Without at first understanding what she did, the bitter commander charged toward the river. As she rode, reflexes took over, and out came the glaive. When an orc stood in her path, his eyes showing his eagerness for her blood, she rewarded him with a toss of the triple-bladed weapon that shot forth with the speed of an arrow and cut a swath through his barrel chest. Haldrissa had already caught the bloody glaive and ridden past before the orc’s corpse could even fall face first into the water.
On the other side, someone shouted her name. The commander stirred from her obsession just enough to see Denea staring wide-eyed at her. Two other mounted Sentinels from her outpost also paused to watch.
Haldrissa paid them no more mind. Only Garrosh Hellscream mattered. Despite a magnataur noticing her, the veteran warrior urged her nightsaber on.
A huge hand grabbed at the commander, but Haldrissa managed to evade the grasping fingers. She rode under the behemoth, avoiding a moving leg. Ahead, an orc mounted on a huge wolf saw her fast approaching and moved to intercept.
She could not throw the glaive here, but was more than practiced at using it hand-to-hand. Haldrissa blocked the axe that came at her chest, then slashed with the curved edge of one blade. The glaive tore through the orc’s throat, nearly beheading him. He tumbled back, dead.
But other orcs now saw her and seemed aware that she could be so close for only one reason. They moved to surround the night elf, who vaguely registered that she was going to die here, only yards from her goal.
However, no sooner did the first of the reinforcements join her original foe than he was attacked by another mounted Sentinel. Haldrissa saw that it was Denea. The younger officer fought with a zeal that showed that she understood what her commander hoped to do regardless of the consequences.
Denea was not alone, either. Suddenly several survivors of Haldrissa’s command closed with the orcs. With them were some of Silverwing’s warriors, including both Su’ura and the rogue. The enemy was now temporarily outnumbered. Two orcs fell swiftly. Haldrissa’s makeshift attack force pushed deeper. At last she could see Garrosh himself. The first of his guards faced her. Around Haldrissa, Denea and the others who had joined the commander fought valiantly to create an opening.
But time was running out. Haldrissa knew that. The longer she remained unable to reach the warchief, the more likely that she never would.
A night elf perished with an axe buried in her chest. Another simply vanished in the melee, her riderless mount battling that of an orc. Haldrissa’s comrades were forced to bunch together as more orcs and even tauren moved in from other positions.
Garrosh, seemingly oblivious to the struggle so near him, continued toward the river. Haldrissa swore. There were too many foes between her and the warchief. She had lost her chance . . . and soon she would lose her life.
For nothing.
The trumpeter blew the note to press the attack. The Horde ranks began crossing the river again, the magnataur leaving them an open path occasionally littered by the ghastly remains of their victims.
Haldrissa eyed the trumpeter, then urged her cat on. Caught up in the Horde’s impending triumph, the orc did not notice her approach.
The commander threw the glaive.
The orc turned just as the spinning weapon reached him. The movement upset some of Haldrissa’s accuracy, and though the blade all but sheared his neck in half—leaving no doubt to the trumpeter’s death—the glaive dropped to the ground a short distance farther instead of returning.
“Damn!” Dismounting, Haldrissa ignored the lost weapon and rushed to the body. She found the horn still clutched tightly in one hand. Too tightly, in fact: it took all her strength to force open the fingers enough to pull the horn free.
No one was looking. Thanking Elune for this last chance, the veteran warrior put the horn to her lips and blew.
She knew from past experience some of the general calls used by the Horde. Advance and retreat were the most obvious. Haldrissa now blew the latter as best as she could recall and prayed that in the heat of battle most of those who would heed such a call would not recognize any mistake.
At first it seemed that nothing was happening. Haldrissa blew again. As she finished, she saw the first rows, already almost across, falter. Even the magnataur hesitated.
With all her breath, the night elf blew a third time.
The Horde lines began to return. Their faces were filled with confusion, a contrast to their expressions during their confident rush forward. That confusion grew and the retreating enemy now ran faster.
Managing to inhale enough air, Haldrissa sounded the call one more time.
Even the magnataur began to turn back. One tauren tried to wave the leader back to the front, only to be crushed under one heavy foot as the behemoth, entirely ignorant of his victim, thundered back into the forest from which he and the others had emerged.
“Give me that!” rumbled an orc voice.
She lunged away from the speaker in the direction of her glaive, all the while clutching the horn. In the distance Haldrissa heard the other trumpeters now repeating the call to retreat. They were taking their cue from what they believed to be the master trumpeter with Garrosh. If her adversary succeeded in taking the horn and then blowing the attack once more, all her work would be for nothing.
Her hand came down by the glaive just as an axe tried to cut the appendage off. Haldrissa bit her lip as the edge of the axe left a long, bleeding line across the back of her hand and part of her wrist. Despite the pain, she managed to seize the glaive and turn in time to deflect a second strike.
He has one eye, just like me, Haldrissa could not help thinking upon first seeing her adversary. He was also an older representative of his race, as she was. However, orcs had never had immortality and thus, compared chronologically to her, he was an infant. In terms of suffering, though, they were akin to one another.
“Give me the horn, night elf. . . . I’ll not let you steal my last glory! I brought them all the way from Northrend for this!”
Without a moment’s hesitation the commander slammed the horn against the ground. When that proved insufficient to break it, she quickly brought her glaive down on it.
A harsh pain erupted from her heart. Acting almost as swiftly, the orc had tried to keep her from destroying the horn. He had succeeded in killing Haldrissa—she knew the wound was fatal—but from his disgusted expression, he understood very well that her death still meant her victory.
Someone far away called Haldrissa’s name. She had a vague image of Denea and the others—far less in number than had followed their aging commander—being forced to retreat. The commander’s own mount lay dead, several heavy gashes inflicted by either her opponent or some unseen enemy having done in the brave animal.
Her vision grew blurred. A murky figure stepped right in front of her. Haldrissa tried to raise her glaive, but there was too much pain from her chest. No longer caring about war, Haldrissa tried to grab the pain and remove it, but all she did was grasp futilely at the gaping wound.
“You fought bravely,” she heard the older orc grumble. “You fought cleverly. You don’t deserve such slow, painful dying, night elf.”
Somehow she nodded. What he said made perfect sense. She had fought long and hard for her people. It was time to rest. If only the pain would go away, she could rest.
The axe caught her along the throat, cutting deep and at last rewarding Haldrissa’s valor with rest.
26
MAIEV
Jarod sensed something close ahead. Although armed only with his knife, he pushed on.
A minute later he saw one of Maiev’s Watchers. From her bored stance, she looked as if she had been posted on guard duty for some time. It only took a glimpse past her for Jarod to verify that she was guarding the one he sought.
Malfurion Stormrage hovered above the ground, his arms and legs splayed to the sides as much as physically possible. Magical energy surrounded him, and it was clear that he was in some pain
. At the moment the archdruid appeared oblivious to his surroundings, although it was possible, not to mention quite probable, that Malfurion secretly worked to somehow free himself.
The Watcher removed her helmet and wiped her forehead. She looked up at the archdruid, her expression growing from boredom to disdain.
Aware that the moment might quickly pass, Jarod had no recourse. As the guard glanced at her charge, he threw the dagger.
She fell with barely a sound, the blade through the back of her neck. The helmet tumbled away. Jarod slipped forward, feeling as if he were back in the war against the Burning Legion, so callous about life were his sister and her cohorts.
But how else would she become, considering what she has been through? the former guard captain could not help asking himself, managing yet to find some excuse for his sister, his only remaining flesh and blood. She had done so much for the sake of their race that he felt some guilt at having to fight her . . . and yet, she intended to bring ruin to Darnassus.
Seizing up the knife, he wiped it off and looked up at Malfurion. Not at all to his surprise, the archdruid gazed down at him.
Jarod waited for Malfurion to speak, but when the archdruid only looked down to his side, Maiev’s brother assumed that the trap kept him from doing so. He followed the other night elf’s eyes but did not see anything.
But there has to be some way to free the archdruid, Jarod thought. He headed toward the area upon which Malfurion focused, all the while thinking about Maiev. Jarod still knew her better than almost anyone, despite the long passage of time. There were traits, ways of thinking, that he was fairly certain remained consistent.
Maiev was no major spellcaster. She knew how to adapt things to her needs, though, and over the millennia—and especially with regard to Illidan Stormrage—she had probably picked up several tricks. This had to be one of them.
Jarod remembered the trap that had almost killed him. Eadrik had freed him rather quickly. Maiev had needed traps that were strong but easily removed. She had used them to capture and subdue her victims, then no doubt had taken a more personal satisfaction in cutting their throats as they lay helpless.
For a moment Jarod hesitated and glanced up again at Malfurion, who could not see him from the current angle. This is your twin’s fault, the former guard captain could not help thinking somewhat angrily. She was never like this! You should have had him executed! He deserved that. . . .
He shook off the dark notions. Maiev had made her own choices in the end. She knew well enough what she did and found life valueless enough to kill as she desired.
Mouth set grim, Jarod inspected the tree and ground around it. That there had been a sentry made him certain that the spellwork itself had little in the way of other defenses. He just had to find the key, hard enough to do—
Something very tiny glittered in the bark near the roots. He gingerly brushed off some loose dirt.
He found a small stone the color of a pearl wedged into a gap in the bark. Jarod waved his hand over it, but nothing happened.
Thinking again of his sister’s need for expediency, Jarod simply plucked the stone out.
“Ungh!” Malfurion, his one side released, swung toward the tree on the opposing side from the one from which Jarod had removed the stone. Jarod feared that the archdruid would be injured by the collision, but Malfurion managed to put his free hand between him and the trunk.
The archdruid ceased swinging. As Jarod watched in wonder, the tree to which the spell still held him stretched its branches down to its roots. With precision, two smaller branches removed another stone from near the roots, then crushed it between them. Malfurion gently dropped feet first to the ground.
Jarod, eyeing the stone in his palm, marveled at both the act and the strength, but wondered why the tree had not done so sooner. Malfurion seemed to expect such curiosity and quickly said, “The trees do not see the world as we do or think exactly as we do. They wanted to help, but were not certain what they could do that would not harm me, since I could not communicate with them because of the trap.”
“My sister is nothing if not thorough.”
The archdruid stared at the dead sentry. “Maiev and her Watchers. I still cannot believe it.” He peered around. “We had best watch out for Neva. Of all Maiev’s Watchers, she is the most fanatical and dangerous.”
“Neva is dead.” In answer to Malfurion’s curious gaze, Jarod shrugged, adding, “I killed her after she and others slew Genn’s man Eadrik and another worgen.”
“Why them?” Malfurion asked in some shock.
“Eadrik suspected her but doubted anyone would believe it. He and the other died protecting me. Maiev wanted me alive as a dupe; Neva trusted me better dead.”
“And the Highborne will be next if we do not find her.” The archdruid raised his hands to the trees. Although he seemed to simply stand there afterward, Jarod had to assume Malfurion now communed freely with the forest.
A breeze came out of nowhere. Above them, the crowns of the nearest trees gently shook.
Lowering his hands, the archdruid confidently said, “I know the path! Come!”
They rushed through the forest toward their destination, Jarod at first fearing that another trap set by Maiev might do them in before they could reach her. However, he soon noticed that Malfurion constantly looked up as much as ahead. It slowly dawned on the other night elf that the archdruid was now in constant communication with the trees and other flora.
It seemed to take forever, but at last Malfurion bade him halt. The archdruid’s eyes narrowed as he studied the path ahead.
“Two of Maiev’s Watchers ahead.”
Jarod could see no one but took his companion’s word. Malfurion crept forward a few steps, then gestured.
There was a slight rustle of leaves, followed by a soft grunt.
“Hurry!” Malfurion whispered.
Curious, Jarod followed. He kept watch for the two sentries, but even when he and Malfurion reached the area where Jarod assumed they should be, he saw nothing.
Aware of the other night elf’s confusion, the archdruid muttered, “Look up.”
The veteran soldier did and saw the figures in question dangling high above. Branches wrapped them as if burial shrouds. They hung very still, and Jarod knew immediately that they were dead.
“They left me no choice,” Malfurion murmured as the two moved on.
Jarod nodded his understanding. Even though a veteran soldier, he would have preferred no more bloodshed, but did not shirk from the necessity. Maiev and her Watchers would not show them any mercy.
Barely had they gone a few yards farther when Jarod heard a voice ahead. He knew his sister instantly. She seemed to be proclaiming something, but the words did not carry well. Maiev had chosen a location where even if she spoke loudly, no one very far away would hear.
Malfurion guided him more to the east. His expression grew more concerned as they went.
“What is wrong?” Jarod finally asked.
“We need to move faster, but if we do, she will notice us sooner.”
As he spoke, there came a low sound that Jarod finally determined was someone else protesting. Although he could still not understand a word, there was a hint of desperation in the tone.
Desperation from a Highborne? Jarod grimaced. He could only imagine what Maiev might have done to bring one of the spellcasters to such a strait.
Ahead of him, Malfurion uttered a low, angry oath. The archdruid picked up his pace.
They came near enough to at last not only better hear but catch a glimpse of what was going on. Even then, Jarod was slightly confused at what his sister had set into motion.
“Now,” Maiev almost cheerfully called, her helmet propped in her arm. “Who is next to be judged? You, I think.”
Neither night elf could see to whom she spoke, but once more there was a protest. “I beseech you again to stop this insanity, Maiev Shadowsong! If you think we must be judged, then bring us before the people of D
arnassus—”
“‘The people of Darnassus’? They will do anything the high priestess or the archdruid tells them! I am the only honest arbiter for this! I am the only one who can mete out true justice for your damnable crimes!”
“This way,” Malfurion whispered. “I want you to go by that tree, then wait—”
Jarod shook his head. “No. You will need a distraction. I will draw Maiev’s attention.” He paused, then added, “I would like to take her alive, but . . . do what you must. . . .”
The archdruid nodded. “As you must, I am sorry to say. Be wary, Jarod. At this point Maiev may consider you nothing more than another enemy to be slain. She let me live only because she wanted me not only to know I had failed to save the Highborne but also so that she could later tuck me into some foul prison and slowly torture me.”
The former guard captain’s expression grew cold. “Maiev will try to kill me. I know that.” Jarod’s eyes narrowed to slits. “For her sake, she had better hope she succeeds. . . .”
Without another word, he left Malfurion and headed toward his sister. Jarod straightened as he stepped out of the woods, one hand clutching the knife.
“Maiev . . . ,” he quietly called.
Without even looking, she replied, “Jarod. Have to say I am proud of you for finding me.” She peered over her shoulder at her brother. “Of course, that does not mean I will not make you regret it.”
Her hand moved with a speed that surprised even him. A knife shot not toward him—but rather where Malfurion hid.
A branch shifted seemingly of its own accord. The knife struck deep—and something hidden on the handle flew free.
The forest in that direction exploded into flames.
Jarod gaped. The inferno spread so quickly, he could not see how Malfurion could have protected himself in time.
World of Warcraft: Wolfheart Page 32