Wolfheart

13 Jarod’s Hunt

Although Velen’s arrival had not been expected, there was no question as to his staying as an honored guest, just like the rest of those representing the Alliance. However, the Prophet was not one who desired much in the way of accommodations, and insisted on a simple chamber. Tyrande saw that he received one that still faced him toward the temple proper.

The tranquility of the Temple Gardens appealed to Velen, and so the present moment found him meditating there. The draenei sat with legs crossed, facing the center of the gardens, his concentration on the Light. The two honor guards the high priestess had assigned to him he had requested to stay behind at his quarters, their presence surely not needed in this of all places.

He suddenly sensed the presence of someone else approaching him—someone who also had a tremendous affinity for the Light. It could be only one person. Without looking, Velen quietly said, “Welcome, Anduin Wrynn.”

The human did not seem at all surprised that Velen sensed him, a further sign that the Light was very strong with King Varian’s son.

“Hello, Prophet. I—I’m sorry if I disturb you.”

“Please, the title is one given to me by others. I prefer simply Velen.” The draenei smoothly rose. “Your father does not know you are here.”

“No . . . he thinks I’m asleep. . . . ” Anduin could not hide his guilt.

“It is not for me to judge whether you should have stayed in your quarters or not. That is for you to decide.”

This statement seemed to put Anduin at ease a bit. “I’m old enough to make my own choices, despite what my father thinks. I love him, but he fears so much to lose me again—or to lose me forever, as he did Mother—that he nearly smothers me. I can never be out of his sight for more than a few minutes.”

“One can understand his concern . . . and your difficulty with it, as well.”

“Proph—Velen, you know why I’ve come here.”

“You wish to speak more of the Light. I am happy to tell you what I know, if you respect that I will not seek to guide you from your father.”

Anduin nodded, at that moment looking to Velen much like the king. “I wouldn’t ask it. I only want to learn more.” He put a hand to his heart. “I feel the Light here. I feel it more every day. It’s as much a part of me as anything else is.”

“Yes. It is extremely strong where you are concerned.” Velen glanced around the gardens, but there was no one else about. “We can talk for a time, if you like, so long as you promise me you will return to your quarters afterward.”

The gratitude with which the youth radiated was almost as strong as the Light within. “I promise.”

As they walked, Velen studied the boy closely. Yes, I must teach him all I know, if that is possible. This one has a destiny with the Light. . . .

Velen ever remained aware of just who walked with him. Anduin was heir to Stormwind, and the draenei knew how important Stormwind was to this troubled world just now. The Alliance needed Stormwind, perhaps more than even its king realized. Anything that threatened the stability of Stormwind threatened the long-term stability of the Alliance, especially in the face of a resurgent Horde.

Yet, if the Light had other plans for Anduin Wrynn . . .

You must move on, Jarod heard his wife’s voice murmur to him. It was not the first time since coming here that he had heard it, and while some might have thought that they were going mad, Jarod accepted it as her simply still watching out for him as she always had in life.

He had already departed his quarters some time ago in the hopes of trying to regain some focus. Even though he would continue to mourn Shalasyr—perhaps for the rest of his life—he knew that she would have expected him to do more than that. As much as Jarod hated the thought, Shalasyr would have wanted him to fit himself back into night elf society, find some other purpose. Yet, what that purpose might be, he did not know and, in truth, did not completely care. Still, Jarod knew that he had to try.

There was no question about returning to the military. In part, that had to do with dealing with Shandris, something he was not prepared to do for the time being . . . if ever. However, it also had to do with Jarod’s lingering feelings concerning how he saw night elf society. There were hints that things had changed, that Malfurion and Tyrande had begun bringing the various segments of their people closer again . . . but he needed to see more. The war had left too much of a mark on him.

I apparently am beginning to grow old. Jarod hoped that he would not become as he had seen some of the elder night elves he had witnessed just after the war’s end. Their entire world turned upside down by the struggle against the Burning Legion and the destruction of Zin-Azshari, they had been unable to cope with their new, unpredictable future. Several had slipped into fantasy worlds of their own that consisted of safe memories of the past. Many of those had never found their way back to reality.

But for Shalasyr’s sake alone, Jarod was determined to live. Forcing himself to leave his quarters and start walking among his own kind were the first steps. He had even made it a point to keep an eye out for anyone he remembered and be sure to greet them. That had caused a few startled expressions, but Jarod had felt that his wife would have been proud of his initial effort.

Still, he was more than happy to finally head back. In fact, the closer he got, the more he picked up his pace, eager to return to what had become his sanctuary.

And thus it was that Jarod nearly fell atop the body in his path.

He saved himself from doing so at the last minute by grabbing hold of one of the last trees within reach. Even still, the former guard captain dropped down on one knee upon the arm of the corpse.

The years since the war melted away as Jarod reacted like a soldier once again. Pressing against the tree, he peered around for the assassin. Seeing no one, Jarod cautiously bent low to investigate the grisly find.

At first, he wondered if perhaps he was losing himself in old memories. He had not seen such a figure since the war. That Jarod had not even noticed the brightly colored garment bespoke just how deep he had been in his reverie.

“A Highborne . . . ” Belatedly, it returned to him that they had come seeking readmittance to night elf society.

With the exception of his accidental leaning on the arm, Jarod was careful not to touch the body. It was already evident what had likely proven the spellcaster’s end—the two jagged slits in his throat indicated a large dagger wielded by an enthusiastic hand. There was also something pinned by a rock to the dead mage’s chest.

Questions filled Jarod’s head, some of them very disturbing. One that particularly vexed him from the start was why the Highborne should be here in the first place. What business had the spellcaster had so near where Jarod lived?

The answer came to him as he studied the ground nearby. Someone had been careful to remove any footsteps, and he knew why: the Highborne had been slain elsewhere and then dragged to this spot. Despite the efforts to cover that fact up, there were still some tiny, telltale spots of what could only be blood. They led toward the east for a few paces before ceasing. From all this, Jarod decided that the reason that the Highborne had been found by him was simply that the assassins had not wanted the victim to be discovered near the place of his demise. Something there would have possibly given searchers a clue to the truth.

It occurred to him suddenly that this was not his task. By rights, he had to report this to the Sentinels or, more to his preference, the archdruid or high priestess. Jarod looked around again, saw no one, and decided to risk leaving the body alone while he searched for someone with authority.

Being a druid, Malfurion was likely somewhere beyond Darnassus, so Jarod headed toward the temple. At the very least, he believed Tyrande would be there, and if it turned out the archdruid also was, so much the better.

“Jarod?”

He stopped at the sound of Shandris’s voice. Flanked by four Sentinels, she, too, headed toward the temple.

“Shan—General,” he responded, trying to regain his composure.

After her initial outburst of his name, she, too, sought to bring things to a more detached level. “Jarod. You have business with the high priestess?”

It took but a moment’s debate before he admitted the truth. “Yes . . . someone has been murdered.”

Her guards immediately tensed. Shandris signaled them to calm down, though her eyes burned at the revelation. “Where? Who?”

“I found the body near my quarters.” He gave her a more precise location. “It was one of the Highborne. I do not know him. There was some note under him, but I did not touch it.”

“A Highborne . . . ” Shandris looked at the guard nearest her left. “Send word to Maiev Shadowsong”—she hesitated a moment as she noted Jarod’s reaction to his sister’s name—“with the details you just heard.” To the guard next to that one, she continued, “Take Ildyri and hurry to where he said the body was located. Keep guard over it until Maiev or her people arrive.”

The other Sentinels rushed to obey, leaving Shandris with just the one guard. The general bade Jarod join her, the other Sentinel following them.

The guards did not hesitate to let Shandris pass. She strode unerringly through the temple to where they found Tyrande.

The high priestess greeted them with a knowing expression. “There has been a death.”

Shandris went down on one knee, the other Sentinel and Jarod doing the same. “Another Highborne.”

Tyrande bade them to rise. “You found the body, Jarod?”

He realized that she had read the fact in his urgent manner. “Yes. Not far from my quarters. I judged that the body had been moved from elsewhere after the murder. I assume to hide facts about the true location. . . .”

“That seems logical to me,” Shandris added. “I have sent someone to inform Maiev and others to guard the body until she or the Highborne do something with it.”

“And we shall do something . . . not only now with Ha’srim’s body, but also with these curs who think the Highborne will stand by and be slain without repercussion!”

Malfurion and a Highborne had entered the chamber from another direction. Jarod understood that this was someone high among the magi, though he doubted it was the leader.

That was verified by Tyrande’s reply. “Do you speak in the name of Archmage Mordent now, Var’dyn?”

“I presage his words, High Priestess! Patient though he is, the Archmage will not let this stand! This lack of progress has been discussed among the Highborne. We would hate to have to make these crimes more public, especially with the emissaries now present for your summit, but we will do so if necessary. Perhaps, then, something will be done about the murders.” He glared at all in the room, finally fixing his blazing eyes upon Jarod. “You! You are the one who claims to have found the body, are you not? I am curious how you happened to be near—”

“I do not ‘claim’ to have found it. I did.” A rare fury stirred in the former guard captain. “And if you are considering me as the possible assassin, you will find yourself sorely mistaken.”

Malfurion raised his staff between the pair. “I am certain that Var’dyn is not making any unwarranted accusations, Jarod. We are all struggling to come to grips with this foul matter. I am sure Var’dyn joins me in commending you for immediately alerting us to this second murder.”

The mage hesitated, then replied, “Yes. Of course. Thank you, Jarod Shadowsong.”

It surprised Jarod that Var’dyn knew who he was, especially considering his threatening posture a moment before. He nodded to the mage but said nothing.

“All is being done to find the perpetrators, Var’dyn,” the high priestess assured. “Maiev is dedicated to the truth, and nothing will stand in her way.”

“She has a coarse way about her, but I have spoken with this one’s sister and find her as you say,” the Highborne admitted. “However, she is one, where these assassins could be many. . . . Darnassus is surely riddled with those plotting against the return of the Highborne, and we will not stand idly by any longer!”

At that point, Var’dyn gave Tyrande and Malfurion a fleeting bow, then turned on his heel and marched off. Jarod could not tell whether he had been satisfied by the high priestess’s promises or he merely knew that he could do nothing without this Archmage Mordent’s permission.

“Amazing that anyone should dislike the Highborne,” Shandris remarked under her breath. “They are the epitome of respect and congeniality.”

Jarod made no response, although he was aware that she had spoken so that he was the only other one who would hear.

Both Malfurion and Tyrande turned their attention to him. Jarod suddenly felt uneasy. He was certain that the pair desired something of him.

“Jarod, I want to again express our appreciation of your handling of the vile discovery,” Tyrande said.

“I did as should be done.”

“Not everyone would have behaved the same way. Your training and common sense shone through.” She glanced at her husband, who nodded back. “Var’dyn is correct in one thing. Maiev will need some assistance. We cannot afford for this to continue, not only for the Highborne’s sake, but also for everything we are trying to accomplish with this summit.”

“My sister is very competent and very determined. I cannot think of anyone more suited for the task.”

Tyrande smiled. “Perhaps, but her brother would certainly be an asset to the search.”

Even though he had seen the suggestion coming, Jarod did not know how to answer. “If the high priestess—if you think this a necessary duty—”

“It is a request, Jarod. No command. You can refuse and we will understand perfectly.”

He knew that she truly meant that, but hearing her say so proved the impetus to his decision. “I will do my part, though I will bow to Maiev’s authority on this.”

“Of course.” Tyrande looked grateful.

The archdruid also showed his pleasure. “Your support will be invaluable, Jarod. We need everyone right now.”

“I will do all I can . . . and the first thing I need to do is find my sister and explain this.”

The high priestess shook her head. “I will inform her.”

“With all due respect, I would like to tell her myself. It would be . . . more appropriate in this case.”

“As you wish, then.”

Jarod bowed to both. Shandris did the same and joined him as he departed. The general sent the Sentinel accompanying them on to other duties.

“I am very glad to have you a part of this,” she said quietly once the pair was alone. “Your sister is very dedicated, but often her focus is a bit too . . . narrow.”

“I know Maiev has faults, but I have as many if not more. We will do all we can to stop these assassinations.”

“Let us hope so. I am no admirer of the Highborne, but I can see how they might grow restive as their members are cut down. Darnassus—the night elf race in general—can ill afford a conflict between them and everyone else.”

He stopped. “You have dealt with my sister. Where would I most likely find her at this point? Where I left the body?”

Shandris took the unspoken farewell without a beat. She pointed. “No. By this point, she and her Watchers are probably moving it for better study. I would say your best bet is to meet her there instead.”

“And where is that?”

“The place where she and her Watchers train. I know that she organized and conducted her investigation of the first murder from there.”

“Thank you.” He dared not say anything more, though her eyes showed that she waited for him to do so. Steeling himself, Jarod bowed to her and headed in the direction she had indicated. As he journeyed, Jarod drew the dagger sheathed at his side. He probably did not need it . . . but then, two people had been slain. That they had been Highborne did not rule out that the perpetrators might not kill someone interfering with their plans.

The sounds of Darnassus muted abruptly as he neared the location Shandris had suggested. The dark mood of his surroundings fit well with how he saw his sister. She had always been the driven one, while he had simply stumbled through life, rising—in his estimation—more by chance than by ability. Still, Jarod hoped that Maiev would see his value in this mission.

The practice area used by his sister and her followers appeared empty. The crudely drawn expressions on the row of wooden practice dummies seemed to mock his failure to find Maiev. False swords raised high and chipped shields ever at the ready, even as savagely hacked as they were, they looked at the moment far more capable than Jarod felt. The male night elf looked around, pondering where to go next if Maiev did not show up soon. He considered the fact that she might have gone to the Highborne encampment, but ruled that out as reckless, even by his sister’s standards.

Frustrated at not finding Maiev here, Jarod turned—

And stared directly into the eyes of what could only be one of his sister’s Watchers. She wore armor akin to Maiev’s, but of a slightly duller shade. Her helmet hung from a branch just to her left, as if the Watcher had just taken it off. Propped against the trunk of the same tree was her umbra crescent.

“You are he,” the younger night elf stated without preamble. “You are her brother.” She eyed him critically. “I expected you to be taller and more scarred from all those battles.”

Her comment made him wonder just what Maiev had said about him over the millennia. Had he so disappointed her that she had been forced to make him more in the image of what he should have been?

When Jarod did not respond, the Watcher added, “I am Neva.” She started walking, her movements as smooth as those of a nightsaber. Jarod felt as if she were sizing up prey. Neva circled him, taking in every aspect of Maiev’s brother. “No . . . you are as you should be. Like her.”

Not certain how to take that, he asked, “Where is Maiev? I need to speak with her.”

“She was here not long ago, but no sooner did they bring the body of that spellcaster than some of his kind showed up to take it away. Maiev was not too pleased. She was not done with it.”

Neva might as well have been talking about a chair or some other insignificant object. Jarod sighed. “So she is at their encampment?”

“Very possibly.” Neva sauntered to his side, then leaned uncomfortably close. “You can wait here with me. She will be back very soon; I am certain—”

Jarod suddenly pushed past Neva, but not because of her. Rather, something watched both from beyond the area—something that did not remind him of a night elf.

He heard Neva speak, but her words were lost as he threw himself after the spying figure. Whoever it was moved swiftly and surely between the trees. He remembered what had been mentioned about the worgen, whom he had yet to meet. This would not be the first time they had lurked around the area during troubling times.

Jarod tore through the forest, moving automatically. He was certain that he was on the path the figure had gone. All he had to do was keep to the right behind the next tree—

His body was wracked by agonizing pain, and he felt as if a hundred bolts of lightning had struck him simultaneously. Jarod shrieked and felt no disgrace in doing so. No one could suffer such torture and not react as he did.

He tumbled forward—or tried. Falling to the ground in some ways would have seemed at least a little relief. Jarod had the great desire to curl up in a ball and pray that the continuous shock would cease, but some force prevented him. It was as if a web held him in place to ensure that his suffering continued unabated.

Jarod tried to tear his arms free. If it had allowed him to escape, he would have at that moment gladly given up those arms. Anything to escape.

The hope for death began to stir within him, but then Shalasyr’s face appeared in his thoughts. She had always enjoyed life, even under the most primitive of circumstances. Jarod, who had never been able to forget the horrors of the War of the Ancients, had learned from her. She had drawn him back to the world in a way nothing else could.

And he knew that she wanted him to live, wanted him to go on, not follow her unless there was no other alternative. Feeling her love again gave Jarod new strength. The torture continued, but now he had something upon which to cling. With Shalasyr, there had always been hope. . . .

The unremitting shock ceased.

Jarod crumpled to the grassy earth at last. He welcomed the collision with the soft soil, the rattling of his bones far less painful than what he had been through. The cool surface felt good against his skin.

A hand gripped his left arm. The touch was initially enough to resurrect some traces of the monstrous pain. Jarod cringed, fearing the full force of it would return; but although the fingers held tight, the pain receded again, becoming nothing but memory.

“Can you understand me?” asked an unfamiliar male voice. “Can you?”

The former guard captain managed a croaking sound that the other apparently took as an affirmative. The figure moved Jarod to the side, finally resting him against a tree.

“I’m sorry,” his rescuer whispered. “I didn’t know that would happen. I didn’t realize that it was there.”

Jarod managed another croak. His vision was still clouded by tears. His companion could have been invisible for all he was able to make out of him.

He felt the hands stiffen as an unidentifiable sound in the distance reached them. Jarod’s rescuer suddenly released him. The night elf did not hear the other depart, but felt certain somehow that such was the case.

Jarod’s breathing returned to near normal. His vision remained teary, but shapes began to coalesce. Vaguely, Jarod finally registered that he had been caught in some insidious trap. So close to where Maiev and her Watchers met, he thought it was possible that it had been set by the assassins to catch one of them. After all, his sister was in charge of the investigation.

Barely a minute had passed when light footsteps alerted him to someone’s approach. Jarod did not think it his rescuer, and when he heard the intake of breath—a sign of the newcomer’s apparent astonishment at discovering him—he knew it to be female. The former captain could only assume it was Neva, who had finally managed to follow his trail.

“You live . . . ,” he heard the Watcher say.

“Of course he does,” responded another, stronger female voice that made Jarod look up. He saw a vague shape standing over him. “He is my brother, after all.”