackmarsh? Getting it close but wrong would be worse than being vague, I felt. "Found as a babe before the Second War had even begun. He was raised alongside one of the servant's children, and giving the name Thrall. For to his Master a slave was all he was."

Some part of me wished I had gone out and found him, tried to make contact and befriend Thrall. He had a human sister, a girl who I might have been able to save from her fate, and if I did... then I would have earned his gratitude and reason for him to listen. But, more likely, I would have fallen to the rest of the orcs; just another human in their way when they sought to free their fellows from the camps. A spy, an intruder, an easily disposed of nuisance.

I might have enough confidence to handle a single orc, but a dozen? A hundred? No. I would lose.

And for all Thrall was a good orc, one amongst the many other good orcs, far more of them weren't. The likes of bloody Hellscream who drank the blood willingly and, even after the second war was over, stillkept fighting and killing.

Even under Thrall's leadership the Horde was never entirely benign. They certainly didn't even have enough self-reflection not to not name their capital after a treacherous and genocidal monster.

"That matches what I have been told in recent years. Durnholde Keep was destroyed, but some survivors, a family by the name of the Foxtons spoke of an orc named Thrall who they raised alongside their daughter as the one who lead the force." Darius said, musing at the hair on his chin. "My agent says they spoke almost... fondlyof the orc. Or at least not with the expected anger people who had their home burned to the ground would have."

Foxton, that was the names Foxton... TarethaFoxton.

"Unlike with his surrogate sister, their daughter, I don't think they were friends." I said quietly. "But he still cared for them. And they should have known that."

"So, then, what comes next?"

My heart skipped a beat. "You believe me?" I said, almost unable to believe my ears.

"Yes." He said firmly, almost frustratedly. "You have worked for years to build my trust. A madwoman would not put forth so much effort, would not work to prove themselves so strongly. And, as I have said, you have proven correct so far. At least in part. The plague you have spoken of has begun. What comes next?"

"To answer your question specifically? The beginnings of the Scourge. Prince Arthas Menethil will set out to combat the plague, determine its origin, and prevent its spread. He will find it, and in finding it, he will make decisions that break him." I hated the prince. I hated what he would do. I hated that I couldn't stop his fall, not when those able to act hadn't listened. Even if I found him he would dismiss me, as easily as he had dismissed Uther. "The plague, once contracted... there isa cure." Will be a cure. "But it isn't known yet, and while I have spent much of the last four years trying to develop one..."

I sighed, my hands clenching in my lap. I had somesuccess in curing diseases, combating poisons, all with Astral magic interwoven with Life and Nature. Purifying and cleansing rot and ill until there was only a healthy body left behind.

But it would be pure arroganceto believe that I had developed a cure. Cleansing gangrene, mingles, the pox, and more was nothingto prepare for the magically infused Plague that was coming.

"Without encountering it directly? I have no way of knowing if I have been successful."

My nails bit into my palms. I hadn'twasted the last four years. I earned the trust of Lord Crowley, I had my avenue to Jaina Proudmoore, I had taught healers in Gilneas to a high standard; Trix might be young and Richard little older but they could mend the ills of dozens each day with little difficulty. A boon for the wars to come. And that was just the two worthy of apprenticeships, half a dozen children I taught continuously, a score more adults I taught enough to mend minor hurts.

It made a difference. It would have to.

Then there was my own growth, in magic and elsewhere. And with my workshop I had resources I hadn't even dreamedof having when I left the Tolbecker farm. Enchanted clothes, cloth I wove magic into myself, a staff Celestine had made for me that was almost worthy of the name.

Friends. People I could trust to have my back. Transport for things that would need to be done, if only I asked a favour.

"What is the source of the plague?"

I blinked, drawn out of my thoughts as I looked at Crowley. He wore a grim expression, his knuckles white as he clasped his hands together tightly before him.

"If we cannot cure it, yet, then we must ensure it does not spread."

"Grain." I said. "The Cult of the Damned, the perpetrators of the Plague, spread it via grain. Then have heavily infiltrated the Eastweald and Northlands of Lordaeron, dissatisfaction in the populace working to their advantage. From..." I pulled out my notebook, scanning through its pages. "Andorhal. The town of Andorhal, a grain distribution centre."

There were other places too. "Caer Darrow as well, that is where they trained. I don't..." There was no name for the rulers of the island. "The family there, they threw in their lot with the Cult and turned over their home to their service. A school of necromancy, Scholomance, lies beneath the island now."

Darius stared out impassively for a moment with his good eye before standing, walking over to a bookshelf, and withdrawing a tome.

"Lord Crowley?"

"A moment," He said, leafing through the pages. "Barov. The house of Barov rules Caer Darrow. And Southshore, Brill, and Tarren Mill also. Large holdings and a powerful family. You are certain they back this cult?"

The name remained unfamiliar. "Yes, if they rule Caer Darrow... yes." I remembered Scholomance, I remembered it in both its forms. I remember being young and actually disturbed by some of the things there.

I shivered faintly. It was one thing to see them in a game, another to imagine them as real. I was not looking forward to facing the Scourge, meeting a literal abomination.

But it was going to happen eventually. There was no getting around that, unless I died.

"I shall have to send another letter." Darius muttered.  "And advise those guarding the gate, if grain is the source of the plague then we cannot trust shipments from Lordaeron. With knowledge of its existence open none will question such an order."

He returned to his desk, resting the tome – Great Nobility of the Seven Kingdoms– upon it. "This plague is not the end, is it? You are afraid."

"I told you of the undead already. What comes next is worse, Prince Arthas will go to Northrend, chasing after the Demon Lord who controls the Cult and Scourge, and there he will fall."

I didn't stop there, I talked my way through the events of the Scourge of Lordaeron and the Path of the Damned as I remembered them. My notes were thin in places, in far too many places.

When would Thrall take his hips across the sea? When would Arthas cull Stratholme? How long would he spend in Northrend? Who ran the kingdom after King Terenas' death? All questions Darius asked that I didn't have answers to. He knew no more than I what year the Dark Portal opened, so my dates were near useless; the plague had been in Lordaeron before Arthas set out, had it spread for weeks, months, or years before that?

It wasn't something I could answer.

One, I could answer, however, was what happened to Calia Menethil.

"She went to Southshore." The only reason I knew were my notes. It was such a smallsection, a small piece of information, that it fell away in the face of everything else. "Her husband and daughter live there; he is a common alliance soldier, a footman of Lordaeron, that she married in secret out of love."

Why I recorded such details as a child I didn't know, but I had. I must have been writing anything and everything that came to mind, the pages were cramped and the margins scribbled in. I would need to fix this into something more usable soon.

"Interesting." Darius muttered.

"With ships, we could travel there after King Terenas' death. Calia... vanished after that. For years upon years." I didn't even remember howshe resurfaced, only that she did. And there was something stupid about a Light-based Undead. How would that even work? A 'light based undead' was called a resurrection. A known ability of paladins to revive the recently deceased with their magic. Interestingly, I hadn't heard of any Priests doing the same. "Having the last Menethil alive would be a rallying point–"

"Not feasible." Darius cut in. "There are no ports on the Baradin coast of Gilneas, none worth the name. Overland is perhaps possible, but that would be risking the very threat we seek to rescue her from. And the wall besides. Even if it were to succeed, a Menethil trapped in Gilneas would hardly be of benefit to us."

I scowled, not truly agreeing. Calia Menethil could prevent Garithos seizing the reigns of the Alliance Remnants, and in doing so keep the High Elves with it. She could be a bridge to reconnecting Gilneas to the Alliance.

"I will defer to you on this." At least for the moment.

"Good. Continue."

Next I moved on to the fate of Quel'Thalas, upon which we dwelled disturbingly little. But, Darius' words on the subject, that we could not influence those we had no connection to, were right. He could draft a letter, send it to Prince Kael'Thas, and as a noble it might get through to him...

But it would be up to the elves themselves to act. Gilneas was too far, too distant physically and socially, to impact the High Home of the High Elves.

Rodger returned while I was speaking on the fall of Dalaran, so close and yet something I had no more hope of averting. He brought drinks, which Darius poured out for each of us.

I wasn't one for alcohol, but in some ways here and now it was very tempting.

Finally we came to the most important matter that I was to speak to Darius about. The very reason I had sought to gain his trust to begin with.

"–and when Jaina leaves with her expedition, she takes with her the Gilnean Brigade. Not Genn's men, yours."

That path to reaching Jaina Proudmoore at last. Of providing names and guidance that might allow an early truce and connection to the Kaldorei, to Cenarius. A warning to wake Malfurion sooner rather than later, to rally their forces.

And, maybe, a way to prevent the Alliance and the New Horde from waging war on those distant shores.

Though that was the most absurd of all my thoughts.

"His majesty would not approve." Darius said bluntly.

"But you would still send it. Genn Greymane's approval or not."

Jaina would need everything I could recall about Kalimdor. Every last scrap. Not just what I thought would convince the Kaldorei, but also the other dangers. How much would things change if it was Jaina who aided the Tauren instead of Thrall? Or she had maps of suitable landing sites, Theramore Isle, Rachet's location, and all before she arrived? Kalimdor's western shore was an unforgiving one. Sheer mountains, treacherous reefs, blasted arid lands, dry plains, marshes, and deserts. Knowing the best locations, even if they were only rough guidelines, would be a boon surely.

"I would." Darius said, closing his eye and bowing his head. "If Lordaeron were if flames, if the daughter of Daelin begged for soldiers to guard refugees, sought to prevent the extinction of humanity against a foe I thought might be able to achieve it... I would muster those I was able to and I would send them. And along with them all the refugees I could gather." He heaved a great breath out through clenched teeth. "I shall have to prepare to withdraw as many of my people as I can behind the safetyof Genn's wall. There is not room, not enough homes, little enough work. And yet, I cannot abandon them."

I stared quietly and the furious man before me. He was so carefully restrained, and yet there was fury lurking beneath. An anger that wasn't new and had been simmering below the surface for some time.

"And that's why would rebel against him." I whispered.

Genn was going to close the Wall. He was going to cut off the lands beyond. He hadn't yet, not fully, he had compensatedLord Crowley in coin – not enough, not nearly enough – for the 'loss' of his lands but they weren't severed yet.

Travel through the wall was still possible. But for how long?

And Darius Crowley had to know that. He knew Genn Greymane better than I did, he might control the gate for now but it was still a Royal construction. Manned and guarded by the King's Army. He was dedicated to his people, for all he believed in his right to rule he saw it as a responsibility too; he had been right there with me in the mud helping salvage things after the flood.  He spent much of his time carefully reviewing disputes between his people and judging them fairly.

He offered work to those who struggled to support themselves, tasks any man or women could complete that served to enrich his lands and people while providing for those in need.

Darius Crowley cared. A noble lord he might be, but he legitimately believed in Noblesse Oblige.

And he had stilled, frozen as if he were stone as even his breathing ceased.

Slowly his one eye opened, blazing fiercely as he fixed me in place with a piercing stare. "So, you have seen that too." He said, unnaturally calm. "Tell me, what is the final straw?"

I took in a steadying breath. He wouldn't unnerve me. "I have told you what determines the fate of the worldso far, but I haven't spoken of the fate of Gilneas." I said, meeting his gaze steadfastly. He nodded, a minutely tilt of his head in acknowledgement. "We survive, we survive the Scourge." My finger runs across the damning words in my notebook. "The wall holds them at bay for a time, but it isn't enough. Countless horrors will throw themselves at us."

And then...

"In desperation, the king will turn to Archmage Arugal, who has experimented with forces he doesn't understand. That he can't control. And he will unleash the Worgen, who will be our salvation... and our doom."

"Worgen." Darius said, mulling over the name for a moment. "Those old stories. Explain further, what threat do the Wolf-Men pose?"

It wasn't much of a surprise that Darius had heard of them, the name had been givento the Worgen rather than them naming themselves that. There were plenty of stories of half-man half-beasts in myth and legend, but none of them were particularly accurate.

Certainly none dealt with the infectiousnature of the Worgen.

I nodded. "The Worgen are elves that were cursed long, long, ago. Before even the founding of Quel'Thalas. Some entered into it willingly, but most? They were afflicted with it, spread by fang and claw and forced to change. In body they become tall, but hunched over, with fur covering their bodies and the heads of wolves." I wrinkled my nose. "Yet, no tails."

"The old stories speak of Witches turning men into beasts, to stalk those foolish enough to seek them out." Darius' eyes flicked to his bookshelves, a frown forming. "Perhaps..." Darius shook his head. "No, there was little detail save that they are best put down with silver, not steel."

"I... don't know if the Worgen are weak to silver." It certainly wasn't anything I'd encountered Before, but it fit the origin myths? "But they do share a connection, an antagonistic one, with the White Lady. If the silver were moon blessed somehow that would fit with what I know." Silver and the moon shared rather obvious connections, just as gold and the sun did. "If you can find the book which holds the stories I will read them, at this point I can't dismiss anything as being without use."

I didn't hold thatmuch hope, but it was worth looking.

It did make me wonder, did all the old stories of wolf-men, of Worgen, mean someone else had breached the prison in the past? Arugal had done it, will do it again, so another could well have.

"Back to what I was saying." I said, shaking off the tangent my thoughts had turned towards. "The Worgen stop the Scourge, their ferocity and strength enough to relieve the wall until the undead turn away, seeking other more important targets. But the curse is unleashed upon all those who survive outside the Wall; Silverlaine Keep, great bastion that it is, does not fall to the undead. Instead, those that sheltered within are hunted and turned by the monsters Genn unleashed."

Darius refilled his glass and downed ti swiftly, slamming it back down into his desk.

"That bastardof a king." He growled. "I can see him doing it, I can hearhis voice; 'it was for the good of the kingdom', 'it had to be done', 'this is the only way', 'you must understand Crowley'." He mocked, his voice whining and petulant as he emulated Genn Greymane. "He cares more for the imageof strength than the truth of it. He would keep the wall closed, wouldn't he? Trap those he damned outside as preyto the beasts he unleashed."

"Yes, he did."

It was all I could say. Pyrewood survived, the people there living normal lives until night fell. They even welcomed members of the Alliance into their homes; so long as they left before nightfall.

Some of that couldn't have been true in the games, but I still remembered it. Fixed in my mind as a truthsomehow.

I wondered where it came from.

"And the curse would eat us alive from within, brought back through the wall in the form of infected soldiers. Whom he would execute... but not soon enough to prevent its spread." And, later, through tunnels dug under the wall. But that was far, far in the future; if we made it that far we had likely already won.

"Do I have your support?" Darius demanded. "Gwyneth Arevin, Witch, do I have your support? I would not rebel lightly, if his majesty can be made to see reason, to not commit such an atrocityon our people I would neverturn against him, but if he does..."

"I stand for the Northgate Rebellion, Darius." I said, standing from my seat to give my lord a bow. "I didn't choose to serve you lightly. I knew. This... this was always part of my plans. Ever since my efforts in Dalaran failed, this has been part of my plan."

He was quiet for several moments, and I stayed where I was, bowing over his desk.

"Of course."

I glanced at him, seeing him slumped back in frustration.

"Of course. With your skill you could have sought out the king himself as a sponsor, perhaps not as easily, but... you chose me. Because you knew what I would do."

There was an up swell of worry within me, had I just botched everything? Would he think I was manipulating him, trying to draw into some grand scheme? My mouth opened to protest, to speak out, to claim that I only intended to follow his lead, not force him to act, but the words strangled themselves in my throat.

They were a lie. I wastrying to use him. To exploit his actions for my own purposes. And here I was hoping, wishing, to direct him on new paths as well.

He was my lord, I respected him, I was friends with his daughter. I–

"Cease worrying." He scoffed. "I can see through your mask easily enough, cease worrying. You ask me to do nothing save what I woulddo in circumstances presented. You give me time to prepare, to be ready, and that is a great boon. Perhaps you are wrong, though I suspect not, and we shall all breathe easily when no threat emerges."

There was a kind glint to his eye. "But I do not blame you for seeking to use me. That, dear girl, is merely politics."

I fell back into my seat.

"I don't think I like politics."

My heart was racing and my eyes felt like they were burning at the edges. Stupid hormones, I shouldn't cry this easily.

"Neither do I, though I see much of it in my near future." Darius poured himself another glass, though this time he sipped at it rather than draining it. "If I am to be ready for a civil war I shall have to find those of like minds. Those with naval holdings have been harmed greatly by Genn's foolishness, and are likely to be receptive..."

He shook his head. "Those are matters for myself to handle. I need not burden you with them. Will the Witches support me?"

"My teacher will. My students... also." Trix would not be send into battle. None of the children would be. I would not stand for it. But healing, mending the wounded, no matter which side of the war they fought for... we were all Gilnean. "Heather and her mother, and many will follow my teacher's lead. She is to be the next Speaker, joint head of a circle of equals." I treaded close to revealing things I shouldn't, but I felt there was need. "I cannot promise the whole, but to my knowledge it will be the greatest part. In skill if not number."

And we would need it if we were to win. The Northgate rebellion had lost. With better preparation, with magical support, with aerial scouting... I had to believe it could be enough.

"You said the Worgen were our salvation." Darius said, drawing the subject back to earlier. "What if we undercut Genn, deposed him before he could order them unleashed. If we marshaled Gilneas' armies behind the Alliance, perhaps..."

I shook my head. It was a fine thought, but by now... it was too late. "Could we win against the King in a single year? Could we win within months? Would Gilneas be ready to fight a gruelling war against monsters immediately after?"

The questions were rhetorical, we couldn't. A single year for a civil war? If only one could be so clean and easy. Even if Genn were disposed of swiftly there would be others to continue the fight.

What would the Prince, Liam Greymane, do as king? Would he make a good one? I didn't know. All I really remembered was him fighting the Worgen, and dying to Sylvanas.

"Until the threat of the Scourge has passed any rebellion threatens the safety of all Gilneas, not just those beyond the wall." I said, shame burning in my gut at my words. I was damning them without trying. "We couldn't protect the Borderlands as they are even if we tried."

"Not without the King." Darius said bitterly.

Even if we were able to rally all of Gilneas, to march the armies in support of Lordaeron and Dalaran, to rally the Alliance to fight the Scourge... I didn't think it would be enough.

But Genn's attitude made it absolutely impossible.

"I will continue working on my magic, to develop something to combat the Plague. And maybe even the Worgen Curse. On the latter, I will need aid; can you write me a letter of introduction for Lottie Spellwaker?" If I had any luck they'd know something about curses. There was also the thought about finding whoever ended up being the Warlock trainer, who would have curses I could practice against, but...

Warlocks and demons.

Hard to say it was a goodidea, even if it was theoretically a very useful thing to have access to.

As it was I didn't know anything more malignant than my Astral Magic, which was concentrated Starlight – nota laser, didn't work like one outside of appearances – and the closest thing to a 'curse' I knew was a blindingcharm. Faerie Fire, although I got the feeling I wasn't doing it the same way as Druids would.

Enchantments weren't even vaguely the same. Nothing at all like the curse I'd removed from the veteran while I was looking for Rhonin.

"Done." He said, selecting a sheet of paper and laying it before him. "I shall write to Magroth as well, the insight of a Paladin may prove useful. Perhaps you could even inform him and give warning to the Silver Hand."

I smiled wanly. The thought was a grand one, one that the me of four years past would have leapt at. But after Dalaran I didn't hold much hope; Magroth had thought well of me, but enough to believe mad ravings of the future? Unlikely.

But at least Darius had listened.