Read Online Arthas: Rise of the Lich King by Christie Golden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christie Golden
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He lay in the snow, his sides heaving, his eyes rolling in torment.
Arthas couldn’t feel his face or limbs, but somehow he managed to move toward the beast. Every breath was agony, and he welcomed the pain. This was his fault. His fault. He took the great head in his lap, and for a brief, merciful moment he wasn’t sitting in the snow with a wounded beast, but sitting in a stable while a broodmare gave birth. For that moment, everything was all just beginning, and not coming to this shocking, sickening, avoidable end.
His tears fell on the horse’s broad cheek. Invincible trembled, his brown eyes wide with now-silent pain. Arthas removed his gloves and ran his hand along the pink-gray muzzle, feeling the warmth of Invincible’s breath against his hands. Then, slowly, he eased the horse’s head from his lap, got to his feet, and fumbled with his warmed hand for his sword. His feet sank in the red puddle of melted snow as he stood over the fallen animal.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
Invincible regarded him calmly, trustingly, as if he somehow understood what was about to happen, and the need for it. It was more than Arthas could bear, and for a moment tears again clouded his vision. He blinked them back hard.
Arthas lifted the sword and brought it straight down.
He did this right, at least; pierced Invincible’s great heart with a single strong blow from arms that should have been too chilled to do so. He felt the sword pierce skin, flesh, scrape against bone, and impale itself into the earth below. Invincible arched once, then shuddered and lay still.
Jorum and Jarim found him there some time later, after the snow had tapered off, curled up tightly against the cooling corpse of a once-glorious animal brimming with life and energy. As the elder man bent to pick him up, Arthas cried out with pain.
“Sorry, lad,” Jorum said, his voice almost unbearably kind. “For hurting you, and for the accident.”
“Yes,” Arthas said weakly, “the accident. He lost his footing…”
“And no wonder in this weather. That storm came on quickly. You’re lucky you’re alive. Come on—we’ll get you inside and send someone to the palace.”
As he shifted in the farmer’s strong grip, Arthas said, “Bury him…here? So I can come visit?”
Balnir exchanged glances with his son, then nodded. “Aye, of course. He was a noble steed.”
Arthas craned his neck to look at the body of the horse he had named Invincible. He would let them all think it was an accident, because he could not bear to tell anyone what he had done.
And he made a vow then and there that if anyone else ever needed protection—that if sacrifices had to be made for the welfare of others—he would do it.
Whatever it takes, he thought.
CHAPTER FIVE
S ummer was in full blaze, and the merciless sun beat down on His Royal Highness Prince Arthas Menethil as he rode through the streets of Stormwind. He was in a foul mood, despite the fact that this was a day that he was supposed to have been looking forward to all his life. The sun glinted off the full plate armor he wore, and Arthas thought he’d bake to death before he reached the cathedral. Sitting atop his new charger only served to remind him that the horse, while powerful, well-trained, and well-bred, was not Invincible, gone for only a few months and bitterly missed. And he found that his mind had suddenly gone blank regarding what he was supposed to do once the ceremony began.
Beside him rode his father, who seemed completely unaware of his son’s irritation. “This has been a day long in coming, my son,” Terenas said, turning to smile at Arthas.
Despite the heat and the weight of the helm he wore, Arthas was glad of it; it concealed his face, and he wasn’t sure he could fake a convincing smile right now. “Indeed it has, Father,” he replied, keeping his voice calm.
It was one of the biggest celebrations Stormwind had ever seen. In addition to Terenas, many
Arthas couldn’t feel his face or limbs, but somehow he managed to move toward the beast. Every breath was agony, and he welcomed the pain. This was his fault. His fault. He took the great head in his lap, and for a brief, merciful moment he wasn’t sitting in the snow with a wounded beast, but sitting in a stable while a broodmare gave birth. For that moment, everything was all just beginning, and not coming to this shocking, sickening, avoidable end.
His tears fell on the horse’s broad cheek. Invincible trembled, his brown eyes wide with now-silent pain. Arthas removed his gloves and ran his hand along the pink-gray muzzle, feeling the warmth of Invincible’s breath against his hands. Then, slowly, he eased the horse’s head from his lap, got to his feet, and fumbled with his warmed hand for his sword. His feet sank in the red puddle of melted snow as he stood over the fallen animal.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
Invincible regarded him calmly, trustingly, as if he somehow understood what was about to happen, and the need for it. It was more than Arthas could bear, and for a moment tears again clouded his vision. He blinked them back hard.
Arthas lifted the sword and brought it straight down.
He did this right, at least; pierced Invincible’s great heart with a single strong blow from arms that should have been too chilled to do so. He felt the sword pierce skin, flesh, scrape against bone, and impale itself into the earth below. Invincible arched once, then shuddered and lay still.
Jorum and Jarim found him there some time later, after the snow had tapered off, curled up tightly against the cooling corpse of a once-glorious animal brimming with life and energy. As the elder man bent to pick him up, Arthas cried out with pain.
“Sorry, lad,” Jorum said, his voice almost unbearably kind. “For hurting you, and for the accident.”
“Yes,” Arthas said weakly, “the accident. He lost his footing…”
“And no wonder in this weather. That storm came on quickly. You’re lucky you’re alive. Come on—we’ll get you inside and send someone to the palace.”
As he shifted in the farmer’s strong grip, Arthas said, “Bury him…here? So I can come visit?”
Balnir exchanged glances with his son, then nodded. “Aye, of course. He was a noble steed.”
Arthas craned his neck to look at the body of the horse he had named Invincible. He would let them all think it was an accident, because he could not bear to tell anyone what he had done.
And he made a vow then and there that if anyone else ever needed protection—that if sacrifices had to be made for the welfare of others—he would do it.
Whatever it takes, he thought.
CHAPTER FIVE
S ummer was in full blaze, and the merciless sun beat down on His Royal Highness Prince Arthas Menethil as he rode through the streets of Stormwind. He was in a foul mood, despite the fact that this was a day that he was supposed to have been looking forward to all his life. The sun glinted off the full plate armor he wore, and Arthas thought he’d bake to death before he reached the cathedral. Sitting atop his new charger only served to remind him that the horse, while powerful, well-trained, and well-bred, was not Invincible, gone for only a few months and bitterly missed. And he found that his mind had suddenly gone blank regarding what he was supposed to do once the ceremony began.
Beside him rode his father, who seemed completely unaware of his son’s irritation. “This has been a day long in coming, my son,” Terenas said, turning to smile at Arthas.
Despite the heat and the weight of the helm he wore, Arthas was glad of it; it concealed his face, and he wasn’t sure he could fake a convincing smile right now. “Indeed it has, Father,” he replied, keeping his voice calm.
It was one of the biggest celebrations Stormwind had ever seen. In addition to Terenas, many
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