Wolfheart

21 A Line Drawn

The scouts came rushing back to Haldrissa, who suddenly discovered that she had dozed off in the saddle. Fortunately, neither Denea nor any of the other officers noticed, as they were more caught up in the startled looks of the returning Sentinels.

Haldrissa made a quick count and came up two short. Yet, although the scouts rode with much urgency, they did not move as if the Horde were on their heels.

Unfortunately, the news they brought might as well have been such.

Silverwing had fallen.

The scouts had only sketchy information. It was not until a few moments later that those who could much better attest to the disaster arrived.

The once-proud Silverwing Sentinels had been reduced to perhaps a quarter of their strength, and many of those were wounded. Among their survivors was the acting commander, Su’ura, who related the terrifying tale of the outpost’s fall.

Haldrissa grimly listened to the news, all the while thinking that the end of the world as she knew it had finally come. Even the Cataclysm had not touched her this way. Silverwing was gone.

The Horde was sweeping over Ashenvale . . . with Garrosh Hellscream himself leading the way.

“We should ride to meet them now!” snapped Denea. “They will never expect us to be so close already! We will catch them by surprise!”

Several of the other younger Sentinels voiced their support. Haldrissa noticed that Su’ura—no coward—was not among them. Nor was the “scout” who stood near her, and the senior commander would have expected such a one to be the first to demand they turn and fight.

“No,” Haldrissa quietly announced. “We will not.”

Denea gaped. “But the whole purpose of our march was to meet up with Silverwing in order to better secure a line of defense against the Horde—”

“There was more to it than that, but the point is . . . Silverwing is no more. That changes everything. We cannot properly set up a good line of defense in this region, and attacking the Horde right now would play into their hands. You heard her report and you know what we ourselves experienced. The Horde has new strategies, and if Garrosh Hellscream is at the forefront, they will have more to throw at us than what we have seen thus far.”

“You are not suggesting we turn back?”

Denea’s arguing was bordering on insubordination, but under the circumstances Haldrissa forgave her.

“Only as far as just west of the river. We cross and then take up a position not far from it. Let them struggle across. We will better bring them down as they try.”

It was clear that Denea and some of the others still looked more interested in supposedly surprising the Horde by moving forward and attacking, but they obeyed orders. Su’ura and Illiyana organized the survivors. Those too weak were given mounts.

They turned about and headed back. Haldrissa had Denea take command of a squad that would protect the rear of the column. While outspoken, Haldrissa’s second would make certain that she followed through with her instructions and kept everyone safe from possible Horde scouts seeking to pick off stragglers.

They made good time, in part because, having just come from that direction, they knew the path very well. Recalling the incursions into Alliance territory by the orcs, the senior commander still sent scouts ahead, just in case.

They faced no threat at the river and crossed easily. Haldrissa chose a location that would give them an open area in front of them that would make any army charging toward their position easy targets for the archers. She then set about dividing her fighters along the region.

Day passed into night and into day again. Having fought the Horde at all hours during the course of her career, Haldrissa had become quite used to the daytime despite being of a nocturnal race. She sent messengers to the nearest other outposts and was rewarded with answers from both. The contact enabled the Alliance to build a better line along the western side of the river. During all that time, there were no active signs of the Horde, and although Denea pressed for Haldrissa to let her take a scouting party to the enemy’s location, the senior commander refused.

Yet, they all wondered why the Horde had not followed up its victory at Silverwing by pushing forward and meeting the Sentinels head-on. Su’ura could offer no details from the attack that shed any light, and none of her staff’s suggestions satisfied Haldrissa. Garrosh Hellscream was waiting for something—likely some opportunity—and the defenders would not know what it was until he finally moved.

Another day passed, then two. Haldrissa finally gave in to her second’s constant request and let her take a band to cautiously seek the Horde’s lines.

It was not until night that Denea returned. To Haldrissa’s relief, her party remained intact. However, the younger Sentinel’s puzzled look did not sit well with the commanding officer.

“They are gathered as if ready to march,” Denea said. “I have never seen such an army! Legions of restive orc warriors—some on foot, others riding great wolves—row upon row of tauren armed with axes or spears and chanting to their guiding spirits, goblin shredders in numbers never seen, howling trolls who adorn their armor with skulls . . . and more and more!” She took a deep breath and finally explained the cause of her confusion. “But even though many of their warriors are clearly eager for bloodshed, their commanders are holding them back.”

“You saw their strength?”

“They have put together a powerful force,” the other reluctantly answered. “Enough to crush us.”

“And they are waiting? Did you see anything else?”

“I saw the goblins working on their infernal mechanisms, including some wagons that look to be the source of that foul-smelling mist. Other than that, nothing out of the ordinary.”

Haldrissa recalled more of Su’ura’s report. “Catapults?”

“A few. The same type we have seen in the past. Not very accurate things.”

That dismissive description did not sit well with the veteran officer, who well remembered Su’ura’s words concerning the near perfection with which the boulders had been lobbed into Silverwing. If these were indeed the same catapults, then the orcs had trained their crews well . . . in fact, better than ever.

The catapults somewhat explained the reason the Horde might not yet have attacked, such heavy equipment always slower to bring to the front. Yet, that still did not satisfy Haldrissa. Either Garrosh had the expectation of more troops arriving to strengthen his force or he waited for the Sentinels to do something.

But what could that be? she asked herself again.

The growing numbers on the Horde’s side forced Haldrissa to make a decision that she had not wanted. Sending messengers back, she called in every available Sentinel to be brought up to the lines. The Alliance had to hold here. If they allowed the orcs to make any deeper headway into western Ashenvale, they risked losing the entire region.

To her surprise, it was not the reinforcements she had summoned who first arrived. Rather, it was a herald, riding like the wind. At first, Haldrissa feared that somehow Garrosh had gotten around her line and had attacked the outposts behind, but the rider looked anything but horrified as he jumped off his panting nightsaber.

“Help has arrived!” he called to her, heedless of the fact that others heard his triumphant shout. “The Horde will pay for Silverwing!”

“What are you saying?” Haldrissa demanded as Denea and others gathered. “Are the reinforcements from the western outposts on their way already?”

“They and many more, Commander! They and many more! Our ships landed this morning! The others have already disembarked and pushed victoriously through the Horde stronghold of Zoram’gar Outpost, where they met with little resistance!”

“‘Disembarked’? What do you mean? Who? Where are these reinforcements from?”

“Darnassus! Your messenger made it to Darnassus!”

“Aradria?” Denea blurted. “She lives?”

Some of the rider’s joy momentarily faded. “Only long enough to tell all she knew. Then her spirit rose to join the Mother Moon.”

“Brave,” Haldrissa remarked. “She will be honored.”

“I will make certain ten orcs pay for her life,” growled Denea.

The commander had no time for bravado. Battle had a way of reducing a warrior’s desire to simply surviving. To the rider she asked, “And does General Shandris lead them?”

“Nay, though she has come too.” The male night elf could not keep from grinning. “It is the high priestess herself who heads the expedition!”

“The high priestess?” All around them, Sentinels looked stunned, awed. Haldrissa could scarcely believe what she heard. “Tyrande Whisperwind is in Ashenvale?”

“Yes . . . and soon, she will be among us. So she promises!”

The startling news could not help but lighten the Sentinels’ hearts. The high priestess, the voice of Elune on Azeroth, not only had heard the peril of her servants but had come to personally lead them to victory over the Horde.

“The orcs were fools to wait,” Denea said with relish. “You were right to have us hold, Commander! Now they will pay for Silverwing . . . pay a hundredfold!”

Haldrissa, too, felt her confidence rising. Garrosh Hellscream was a foe with whom to be reckoned, but against Tyrande Whisperwind, who had some ten millennia more experience in war, the orc surely had no chance. Final victory, Haldrissa told herself, would be the Alliance’s.

And yet . . . she could not help glancing toward the direction of the enemy and wondering.

She should be in Ashenvale by now, Malfurion thought sourly. She is in Ashenvale while I go around hunting shadows. . . .

That was not exactly the truth. Maiev and her brother were doing much of the investigating, while Malfurion spent most of his time trying to get the Highborne to see reason.

The Highborne were becoming angrier and angrier at the lack of success. They had begun to do some investigations of their own, especially Var’dyn. Unfortunately, that had put them at odds with many of the people of Darnassus. Malfurion had already had to step in once to stop bloodshed.

Even Mordent no longer had much patience. He and Malfurion stood at the edge of the Highborne encampment, separating after three fruitless hours of debate on the best course of action.

“I have tried to restrain the younger ones, like Var’dyn, enough, Archdruid. I find I no longer care to stop them.”

Malfurion remembered all too well how close Var’dyn had come to unleashing his magic on the night elves angrily surrounding him. They had not taken kindly to his imperious questioning and not-so-subtle threats when he had been asking after the two murders. “We are doing the best anyone can. Maiev—”

“Had better show results. I understand her reputation. I fail to see anything that supports it. She has badgered us over and over on a variety of leads, some of which infer that perhaps the assassins are among our own. If this is the best she can do for this matter—”

“She has been questioning everyone, Mordent. No one could be more thorough.” Malfurion sighed. “I will talk with her and see if there is anything else.”

“At least her brother has some tact, not that he has been any more efficient. Still, he shows proper respect.”

The archdruid refrained from commenting. Jarod did indeed have more tact. “We will solve this.”

“As you say,” the Highborne concluded, his tone doubtful. “Fare you well.”

Malfurion nodded, then headed toward Darnassus. However, he had not gotten far when he sensed that he was again not alone. He glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing. Malfurion turned his attention back to his trek.

The armored figure that now stood in the path ahead had her cloak drawn around her, turning her into a dark, ominous image that surely even Illidan had found daunting at times.

“Archdruid Malfurion,” Maiev greeted him.

He glanced over his shoulder at where he had left the Highborne. Malfurion and Maiev were uncomfortably close. “What reason brings you out here?”

“A question or two concerning the assassinations that I need Var’dyn or his master to answer. I think it might clear something up in my mind.”

“You have found something?”

She exhaled. “I would rather not say until I know how it turns out.”

Malfurion accepted that, but was still uncertain as to the wisdom of her current intentions. “You must speak with them?”

Maiev chuckled. “Have I been annoying them?”

“This is no laughing matter.”

Jarod’s sister sobered. “No. Not where the Highborne are concerned. You are right.”

“Is this questioning necessary?”

“I do nothing without reason. And you need not fear that I will upset them so much that they will go running into Darnassus. I heard about Var’dyn. That one is going to be a problem.”

“He will be fine if this all gets settled.”

She frowned, but answered, “Yes, I suppose he will.”

“Be cautious, Maiev.”

“I will be.”

With a slight bow, Jarod’s sister moved on. Malfurion watched her for a few seconds. Maiev did not look back.

He shook his head. Driven by duty, even if it means walking into danger.

Malfurion was suddenly struck by immense guilt. It was in great part due to him that she had become so obsessive with her tasks. She had watched over his brother for millennia because Malfurion had shown Illidan mercy. The archdruid felt tremendous responsibility for Maiev; he did not want to see her suffer more than she already had in her life.

And if she baited the Highborne too much while questioning them, there was a very good chance that she would suffer greatly.

Alone again, Malfurion welcomed the tranquility of the forest. The urge to simply settle down somewhere and meditate—even go to the Emerald Dream for a time—grew stronger.

But not strong enough. The Cataclysm had created many situations requiring the druids’ efforts and Malfurion was needed to guide those efforts. More important, however, was the fact that Tyrande even now moved to lead the night elves and their allies against the Horde. If there was even the slightest chance that she might need his help, Malfurion was willing to sacrifice himself, if necessary.

The local trees greeted him. They were grateful for his appearance, in great part due to the Highborne living so nearby. The spellcasters made the forest wary; the trees especially could sense the inherent danger in their magic.

The archdruid calmed the trees as best he could. However, there was little he could tell them other than that the Highborne would not be casting great spells around them. Malfurion had promised to treat Mordent’s people with respect, and part of that meant allowing them to practice their craft on occasion . . . but only in a limited way and only in a designated area closer to their encampment, where the druids had set safeguards in place. The archmage kept most of his people under control, but, as Malfurion knew, some of the more ambitious, like Var’dyn, had to be watched more. Even here, Malfurion could sense the residue of some arcane spell. Once the murders were solved, the archdruid would have to have a word with Mordent about Var’dyn’s grasp on where the line was drawn.

Malfurion continued walking as he communed with the trees and other forest life. He had to return to the temple to see to some of the more mundane aspects of leadership. There were those seeking an audience, requisitions to confirm . . . things that as an ordinary druid he would never have had to deal. It made him feel all the more guilty to think of the millennia that Tyrande had dutifully worked to see to the best for their people while he had been . . . away.

Someone else approached. Frowning, Malfurion sighted two grim Sentinels.

“Hail to you, Archdruid Malfurion,” the senior of the two greeted.

“What is it?”

“We have report of another assassination.”

The news struck Malfurion dumb for a moment. He stood there, waiting to be told they were in error, but realizing quickly that it was something that he had been expecting.

“Where?”

“In the deep woods farther north from here. The one called Neva sent the news to us, then went to find Maiev.”

Maiev. It only stood to reason that she should also be informed . . . and yet, the archdruid hesitated to go after her. He had promised the Highborne that these dread crimes would be solved. Another death would only cause things to boil over beyond even his control.

Neva will eventually inform Maiev. I need to make a study of the scene as soon as possible. . . . Having satisfied himself in regards to the notifying of Jarod’s sister, Malfurion indicated to the pair to lead the way.

The Sentinels turned. At first, out of respect for the archdruid, they kept a slower, more even pace. Only when Malfurion purposely took a step or two ahead of them did they finally seem to realize that he preferred speed over propriety.

Although he had a vague notion as to where they journeyed, he was glad that his guides knew the exact location. Malfurion had to assume either that the Highborne had been lured out here or that, like the one Jarod had discovered, the victim had been moved after death.

Even still, his impatience swelled. Eyeing yet another hill to climb, he finally asked, “How much longer?”

“According to what we were told, it should be just over this rise, Archdruid.”

“Good.” He picked up his pace again, moving ahead of the Sentinels.

The trees around him suddenly shook with warning. The archdruid glanced up at them, reading their fear. However, it was not fear for themselves . . . but rather him.

He raised a hand, already casting. At the same time Malfurion shouted, “Get back! There is a—”

He felt as if flames had burst all around him, although he could see nothing. Behind him, Malfurion heard the Sentinels scream. A horrific crackling sound assailed his ears and he suddenly felt not only as if his body were on fire but also as if his skin were being flayed.

Somehow, Malfurion managed to take a step forward. The agony increased, but for some reason the archdruid knew that his best hope was to keep pushing on. In the back of his mind he sensed that the trees were urging him.

The cries of his escorts had faded away. The archdruid could do nothing for them. First he had to save himself. If there was any chance of healing the pair, he could then try. Otherwise they were all surely dead.

He managed another step. The pain lessened ever so slightly.

Through the struggle, Malfurion heard an angry voice. So in pain was he that even had it been someone with whom he was familiar, he could not have identified it. The archdruid only knew that the speaker was very near.

Then, for just a brief moment, the voice became very clear . . . and even closer.

“Why do you not just die already?”

Something struck Malfurion on the head.