"Thank you," Lothar said with obvious sincerity. "We will send food and other supplies back once we reach the king."

"It will take you time to reach Capital City," Marcus pointed out. "I will send someone ahead on a fast horse to warn them of your approach. What would you have them say?"

Lothar frowned. "Tell the king that Stormwind has fallen," he said softly after a moment's pause. "The prince is here, as are as many of its people as I could save. We will need supplies and quickly. And we bring him grave and urgent news."

Marcus's eyes had widened at the list of troubles, and his gaze had gone quickly to the youth standing beside the big warrior, then moved away before his stare could become rude. "It will be done," he assured them, and turned away to speak to one of the villagers, who nodded and leaped onto a nearby horse, galloping away before the headman had taken two steps back to the church.

"Willem is our finest rider, and his horse the fastest in the village," Marcus assured the two men. "He will reach Capital City well ahead of you and deliver your message. We will gather horses and what food we can for you and your companions to take on your own journey."

Lothar nodded. "Thank you." He turned to the violet—robed man. "Gather those who would come with us, Khadgar, and make ready. We leave as soon as possible." The wizard nodded and turned away, heading for the nearest cluster of refugees.

A few short hours later, Lothar and Khadgar left Southshore, the prince Varian Wrynn beside them, leading threescore men. Most had chosen to remain behind, either from illness or fatigue or simply out of fear and shock and a desire to cling to those few survivors from their own land. Lothar did not begrudge them. A part of him wished he could remain in the small fishing village as well. But he had a duty to perform. As always.