Wolfheart

16 A Messenger’s Resolve

Malfurion rushed back to the temple, his sense of failure with Varian compounded by the knowledge that the Sentinel who had spoken with Tyrande at the summit—subsequently drawing the high priestess away—no doubt had news of some other disaster. He suspected that it might concern the Highborne, but prepared himself for anything at this point.

To his surprise, it was not one of the priestesses who greeted him but rather one of his own. The anxious druid bowed low as Malfurion approached.

“Parsis!” The other druid was skilled, capable of shifting to storm crow form, and, given a bit more seasoning, could someday become an archdruid of high standing. Naturally, Malfurion never quite mentioned this future he saw to the younger druid himself. “You were assigned to Ashenvale! Why are you here?”

“It is not for me to answer that, Shan’do,” Parsis respectfully responded, the younger druid clearly exhausted. “There is another who has more than earned that right.”

Malfurion did not question him further. Parsis led him to the area where but recently Shalasyr’s body had lain shortly after Jarod had brought it to Darnassus.

He heard voices within, the voices of priestesses at prayer. The archdruid glanced at Parsis and saw the younger night elf look disturbed. Something had changed for the worse since he had left this place.

As they stepped inside, Tyrande turned from where she had been leading four other senior priestesses in the prayer. The light of Elune shone down upon not only her and the priestesses but also a figure lying on the platform between them.

It was a Sentinel. Malfurion did not recognize her. Her violet skin had paled considerably, not a good sign.

In silence, he joined his mate. Tyrande leaned close and whispered, “Her name is Aradria Cloudflyer. She is a courier from Ashenvale.”

“A wounded courier?” Malfurion did not like the direction this was taking.

The high priestess started to continue, but the Sentinel suddenly moaned. Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed up at the pair, eventually fixing on Malfurion.

“Arch—Archdruid . . . you know, then . . .”

She fought to shift so she could face him better, and in doing so revealed a long, wicked scar running across her upper torso. Based on what Malfurion could see of it, it was a wonder that she was still alive. Other, smaller scars decorated what he could see of her body, but the huge one was clearly what had done the worst to her.

“The irony is, her own glaive did it,” Parsis muttered in his other ear. “She fell upon it during a struggle with several orcs. She had slain at least two before that happened.”

“What was she doing in orc territory? And why bring her here?”

“She was not in orc territory. She was well on her way here with an urgent missive from Commander Haldrissa.”

The archdruid looked to Tyrande for verification of the dread news. She sadly nodded.

“They—they snuck behind the lines . . . ,” Aradria rasped, evidently hearing well despite her condition.

“You must rest,” the high priestess advised her. “Your will and strength will aid in your recovery as much as the blessing of the Mother Moon.”

Aradria coughed harshly. Blood spattered Tyrande’s gown but she made no attempt to either move out of the way or wipe it clean. There was only concern for the messenger.

“I p-prayed to her . . . as I lay there, fading,” the Sentinel managed. “I prayed th-that if she let me survive long enough to do my d-duty, then I—I would be g-glad to give my life after. She granted that—that p-prayer.”

“I found her while communing with the forest some distance west of our outpost,” Parsis explained. “The trees were unsettled about some event that had taken place nearby. I searched around . . . and then I came upon her.”

The druid quickly described finding the bodies. Parsis had found at least four dead orcs, two of them ripped apart in a fashion that could only mean that they had been the victims of the hippogryph.

“P-poor Windstorm,” Aradria murmured. “He was such a loyal friend.” She coughed again. Tyrande took a cloth and wiped the Sentinel’s lips clean.

“I did what I could for her, but she had been bleeding for so long.” The druid looked ashamed.

Tyrande shook her head. “No one could have done more, Parsis, not even one of the Sisterhood.”

“He—he also brought me here . . . ” the Sentinel said. “I healed her as best I could, then shifted into storm crow form,” Parsis explained. “It was a very strenuous flight, but I knew not to stop.”

“They t-took the message,” Aradria continued, gulping in air as she spoke. “But I knew—knew what the commander wanted to s-say. . . .”

“Save your strength,” Tyrande insisted. “Let me tell them what you said to me.”

Aradria nodded, then shut her eyes. The high priestess quickly related Commander Haldrissa’s observations and concerns. The depth of the Horde’s incursions into western Ashenvale startled Malfurion and even Parsis, who had no doubt heard it before. All the while the priestesses quietly prayed for the courier who had risked so much to bring this news while it was still fresh.

“I am inclined to take everything that the commander mentioned—and Aradria swore by—as at least a very expert guess and likely very much the truth,” the high priestess finished.

“Does Shandris know Aradria is here?”

“I have sent someone to tell her.” Tyrande returned her attention to the stricken Sentinel. “We cannot begin to thank you enough for all you—”

The courier’s chest no longer rose and fell.

Bending near, Tyrande let her hand pass over Aradria. “She is . . . no more. She must have died at least a minute or two ago.”

“She almost looks as if she is smiling slightly,” Parsis said, choking a little at the end. “I wanted to give her a little more time to rest, but she insisted. . . .”

The high priestess straightened. “She asked something of Elune, and the Mother Moon saw how worthy she was. To be frank, I was also very surprised that she made it to us, much less lived long enough to tell us everything.”

“Then it behooves us to see to it that her sacrifice was not in vain,” Shandris called from the entrance. The sternness in her voice was due to Aradria’s loss. Shandris considered her Sentinels part of her.

“I did my best, General,” Parsis blurted, somewhat cowed by the famous warrior.

“I know you did, druid. I personally accepted your assignment to Ashenvale.” She strode up to the body. “And I remember her. A skilled rider . . . almost as good as I. Haldrissa chose the right person to carry the news.” To Tyrande and Malfurion, Shandris added, “We will of course have to send a force as soon as possible.”

“What about the summit?” Tyrande asked her husband.

“We turn it in another direction. We brought everyone together to try to strengthen the Alliance; this is exactly why.”

Shandris respectfully touched the dead Aradria on the shoulder. “With your permission, I have four of my best waiting outside to take her body. We will give her a proper send-off.”

The high priestess nodded. “Go ahead. Her name will be sung in the temple.”

“I appreciate that.” Shandris whistled two short notes and the other Sentinels entered. The high priestess and Malfurion stepped to the side. The priestesses looked as one to their leader, who gave them permission to depart.

Parsis bowed to the archdruid and his wife. “If I may, I think I should go with General Shandris. I have more recent knowledge of the land there and I suspect she will want to hear it.”

“My very thought,” the general commented. “Come along.”

Before they could depart, Malfurion asked, “Parsis, there was another druid assigned along with you—”

“Kara’din, Archdruid.”

“Did you contact him at any point?”

The younger druid looked more anxious. “Not immediately, I am sorry to say. I was—caught up in the matter of the courier. I did try to during the flight, but for some reason could not touch his mind! Forgive me! I wanted to tell you that, but—”

Malfurion could certainly not fault Parsis, who looked as if he were about to collapse despite his insistence that he go with Shandris. “Fret not. Tell the general everything you know, then get some rest. Do you understand?”

“Yes . . . yes, Archdruid.”

“I will not hold him any longer than necessary,” Shandris promised.

The Sentinels reverently lifted Aradria’s body onto a wooden stretcher, then carried her away. Shandris and the druid took up positions behind them.

Tyrande murmured a short prayer for the valiant courier as the Sentinels disappeared with the body. Then, frowning deeper, she said to Malfurion, “I was told what Varian did. I was stunned. What happened after he left? Did you go after him?”

“I went to talk with him. . . . It did not go any better than the voting did. We cannot depend on him to become the leader we have been seeking, Tyrande. There is no time now.”

“It is more important than ever, my love! Do you not understand? Elune foresaw this! Varian must guide us in this darkest hour!”

The archdruid grimaced. “He cannot even guide himself where his son is concerned. I heard them having an argument before I dared approach their quarters. That boy has had to grow up a lot. He may be young in human years, but he is much older in human spirit. Varian is going to have more trouble with him, I think.”

“Elune is not wrong, my love!”

He mulled things over, then sighed. “There may be one hope. There may be a way to make him come to terms with all that he has been through and by that learn to forgive others, especially Genn, for the mistakes they in turn have made.”

“What are you going to do?”

Malfurion took her in his arms and hugged her tight. “First, continue to have faith in you. Second . . . I think I need to take Varian on a hunt. . . .”

“Are you better?”

Jarod stirred. His body felt stiff and his shoulders ached when he moved his arms, but otherwise the only reminder of the horrific torture that he had suffered was the memory of it. That was more than enough for him.

“I am well enough,” he responded cautiously. “Where am I?”

“My quarters,” Maiev answered. She squatted down next to her brother, who lay on a reed mat that he expected served as her bed. She handed him a mug filled with wine.

“Thank you.” Jarod’s eyes quickly scanned the chamber. As he expected, Maiev’s home was all but devoid of personal effects save for a morbidly fascinating array of weaponry set upon the wall opposite him. Jarod recalled his sister’s interest in blades even before she had joined the Sisterhood and noted that, in addition to an exceptional collection of night elven ones, she had several that had obviously been obtained from other races. “What happened to me?”

“You ran into a trap. One intended for a Highborne, no doubt. Some people would have died from what you went through.”

“I thought I did.”

She found the comment amusing. “You barely got a scratch.”

There was pride in her tone, Jarod realized, pride in his stamina.

“Neva informs me that you were coming to see me,” Maiev prompted.

He told her his part in the grisly discovery and the request by Tyrande and Malfurion that he assist his sibling in her investigation. Maiev grunted her agreement with the suggestion.

“Looked over the body you stumbled upon,” she responded, her tone turning briefly to amusement again when saying the last. “Just like the first. Someone is very dedicated. Cannot say I blame them. Who would want the Highborne a part of us again? You?”

“The high priestess and archdruid want it to happen.”

Maiev chuckled. “And you? Have you found forgiveness for the Highborne? Truthfully?”

He could not lie to her. “I think that they have much for which to make amends, but I argued for tolerance at the end of the War of the Ancients and I still do now. I will trust in Tyrande and Malfurion on this. They have our best interests at heart.”

“Naturally.” Maiev rose, then extended a hand. “Done with that?”

Jarod had not noticed that he had finished his drink. He handed the mug to her, then tried to push himself to his feet.

“Take it easy, Brother.”

That only served to make him more determined to stand. Taking a deep breath, the former officer straightened.

“Very good,” his sister remarked. “If you are so recovered, I guess we will get back to the task, hmm?”

He thought of the body. “Did you inspect the victim?”

“For what little time they let me. That one Highborne, Var’dyn—you know him?—he had his people spirit their dead comrade away even quicker than they did the last. I suppose that they were not happy with some of the inspecting we did of that corpse.”

“Maiev . . .”

“Ha! We did not cut it up any more than the assassin did, so do not fret! I think they were afraid I might find some sorcerous trinket of theirs and keep it.” She sneered. “As if I would want anything to do with their powers. No, we are going back to the scene of your little incident. Come on. . . .”

He did not argue with her logic. The trek brought them back through the training area, where Neva again happened to be. She immediately joined them, taking up a place on Jarod’s other side and occasionally brushing up against him in a manner that made him nervous.

“You were chasing something, so Neva said. Did you see it?”

“No. Whoever it was proved too quick at every turn.”

“Whoever? A person? Definitely not an animal by accident?”

Jarod hesitated for a moment, then answered, “No. A person. He talked to me, even helped me.”

The two females halted. Maiev leaned close. “Tell me.”

Jarod described the interaction and how very apologetic his quarry had been throughout it all.

“So he saves you, then rushes off. Probably realized that you were not his desired prey, one of the Highborne.”

“He said he had not known that the trap was there. . . . And why was it? What would a Highborne be doing near this spot?” Jarod indicated the area just before them, which they had finally reached.

Neva immediately knelt by the spot he assumed was where he had been lying. She inspected the nearest tree trunk. “Here is something we did not notice before. Bits of fur.”

“Interesting.” Maiev examined them. “Well . . . it is fur. And you were helped here by someone . . . someone furred?”

He could easily see where she was heading with her comment. “You think it was a worgen?”

“Very likely. The worgen have been snooping around the edges of the city quite a bit,” his sister offered. “They have been given permission to enter and they do, now and then, but they seem to have developed an interest in skulking around too.”

The former guard captain bluntly asked, “Do you think that they are the ones who killed the Highborne?”

“I do not know what reason they could have—not yet—but they could also be acting as the dupes of some other party. I am eliminating no one. The notes were written in the same archaic style.”

“Then it must be a night elf at the heart of this,” he decided. “Someone who lost a loved one during the war.”

“Well, that narrows it down,” his sibling cut in sarcastically.

“I would like to talk with that worgen again.” Jarod tried to recall any detail he could, the voice his most significant clue. “Find out why he was lurking around here in the first place. It might not have anything to do with the Highborne, though—”

Maiev grunted. “Oh, it must! There is no other reasonable explanation.”

He could find none, either. “Where do the worgen live? I heard something, but I am still not quite sure. . . .”

“Oh, we know where they are. What do you say, Neva?”

The other Watcher managed to slip her arm around Jarod’s. Leaning her head close to his, she replied, “Now is a good time as any.”

Jarod was puzzled. “For what?”

Maiev laughed. “To investigate the wolves, of course.”

“ ‘Wolves’ . . . ” He finally understood. “Is that all right?”

“The high priestess and archdruid have given me the authority to follow through this case wherever it might lead. The worgen will just have to behave themselves.”

She led them off. Neva pulled Jarod along until, in order to avoid further discomfort around the other Watcher, he lengthened his stride and hurried after his sister.

At first, their trek was simple, almost seeming so much like a carefree walk that Jarod wondered if his sister was playing a game with him and did not truly want his assistance. However, once Maiev reached a crooked oak, she suddenly grew serious again. Neva put a finger to her lips, not that Jarod needed the warning. He could already hear something far ahead . . . and was instantly aware that if he could hear them, then they might be able to hear the three intruders.

“The main encampment is still some distance,” Maiev whispered. “But recently a number of the wolves have been coming to this region. Guess they like the hunting here.”

She led the other two across a small creek and toward a rise. Not for the first time did Jarod marvel at the landscape. It was very easy to forget that this entire place was all atop a gargantuan tree.

“Keep low,” Maiev ordered. “We are very close now.”

He looked at her. “Are they hostile? I thought we would just announce—”

“Be quiet.” His sister moved a step ahead.

It suddenly occurred to Jarod that neither he nor his companions had taken any weapons with them. Why he had not thought of that beforehand he could only chalk up to residual fogginess due to his near death. However, that in no way reassured him. If the worgen were, after all, that dangerous . . .

“We need to turn around,” he muttered. “This is not the way to go about this—”

Neva suddenly stiffened. At the same time Maiev whirled to her right.

A savage, panting form lunged from behind a tree there. Another leapt out from the opposing direction. Both landed on all fours just a few feet from the night elves, then stood. They were immediately joined by others as the worgen surrounded the trio. For the first time Jarod had a good look at the long fangs and the sharp claws and the fact that, even while hunched over, all the worgen stood taller than the night elves. The worgen were also at least half again as broad and likely outweighed even him by several pounds, all of it taut muscle.

Jarod remained still, silently and swiftly analyzing the movements of the worgen in order to judge whether they intended to attack. Maiev and Neva, on the other hand, fell into battle stances and all but dared the worgen to come at them. Jarod frowned at the two females’ reactions but said nothing.

Nearly a dozen worgen now surrounded them. Their intensity amazed Jarod.

A male worgen stalked up to him. Nostrils flaring, the male sniffed Jarod carefully. The deep brown eyes—the most “human” feature of the otherwise bestial figure—narrowed slightly.

The male moved on to Neva. Her face was a mask. He sniffed at her, albeit in a more perfunctory manner. He turned from Neva. Jarod felt as if the worgen already recognized her scent.

When the apparent leader stopped at Maiev, there was a noticeable pause. As with Neva, the worgen seemed to recognize something in Jarod’s sister, as if they had met previously. The lips of the creature pulled back, revealing better the sharp teeth.

Fearing for Maiev, Jarod stepped forward. That brought the leader’s attention back to him. Jarod then noticed that, despite looking as they did, the worgen still wore clothes. Most of them were loose-fitting or open and in general kept in good condition. The garments made for a contrast to the raw force the worgen radiated.

“Come to spy on us again . . . ,” the male growled, his voice otherwise surprisingly normal. “Do we amuse you?”

It took Jarod a moment to understand that the question was focused at Maiev. She smiled defiantly at the leader. “We are here in the performance of our duty to the high priestess. You know that.”

“You found nothing to learn here last time.”

“Things change.”

The leader’s ears twitched in annoyance. “The king will speak with your high priestess and the archdruid.”

“Feel free.”

The worgen as a whole growled. They sounded more frustrated than angry, however. This argument had evidently taken place once before.

“You say things change,” the leader rasped. “What?”

“My brother here was nearly killed by a trap set for the Highborne.” Maiev did not explain the Highborne to the worgen, confirming what she had said earlier about their being aware of the spellcasters’ existence. “He was chasing a worgen at the time.”

The male did not look at Jarod. “Proof?”

“We found fur caught in the bark of the tree where my brother was lying.”

This garnered a derisive laugh from the entire pack. “Many animals in the forest.” He displayed his claws. “The hunting is good.”

“So long as you are only hunting deer and the like, not certain other prey,” countered Maiev.

The leader turned to Jarod again. The long muzzle came within an inch of the night elf’s nose. Jarod could smell the carnivore’s thick breath, but did not show any distaste for the odor.

“Tell me,” the worgen demanded. “You saw this one of ours?”

“No . . . I was in too much pain.”

“Hmmph. You would be feeling no pain at all anymore if he had attacked you as you claim.”

Jarod met the gaze steadily. “I never said he attacked me. He pulled me free of the trap. I do not know how, but he did. He was even sorry that I got caught in it.”

The ears of his questioner twitched in thought. The worgen leader remained in front of Jarod, but glanced at Maiev. “A different story from what you hinted. So a worgen on the hunt happens nearby. Out of respect to the high priestess and archdruid, he retreats when discovering night elves so close. When a fool follows, he even rescues the fool, and for that we’re judged monsters. . . .”

There were accompanying growls from the others. Jarod tensed, expecting to have to try to fight his way free even despite the impossible odds.

“We are only investigating every possible situation,” Maiev countered. “If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear, right?”

The worgen leader bared his teeth again. “You wish to question us, you come to us. It’s dangerous to sneak about here. Worse things than traps for magi. Younger worgen can get caught up in the hunt; they might leap before they realize that it’s not a deer.” His ears straightened. “By then . . . it could be too late.”

He made a dismissive gesture with one clawed hand. The other worgen moved back from the night elves. Jarod kept a wary eye on the worgen until they had moved a sufficient distance from the night elves, then joined Maiev and Neva.

The leader of the worgen party snarled. As one, the lupine creatures slipped back among the trees, moving as silently as any skilled night elf.

Jarod exhaled. “That was too close.”

“We were never in any real danger,” his sister countered confidently. “For all their bluster, they are just a bunch of humans.”

He grew angry. “Humans with claws and very sharp teeth—and you knew that they would come for us!”

“Easier than following after them. Think of it as a test. I wanted to see their reaction when I mentioned what happened to you. I saw enough. They know something. More than they realize.”

“I would have liked to have known what you planned.”

“You might have changed your mind in coming. I wanted you here. Besides”—she slipped her hand behind her; when Maiev brought it forward again, her brother saw that she was now armed—“we were not so helpless as you thought.”

Neva imitated Maiev, revealing that both females were armed.

Jarod snorted. This was the sister he remembered. Maiev would do anything to see her duty through to the end. It was something to remember while he helped discover the ones behind the assassinations of the Highborne.

“It is likely a night elf behind this,” he said with continued irritation. “Our people have a much better reason than the worgen to want the Highborne dead.”

Maiev began to head back toward Darnassus. “Oh, you are probably right on that. This will lead back to night elves. But the worgen . . . they need watching, too, do you not think?”

Neva gave Jarod a coy smile as she followed Maiev. After a moment the former guard captain trailed after. He was still angry with his sibling for her recklessness, although in retrospect he could see from her colored history how such a trait could have developed over the millennia. In some ways he suspected that her recklessness had been the difference between life and death for Maiev.

But I will not stand by while you do that again, Jarod swore. If they were to work together, Maiev would have to understand that her brother would be no one’s fool, not even hers. Their success—and possibly the stable existence of their people—depended on her understanding him.

It suddenly struck him that his anger at his sister made him feel more alive than any other moment after Shalasyr’s death. Aware of Jarod’s relationship with Maiev, Shalasyr would have found that amusing.

Ahead of him, Maiev muttered something to Neva, then chuckled. That stirred up another subject, one that he doubted Maiev would have found so funny. Jarod had learned something of interest during the encounter with the worgen—something his sister would have liked to know.

He had gradually recognized the voice of the leader of the group. It had been that of his rescuer. Jarod had not immediately made the connection due to the fact that when this worgen had rescued him, he had done so in his human form, using fingers rather than claws to grasp the injured night elf. He had also whispered then, as opposed to the gruffer, more commanding tone used during this encounter.

But even more important, there had been a look in the worgen’s human eyes that had indicated that he, in turn, had understood that Jarod recognized him. Even despite that, the worgen had ordered them released.

Jarod intended to find out why . . . and when he did, it would be without the impediment of his sister. Maiev would just have to wait until her brother returned from the worgen encampment.

Of course, that was assuming that they would let him leave alive a second time.