There was no life here. He stared at the granary, sea- green eyes narrowing. “What could have caused this?” “I’m not sure. It reminds me of what happened with the Dark Portal and the Blasted Lands. When the portal was opened, the demonic energies that sapped the life from Draenor spilled through into Azeroth. And the land around the portal—” “…died,” Arthas. A thought struck him. “Jaina—could the grain itself be plagued? Carrying this—this demonic energy?” Her eyes widened.“To break the cycle, of course,” said the past-Medivh. “To smash the clockwork universe that you have built for me. Everything zxctrable in its place, including your child. If you could not continue on as Guardian, your hand-picked, born and aion gold groomed successor would, but would be locked into his script as tightly as any of your other pawns.” The present-Medivh had sunk to his knees, his eyes locked on the tableaux before him. He was mouthing the words that aion gold his past-self had spoken. Garona tugged on Khadgar’s sleeve, and he nodded. The pair left the heart of the wards, and began to edge around the room, trying to ease aion gold behind the present incarnation of the Magus. “But, the risk, child…” said Aegwynn. “Risk?” said Medivh. “Risk to whom? Not to me, not with the power of theTirisfalen at my command. To the rest of the Order? They worry more about internal politics than demons. To the human nations? Fat and happy, protected from aion gold dangers that they do not even know about? Is anyone important really at risk?” “You’re playing with forces greater than yourself, Son,” said Aegwynn. Khadgar and Garona were nearly to the door, but the aion gold present-Medivh was held rapt by the vision. “Let’s hope not.” She pointed at the crates the men were hauling out of the granary. “Those crates bear the regional seal of Andorhal, the distribution center for the northern boroughs. If this grain can spread the plague, there’s no telling how many villages might be infected.” She almost whispered the words, looking wan and sick. He stared at her hands, pale with the dust of the dead land. Fear suddenly shot through Arthas and he grabbed her hand. Closing his eyes, he murmured a prayer. Warm light him, spread from his hand to hers. Jaina glanced at him, confused, then down at her own hand clasped in his gloved one. Her eyes widened with horror at what she only now realized could have been a very narrow escape. “Thank you,” she whispered. He gave her a shaky grin, then called out to his men, “Gloves! Every man here wears gloves in this area! No exceptions!”

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