Wolfheart

8 Arrivals

Although there would be an official entrance by the various members of the Alliance once the summit had commenced, arrangements had been made for the representatives’ personal arrivals beforehand. The night elves had been willing to host everyone in the capital, but by majority vote from the others, it was agreed that the emissaries and a small personal escort would stay in Darnassus while the rest of their people remained aboard the various vessels. The full contingents would march in the procession opening the summit; then, after the ceremony, they would return to the ships until the gathering’s end.

The high priestess had finally seen the wisdom of the decision, though not for the reasons her guests had used. The more members of each nation staying in the capital during the delicate proceedings, the greater the chance of tempers flaring and incidents overtaking their goals. With each realm still reeling from the Cataclysm, the risk of that happening was very high already.

Theramore was the first member of the Alliance to reach Teldrassil. Tyrande and Malfurion met the key representative and his escort as they exited the portal into Darnassus.

“Well met, Archmage Tervosh,” the high priestess greeted.

The black-haired mage bowed his head to both. “In the name of Lady Jaina Proudmoore, ruler of the isle of Theramore, I thank you for your hospitality during this most significant of functions.”

“We are honored to have you here in her stead, though we hope that Lady Jaina is well.”

Tervosh smoothed his black and violet robes. As one of Jaina Proudmoore’s aides, he also wore a somewhat elaborate gold vest with ornamented shoulders. “With the troubles brewing all around us, she chose to stay in order to continue organizing Alliance forces. You can trust that she would rather be here, High Priestess.”

“Her martial knowledge has been invaluable during these dark days,” Malfurion put in.

“In that, at least, she takes after her father.” Tervosh said nothing more, the subject of Admiral Daelin Proudmoore a delicate one. His obsession with the orcs had led to his untimely death in battle against the half-breed Rexxar during the storming of Theramore’s keep. Rexxar, in whose veins ogre blood also flowed, had not wanted the admiral’s death, but Daelin had given them no choice. Admiral Proudmoore’s daughter still mourned him, even though his actions had forced her to side with the Horde over her own father.

The high priestess hesitated, then asked, “And how is Pained?”

Tervosh pursed his lips. “She performs her duties for Lady Jaina as stoically as ever. The great scar from her confrontation with dark magi is nothing compared to the scars left in her mind because of that event.” He shrugged. “But she will not accept any help. Her stubbornness has always been both a detriment and a saving grace.”

“I will continue to pray for her healing, both without and within.” Tyrande shook her head, then smiled once more. “But on to more immediate matters. You will wish to refresh yourselves.” She indicated one of her aides. “Please show the archmage and his escort to their quarters.”

Tervosh bowed again. “I look forward to the summit.”

As the emissary from Theramore departed, the high priestess murmured, “And there goes probably the easiest of those with whom we shall deal. Would that all the others could see matters as straightforward as Theramore.”

“They will see sense, Tyrande. They must.”

The archmage had barely left them when news came that the dwarven emissaries had arrived on the island. From all three clans.

“This can hardly be coincidence,” Tyrande declared as she and her mate, joined now by several priestesses, waited before the portal. “Could they have traveled together?”

“The Bronzebeards and the Wildhammers had agreed to, due to Rut’theran’s limited dock space, but I had not heard about the Dark Irons. Amazing to think that they managed to sail here with them aboard as well. If they did, I suspect that the clans stayed in separate parts of the ship throughout the entire journey and very likely even disembarked separately.”

“I would not have wanted to make that journey,” the high priestess returned with a shake of her head.

They waited for the three emissaries to come through the portal, but time went on and still nothing happened. The archdruid and Tyrande exchanged concerned glances.

“Perhaps I should go down—” But Malfurion got no further before the portal flared and the first of the dwarves entered the capital.

“Hail, Thargas Anvilmar!” Tyrande said, immediately recognizing the grizzled dwarf known as a hero among the Bronzebeards. Thargas had acted as representative during previous discussions between his people and Darnassus.

“Hail to ye, me lady,” the squat but muscular figure rumbled. Although he stood much shorter than either night elf, he was more than twice Malfurion’s width, and all of that muscle. “Fergive the delay! Bit o’ an argument over who went up first. . . .”

The dwarven race was in flux, the tensions among the clans of much concern even to Tyrande and her mate. Other than Stormwind, the dwarves as a whole had been one of the most questionable of the possible attendees. The night elves were pleased that they had arrived . . . but if it only meant that the emissaries would come to blows, then all would be for naught.

“How was it settled?” Not by axe, Tyrande hoped.

Thargas chuckled. “Wildhammer suggested we roll the bones! Best idea! We did that . . . an’ Bronzebeard won, o’ course!”

The high priestess and Malfurion allowed themselves smiles. Trust dwarves to choose such a basic path to solve their problem.

“We are pleased to see you,” the archdruid added. “Thank you for coming.”

“Ye’ve been strong allies. Bronzebeard wouldna turn its back on that. Now, the Dark Irons, maybe . . .”

Tyrande led the emissary and his band forward. “You must be hungry after your travels. These two will guide you to your chambers and to the meal we have arranged for you.”

“There be drink too?”

“Both night elven wine and dwarven ale.”

Thargas’s grin widened. With a nod, he led his group after the two priestesses. Tyrande relaxed a little once the dwarves were out of sight.

“Well done, my love,” the archdruid whispered. “Best to get them moving so as not to stir up troubles again, especially if the next ones through are—”

The portal flared, and a small band of dour black-clad dwarves warily stepped through. They were of a pale, almost deathly complexion and, to the archdruid, were almost interchangeable save for the fact that some had dusky brown hair, others a dull black or faded red. Only the lead dwarf seemed to have any true individuality, and that from the cunning the night elf could read in the emissary’s burning red eyes.

Although their weapons were not drawn, the Dark Irons’ hands hovered near them, just in case. However, upon seeing only Malfurion, Tyrande, and the priestesses waiting to help guide the guests, the group relaxed . . . slightly.

“Hail, emissary of the Dark Iron clan . . . ” Tyrande uttered, unfamiliar with any of the party, including the leader.

“I am Drukan. I speak fer Moira Thaurissan,” the shadowy figure in the forefront rasped. His red eyes took stock of the two chief figures in front of him, clearly sizing up their potential as threats.

“You are welcome, Drukan, you and your escort. We have your quarters available, not to mention meal and drink.”

“We’ve brought our own.” Drukan indicated several heavy sacks and kegs of ale his companions carried. “We’ll need nothin’.”

“As you like. I will see that they are removed. If you change your mind, please let me know.”

Drukan grunted. He and his cohort trailed after the two guides Tyrande provided.

Once the Dark Iron dwarves had stepped out of earshot, Malfurion muttered, “Trusting souls.”

“They came here. That says a lot. And from what little you have told me, they seem to be in about as much agreement with us as the Bronzebeards.”

“The Dark Iron dwarves cannot afford to become isolated right now. They need to maintain ties with the Alliance in general, if not perhaps their fellow dwarves.”

The portal activated again.

“Wildhammer greets its hosts!” the short, rather stout figure in red and gold armor roared cheerfully from the forefront of the latest arrivals. The other dwarves behind him added their own boisterous rumbles of agreement, a few accenting their greetings with waves of their hammers.

Tyrande stepped forward to greet the leader. “Welcome, Kurdran. A pleasure to have you with us.”

The dwarf, his long, thick beard an even more fiery red than his armor, smiled. “I thought I’d waited long enough before poppin’ up. Those Dark Irons give any problem?”

“Other than refusing our food and drink, they were very polite,” the archdruid answered.

“Like as nae they’re afraid o’ bein’ poisoned by someone, as it’s nae so uncommon among their ilk. Glad tae hear everythin’ went as I’d planned, then.”

“‘Planned’?”

The Wildhammer dwarf leaned close and in a conspiratorial tone explained, “None o’ us wanted the others tae get tae the island first, an’ no one wanted tae be dead last. So we all agreed tae arrive at the same time, our honor on that sworn on the hammer.” Kurdran snorted. “No one mentioned this portal, though. Got tae it, an’ arguin’ broke out about who had the right tae go up ahead o’ the others!”

“And that was when someone suggested gambling for it?”

“Well . . . I didna exactly say it that way, but, yes, that’s what I told ’em.”

The high priestess’s eyes narrowed knowingly. “You were the one who suggested it. . . .”

“That’s it! And worked out very well, I think.”

Tyrande pressed. “So it is sheer coincidence that the order happened as it did? You seem very cheerful for being third, and the Dark Irons’ being second is perhaps the safest situation there.”

Kurdran cocked his head. If anything, his grin widened more. “Now, would I be the type to go fixin’ a game o’ bones?”

“You must be weary after your long journey,” she said, as if the question had not been asked. Tyrande, smiling back, gestured to two more priestesses. “They will take you to your quarters. Food and drink have been made ready.”

“I thank ye fer all o’ us!”

The dwarf gave both his hosts hearty handshakes, then led his party off after the guides. The encounter with Kurdran proved only a slight reprieve. As other representatives arrived, both night elves again became aware of just how much hung on the success of the gathering—and how much also hung on not only Varian Wrynn’s arrival but his agreement on the most important matters as well.

There had still been no official word concerning the king of Stormwind’s coming, and while both trusted Shandris’s report, they could not help but grow concerned. With the arrival of each other faction, the thought that perhaps something had happened grew stronger.

When it seemed clear that no more ships would arrive for some time, the duo gratefully retired. There were no official audiences: Tyrande had wanted the emissaries to relax first, the better for their minds to be calm for the upcoming debates.

“No one spoke of his own realm’s troubles,” the archdruid noted as they neared the temple. “Perhaps that will not be a situation during the gathering.”

“Do you really think so?”

Malfurion shook his head. “No. Not really.”

Their conversation ended as both noticed a pair of conspicuous figures waiting outside the temple. Even from a distance, their brilliant garments marked them as Highborne.

“Archmage Mordent,” Tyrande greeted politely. The Highborne leader was slightly thinner than his companion, and his face was more lined. “Var’dyn. To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Neither Highborne gave any indication that there might have been some hint of sarcasm on her part. They knew the high priestess well enough to know that she treated them respectfully.

“Var’dyn here insisted that we come. I knew you had other pressing matters to attend to, but it seems the only way to assuage his concerns and those of the younger, more impatient ones.”

“Is something amiss?”

The younger Highborne cut in. “The perfect question, save that instead of something, you might say someone!”

“Mind your place!” Mordent insisted to his protégé. “There can be a hundred innocent reasons for Thera’brin’s absence!”

Malfurion took command of the conversation. “One of yours is missing, Archmage? When was he last seen?”

“He was one of those with me,” Var’dyn answered. “No one noticed that he did not return until much later.”

“Everyone was unaffected by the spellwork?”

“Of course! We knew what we were doing!” The younger Highborne looked very offended by any suggestion otherwise.

Mordent shook his head in disappointment. “Behave yourself! You will answer with the proper respect the archdruid and high priestess deserve.”

Var’dyn grudgingly nodded. “My apologies, Archdruid. Continue, please.”

“Does anyone recall where they last saw him?” Malfurion pressed.

“None remember him returning after the spellwork. I asked all of them.”

The archdruid considered what Var’dyn had said, then turned to his mate. “I had best deal with this now.”

“I think so. Please be cautious.”

He smiled grimly. “I will be.”

Var’dyn led Malfurion back to the location of the spellcasting. The mage obviously still distrusted anyone who was not one of the Highborne, but answered all of the archdruid’s questions.

“And no one recalls at all where he even stood?”

“There was no need to.”

Malfurion could not fault that logic, though it seemed to him that if the Highborne had as much concern for one another as they pretended, someone would at least have remembered something concerning the missing spellcaster’s whereabouts. The archdruid knelt down near the area where the circle had formed. He waved his hand over the grass and murmured to the blades.

Have you seen? Malfurion asked of them. Have you seen?

The grass was eager to speak with him, for no one generally asked any favor, but it could only state that some group of creatures had tread upon it. It was the answer that Malfurion had expected, but despite not having learned anything, he still thanked the grass.

“I cast spells over the area but found no clue,” Var’dyn offered.

“Did everyone head in the same general direction after I departed?”

“Why would we go any other? You think we want to wander into those humans you have got settled farther out?” Var’dyn did not hide his contempt.

Malfurion chose to ignore the tone. “And Thera’brin returned alone?”

The mage looked impatient. “You have asked this before.”

“And I will ask it again, if I have to. You would be surprised how an answer can suddenly change.” The archdruid slowly rose, then, after catching his breath, started off in the direction that he recalled most of the Highborne heading. “Do you remember your own path back?”

“Of course.”

“Lead on.”

With a shrug, Var’dyn obeyed. He pushed through the underbrush, Malfurion right behind him.

As they walked, the archdruid continued to reach out to the flora, speaking to various trees, bushes, and more . . . but with the same predictable lack of results. This was not a use of his skills for which even Malfurion was prepared.

“Are we done here?” asked Var’dyn at last.

“I see no reason for you to stay. I would like to survey the area a bit more.”

“As you like.” The Highborne departed without another word.

Sighing, Malfurion looked over the territory. In truth, he could think of little else he could do, but he had not wanted to give up in front of the Highborne. He suspected that Var’dyn had not quite shown him the path that the Highborne had followed. But even if Malfurion had known the precise path, it was doubtful that he would have gleaned anything useful from the plant life. The flora had taken notice of the spellwork but had otherwise paid no mind to the creatures involved in it once it had ceased.

One of the largest trees shifted its branches. In doing so, it spoke to the archdruid.

Someone was watching him from deeper in the forest.

Without even turning, Malfurion set the forest in motion to deal with the spying eyes. The trees in that direction bent down, their branches creating an impenetrable wall around the hidden observer’s vicinity. At the same time, the underbrush sprouted, ensuring that it would tangle in his or her footing. Flowers, suddenly blooming, released clouds of pollen.

With easy steps, the archdruid strode toward the area. As he neared, he heard not only futile struggling but also coughing.

The flora gave way to him, creating a passage just wide enough. Malfurion held his staff ready, although in truth he feared little.

A figure became visible as the foremost trees straightened and the underbrush shifted. He continued to cough and also sought to rub his eyes clear. The pollen, while seemingly insignificant, had invaded both his lungs and his eyes with effectiveness.

Malfurion gestured. A selective wind swirled around the other figure. With the direction that only Malfurion could give it, it not only blew the pollen from the other’s gaze but also provided fresh air that helped lessen the coughing.

Through bloodshot eyes, Eadrik stared at the night elf.

“A-Archdruid!” The human sneezed. “Praise be! I thought some monstrous creature had me!”

“Merely a precaution. When others are spying on me, I like to know who they are.”

Genn’s man looked aghast. “Spying on you? Hardly that! I was just on a hunt. I flushed out the prey, but lost it around here. I thought I heard it in that direction”—he pointed where Malfurion had come from—“and a moment later the entire land seemed to fall upon me!”

Malfurion gestured, and the rest of the barrier vanished. He need not have made any motion, but felt it was good to further remind Eadrik of just whom he faced and why it might be wise to speak truthfully. Of course, Malfurion intended no true harm to the human, but keeping Eadrik off balance might provide the night elf with some information.

“You are far from the encampment, Eadrik. It must have been quite the hunt to bring you this far. Now . . . would you like to explain again?”

The Gilnean looked away. Malfurion could all but read him. Eadrik feared betraying his lord in even the slightest manner.

“Your loyalty is commendable, but if you do not tell me now, I must demand the truth from Genn. With the summit imminent, any question I have concerning Gilneas’s application to rejoin the Alliance might tilt matters in a direction neither he nor I would prefer.”

The human swallowed, then finally nodded. “It’s nothing, Archdruid! I wasn’t meaning to watch you at all! It’s just that you happened to be here—happened to be here with one of them. . . .”

“One of . . . the Highborne? You have been watching the Highborne?”

Swallowing again, Eadrik continued: “My lord knows some of their history from you and others. He distrusts whatever influence they might have.”

It was something Malfurion had heard before. Those previous to state this belief had all been night elves, though.

“No slight was meant to you,” the human quickly added. “My lord has the greatest respect for your abilities and word.”

“Then he may take my word that the Highborne are of no concern to Gilneas. That should keep him from sending you or anyone else on unnecessary excursions.”

Eadrik bowed his head. “Yes, Archdruid.”

Malfurion took on a kinder tone. “I know that you are all on edge due to the summit. It will go well.”

“We understand.”

“Please give Genn my best.”

The human gave a short bow, then scurried into the forest. Malfurion frowned and turned toward Darnassus. He believed that Eadrik had told the truth when he had said that Genn Greymane distrusted the Highborne. The archdruid also believed that Gilneas had not had anything to do with the one mage’s disappearance.

But what Malfurion Stormrage also believed was that this incident somehow was tied to the summit . . . and possibly the desired failure of it.