Setting Out

Lothar heard the place name and turned to Khadgar. The old mage nodded. "I've heard of this place. Though I've never been here, it is indeed within Lordaeron's borders."

"Good, Mayor. I need an audience with King Terenas immediately." Lothar choked up as he spoke. "There is something very important."

"I understand. You have urgent business with His Majesty?"

"Yes. If possible, please lend me your fastest horses, as well as a guide."

Marcus nodded. "It will take several days to reach Lordaeron from here. You'll have to cross Silverpine Forest. If your matter is truly urgent, I can have someone deliver a message first."

"Yes, there's no time to lose. We can't waste another moment. Please tell the King that Stormwind City has fallen, and the Prince is here." Lothar looked at the boy standing beside Khadgar. The cold morning sea wind of Southshore did not agree with him. "I did all I could to save more civilians. We desperately need supplies. There are also matters of even greater importance. I will speak with His Majesty in person once I reach Lordaeron."

Marcus's eyes widened. The string of news left him struggling to understand what had happened, but he knew how grave the situation was. His gaze darted between the three of them before he said to Lothar, "As you wish. I'll arrange for someone to take your message to Lordaeron at once. Rest for a while first. I'll prepare a carriage for your journey to Lordaeron. You'll need food and water on the road. As for a guide..."

"I'll do it." A voice rang out, and everyone turned toward it.

"Who are you, young man?" Marcus asked.

"Nathanos Maris. There's nothing special about me, but I know the roads from here to Lordaeron well."

Lothar studied him, rubbing his forehead. "Are you from Lordaeron?"

"Yes."

Lothar and Khadgar exchanged a look, then nodded.

Seeing that they had agreed, Nathanos turned and walked over to Larein. The young priest was telling several refugees of the ways of the Holy Light, while Stephan listened nearby.

"So what we heard at the tavern yesterday was all true. I'm taking those three to Lordaeron. Are you coming?"

Larein shook his head and glanced at Lothar. This was the first time he had seen a situation like this. He had only just learned of Stormwind City's tragedy from the refugees.

"I'm still needed here. It is my duty as a priest."

Nathanos rarely saw him looking so serious, and he could not help but view him in a new light. He turned to Stephan and instructed, "Come with me to Lordaeron. Go back to your father. The situation here is dire."

"What about them?" Stephan looked at the refugees. There were so many of them; even he knew Southshore could not possibly accommodate them all.

"Lordaeron will provide them with a place to settle."

Several hours later, Nathanos and the others left Southshore. He and Stephan drove the carriage, while Lothar and the other two sat inside.

"How long will it take?" Lothar asked Khadgar quietly.

The other man answered in the same low voice, "Possibly a week. I'm unfamiliar with this region. I only remember the map. It may be several days before we see the city's spires."

"If we go through Tarren Mill, pass Stonewrought, and reach Andorhal, we can get to Lordaeron in only three days," Nathanos suddenly said from the driver's seat.

Khadgar and Lothar stared at each other. They had both thought they were speaking quietly enough.

"It seems you truly are an excellent guide," the mage said. His voice was firm, not at all like that of an old man. "But going through Stonewrought means crossing Alterac. The roads are rough. We'd be better off taking the main road."

Nathanos knew that road well. Very, very well. So well that he would never forget it.

Khadgar pulled aside the carriage curtain and asked Nathanos, "Hey, young man, I wanted to ask you back in Southshore. Are you a Ranger? Your attire resembles that of a Ranger."

"Please do not mention those two words in front of me, sir." Nathanos lowered his voice, carrying a hint of warning. "I am something more dangerous than a Ranger."

"Dangerous how, exactly?"

"For example, I can hear anything you whisper."

After Nathanos spoke, silence descended over the carriage—utter stillness. Stephan felt so oppressed by the atmosphere that he barely dared breathe.

"Please don't mind him, honored guests." Stephan smiled, breaking the awkward silence. "My cousin doesn't like Rangers. What he means is that he's stronger than a Ranger—stronger than every Ranger. Right, Nathanos?"

Stephan frantically winked at Nathanos, urging him to say something.

"No, because I haven't taken down Quel'Thalas's Ranger-General yet."

"Haha!" Khadgar's laughter came from inside the carriage, and the mood immediately lightened. Lothar and Varian did not know why he was laughing, but he had clearly heard something amusing.

Not all mages are stiff and harsh, Stephan thought.

"I admire your courage, Nathanos. Your youth makes me nostalgic." Khadgar abruptly reined in his emotions as he said this. Lothar inwardly broke into a cold sweat for him. This "old" mage was only a few years older than Nathanos, who was driving the carriage.

When no one spoke, Nathanos asked, "I have a question. First, I offer my condolences for everything that happened to the Stormwind Kingdom. But your kingdom had a Guardian. Why did it still suffer such a fate?"

If "Ranger" was taboo to Nathanos, then "Guardian" was the one word Lothar and Khadgar least wanted to hear.

"Please don't mention those three words either, Nathanos," Khadgar replied softly.

"It seems to be a painful memory. Forgive my intrusion."

Lothar shook his head, fighting back tears. In the present calm, everything he had experienced gradually returned to his mind. Varian slowly drifted into sleep. The boy in his arms was now all the hope Lothar had left. Stormwind City had been reduced to ruins, and the memory filled him with pain, rage, and sorrow. The wise King had been murdered. Llane had been Lothar's King, but more than that, he had been his companion and dearest friend. Medivh had been the same, yet the Guardian was the true culprit behind it all. Just weeks ago, Lothar had cut off his head with his own hands. Even now, he could not let it go.

Khadgar was deeply lost in thought. Medivh had drained away all his youth with magic. He could feel the shriveled skin on his face, yet his magic remained—indeed, it had grown stronger. He had also discovered that only his body had aged. His mind was still full of vitality, his endurance, wisdom, and agility unchanged from before. He was only nineteen now, yet he knew that in truth he was more than three times that age.

Thinking of this, Khadgar could not help thinking of Medivh. His mentor should have been dead, but Khadgar had told no one, not even Lothar. After the battle of Karazhan ended, he had encountered a phantom of Medivh. The figure claimed to come from the future and said that, thanks to Khadgar, he was now free.