Lor'themar Theron

The route to the border of Quel'Thalas followed the main road through Eastweald. There was no danger, and curious farmers and residents even came out along the way to watch the elite force.

As the seven hundred or so troops led by Arthas marched, not a sound could be heard beyond the scrape and clatter of armor and weapons.

Their gleaming, polished armor and the cold glint of their spears and blades showed the people of Lordaeron just how powerful this army was.

The twenty knights of the Swords of the Secret Council at the head of the column were especially striking. Unlike ordinary Lordaeron soldiers in gold and silver armor with blue and gold cloaks, these twenty knights wore black armor edged in silver and blood-red cloaks.

For some reason, even watching them from a distance was enough to feel an inexplicable pressure.

The ten Paladins accompanying the force had noticed it too. Every one of them was astonished by the imposing presence of these Secret Council Knights. In all of Lordaeron, perhaps only the knights of the Silver Hand could rival them.

The twenty Secret Council Knights Arthas had brought were no mere showpieces. Each had been selected through a rigorous series of trials from the finest members of the Lordaeron Royal Guard.

Every Secret Council Knight was a formidable fighter who had reached extraordinary heights on the warrior's path. In single combat, they were every bit the equal of the Silver Hand's Paladins, and on the battlefield, they were even more efficient killers.

After the initial selection, candidates for the Secret Council Knights underwent specialized training. Only those who survived the eliminations could truly join the order, and their allegiance belonged to Arthas alone.

In principle, this was entirely contrary to how a monarch should conduct himself. But Terenas trusted Arthas far too much. Arthas was his only son, and he knew he had few years left to live, so he had tacitly approved all of this, even encouraging it behind the scenes.

He hoped that before he died, his son would become a wise ruler of a caliber Lordaeron saw only once in a thousand years.

Thanks to their rapid marching pace, Arthas and his troops finally reached the elves' border fortress on the afternoon of the second day. It stood in a mountain pass in Eastweald, guarding the only overland route into the elven kingdom of Quel'Thalas. Humans called it the "Elf Gate."

The two Archmages accompanying the army displayed the prearranged magical runes to the elves on the walls. Only after confirming their identities did the elves open the gates.

An elven commander, taller and more powerfully built than most elves, approached. After saluting Arthas and Uther, he spoke in flawless Common. "Good day, Your Highness and Lord Uther. I did not expect you to lead the force in person. Quel'Thalas and the Farstriders thank you for your aid. I am Lor'themar Theron, the ranger-general's second-in-command. She sent me to welcome you."

He was something of an old acquaintance. During the Second War, he had joined the elven reinforcements sent to aid Lordaeron. Uther remembered him, and quite favorably at that, because Lor'themar lacked the insufferable arrogance so many elves possessed.

"Good day, Lord Lor'themar," Arthas said, returning his salute. "I hope we have arrived in time."

"Just in time, Your Highness. We have repelled several attacks by those savages, but many of our Farstrider rangers have been wounded as well." Lor'themar's expression remained grave. The elves were few in number, and every Farstrider was a treasure of Quel'Thalas.

"I have brought thirty Priests, led by a high-ranking Priest from Stratholme Cathedral. They can treat the Farstriders' injuries."

Lor'themar let out a relieved breath. "Praise the Sunwell! That is wonderful news. We are desperately short of personnel, especially healers. Many of the wounded have been unable to receive treatment in time."

Arthas had noticed how few guards there were when they entered the fortress. He frowned and asked, "Lord Lor'themar, has your manpower shortage become this severe?"

Lor'themar answered with a bitter expression. "Just call me Lor'themar-we have sent most of the troops currently available in the southern forests to the eastern front to resist the Troll invaders. But reinforcements from Silvermoon City still have not arrived, and how many Priests could the southern forests possibly have?"

Arthas understood the situation well enough. Though the elven rangers were doing everything they could to fight the Trolls, it seemed the support promised by Silvermoon City to the north was little more than words.

To help them cooperate better in the coming battles, Lor'themar spoke candidly. "We still have fifteen hundred rangers fighting on the front lines, but over a hundred have suffered injuries of varying severity. Very few have been killed. The Trolls have never truly broken through our lines."

"I have brought five hundred elite infantry, a hundred elite knights, a hundred dwarven riflemen, ten Paladins, and two Archmages," Arthas said, laying out the composition of his force as well. "And, of course, those thirty Priests."

"That will help secure our lines. Thank you again, Your Highness." Lor'themar nodded firmly at the numbers. Lordaeron had sent somewhat more support than he had expected.

But Lor'themar also noticed that Arthas seemed to have left some men out. There were twenty black-armored knights in the formation whose numbers did not quite match any of the groups Arthas had mentioned.

He did not ask further, however, since he assumed these knights were the prince's personal guards. He did not know why they looked somewhat different from the Lordaeron Royal Guard he had seen before, but that was hardly the important issue.

"Arthas, let us set out for the front at once," Uther said, with no intention of lingering there. "Words alone cannot give us a clear picture of the battlefield."

"My thoughts exactly." Arthas nodded. "Lor'themar, how long will it take to reach the front from here?"

"A little over two hours. If we move a bit faster, we can reach our positions before sunset."

"Good." Arthas swung into the saddle and gave the command. "Brave soldiers of Lordaeron, march!"

The prince was answered by the dull thunder of weapons striking shields and the ground.