Even as she tossed the knife, Maiev used her other hand to throw something else at her brother. However, Jarod had already moved by then, lunging toward his sister and not away as she had evidently expected.
Behind him he heard a crackling sound. Ignoring the distraction, he threw his own knife at his sibling.
Maiev, her crooked smile taunting Jarod and her hand reaching for her crescent, vanished. Her helmet, released as she went for the weapon, fell to the ground.
But Jarod, aware that as warden she had the ability to teleport herself short distances, and having made a calculation of her viable directions—not to mention her insidious thinking—turned his lunge into a roll.
Maiev reappeared only a short distance away and at an angle that would have given her a clean strike at her brother. However, she had only a moment to finish drawing her weapon when Jarod bowled her over.
The two sprawled together. Maiev lost her grip on her crescent. The blades in his sister’s cloak cut Jarod in several places but caused only superficial wounds. Jarod tried to stop his momentum. Unfortunately, he sensed that Maiev had recovered first. Again she vanished, reappearing a few yards from him.
“You are getting sneakier!” she jested madly. “That is more like it! That is how you survive when those above send you on one hellish journey after another! That is how you live when demons torture you or the people you are fighting for spit on everything you swore to uphold!”
As she spoke, another pair of Watchers trotted into sight. They were not armed with umbra crescents, as he would have expected, but rather glaives. Their murderous gazes fixed on Jarod. One then looked to Maiev.
“Oh, by all means, kill my brother,” she commanded. “He came here to save them, which makes him as guilty!”
“Maiev—” But before he could try to reach whatever sanity might remain within his older sibling, her two followers threw their weapons. He saw why they had glaives now; the crescents were deadly but could not be tossed. Skilled as they were, the Watchers could adapt to whatever weapons worked best for the moment.
Jarod managed to completely dodge the first, but the second cut into his right calf. Although he still proved sufficiently dexterous to avoid more than a glancing cut, the pain was enough to throw him off balance.
“I had actually hoped you would see the truth of things, Jarod,” Maiev said with mock sadness as she turned back to the imprisoned Highborne. “You sacrificed so much in the beginning. But I guess the same thing that made you decide you could just leave behind your duty and go off merrily with some trollop from the temple makes it impossible for you to appreciate what I have been doing.”
She eyed the magi. Jarod, trying to find some sort of shield as the glaives returned to his two pursuers, saw that in addition to Archmage Mordent and the other Highborne, there was a corpse of another mage a short distance away. His body was absolutely white, as if covered in frost.
Jarod had no time to wonder at the cause of the Highborne’s demise. He knew that Maiev was responsible, and that was all that mattered. Worse, from the way she studied the other captives, it was clear that she intended to speed up the executions.
Another glaive went flying at Jarod. He judged its speed and dropped to the ground. At the same time he brought his foot up and kicked the soaring glaive from underneath.
He only barely missed having his boot and the toes inside sheared off. Still, Jarod accomplished what he desired: the glaive wobbled, then crashed to the ground fairly close to him.
But getting the weapon was another question. As he moved toward it, the second glaive came at him. He also saw that the owner of the first weapon now had a long dagger drawn and was heading in his direction.
Jarod rolled to the side as the second glaive passed. The spinning blades flew back toward their wielder. He used the moment to reach his objective.
However, instead of using it to defend himself, he threw the first glaive in the direction of his sister.
One of the other Watchers called out the alarm. Maiev vanished, reappearing next to her umbra crescent. She need not have been concerned with his attack, though, for she had not been his true target. That distinction went to a small golden cone that she had been bending down toward—a cone with four stones the color of pearl.
The glaive struck head-on. The cone shattered and the stones flew off in different directions.
Jarod had hoped that by destroying the artifact he would free the Highborne, but such was not the case. They remained prisoners, although he saw that there was relief on the face of more than one. At the very least, Jarod appeared to have either stopped the executions or somewhat delayed them.
His sister answered that question. “So clever, my little brother. I will fix it soon enough, though.”
He had no chance to worry about that, for the Watcher with the dagger then attacked. She slashed back and forth at Jarod, in between each slash kicking at either his midsection or his legs. He managed to stumble out of her way each time, although the gash in his calf grew increasingly painful with each movement. Out of the corner of his eye, Jarod saw his second foe calculating the aim of her glaive.
Aware that the second Watcher did not know that he saw her, Jarod pressed his defense against the first. Yet, he kept the other ever on the edge of his gaze.
His immediate foe kicked again. Risking getting sliced through the throat by her dagger, the former guard captain bent forward and seized her ankle.
Although taken aback and off balance, she nevertheless used the dagger as best as she could, cutting at the hand that gripped her. Jarod grunted with pain as the dagger’s tip scraped along his wrist to his hand. Despite the danger, he pulled as hard as he could, bringing her to him.
At the last, Jarod spun her around. The Watcher twisted.
But it was not the oncoming glaive that struck. The glaive flew past the pair, then rose up as it began its return to its wielder. Rather, what cut his foe through the back, regardless of her armor and severing the spine in the process, was his sister’s umbra crescent. Maiev, her helmet on and using the glaive as a distraction, had teleported up to her brother in order to catch him from behind.
A permanent glare across her lifeless face, the Watcher collapsed in his arms. Maiev disappeared.
The other Watcher reached for the approaching glaive. Scooping up the dagger, Jarod threw it. As the second Watcher started to rise, the blade hit her in the chest. The small weapon did not penetrate the armor but did distract the Watcher.
The glaive spun past her hand and tore through the less protected area at the neck . . . then took the Watcher’s head immediately after.
Jarod paused for a badly needed breath—and felt a terrible pain in his left arm. He looked down to see what seemed a long, sharp pin sticking out. Lifting his gaze, he met Maiev’s eyes.
It was clear from the dark intent in them that she had not meant to merely wound him. Only fortune had kept her from killing him. His steady gaze on his sister, he plucked out the pin and, with clear indifference, tossed the bloody missile aside. “Another failure. You made a mistake when you did not kill me after the trap caught me, Maiev.”
“A mistake quickly remedied,” she remarked as she drew something from a pouch. “Just as I have already dealt with our friends. . . .”
Jarod peered at the magi. They were writhing in pain, yet no sound escaped them. A dark aura was slowly surrounding them.
“I would let you admire my work, but you might see fit to try to interfere again. . . .”
Maiev threw whatever she had gathered from her pouch at Jarod.
But instead of flying at the former guard captain, the small black particles were blown to the side by an unexpected wind. As the particles hit the various trees and other flora, they created a terrible hiss. Jarod saw smoke rise in each spot.
Instinct made him look to Malfurion, who now stood on the other side of the Highborne. The archdruid met his gaze. The millennia faded away as they again became comrades in battle again
st a dangerous foe. Jarod read the archdruid’s intentions and nodded. He moved just as the archdruid bent down in front of another, identical artifact and began concentrating. In doing so, Malfurion presented his back to the insane warden.
Maiev swore and reached for her pouch again. Jarod ran for his dagger.
Ignoring her brother, Maiev honed in on the archdruid. She raised the hand high.
Not caring about accuracy, Jarod tossed the dagger. It collided flat against the helmet just next to the eye slit, momentarily startling Maiev. The contents of her palm—whatever they were—spilled harmlessly to the ground.
Drawing her crescent again, Maiev focused on Jarod.
“You seem to be running out of tricks, Brother! Getting tired—and old? You can blame the grand and glorious archdruid for that too! Everyone cheers him for his part in getting Teldrassil cleansed and purified of the Nightmare’s taint, but they forget that he also fought against getting the World Tree properly blessed! Said that it was time the night elves actually lived in their world. Death was welcome! You might say that he killed your precious Shalasyr, Jarod! She would be just fine, forever immortal, if he had not decided he knew best for all of us!”
“Shalasyr died because it was her time,” Jarod responded to his sister. “As we all should.”
Maiev smiled again. “Then you will not mind dying now.”
She teleported, reappearing at his right side and swinging her umbra crescent. With a desperate twist, Jarod saved himself from death but not injury. The tips of the blades cut through his side, just deep enough to make him scream. He clutched at the wound as he stumbled forward.
Although the wound did not cut into an organ, it was still a harsh one. Jarod had to keep his hand pressed to the six-inch slash as he sought the glaive that had slain the second Watcher.
No longer considering her brother of consequence, Maiev immediately spun back to the archdruid. Malfurion was caught up in trying not only to free the Highborne but also to keep them from dying before that happened. He could not afford to take even the slightest concentration away from Mordent and his companions, which left him entirely open to Maiev.
Pain and loss of blood threatening to overwhelm him, Jarod reached the glaive. Using the one hand available to him, he did his best to grip the weapon. It was almost impossible for him to stand straight, and he knew that if he did, the blood flow would increase. Nevertheless, Jarod forced himself to do exactly that. He had to stand straight to throw the glaive. Worse, he had to do it without his dominant hand.
He had been a guard captain, a military commander, a leader, and then someone simply trying to make certain that he and his wife survived the wilderness. In many ways, even more than his career, his life with Shalasyr had meant that he had been forced to adapt to doing things as necessary, not as convenient.
Jarod threw.
The glaive flew at Maiev. She heard the sinister whisper of it as it moved exactly as Jarod had calculated. His sister brought up her crescent to deflect the oncoming weapon, her casual movements showing her disdain for his “desperate” act.
But Jarod had not tossed the glaive horizontally, as was normal. He had thrown it almost vertically, and in order to block what she thought was coming, Maiev held her weapon nearly the same way.
Thus, unimpeded, the flying glaive tore into her forearm close to the wrist. The blades cut through the armor and into the flesh.
Maiev cried out and dropped her crescent.
Jarod’s toss was not perfect. The glaive returned but landed in front of him, not in his grip again. He had to quickly bend for it, which brought about renewed agony and caused him to falter for a moment.
As he stood up, he saw that Maiev was no longer where she had stood. Jarod glanced fearfully in Malfurion’s direction, but the archdruid was untouched and well at work. Whatever he was doing had at least caused an end to the Highborne’s suffering, though they remained imprisoned.
Jarod found Maiev heading toward the far perimeter of the clearing. The hand near the wound hung limply. She held the wound tight with the other hand.
A few more steps or a single blink and she would be in the forest, making good her escape. Jarod had to stop her.
“Maiev!”
She paused and looked back. Through the slits of her helmet, her eyes were still defiant, still mocking.
He held the glaive ready. “Surrender, Maiev. You have no choice. I do not want to kill you.”
She laughed. “And you will not. As I indicated, that is the difference between us, Jarod. I do what has to be done, no matter what.”
Jarod started to throw. From behind him he heard movement and voices. By the sound of them, they were obviously not more of Maiev’s followers but rather searchers from Darnassus.
Maiev’s eyes flashed in triumph. “You are a fool. I will see our people restored to their greatness. . . . You have only delayed the inevitable.”
She teleported just as Jarod finally threw. The glaive struck where her lower legs would have been. The blades cut harmlessly into the brush, and the weapon then bounced off to the side.
“Elune, forgive me . . . ,” he muttered.
There were weak moans from the direction of the Highborne. Hand pressed against his side, Jarod stumbled toward the archdruid, who had finally found the way to release the magi. Many of the Highborne lay sprawled, unconscious.
Malfurion looked up from assisting Mordent. Jarod felt his shame rising.
“I failed. I am sorry.”
“You did not fail,” the archdruid pointedly replied. “They are alive.”
Jarod weaved back and forth, the adrenaline that had kept him going now fading. He shook his head. “I mean Maiev. I could have stopped her. I could have killed her. She would have killed me.”
“I know that.” Malfurion turned his head to observe several Sentinels and two druids burst into the area. “They will find her. They will take her alive, if possible.” He looked to Jarod again. “You did not fail, Jarod. You remained what a night elf should be. Maiev did not.”
“I—” Jarod felt the world starting to turn on its head. His hand slipped away from the wound, enabling Malfurion to see just how bad it actually was. “I—”
“Cenarius! Jarod! You should have told me!”
“She is my sister—”
The archdruid jumped up to grab him as he collapsed.
27
THE HORDE ASCENDANT
The Alliance lines struggled to re-form. Shandris knew that they had little time; if she were Garrosh—as repugnant a thought as she could imagine—she would get the Horde and, especially, the magnataur to turn around and resume the attack. Even if he did not know about the success of his archers in bringing down Tyrande, he would not want to waste the chaos he had already sown.
Tyrande . . . Shandris fought back a shiver. The archers had come closer to killing the high priestess than they even knew. Of course, none of them had survived to tell their master; Shandris had spotted them too late for her mother, but not too late to have her own archers shoot them.
The Sisters of Elune prayed feverishly over Tyrande, who was better but not yet whole. There had been something on the arrow heads that persisted in her body. She would recover, but it would take time.
And time they did not have, for even as Shandris got something of a semblance of order set up near the river, she heard horns in the forest beyond sounding over and over. There was no doubt in her mind that the defenders were mere moments from a new attack, and this time there would be no fortuitous and epic charge such as Denea and the handful of survivors had informed her Commander Haldrissa had bravely led. Haldrissa’s choice to convert a failed attempt to kill Garrosh into a trick that had turned defeat into reprieve would be sung by night elves for generations to come . . . assuming that there were generations to come.
Shandris eyed the forest to the north; the land rose higher there, low hills that, given other circumstances, might have proved valuable in a counterattack. She wis
hed that they had been able to set up an outpost there back when the entire land had been theirs, but now it was impossible.
The general surveyed the rest of the region and had to admit that Haldrissa had arranged matters as well as anyone could. Shandris had noticed that some of the younger officers, including Denea, had laid hints that perhaps their commander should be permanently shunted aside, but they had renounced any such thoughts after her bravery. Older Haldrissa might have gotten, but she had gotten older because she was good.
And a lot of other night elves will not be getting any older after this day is over. . . .
“Take over!” she ordered one of her aides. Turning her nightsaber, she headed back to where the other priestesses had Tyrande. One of attendants looked up as she approached, but the general had no interest in anyone but her mother. Fortunately, to Shandris’s great pleasure, Tyrande’s eyes were open.
“My daughter,” she greeted the general.
Not caring how it might appear, Shandris dismounted and went to hug the high priestess. Tyrande returned the hug with equal vigor.
“You are well?” Shandris asked.
“I still have some trouble focusing, but, yes . . . I am fairly well.” She stared deep into the general’s eyes. “They are coming.”
Tyrande was not asking, but rather informing. Shandris was not surprised. “I expect that they will be at the edge of the forest in two minutes at most.”
The high priestess pushed herself up onto her elbows, then had to shut her eyes a moment. “Whatever Garrosh had the archers use, it was very potent . . . not that my wounds were anything small. The Horde has expert shots.”
“And we had better ones. The Horde paid.” A new horn sounded. This time, it was an Alliance horn.
“Bring me Ash’alah,” demanded the high priestess.
“You are not well enough—” Shandris began, only to stop when Tyrande gave her a look. Rather than argue when orcs were about to rush down on them, the general gave Tyrande a hand up.
One of the priestesses brought forth Ash’alah for Tyrande. She mounted and, after Shandris had done the same, the pair raced off to the front.
World of Warcraft: Wolfheart Page 33