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siege engines maneuvering into position. The ogre-sized things that appeared to be comprised of
various different corpses were battering away at the gate as well. So were the enormous,
spiderlike creatures.
Then something hit the wall with a soft, plopping sound. Wetness spattered Sylvanas. For a
fraction of a second, her mind refused to accept what she had just witnessed, and then clarity
broke upon her.
Arthas was not only raising the corpses of the fallen elves. He was hurling their bodies or
pieces of them back at Sylvanas as ammunition.
Sylvanas swallowed hard, then issued the order that a few moments ago she never would have
dreamed she would utter.
Shindu fallah na! Fall back to the second gate! Fall back!
Those who were left ai, piteous few there were still, at least still alive and fighting under her
command obeyed at once, gathering up the wounded and slinging them over their shoulders,
their faces pale and sweat-streaked and reflecting the same forcibly contained terror that raced
through her. They fled. There was no other word for it. This was no orderly, synchronized,
martial retreat, but an all-out flight. Sylvanas ran with the rest of them, bearing the wounded as
best she could, and her mind was racing.
Behind her she heard the once-inconceivable sound of the gate cracking and the roar of the
undead as they howled their triumph. Her own heart seemed to crack in agony.
He had done it but how? How?
His voice, strong, resonant, with that undercurrent of something dark and terrible, rose over the
noise. The elfgate has fallen! Onward, my warriors! Onward to victory!
Somehow, to Sylvanas, the worst, most awful thing about that gleeful, gloating cry was
the& affection& that laced through it.
She seized the sleeve of a young man racing beside her. Tel kor, Sylvanas cried. Make for the
Sunwell Plateau. Tell them what we have seen here. Tell them to be prepared.
Tel kor was young enough to let disappointment flicker over his handsome features at the
thought of not standing to fight, but he nodded his golden head in comprehension. Sylvanas
hesitated.
My lady?
Tell them we may have been betrayed.
Tel kor blanched at that, but nodded. Like an arrow shot from a bow, he raced away. He was a
good archer, but Sylvanas did not suffer any illusion that one more bow would make a difference
in the battle that was to come. But if the magi who controlled and directed the Sunwell s
energies knew what they faced that might.
They were racing northward now, and as her troops crossed a bridge she suddenly stopped in
mid-run, whirled on her heel, and looked back.
Sylvanas gasped. That Arthas and his dark army were coming, she expected to see. That would
have been a horrific enough sight; the undead, the abominations, the flying batlike things, the
grotesque spidery beings hundreds, bearing down with implacable determination. What she did
not expect to see was what they left in their wake.
Like a trail left by a slug, like a furrow left by a plow, the land where the undead feet had trod
was blackened and barren. Worse; Sylvanas remembered the burned woods the orcs had left
behind, knew that nature would eventually reclaim it. This it was a horrible dark line of death,
as if the unnatural energies that were used to propel the corpses forward were killing the very
earth upon which they shambled. Poison, they were poison, it was dark magic of the foulest kind.
And it had to be stopped.
She had paused only an instant, although to her it felt as though she had been frozen in place for
a lifetime. Hold! she cried, her voice clear and strong and purposeful. We will make our stand
here.
They were puzzled only briefly, then they understood. Quickly she spoke instructions, and they
leaped to obey. Many of them paused, shocked, as they caught their first stunned glimpse of the
grievous wound to the land that had so horrified their ranger-general, but they recovered quickly.
Time enough to worry about healing the brutalized earth later. For now, they had to stop that
dreadful scar from spreading.
The stench preceded the army, but Sylvanas and her rangers now had a grim familiarity with it. It
did not unnerve them as it had before. She stood on the bridge, her head held high, her black
hood slipping a little to show bright golden hair. The army of the dead slowed and halted,
confused by the sight. The ugly wagons, catapults, and trebuchets rumbled to a halt. Arthas s
skeletal horse reared, and he reached down and stroked the bony neck as if it were a living beast.
Sylvanas felt a shiver of nausea at the wrongness of the tableau as the thing responded to its
master s touch.
Goodness, Arthas said, humor lacing the word with something akin to warmth. This can t be
one of the oh-so-imposing elfgates I ve heard so much about.
Sylvanas forced herself to grin back. No, not quite. But you ll still find it a challenge.
It is but a simple bridge, my lady. But then again, the elves are very fond of putting paper
manes on cats and calling them lions.
She eyed his army for a moment, her anger penetrating her forced smugness. You ve won
through this gate, butcher, but you won t get through the second. The inner gate to Silvermoon
can only be opened with a special key, and it shall never be yours!
She nodded to her companions, and they raced across the bridge to join their fellows on the other
side.
Arthas s humor faded and his pale eyes flashed. His gauntleted hand tightened on the runeblade.
Its markings thrummed. You waste your time, woman. You cannot outrun the inevitable.
Though I admit it is amusing to watch you scurry.
Now Sylvanas did laugh, an angry, satisfied sound that rolled up from some place deep in her
soul. You think I m running from you? Apparently you ve never fought elves before.
Some things, she mused, were deliciously simple. Sylvanas lifted her hand, threw the extremely
non-magical, quite practical incendiary device, then turned to run as the bridge exploded. The
trees welcomed them, arching above them in hues of gold and silver, hiding them from their
enemy. Before she faded from earshot, she heard something that made her grin fiercely.
The ranger woman is starting to vex me greatly.
Yes. Vex you. Harry you like a sparrow does the hawk. The Elrendar bisects Eversong Woods,
and you will find no crossing for your monstrous engines of war any time soon. She knew it was
a delay, nothing more. But if the army was delayed long enough, perhaps she could get a
message through.
Worry fluttered at her mind. Arthas had seemed supremely confident that he would be able to
defeat the magic that powered the elfgates. He had already shown some knowledge in that he had
been able to destroy the first gate. Of course, the first gate was not as magically defended as the
second. And, from what she had seen, arrogance seemed to be his normal state, but was it
possible? The nagging uncertainty that had prompted her to add a final warning to Tel kor s
message to the magi stirred within her again.
Did Arthas know about the key?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The traitor, a wizard by the name of Dar Khan Drathir, should have made it easy. And to some
extent he had, of course. Arthas would otherwise never have known about the Key of the Three
Moons a magical item that had been split into three separate mooncrystals stashed in heavily-
guarded, hidden locations throughout Quel Thalas. Each temple was constructed on an
intersection of ley lines, similar to the Sunwell itself, the traitorous elf had told him, gleeful to be
betraying his people so. The ley lines were like blood vessels of the earth, carrying magic instead
of scarlet fluid. Thus interconnected, the crystals created a field of energy known as
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