“This is madness! You will damn your souls forever!”
Anguish contorted the otherwise noble face of Lord Uther the Lightbringer. He seemed stunned, as if unable to believe what Arthas – his favorite pupil…his son, really – had just done: relieve him of this command in front of everyone. From the knights of the Silver Hand to the last footman, all shared the shock.
“Tell him…Sometimes he listens to you. Make him change his mind. He cannot just slaughter everyone in Stratholme! Innocent people! He cannot –“
The grip on his arm was almost strong enough to cause pain, yet he doubted the elder man was aware of it. His eyes shone with hope - and that hurt much more.
“We must stop him!” Jaina Proudmoore added urgently from behind Lord Uther’s back. The young sorceress’ face was haggard and worried. “We must!”
“And what would you have us do instead? Sit and wait that the entire city becomes full of undead? People are infected. Most of them are. The entire Stratholme is down with a mysterious sickness… You heard the reports! If they are turned, we will be swarmed as we stand. Us and the rest of Lordaeron. There’s no telling ho many other dead will be in that case…”
They looked at him as if the meaning of the words eluded them. Only then did he realize he had been shouting and made an effort to take control of his temper. He could have been whispering the entire time though and they would have reacted the same. He would have too, days before…hours maybe.
“They’re women and children…You cannot…you cannot…” The man’s shoulders slumped…he looked as if he had received a blown in the head. His eyes were full of anger, Eireannan realized. And sadness. A sadness that could drown a soul completely only by watching it. He felt his own resolution slip, if only for a second. It was gruesome and horrible yet there was no other way.
“The Light have mercy on your souls…” Lord Uther whispered. Somehow he managed to make it sound like a judgment. Jaina only let out a sharp gasp, lips trembling and clear blue eyes filled with stupor.
Behind them Arthas had started to organize his man with sharp commands, to move into the City. Angry voices and shouts rose as some of them stepped aside, refusing to follow; other lined themselves to march with a grim expression on their faces.
Eireannan drew in a shuddering breath.
“I doubt the Light will ever find us again worthy of its mercy”, he said softly. “But it has to be done…”
None of them made any move to stop him as he went away.
