[Swords of the Secret Council]

"Your Highness?"

Baron Rivendare's call pulled Arthas out of his thoughts and back to reality. He apologized sincerely for his distraction. "I'm sorry, Baron. Something came to mind just now."

"It's all right. I know His Majesty's expectations put you under a great deal of pressure." Baron Rivendare thought nothing of Arthas's lapse. He simply picked up his cup and raised it toward him. "But for now, you can afford to relax a little."

"To you, Baron." Arthas raised his own cup and clinked it against the baron's.

They each drained a large cup of dwarven ale. Rivendare paid no heed to noble etiquette, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before immediately refilling both cups. "Ha! Now this is how you drink! Come, Your Highness! I, Rivendare of the Silver Hand, wish you a lifetime of courage without fear!"

Beside them, Grand Knight Gavinrad also raised his cup. "I, Gavinrad of the Silver Hand, wish my brother glorious victories in the years to come!"

"My proudest student, may you always walk with the light and justice!" Uther patted Arthas on the shoulder and raised his cup as well.

Across the table, Saidan Dathrohan, one of the original paladins, raised his cup too. With his bulging muscles and towering, solid frame, he looked like a fortress. "May our brother Arthas never be harmed by evil!"

The gentle, kindly Tirion Fordring did not forget to offer his blessing. "May our brother Arthas always remain kind and honest!"

Looking at the almost complete gathering of the original paladins before him, Arthas felt a surge of emotion. He clinked cups with his seniors, and they shouted together, "May Lordaeron prosper forever! May the Holy Light shine forever upon the Silver Hand!"

It was a simple feast, attended almost entirely by knights of the Silver Hand. Every one of them was a pillar of the order, a mainstay of Lordaeron.

Who could have imagined that in just a few years, the thriving cities would become ruins, and these mighty heroes would be reduced to bones or fall into tragic corruption?

But at least this time, what awaited them would not be their separate, sorrowful elegies. The fate of Lordaeron, of humanity, and of Azeroth would all be very different.

Mortals might seem so frail before disaster and destiny, but when danger descended, those same mortals would always fight fearlessly for the fate of their world.

That was Azeroth's eternal, unchanging theme.

The next morning, when Arthas climbed out of the guest bed in the Lord's Manor, his head still throbbed faintly.

Those burly men who treated barrels of ale like buckets of water had taken turns toasting him. Only Arthas's extraordinary constitution had saved him; otherwise, he might have slept straight through until the next morning.

Still, his "combat prowess" at the drinking table was among the best. Not one of those who had tried to get him drunk yesterday had escaped unscathed. Gavinrad and Rivendare, those two shameless old men, had been the worst. They had even pulled the old "you're young and healthy, so you drink two cups for every one of mine" routine!

Rivendare was holding a grudge because Arthas had told his wife, Lady Anastari, about his embarrassing exploits when Arthas was a child. That explained why he had tried to get Arthas drunk, but that great oaf Gavinrad had joined in too.

Arthas reckoned those two would probably have to lie in bed for two days. The amount they had drunk yesterday could probably have burst an ordinary person's stomach twice over!

"I almost got drunk to death by those two shameless old men before I could even get started." Arthas splashed cold water over his face in the washroom, then stared at the handsome face in the mirror with a sigh. "I don't know how many times I've looked at it, but it's still a little too handsome..."

He wondered whether the House Menethil bloodline was simply too exceptional. His older sister Calia was a renowned beauty, while he himself was outrageously handsome. Just look at that face: rugged yet good-looking, dashing with a touch of severity...

Ahem. Getting sidetracked.

After washing up, Arthas dressed and prepared to leave, only to meet a servant who had come to knock on his door. The servant quickly stepped aside at the sight of him and said respectfully, "Your Highness, Lord Uther wishes to see you."

"My teacher? Where is he?" Arthas was puzzled. Uther had indeed drunk very little yesterday, taking only a little when toasting him, so it was perfectly normal for him to be up today. But why had he come looking for Arthas so early?

"Your Highness, Lord Uther is waiting in the reception room."

Arthas figured Uther must have urgent business to make a special trip back to see him. Otherwise, he could have waited until Arthas went to the church.

The servant led him to the reception room. Uther was already dressed in his specially made armor, with a Libram fastened at his waist.

A Libram was a magical implement used exclusively by paladins. In essence, it was a special, oversized book filled with methods and techniques for wielding the Holy Light, as well as its teachings and the virtues of knighthood. It was standard equipment for every paladin, and a weapon for vanquishing evil.

Why call it a weapon? Well, had you ever seen a book with a metal cover, striking points cast onto all four corners, weighing dozens of pounds, and chained to a belt so it could be taken off and used as a flail at any moment?

But when a paladin carried his Libram and wore his battle armor, it usually meant he was about to receive orders and enter combat.

"Teacher, what happened?" Arthas frowned deeply. If Uther had come to find him in person, fully armed, the problem might be serious.

"I received urgent orders from the capital this morning. Our allies have come under attack and need us to send troops to help." Uther gave him a brief account of the situation.

Allies?

Arthas's mind quickly went to work. Eastweald, the region that included Stratholme-and would later become the Eastern Plaguelands-lay at the easternmost edge of the kingdom and bordered no other human kingdom. If Uther had been told to arm himself and come find Arthas, the most likely explanation was that the High Elves to the north had come under attack.

"Have the Forest Trolls invaded the elves' territory again?" Arthas asked.

"That's right." Uther was not surprised in the slightest; he even seemed to take Arthas's deduction for granted. "This time, there are far more of them than before. The elves may feel it would be too difficult to hold them off alone."

"That doesn't sound like our lofty elven lords." Arthas grew interested. "Haven't they always thought their magic could solve every problem? Now they want us to go catch the Forest Trolls' axes for them?"

"The request for aid was sent from Dalaran to the court mages," Uther added.

Arthas sighed. "Kael'thas never stops worrying, day or night. If you ask me, their Mage Council is far too hidebound. Kael'thas should have acted long ago."

Kael'thas was the prince of the High Elves, as well as Arthas's good friend and former romantic rival. Former, because the woman Kael'thas liked was already Arthas's girlfriend.

"His Majesty has ordered us to lead troops to Quel'Thalas to provide support." Uther did not pursue Arthas's remarks. Instead, he began outlining the forces available to them. "We can immediately muster roughly five hundred elite infantry, one hundred elite cavalry, one hundred riflemen, thirty priests, ten paladins, and two archmages."

"That many? And two mages as well?" Arthas was a little surprised by the numbers. This was no ordinary force. The elites Uther spoke of were all veterans who had fought their way through the Second War.

"Since we're heading into a forest this time, the cavalry's effectiveness will be limited. Otherwise, we could bring another hundred cavalry." Uther had made his meaning quite clear.

Arthas understood at once. His father's intent was unmistakable. There was no shortage of troops. His only demand was that Arthas win this battle brilliantly.

"I understand." Arthas nodded. "I'll bring twenty Swords of the Secret Council as well."

For once, Uther was briefly taken aback. Arthas was actually willing to commit a force like that to a mission supporting their allies?

The [Swords of the Secret Council] were one of the principal fighting forces of the [Secret Council Bureau], which Arthas had founded. Their sole purpose was to efficiently deliver eternal slumber to every enemy of Lordaeron and Arthas.