The Eve

"Gnolls?"

Alvin was puzzled for a few seconds, then blurted out a name. "Logul!"

Half a year had passed since all the gnolls were assigned to various parts of Lordaeron. Their leader, Logul, had also been sent by the Archbishop to the forests in the northern part of Darrowmere Forest a few months ago. Months of grueling warrior training had nearly made the boy forget about the gnolls.

By his reckoning, if they'd made any progress, the gnolls should have returned to the Kingdom of Lordaeron's control by now. Alvin was certain that the gnoll warriors, still half-savage, couldn't possibly escape the clutches of Kel'Thuzad, a high-ranking mage, on their own.

The boy vaguely remembered that Archbishop Faol had assigned the gnoll shaman to search for gnolls scattered throughout the Darrowmere lands and investigate the trolls' activities in Zul'Aman. As far as he knew, the Archbishop had taken the mission very seriously. He'd even personally persuaded Alvin's father to send half the kingdom's troops stationed in Stratholme to the newly built Northland Fortress, where they would stand ready. He'd also recruited many young warriors throughout Darrowmere Forest.

Had something gone wrong? That fellow was crucial to the plan he'd been preparing for the coming Orcish war. If something had happened...

At the thought, Alvin's heart tightened, and he quickened his pace.

To his surprise, Abberton didn't take him to the Archbishop's study. Instead, he led him to the entrance of the chapel, and they walked across the somewhat deserted square. No vehicles were allowed on the large square in front of the chapel. It was a tradition dating back many years, meant to show faith in and respect for the Holy Light. No one was exempt—not even Terenas himself, should he visit.

The Archbishop's personal carriage stood quietly at the edge of the square. A squad of fully armed knights, each leading a warhorse, surrounded its old, peeling carriage. They all wore silver-gray armor and iron helmets, carried spears, and wore swords at their waists. Their uniforms revealed their identity: the elite of the Royal Knights.

An old man in a plain linen robe showed his profile through the open window and called to him with a beaming smile. "Alvin, hurry up and get in!"

Climbing into the carriage with practiced ease, the boy found that Kel'Thuzad was sitting by the window, quietly resting with his eyes closed. The mage had spent nearly six months cooped up in his laboratory, barely seeing daylight, while the Archbishop had been waiting for Alvin.

Though there had been some unpleasantness between him and Uther, the young mage, wholly absorbed in his Arcane studies, had simply forgotten about the "trivial matter" of teaching a lowly warrior a lesson. Besides, he'd spent the past six months shut away in his room, engrossed in refining his spell research and writing records, and hadn't crossed paths with Uther again.

Years later, his fervor for Arcane studies would ultimately lead this gifted mage into darkness. But before then, his efforts would still contribute to the advancement of human spellcraft. According to something Abberton had mentioned in conversation a few days ago, Kel'Thuzad seemed to have completed two substantial works over the past six months: An Introduction to the Applications of Conjuration Spells and On Improving Evocation Spells: Altered Applications of Frostbolt.

If Alvin's memory served him, toward the end of the Second War, this absurdly young mage would earn a seat on the Council of Six through his powerful spellcraft and profound theoretical knowledge. It would be the brightest moment of his life—and the turning point. After that, he would encounter the dark magic of Orc Warlocks and necromancy, strictly forbidden by the Kirin Tor, before finally plunging into the abyss with no hope of escape.

Alvin had no desire to save a mage who cared about nothing but the Arcane, nor did he want to have much to do with him.

Still, it was only proper to show respect.

"Teacher. Archmage Kel'Thuzad."

After greeting them, the prince took a seat beside the old man at Archbishop Faol's invitation. He looked up with wide eyes. "Teacher, where are we going?"

Autumn came early in the north, and the last warmth of summer always faded quickly. Harvest Festival hadn't yet arrived, but a chill was already creeping into the air. The elderly Archbishop wore a gray-brown fur coat over his patched robe. Fatigue showed on his aged face, but his slightly narrowed eyes still gleamed sharply.

"Northland Fortress," the old man said softly. His voice was a little high, as though something good had happened.

"Logul brought us a surprise. That gnoll shaman has brought more than half of the Blackpaw Gnolls over to our side."

The old man rested his dry hand on the boy's shoulder, making no effort to hide his approval. "We've also received word about the gnolls scattered elsewhere in the kingdom. We're no longer completely in the dark about where those beasts are. Faced with the kingdom's might, they'll eventually understand what they must do. Your idea is about to become reality, my student."

"If we can successfully bring those beasts roaming the mountains and wilderness back under our control, Lordaeron's strength will grow considerably. When war comes, the balance of victory will tip in our favor."

A kind smile appeared on Archbishop Faol's slightly gaunt face. He fondly ruffled the boy's golden hair, privately relieved that he'd supported the child's unusual idea.

"It worked!"

In the study of the royal palace in Lordaeron, Terenas gently slapped the desk, his excitement clear. Once he'd calmed down, he closed the document in his hands and gave his bodyguard captain an order. "Cyril, begin the final allocation of supplies at once. I want all the warriors assembled after Brewfest. We've received word from the south that Stormwind City is under siege by the Orcish Horde. We must complete this exercise before winter ends!"

"Put Alonsus in full charge of the gnolls who chose to join the kingdom. As for future prisoners, send them to Stratholme as well. Alonsus will know what to do."

The king, visibly low on energy, pressed his long fingers to his temples. After a brief pause, he continued, "Lordaeron's warriors are far more important than the grain piled up in our warehouses. Spread the news that Stormwind City is under siege. Those fence-sitters won't dare object!"

"As you command, Your Majesty!"