Is'Ney-Azshari, academy of magic.
Magic circles and runes of the elven alphabet flew past the girl's eyes on the pages of the book. The flickering of the runes was exacerbated by a shimmering light source whose charge was about to run out, but she was frankly reluctant to get up and recharge it. Moreover, light-brown locks of hair kept trying to fall over her eyes; their length, according to the fashion at Azshara's court, varied from "shoulder-length" to "indecently short," so she had to adjust them periodically. "It's probably easier for the elves—it doesn't fall because of those ears, they just tuck it in and that's it..."—extraneous thoughts unrelated to the topic in the textbook began to appear in the head of the tired human girl, who continued to gnaw at the granite of magical science even late at night. Calia Menethil had more than once cursed the day when, four years ago on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she had agreed to her father's proposal and dedicated herself to mastering magic under the guidance of famous elven sorcerers. And this was instead of studying the mastery of Holy with the priests, for which everyone said she had a predisposition, but she had no particular desire...
As it turned out, famous mages did not become so by right of birth, but reached the heights of the art of spell weaving through many hours of vigils over tomes and endless training. Even now, the future Archmage, as she hoped, who was concurrently the princess of Lordaeron (and after everything she had been through—in exactly that order!), was not doing what young and beautiful girls are supposed to do at such a late hour, namely taking a bath and preparing for bed, but was literally, by the sweat of her brow, gnawing on a new granite pebble of knowledge about magic.
Calia tucked her hair back once more, looked closely at the summarized excerpt from the textbook, critically evaluated her efforts, and concluded: "Seems I've laid out the very essence..." At that moment, there was an alarming knock at the door. Why it was specifically alarming, she couldn't have explained even to herself: the knock was no different from the usual elven note of politeness, but her heart told her that something had happened. And the girl was inclined to agree with that conclusion in advance: good news isn't brought at one in the morning; such news, as a rule, waits until dawn.
"Come in!" Calia didn't waste time on making herself presentable, considering it excessive for such a moment.
As someone experienced in dealing with humans, Anasterian—a member of the Kirin Tor council, the elven ambassador in Dalaran, the queen's advisor on foreign relations, and so on and so forth—was sent to the princess. Even if the girl didn't know what the conversation would be about, the identity of the elf who had descended upon her at night already said a lot. "Something happened at home!" Calia made the logical conclusion and was absolutely right.
"Your Highness," the guest gave a polite nod, which from another person might well have passed for a slight bow. "I have bad news."
The princess could not keep her surge of anxiety in check and gasped convulsively, but then she pulled herself together: her palace upbringing showed.
"Lord," the mistress of the room returned the nod and pointed to a chair, inviting him to sit.
After a delay imperceptible to the eye, the elf, out of ingrained politeness, accepted the invitation despite the catastrophic lack of time; however, he did not intend to linger in the girl's chambers. The guest didn't seem to do anything, but Calia immediately realized that he was responsible for the freshened air and bright lighting—simply because there was no one else. A grateful nod followed, and the princess tried to project readiness for a serious conversation on her tired face, which, given the anxiety that had gripped her, she managed without much difficulty.
"I won't beat around the bush. Your brother… has fallen under the influence of demons. Your mother is in custody, your father is missing and most likely dead… Lordaeron is no longer our ally."
Stunned, Calia, her thoughts in a jumble, called upon all the self-control she had gained in meditations. And this helped in part: the girl did not flinch, and her lips remained closed, but her dilated pupils, quickened breathing, and very pale skin were no secret to the elf, who had chosen diplomacy as his path and was therefore perfectly versed in such nuances. After waiting for what he considered a decent pause, Anasterian continued:
"The situation now is such that we expect an attack on Quel'Thalas any day now and cannot restore your status quo for the time being. I am sorry, but you will have to remain here for some time."
The girl, who had been planning to visit her family within the month, started, and an involuntary question escaped her:
"Am I a hostage?"
Anasterian smiled as if he had just heard something extremely amusing—which, in essence, it was.
"Of course not, lady—it is simply dangerous for the princess of Lordaeron to return home right now, but nothing will change for you here, and you will continue your studies. Currently, mastery of Magic is a very sought-after skill," he said, but seeing that this did little to calm the girl, he explained: "Even if your value as a hostage were anything other than zero, we would never negotiate with demon-worshipers regardless of their location: whether at the borders of our country, on the other side of Azeroth, or in another world entirely. This is both the official and the unpublicized position of Quel'Thalas—no deals with demons."
"Why do I have zero value?" the princess, being a vivid representative of girls, even a girl squared, singled out the most "important" part.
The guest possessed a vast store of experience in communicating with the fair sex, including among his short-eared neighbors, and therefore easily overcame the urge to roll his eyes and explained:
"Because the current king, lady, doesn't care about you, and Quel'Thalas doesn't care about him. He showed no interest in your fate and asked nothing about you at all, although he did contact us, making some idiotic demands regarding the transfer of the Source and the repayment of debts to demons… I don't even want to comment on that, as it would require going deep into our history to understand the full stupidity of his words, and I, alas, have no time for that. As for us, as I already said, we have nothing to negotiate with the allies of demons. I assume that not everyone followed the former prince voluntarily, likely quite the opposite, but we will deal with all these issues after the victory over the Legion. Nevertheless, we would not want you to come to harm—after all, someone will have to lead Lordaeron afterward, and you are the most suitable candidate for that."
"If everyone there isn't eaten by demons..." the girl voiced the outcome she secretly feared.
"Yes, that would be very sad," the elf agreed and changed the subject: "Your Highness, perhaps you would like to speak with Lady Proudmoore? As far as I know, she is your friend."
"Jaina? She's here?" the girl perked up as expected.
"She will be in the capital soon. We evacuated the Dalaranese to Quel'Thalas and whoever we could from Lordaeron—those among the opponents of the alliance with the Legion."
"Yes, I would like to meet her."
"Well, I think that can be arranged tomorrow, but now I must go, Your Highness. Good night."
"Thank you, Lord Anasterian."
***
Dalaran, slightly earlier.
Things had not been going well for the head of the Kirin Tor since morning. Starting with such trifles as searching for slippers and continuing with his favorite inkwell breaking, the troubles showed no sign of ending. Not to mention the bad premonitions haunting him. True, the latter had settled firmly in his heart a week ago, but that was no reason to give in to gloom and allow things to fall from his hands or get lost… At the moment, the Archmage was searching for an artifact to communicate with the elves. After Anasterian had departed for his homeland, the communication orb remained almost the only connecting thread with Quel'Thalas. And how such an important object could be lost, Antonidas himself resolutely did not understand, but he intended to find out… The search had been going on for ten minutes, the desk had been rummaged through almost entirely (and such things happen if the seeker is an Archmage), but, alas, all to no avail.
Antonidas was just moving some papers from one pile to another, trying to understand if the artifact could get lost between the pages. Logically, it seemed no, it couldn't. But experience persistently whispered that with elven artifacts, nothing was simple… At this extremely critical moment, his assistant burst into the office, clutching the sought-after orb in her hands. But before the owner of the office could protest the act of blatant expropriation, it dawned on him that Modera wasn't just insistently shoving the artifact into his hands—the orb was flashing red, which meant the northern neighbors were eager to speak with him urgently.
"This is Anto..."
"Demons at the head of an Army of Undead have landed on the northern coast of Tirisfal. Archimonde, with another army, has entered Azeroth through the Dark Portal and is now building portals somewhere toward our borders. Prince Arthas has fallen under demonic influence, and now most of Lordaeron is on the side of the Legion. Within the day, Dalaran will be attacked; prepare for evacuation."
The Archmage didn't even have time to clarify anything—he couldn't even process the quickly spoken words of one of the order's council members before the communication orb went dark. For some time, the head of the Kirin Tor exchanged looks with his assistant, and both looked utterly crushed. They had, of course, assumed that one day (sometime, not in their lifetime) Dalaran would have to face something like this, but assuming is one thing, and meeting reality face to face here and now is quite another.
But then the panic session ended with a victory of will, which reined in the emotions from the news of the demonic invasion that had fallen like snow on their heads, and Antonidas jumped up quite briskly for his age and rushed toward the exit. Modera dashed after him, barely keeping up. However, she didn't have the goal of catching up with her superior, as she guessed exactly where the old man was running—to the incantation hall, from which the city and its surroundings could be promptly notified of the attack and the upcoming evacuation…
"Citizens of Dalaran! Right now, a massive Army of Undead and demons is moving toward our city. But we have a choice! We can show our courage, stay and perish, even if we make the enemy pay dearly for invading our home city. Or… we will show wisdom and retreat to our allies to win the war and survive. Citizens of Dalaran! Take your most valuable possessions, hurry to the square in front of the academy, and enter the portals. But hurry—time is short!.."
"Good enough for an impromptu," the assistant praised the performance. "Everything is clear with the commoners, but what will we do ourselves? Are we really just going to run? What about our defense system, which we, looking at the elves, strengthened year after year? Can we at least try to snap back?"
"Something tells me we won't be able to avoid it regardless of our wishes," the white-bearded mage shook his head, walking toward the exit of the hall. "I'm sure we won't have time to move everyone before the city is attacked. So our preparations will have a chance to show themselves in all their glory, have no doubt about it…"
Moving back toward the office, he began issuing instructions:
"Gather all the mages in the courtyard; we'll distribute sectors. The students must be moved first. And find Lin. Tell him to save the Gnome inventions and his own contraptions for the final battle—no need to reveal trumps unnecessarily."
"Well, no need to look for him," the young woman smirked. "It's clear where he's hanging around… and with whom."
Modera meant the place that had recently become the subject of general conversation for the entire academy. However, she was somewhat mistaken. Shortly before the general announcement, at one of the academy's training grounds, given over to the exclusive use of the old Archmage's personal students, a silence and tranquility unusual for this territory were observed. Nothing was exploding, no ear-piercing sounds, day did not become night and night did not become day, and even no new destruction appeared. Yes, lately the training ground had been used intensively for its intended purpose, but today was different: there was no one on the site. The young mages, testing new ideas, had decided to take a break…
In one of the dead-end alleys of the academy, in a modest-sized square surrounded by benches, there was a small fountain. A few trees coupled with the water source provided coolness to students who might decide to rest in this cozy spot. However, mages who had set out on the path of mastering the mysteries of Magic didn't need to worry about the heat.
Now, right during classes, almost all the benches were empty… except for one, occupied by a couple kissing self-forgetfully. The girl was in the guy's arms, sitting on his lap. It was enough to mention the gold medallions adorning them for any student to instantly identify the lovers, even without seeing their faces. The protégés of the head of the Kirin Tor in person. Not to say that their relationship had progressed much lately—they might have been happy to, but something was always in the way: either a mad arms race, or a research fever would strike, or Jaina would be summoned to Stormwind by her father or called by her friends, who felt they were receiving catastrophically little attention lately, or Maywell would want to see her "father," and he would have to indulge the "daughter's" whims so as not to anger "mom," or Trixie would drop by for a visit, trying to invite herself as a third—and not to say it was entirely unsuccessful: it was hard to get seriously angry at the guileless, naively sweet Gnome, which she took advantage of, often doing so unconsciously… In short, there was practically no time for themselves. But today, as already noted, the future Archmages had decided to take a break and indulge in the impulses of youth and, perhaps, even take the next step…
"Citizens of Dalaran!.."
When they broke the embrace that turned out to be short, the guy was already smiling. He was clearly amused by the current state of affairs in their relationship. Jaina pulled away with a sigh and spoke:
"Apparently, until we deal with everything, we won't have any peace, right?"
In response, Lin tenderly ran the back of his fingers across the cheek of not only his girlfriend but also his student, albeit an unofficial one, but thought that a single gesture was not enough to clarify his position on the matter and decided to speak:
"Don't worry, Jaina, it won't be long now. We'll deal with the Legion now, and then it'll be N'Zoth's turn. And after that, we'll have plenty of time..."
"True…"
The girl pressed against her beloved again, resting her head on his chest. After a half-minute of silence, enjoying the passing moments of quiet time, she raised her head and asked:
"We probably should go?"
"The mages will be the last to leave, so we have nothing to do in the square yet," Lin replied sensibly. "The enemy isn't nearby yet, we've been carrying everything we need for a long time—so we can sit a bit longer…"
With these last words, he reached for her face with the clear intention of continuing what they were doing before the evacuation announcement.
"Ahem… I apologize, but Modera said you should go to the main building," a semi-familiar voice of one of the students sounded nearby.
The couple froze for a moment, having not yet begun kissing, and then Jaina laughed at yet another intervention of chance in their relationship.
"I wonder, if we ignore the hints of fate now and try to continue, what will happen?" the girl asked.
Lin caught the mischievous tones and realized Jaina was joking, and smiled back.
"Want to find out?"
After first pretending she was thinking of agreeing, Jaina still shook her head and reluctantly left the warm spot.
"Fine, the faster we start, the faster we finish. Besides, I've wanted to visit Quel'Thalas for a long time… to see your daughter."
Lin, getting up after the girl, rolled his eyes—when Jaina found out her boyfriend had such a close "relative," she teased him about it incessantly.
"You'll see her and more," the guy promised with mock threat. "Wait until she asks you, with a look like Trixie's, what good is and how it differs from the Holy—I'll see how much fun you'll have then…"
Thus, joking with each other, the couple headed to the general gathering place. From there, after listening to instructions, they went to one of the academy's incantation halls, where an observation center for the surrounding area was being set up, similar to the one the order had used during the defense of Kul Tiras. Such an assignment was no surprise to them—where else would talented youth be sent? Not to the front lines…
Antonidas's opinion on the need not to show trumps too early was conveyed to Lin and Jaina, and they were left alone. The high college itself, consisting of five members of the Council of Six (excluding Anasterian, who in recent years had neglected his duties and rarely appeared in Dalaran), gathered somewhere nearby to draw up a plan for "how best to slam the door on the way out." The young people themselves remained calm, to the general surprise of the nervous mages. And why should they worry? They were strong and confident in their abilities, and had emergency retreat routes if something went wrong. And overall, no great struggle was expected from the battle for the city—so why worry? Of course, it was a pity to leave the place that had become familiar, where they had spent several years, but not so much that it caused melancholy. And demons… what, had he never seen demons before? Jaina, for her part, believed too strongly in the authority of her future husband, and therefore also saw no reason for concern.
Time passed. Watching crowds of people disappear into the maws of three portals was boring. Even less interesting was the image of the surroundings beyond the barrier raised over the city, which had turned purple from the energy poured into it: the suburbs, from which a still thin stream of people was being drawn into Dalaran, ordinary pastoral landscapes slightly stained by the touch of civilization, and not a trace of demonic presence. Lin looked more closely at one of the three entrances to the mages' abode, and it became clear to him that Antonidas's voice, broadcasting to the whole city, had not reached the buildings outside the wall. The people hurrying to take shelter within the city limits had clearly been warned separately. And although the escaping individuals were entrusted with some level of trust, it didn't help them bypass the reinforced post without a thorough check. The latter was what slowed down the growing queue. And this was before the commoners realized something was happening; otherwise, the gates would have been impassable with those wishing to enter Dalaran. Lin watched, and something about all this bustle didn't sit right with him, but he didn't yet understand what exactly, and the guy decided to share his unformed fears with his girlfriend.
While the students of the head of the Council of Six watched the growing crowd before the gates, the council members themselves had already finished conferring and scattered to solve their assigned tasks… but not all of them. There was one person who decided to attend to his… "personal" affairs.
From his once-brown hair and neat short beard, only a gray cap of hair and a disheveled tow on his chin of the same color remained. If anyone were to compare this man's appearance with his look ten years ago, the difference would be striking. But the recent years had taken a toll on many mages, not just the head of the experimental corps, so Kel'Thuzad's changes went unnoticed by his colleagues and subordinates. Meanwhile, the Archmage's appearance had changed for the worse far from because of the situation unfolding on Azeroth. The choice he had made had such an effect on the aging man… However, for him, it was more of a Choice, and now he was preparing to pay another price for the knowledge he had gained.
Kel'Thuzad, despite the checks and tests, was always a little afraid when establishing a connection with his "employer" right from his chambers. And even if the communication artifact emitted only neutral Mana, and his creditor promised absolute safety, the situation itself strained the Archmage, and not even because of the betrayal of the Kirin Tor, but because of unpaid debts. Being indebted to an entity at war with the elves led by an odious queen was not among the secret desires of an ambitious man greedy for knowledge.
"I am listening to you, mortal," no sound came from the unremarkable gray ball—this voice, striking in its inhumanity, arose directly in the Archmage's head.
"Demons are preparing to attack Dalaran. The mages are evacuating to the elves. What should I do?" Kel'Thuzad knew that his interlocutor did not like long-windedness, and therefore spoke exclusively to the point.
Pondering the situation took the Old God a couple of seconds, after which an order was formed:
"Kill everyone you can. They must not fall to either Azshara or the Legion. Fulfill this, and the debt will be paid."
The sense of N'Zoth's presence vanished, leaving the Archmage, who had clutched his chest, alone. And no, Kel'Thuzad was not faking a heart attack because of a sudden awakening of conscience or philanthropy toward his colleagues—the bonds of the contract, like a black web of pulsating energy entwined around his heart, jerked and tightened for a moment, demonstrating what would happen to the hapless traitor if he thought to betray twice or simply not fulfill the order.
Naturally, Kel'Thuzad had yielded to N'Zoth's promises not to perish ingloriously while settling his accounts, and therefore he was in no hurry to attack his comrades. Why notify everyone of his betrayal if everything could be done quietly? In any case, the man, having pulled a frightening-looking dagger glowing crimson from his stores, planned to eliminate the top of the order stealthily, taking advantage of the trust in him as a council member. And Kel'Thuzad saw no reason why this shouldn't work… Hiding the artifact under his robe, he went out, perhaps leaving his office forever.
Meanwhile, the demons made their move. From behind the buildings encircling the gate square, average-looking Ghouls appeared and, emitting loud rumbles, headed at a surprisingly slow pace straight toward the city entrance, where a decent crowd of people fleeing for their lives had already gathered. Naturally, the people panicked "a little" and rushed toward the gates, ignoring the guard. The latter hesitated, but remembering their instructions, stood as a wall in the path of the still-unchecked people, greatly aided by the presence of mages who blocked the passage with barriers. Realizing that their primary plan—to infiltrate the city under the cover of the frightened crowd—had failed, ten Nathrezim, who were hiding among the people under spells, switched to the backup one.
The Liches, hiding under the guise of primitive Undead, as well as the Dreadlords, dropped their disguise as they jointly delivered a magical strike against the defense, which was somewhat flimsy for such an occasion. Although Dalaran as a whole was covered by powerful shields, the gates into the city were protected by the forces of the mages attached to the guard, of whom there were ten given the situation instead of the standard pair; however, this was still not enough to compete in combat power with the Nathrezim. Therefore, it was not surprising that the defense was breached by this attack. The situation was exacerbated by the fact that this was happening not only at one gate but at the other entrances as well, where the barrier surrounding the city had a vulnerability.
The mages keeping watch on the walls unleashed a hail of spells upon the Undead that rushed from behind the Liches toward the unprotected passages. The attackers began to suffer their first losses. The demons prudently did not push forward, providing magical cover for the advancing troops. Shields began to open over the Undead, and both harmless and not-so-harmless spells rained down on the city barrier to distract attention.
The Order of the Kirin Tor, undoubtedly, knew of this threat and could not fail to provide countermeasures against such enemy actions, and therefore the edges of the barrier beginning to connect in the arched passage, right in front of the noseless faces of the Ghouls, did not come as a surprise to the demons. A couple of the Scourge soldiers running first, obeying the commands of the Nathrezim, stood at the edges of the closing passage; their bodies suddenly blurred, turning into an amorphous something emitting a foul green aura that enveloped the boundaries of the barrier in a clear attempt to if not stop, then at least slow down the process. The latter of the Nathrezim's home-grown preparations worked wonderfully: if the barrier continued to close, it did so imperceptibly to the eye. A stream of Undead began to be drawn inside, when suddenly something exploded at the site of the gates, flashed blue, and before the demons' eyes appeared a sculptural composition of frozen corpses, a frost-covered gate arch, and a barrier rapidly closing the breach, as if hurrying to make up for lost time.
The attack stalled, and the Nathrezim no longer had time to pull off the recent trick; however, they were not upset: what had failed in this place had succeeded in another. And now the other two groups, which had failed to secure a foothold at the gates, began to converge on the eastern exit. The same applied to the defenders: they rushed toward the site of the breakthrough. No one remembered the residents of the suburbs, most of whom had died at the hands of the Undead by that time…
Meanwhile, in the academy—which served as the residence of the Kirin Tor and was now functioning as a headquarters—a sabotage operation was underway. Kel'Thuzad didn't bother with complex plans; he simply paid visits to council members preparing for evacuation and, as he walked the corridors, stopped to "chat" with the occasional mages he encountered, leaving hastily hidden bodies in his wake. So far, his tally among the archmages included Vargoth and Ansarem, along with two dozen ordinary mages who happened to be in his path, some of whom had recently been his subordinates. Right now, the traitor was heading toward the office of the head of the council: Kel'Thuzad might have dealt with the "old fool" immediately, but Antonidas's assistant was with the old man at all times and was also an archmage. Kel'Thuzad considered attacking two colleagues at once to be unnecessarily risky, so he left them for last, hoping they would part ways by then so he could deal with them individually. Of course, he would try some trick to lure Modera out of the office, but he couldn't rely entirely on that plan given the battle with demons had already begun. Thus, Kel'Thuzad deliberately delayed the meeting with his "friends," intending to stop by a couple of other places on the way, one of which was the observation post. He had heard that Antonidas's students were very promising mages, on the level of Rhonin and Khadgar, whom he hadn't been able to reach because they were currently occupied somewhere on the front lines. He planned to check there after he finished clearing the academy and dealt with the portals. The traitor believed that eliminating such gifted sorcerers would favorably affect the balance of his debt. Perhaps he might even turn a profit...
Reaching the desired room, Kel'Thuzad opened the door and froze on the threshold, looking around. Several mages glanced at him but quickly returned to monitoring and coordinating the forces involved in the defense. Antonidas's students were unburdened by anything except general oversight of the situation, while the other five mages present were essentially managing the defense.
To deal with such rabble, he didn't need to stab each one with a dagger. The weapon was too ultimate, and using it would be like firing meteors at sparrows. During his entire promenade through the corridors and buildings of the academy, he had used it only twice—on his fellow archmages—but here... A snap of his fingers, and a gray cloud formed under the ceiling, beginning to spiral rapidly into a funnel. The created vortex had no direct effect itself; quickly accumulating external energy, it absorbed Mana, after which, if the caster did not use it as they saw fit, it dissipated, returning the accumulated energy to the surrounding world. This spell was one of the ways to create a zone of so-called "Antimagic," where casting was either impossible or extremely difficult, requiring specific preparation or immense experience. It couldn't be said that the archmage lacked the latter, but he had certainly provided himself with the former—and most importantly, one couldn't expect the same from several ordinary mages and gifted but still mere students.
Magical screens flickered out, passive magical shields dissolved, and astonished cries and questions were heard—but none of this interested Kel'Thuzad anymore. He tossed a bright red ball into the room, so overfilled with energy that even the vortex would need several seconds to absorb the high-capacity spell, which, naturally, no one intended to give it. The door closed, and a loud, muffled pop echoed from within—the traitor still didn't intend to make a noise, but the disappearance of the control center could not go unnoticed, and now he had to hurry before the news reached Antonidas or his assistant. "Though..." the man thought, pausing as a flash of an idea occurred to him. "Why not—it should work."
Kel'Thuzad took a communication artifact from his pocket and called Modera.
"I'm listening."
"I've been contacted and told that communication with the observation hall has been lost. Can you check what happened there? I can't be distracted right now."
"Hmm... alright."
"Thank you."
Walking a short distance toward the office of the head of the order, he hid in a side corridor, further concealing himself with invisibility charms and readying his dagger. Minute followed minute, and the one who organized the ambush grew nervous. After all, the distance wasn't that great to take so long, but then Kel'Thuzad calmed himself with the thought that Modera had likely tried to clarify the situation remotely. But then, footsteps were heard in the corridor, and the youngest of the archmages quickly passed the turn with a worried look. A dash at the limit of his modest physical strength into the main corridor, a quick swing, a sharp strike... a sudden lack of resistance, and the illusion of the girl dissolved into the air. From behind, something metallic was thrown around the neck of the faltering assassin and began to choke him, simultaneously pinning both his arms. The failed saboteur, instinctively jerking in an attempt to loosen the noose, realized with horror that his magical power was blocked.
Soon, a man froze in a kneeling position on the floor, but not because he was forced down by strength—his body was simply overcome by weakness. His hands were bound behind his back by a magical chain that also looped around his neck and glowed with a soft blue light. Three mages who had captured him stood over Kel'Thuzad: Lin, looking indifferently at the heavily breathing old man the archmage had turned into after all the turmoil; Jaina, whose face showed not so much anger as indignation and bewilderment at the senior mage's betrayal; and, of course, Modera—she didn't even try to hide the negativity directed at her former colleague, dominated by hatred. The latter was unsurprising—evidently, she had already learned of the murders.
"Ho-o-ow?" the loser rasped, breaking the silence first, and stared at Antonidas's protégé.
The question of exactly how he had been caught wasn't asked—it was obvious that since the head's students were still alive, they were the ones who had warned their teacher and his assistant about everything. Now it was clearer than ever why Modera had been delayed; it was simple—she was preparing for the capture. But exactly how the boy and girl had survived the fire trap—that was a question... Not that he particularly wanted to know (it was surely some protective artifact), but he had to start the dialogue somehow, right? And the fact that they were waiting for him to make the first move became more obvious as the oppressive silence grew. However, he was mistaken; no one intended to talk to him, at least not at this moment. Instead of an answer, the boy, clearly parodying the former council member from when he had visited them in the incantation hall, raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Consciousness left Kel'Thuzad...
An hour later, when the Undead forces finally broke through the fire, ice, lightning, and other "pleasantries," their commanders discovered to their bewilderment that the defenders had vanished. And then the significantly weakened protective dome disappeared... only to begin forming deeper in the city, cutting off the entire central part of Dalaran from the attackers, including the academy and the portal. Given the significant reduction in the protected volume, the barrier deployed much faster and was more powerful than the previous one. The defenders, meanwhile, hurried to escape through the portal, while a rain of fire mixed with lightning and icicles fell from the sky onto the attackers to distract them. The battle for Dalaran was coming to an end...
***
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