Wolfheart

23 Purification

Malfurion stirred. He could not say how long he had been unconscious, only that it had been quite some time. At least a day, possibly more.

As he slowly became aware of his surroundings, he noticed a more troubling thing. He could barely feel his body. It was as if his dreamform had separated from it, yet the archdruid knew that he remained on the mortal plane, not the Emerald Dream.

His head suddenly pounded. Malfurion tried to relax, and the pounding eased. That verified what he feared. He was someone’s prisoner, someone who knew something about a druid’s abilities.

Malfurion cautiously tried to open his eyes. He began with slits first and when that offered no greater pounding, he pushed for more.

What he saw was that he floated several feet above the ground. Malfurion tried to turn his head, but the pounding returned, this time accompanied by a terrible pain reminiscent of what he had suffered before someone had struck him on the head.

The archdruid was forced to shut his eyes and relax again. Once things settled, he contented himself with looking ahead and trying to guess more from what his peripheral vision offered.

His feet were barely visible and spread some distance apart. From that he judged that he was bound between two trunks. Someone had gone to great trouble to secure him, which seemed odd, considering that they could have just slain him and been done with it. The fact that they had not concerned the archdruid.

He was not far from where he had been caught in the trap. There was no sign of the Sentinels, but Malfurion was of the opinion that they had not survived. Only his power had enabled him to keep from death. Malfurion grew furious at the casual loss of two lives. The Sentinels had perished simply because the pair had been caught at the same time as the archdruid.

The nearby trees had sought to warn him, but too late. The trap had clearly been a subtle one. Malfurion almost would have sworn that it had been set just for him, or else why would it have been in his path? He regretted now not sending word to Maiev.

Something moved at the edge of his vision. A moment later it shifted enough in front of him to be none other than Jarod’s sister. Helmet in the crook of her arm, she peered around suspiciously, no doubt seeking Malfurion’s captors.

He tried to speak, but the pounding returned. Evidently he made some sort of sound, for she looked up at him.

“So, finally awake.”

And with those words, the horrifying truth flashed before the archdruid. Maiev smiled slyly in response to some sign of recognition in his expression.

“The great and powerful archdruid Malfurion Stormrage,” she announced with deep sarcasm. “The savior of the kaldorei race. . . . ” Maiev spit at the ground below him. “More like the destroyer of all that it stands for. . . .”

Despite the agony that it caused, Malfurion managed a throaty, “Why?”

Her brow cocked. “Now that is, I will admit, impressive. You should have been killed by the trap we set, and here you manage to speak coherently. You are stronger than even I had calculated.”

Maiev looked to the side. Neva and two other Watchers entered Malfurion’s view. They saluted Jarod’s sister, not at all a surprise to the prisoner.

“All is in readiness,” Neva reported. She glanced Malfurion’s way. “We should deal with him before it takes place, mistress.”

“No . . . he is good here. No one from Darnassus will come to this area. Our prey will only do so because they think they are beyond threat even now!” She eyed the archdruid. “No . . . he lives for now. I have decided he deserves a special execution.”

“Your brother—”

Maiev suddenly glared at Neva. “You know his role. You do not touch him. He will speak for us out of belief in me. Keep him ignorant and forgo your desires for now.”

Neva silently nodded, for the moment cowed.

“The fools will be on their way shortly. You lot better get with the rest.” She looked around. “Where is Ja’ara?”

“Removing that bit of evidence, as you ordered.”

Maiev snickered. “Good. With those Sentinels dead and gone, there is no one left who knows we sent for the archdruid here.” She glanced Malfurion’s way again. “Get on with it. I am just going to make sure the people’s hero enjoys his agony a bit more.”

Neva sneered at Malfurion, then led the other Watchers away. Maiev moved just out of the archdruid’s sight.

Renewed agony coursed through him. Malfurion tried to scream, but now his mouth would not work at all.

As the agony lessened, Jarod’s sister returned to his view. She now studied him with utter contempt.

“That is better. Silence is golden. Especially from you. I am so very glad you are awake, Archdruid. Neva wanted you dead and out of the way, but I have always felt you really deserve far more than a short, sweet death. You have committed so many crimes against our people. . . .”

Although he could not speak, Malfurion tried to relay his thoughts with his eyes. He must have managed, for Maiev shrugged, then answered, “No, I suppose you are blind to everything. Always so caught up in the belief you know best. But if you did, you and Tyrande would not have let those disgusting murderers back among us! There is only one future for the Highborne and it is one you will share!”

Maiev drew a dagger from her belt. She eyed it fondly. “You see this? This is special. I saved it for your brother, but never got the chance to use it. It was taken from me before I was tossed into the Warden’s Cage in Outland, and I was not able to retrieve it until after his defeat at the Black Temple. I wanted his death to be very slow, so that he would have time to understand why he had to be punished. You and he are twins, all right! Not just by birth, but by arrogance!”

She threw the dagger. Malfurion watched it fly toward him and expected his end. Yet, at the very last moment, the dagger veered of its own accord and flew past his head.

“Illidan re-creates the Well of Eternity after all the damnation it caused us! Why? Because he claimed it was for the good of our people! Then he joined the demons, becoming one of them in nature as well as form! Why? Because he again claimed that it was best for our survival to become our enemies and use their own evil against them!” she scoffed. “We know how well that turned out . . . and how false his words always were. . . .”

Maiev held her hand to the side. The dagger landed in it, handle first. She studied it again, seeming to find it very fascinating. “We could have been saved so much trouble where your brother was concerned, but you worried about him more than the rest of our race. You set him on us, Archdruid, as sure as if you had unlocked his prison yourself . . . and that is only one of your crimes. . . .”

There was no doubt in Malfurion’s mind that Maiev was mad and had probably been mad for a long time. Adept throughout her life at surviving, she had been clever enough to hide that fact, acting as she knew Tyrande and he expected of her.

“I learned a number of tricks over the millennia, you know. I could not have survived your brother’s tender mercies if I had not.” Her eyes grew hollow for a moment as she dwelled in dark memories. “Picked up a few gifts like this dagger and learned some abilities necessary to trap demons . . . and Highborne. I have sacrificed so much, but it will all be worth it. I realized that this was the day I was working for, cleansing our people of the Highborne’s taint once and for all and removing your foul influence at the same time. . . .”

She replaced the dagger, then simply stared at her prisoner for several seconds. To Malfurion, it was almost as if Maiev no longer saw him, no longer believed he existed.

Jarod’s sister started talking again, only now her tone was more friendly. “I have to leave you now, Malfurion. I have guests I must attend to. Archmage Mordent and his associates are dying to know why I have asked them to come, and I do not want to disappoint them. . . .”

Malfurion tried to keep her attention, if only for the sake of the Highborne. He knew that her intentions for the spellcasters were of the lethal kind.

“Do not fret,” she jested. “When I am done with them, I will give you my personal attention. I promise, you will not feel slighted. I have chosen a special place where you will be jailed for your crimes just as your brother was.” Maiev’s tone grew even more contemptuous. “A cozy place where, since you saw so fit to make us mortal, you can gradually rot to death. . . .”

That said, Maiev performed a mock bow, then departed. Malfurion waited, but she did not reappear in his line of sight. He was definitely alone.

Throughout the entire time, the archdruid had been trying to find some weakness of which he could make use, but Maiev’s trap was thorough. Yet, he kept trying. He had no choice. It was very clear that Maiev fully intended to slaughter Mordent and several others. The other assassinations had been but tests and taunts. Now she had the confidence that she would be able to take on the leadership of the Highborne.

The pain and throbbing returned as he struggled, but Malfurion tried to ignore everything but his escape attempt. Maiev might be utterly mad, but the archdruid knew her determination, knew her adaptability. She would not seek to slay the spellcasters unless she felt certain she could succeed. If she felt so, then nothing—absolutely nothing—would stand in her way.

After all, in her mind, she was only doing her duty for the sake of her people.

Jarod stopped by the Temple of Elune in search of Malfurion, but the archdruid was not there. With Tyrande surely in Ashenvale by now, the former guard captain had expected to find her mate in the vicinity of the Sisters of Elune, who were most likely to be able to tell the archdruid something of the high priestess’s current circumstances.

Questioning the attendants on duty availed him nothing. They had not seen Malfurion since the day before. One suggested that Jarod seek him in the Cenarion Enclave, and with nowhere else to turn, the night elf had gone there. However, the druids he met there were equally unhelpful. Their leader often stepped off on his own to commune with the forest. Without any concrete reason to have them search for Malfurion, Jarod had to be satisfied with their assurances that the moment they heard from the archdruid they would alert him to the former officer’s desire to meet.

Jarod knew that he should just be patient and wait for Malfurion to return from wherever he was, but the same instincts that had saved him during the war and that had recently stirred again now made him suspicious of this timely absence. It was possible that someone had distracted the archdruid when he might most be needed. However, with no proof, it was up to him alone to find out if that was true.

Jarod decided to seek Eadrik in the hopes that the Gilnean would either know where Malfurion was or even help the former guard captain locate the archdruid. Eadrik shared Jarod’s concerns on matters such as the murders, and that was why the night elf thought that the worgen might assist him.

Wary of running afoul of another trap left by the assassins, Jarod veered far more south. He knew the territory well enough by now to know that there was a fair path along there that would lead him to the Gilneans. In addition, Jarod hoped to run into one of those who dealt with Darnassus in the name of their king. Such an encounter might lead to a much quicker answer and save him an unnecessary trek.

But even well on his way to their encampment, the former guard captain saw no sign of any of the cursed humans. That was a bit unusual, according to what he had learned from others. Generally, there should have at least been one or two of the worgen traveling to and from the capital on official duty.

As he neared the encampment, Jarod noticed one other odd fact. True, the worgen were silent in the forest, but he should have heard some sound of activity. It was as if they were all asleep . . . or gone.

But no sooner had he thought that than Jarod sensed he was no longer alone. Impatient with matters, he simply stopped and waited.

As the night elf hoped, a worgen slipped out from among the trees. In fact, it was the very worgen for whom he had been looking.

“Eadrik. Good! I wanted to talk with—”

The worgen signaled him to silence. Jarod obeyed instantly.

From farther back along Jarod’s path, there came a muffled gasp, followed by a grunt. Eadrik leapt past the night elf, who turned to join him.

Someone had been tracking Jarod. The night elf realized that he had not even noticed. Whoever it was had been very well trained in moving stealthily.

His mind went to the assassins. If they could murder Highborne, how easy it must have been to simply follow a fool like Jarod. His skill had evidently rusted greatly, after all.

Barely had he begun trailing Eadrik than he almost collided with the worgen, who stood stiffly, staring at something a little farther down the trail.

It was another worgen . . . minus his head. Even in death, he still retained his lupine form, something that Jarod had not expected.

The killer was someone of high skill, indeed. Jarod could see how cleanly the head had been severed. What made that more astounding was that the evidence he saw indicated that the worgen had been facing his slayer.

“I warned Samuel not to take this lightly! I warned him that they were dangerous even to us!”

“Who?”

Eadrik did not answer. With a growl, the worgen lunged ahead, on the path of whoever had killed his companion. Utterly baffled at this turn, Jarod had no other recourse but to keep up. That immediately proved difficult, for the worgen dropped down on all fours, increasing his speed dramatically.

The worgen sniffed the air as he ran, following the scent. The pair quickly left the vicinity of the encampment and, shortly after that, even the most remote part of Darnassus. The deep forest beckoned ominously, but neither slowed even though Jarod had a bad feeling about where things were heading.

Eadrik came to a halt, the worgen rising and lifting his snout to the sky. He inhaled deeply, then bared his teeth and growled low. Jarod, who could see nothing around them but the trees, wondered what the Gilnean was up to now.

“Can’t have lost them,” Eadrik muttered. “The scent was there. . . .”

Jarod smelled something. A flowery scent. It should have been nothing out of the ordinary, but to him it somehow seemed out of place.

Eadrik did not note it so. His mind was on other matters. “I shouldn’t even be here. . . . I should’ve left this to you night elves! The king wanted all of us able fighters to go with him except for a handful to stay with the young and ill! I was to go with, but I begged him to let me stay! Why did I do it? It’s your problem, not ours . . . but the archdruid’s tried to do so much for us; I couldn’t leave it. . . .”

“What are you talking about?” Jarod asked, distracted by the worgen’s mutterings.

His companion stared at him. The eyes seemed too gentle for the otherwise bestial appearance . . . gentle, but not weak. Eadrik was still a human beneath the surface. “Never mind that! These assassinations! They happened too near us for my tastes! My lord ordered all of us to leave the matter be, but I couldn’t. I investigated. I found out the truth, but I didn’t think anyone would believe me! That’s why I stayed! I couldn’t leave it—”

He got no further. Suddenly there came the cracking of a tree branch from deeper in the forest.

Something flew their direction.

“Get down!” Jarod shouted, bowling into the worgen. Eadrik let out a startled growl and fell with him.

The glaive cut through the branches just behind where the worgen had stood, then arced. With sinister grace, it darted back the way it had come.

Eadrik shoved Jarod aside. “Stay down, night elf! This hunt is mine!”

Jarod tried to call him back, but the Gilnean was confident in his abilities. The worgen jumped among the trees even as another glaive soared past him.

The former guard captain seized a heavy rock and threw. The rock struck the glaive squarely, sending it off angle. The deadly weapon flew into a tree, cutting a deep gash. The glaive then bounded off the trunk and fell to the ground a short distance away.

Scrambling forward, Jarod recovered the weapon. He was not very proficient with the glaive, preferring a sword. The night elf cursed himself not only for lacking that training, but also for leaving his favored blade behind.

Gripping the glaive as best he could, Jarod crouched low, then followed after Eadrik. He did not see the worgen immediately but knew roughly where the Gilnean would have gone.

Jarod’s body ached as he pushed through the thick brush, but he fought to ignore it. There was always time for aches later, providing that he survived.

He burst through a wall of greenery—and only barely managed to grab a branch before he would have hurtled to his death. The ground dropped nearly a hundred feet. As he pulled himself back to safety, Jarod momentarily pondered the amazing landscape that existed atop the World Tree and how much effort the druids and others must have put in to create a realm that mimicked mainland Azeroth.

Sounds of a struggle brought him back to the moment. He heard Eadrik’s growl and a grunt from someone else. There was a crash.

Glaive held ready, Jarod followed the noise. The struggle had to be very close—

A curved blade barely missed his throat. Only a last-minute glint noticed out of the corner of his eye enabled Jarod to get his own stolen weapon up in time.

However, unlike the previous blade, the one that came at him now had not been tossed. Rather, it was wielded in the expert hand of whom at first Jarod thought a Sentinel—until he saw the face.

Neva grinned as she slashed again with her umbra crescent. There was madness in her eyes, but a madness with much cunning. She pressed him against a tree and forced his blades back.

“Is this not romantic?” she mocked, steering the crescent closer to his neck. “Just you and me. . . .”

“Where is . . . Eadrik?”

“The mutt? I have left him for skinning later! Make a nice cloak. . . . ”

Anger filled him upon hearing of the brave worgen’s death. He had been afraid that the Gilnean had, despite his own warnings to his countryman, underestimated those shadowing Jarod.

The last was something that still puzzled Jarod too. Why had he been followed in the first place? Had Neva been concerned that he might know something and was about to warn Maiev?

Maiev . . .

Jarod cursed as it all made sense to him. Neva’s grin grew wider, more mocking.

“Figured it out, did you? You are not just pretty but smart too! Your sister is going to cleanse our people of all their taint! No Highborne, no mutts, no humans . . . no Alliance! We need nothing from them, and all they do is bring their foul ways to us!”

She was insane if she believed what she said, and if she did indeed serve Maiev in this “cleansing,” then Jarod’s sister was even madder. He could see how it might have come about. Her entire existence had consisted of preserving the night elf race in one way or another. The Highborne’s return must have been the breaking point. It was as if Zin-Azshari had once more claimed dominion over their people.

The crescent edged nearer to his throat. Neva was strong, and although she might not be as much as Jarod, she also had leverage on her side.

“Why . . . does she want . . . me dead?” he rasped.

“Maiev does not! She thinks you are useful as a puppet! But I have been watching! You are more dangerous than she thinks! She will appreciate why I killed you. She knows that I believe!”

Jarod saw no point in trying to talk her out of her murderous ways. Neva was a fanatic who saw him only as an impediment.

From behind Neva there erupted a dark form. Daring to look beyond his attacker, Jarod saw Eadrik, his coat matted with both his own blood and surely that of others, fall upon Maiev’s second.

But Neva was very skilled herself. She pulled her crescent from Jarod and twisted it around just in time to gut the oncoming worgen.

Unfortunately for Neva, that left her open to Jarod. Too late to save his rescuer, he managed to avenge him. The stolen glaive cut deep into the back of her neck.

Neva spun, then fell to her side. Her foot missed the ground and she started over the edge. Even then, though, her obsession remained with her and she grabbed Jarod by the arm, intending to bring him with her.

A set of claws ripped through the wrist of the hand clutching Jarod. Hacking and coughing, Eadrik shoved into Neva as she lost her grip.

Tangled, the pair fell to the ground far below.

The thud shook Jarod to the heart. The night elf peered down. The two bodies lay separate now, Eadrik on his stomach and almost looking asleep rather than dead, and Neva—

Neva moved. Barely. There was no chance that she could recover, not this far from any priestess or druid, but the assassin was not yet dead.

Jarod suddenly prayed that she would hold on. Struggling with his own injuries, he scrambled down to the two as quickly as he could. He who had seen so much death on the battlefield had no trouble assuring himself that the worgen was dead.

Neva moaned. Jarod knelt down beside her just as she managed to open one eye.

“C-come to kiss me good-bye?” she whispered, smirking.

“No. I have come to watch you die slowly, painfully. I have seen injuries like yours. You will survive for several hours, maybe a day or two. I will be gone before then. You will die alone, unless some animal comes to gnaw on you while you are still fresh.”

The smirk vanished. Neva looked uncertain, off balance. “Kill me. Y-you know . . . you know you want . . . to.”

“I have no reason to grant you any peace. You killed my friend and his friend. . . .”

Neva laughed, which sent blood out of the side of her mouth. “The worgen . . . better than I thought. Must have killed Tas’ira after . . . after we both thought we killed him.”

Hearing that there had been another enemy nearby, Jarod quickly looked around, but saw nothing.

This made Neva’s grin widen. . . and look even more deathly. “N-never fear. Had . . . had she been around, you . . . you would not be alive! She was with me. . . . ” The Watcher suddenly shook. “Ungh! By Elune . . . kill me!”

Jarod did not move. “Tell me where my sister is and I will end your suffering.”

“You . . . you will never reach her in . . . in time!” Neva said the last with some pleasure despite her pain.

“I will if you answer me quickly. In return, I swear that I will do what I can for you.”

She glared at him. “I will not . . . tell you.”

He reached to his belt, where a knife hung. Jarod slowly removed the short but sharp blade. “I will end the suffering. It will only get worse. I know. I saw it on the fields so many times. Good, strong warriors—stronger than you or me—screaming from the pain of their wounds and their shattered insides. The worst ones were those I could not reach because of the Burning Legion so near. They lived for days.” He looked off, remembering. “I cannot think of how many I had to send off because there was not any chance of a healer of any sort even easing their conditions.”

Neva managed to look away, although she groaned with each forced movement. Her neck was not broken, but Jarod knew that was little comfort to her. The rest of her body was mangled.

He reluctantly sheathed the knife, then rose. That caught her attention.

“You cannot—”

“I am wasting my time here. I will find Maiev one way or another—”

“Wait!” The injured assassin gritted her teeth, then gasped, “Maiev is—Maiev is going to kill the Highborne. First . . . first their leaders . . . then the rest.”

The news did not entirely shock him, not from what he had already witnessed. “That I know. Farewell, Neva. . . .”

“Wait!” She coughed and more blood came up. “W-wait. Your sister . . . your sister has another surprise. I . . . I will not let you save the damned spellcasters . . . but I . . . I will give you the archdruid. . . .”

He could not hide the effect this revelation had upon him. Jarod returned to Neva’s side. “Malfurion? What has happened to him? Where is he?”

She glared. “First . . . your . . . your word. I know you, Shadowsong. Maiev says . . . says you always kept your word . . . just like a good boy. Tell me . . . tell me you will kill me and I will give you the archdruid. . . . ” Another cough. More blood. “Will not matter as much . . . if the Highborne die. He will be disgraced. . . .”

Maiev has Malfurion. . . . The awful thought kept racing through Jarod’s mind. He could not trust that his sister might not be ready to kill the archdruid at any moment. Time was of the essence. “You have my word. I will take the pain away.”

She looked relieved, and extremely pale. As best she could, she told him the path he should take. Jarod, as a soldier well-versed in communicating with the dying, could tell that she did not lie. There were some gaps in her description, but he knew enough, he thought.

“You . . . you promised,” she pressed after she was done.

“I know,” Jarod answered, drawing the blade.

Neva studied the knife, then turned her gaze skyward.

“You will . . . be too late to stop her,” Neva rasped. “Too late . . .”

He said nothing, using the knife expertly to keep his oath.

The deed done, Jarod Shadowsong stood. Even though Neva had been an enemy, he regretted that he had let her suffer for as long as he had. That was not his way. However, Jarod had needed to know what his sister intended and where it would take place. And while Neva had not given him everything, she had offered one item that, frankly, was much more important to him than the lives of all the Highborne combined . . . Malfurion’s whereabouts. Nothing mattered more than rescuing the archdruid.

Jarod leaned over Eadrik. With his finger, he drew a crescent moon in the air over the worgen’s body. The sign of Elune. He prayed that the Mother Moon would take Eadrik’s spirit to wherever the worgen’s kind should go after death. Eadrik had proven himself as good a comrade as any Jarod had fought beside in the war. The members of the Alliance were fools if they did not see what having such beings on their side could mean. It might even be able to swing the advantage away from the Horde, who thus far seemed better suited to the wild world Azeroth had become.

The night elf headed off at as great a pace as he could. However, only then did he recall that he had forgotten to make certain from Neva that there were no more traps between Malfurion and him. It would take only one misstep to end the archdruid’s rescue before it began.

And this time, there would be no one to save Jarod, either.