“Shandris . . .”
“I must go,” she muttered, looking even more uncomfortable than Jarod felt.
He tried to gently take her arm, but Shandris evaded his touch without seeming to try. She could not keep him from following her, though, and thus the two walked in silence out of the chamber.
Jarod looked around, saw that no one was near, then quietly said, “I have owed you an apology for a long time—”
“You owe me no such thing. Nothing ever truly happened between us.”
He looked back at the chamber, his face radiating guilt. Then: “I do not deny I was enchanted by your attention, especially once you had grown up, but we were heading in opposite directions in life. Those years right after the war were hard on all of us. All I wanted was to try to forget the carnage and the deaths. I never wanted to be a leader . . . a hero. . . . ” Jarod said the last word with much self-derision. “I felt out of place, something you did not. You had purpose. You had your duty to the temple and the high priestess.”
“She has—”
Jarod held up a hand for silence, and, clearly to his surprise, Shandris obeyed. “That you would be devoted to Tyrande not only for saving your life but for becoming the mother you lost is hardly something with which I would find fault. Yet she . . . and through her, our people . . . have been and always will be your foremost focus.”
Shandris opened her mouth, then shut it. There was no denial in her eyes. Instead, she leaned up and suddenly kissed him on the cheek. There was not even the mildest attempt at seduction; this was a token of sympathy for his plight.
“I am here if you need to talk,” the general said.
With that, she turned and departed. Shandris did not look back, and Jarod did not say farewell. He only watched as she headed in the direction that he knew the high priestess’s sanctum lay.
The former officer started back, only to notice another armored figure far off in the opposite direction.
“Mother Moon!” Jarod whispered, thinking that he recognized the other despite the helmet. He waved to her.
Yet, unlike Shandris, the newcomer, once noticed, did not approach. Rather, she turned to leave.
“Maiev!” If she heard him, she did not respond. He stood there for a moment, completely perplexed, then rushed after his sister.
She had gone around a corner before he had managed half the distance. Certain that he would lose her and not sure when they would meet next, Jarod ran. He cut around the corner, only to see his quarry vanish out of the temple.
Following suit, Jarod exited onto the long bridge leading to the gardens. By that time, Maiev—if it was her—was already across the bridge and well into the area. He rushed through the gardens after her; then, beyond them, he twisted east as the ever half-glimpsed figure of his sister moved swiftly through the city and beyond the boundaries of Darnassus into the forest.
Jarod was not far behind, but still too far for his tastes. As he entered among the trees, he wondered if this would all prove a futile chase. Still, he was determined to follow.
Jarod darted among the first trees, trying to estimate the right path. He caught one glimpse of what he thought was an arm just noticeable between the tree trunks to his right and immediately veered toward it. Although he had no knowledge of this forest, Jarod allowed his natural instincts to guide him. He made swift judgments about the most accessible routes and where, from what he could make out of the landscape ahead, Maiev would likely head.
Although he could not see her, he was certain that he was at last closing on her. A sudden rush of intense satisfaction at this vied with his guilt for having left Shalasyr’s side. He was not going to let Maiev get the best of—
A muzzle full of long, sharp teeth confronted him.
The image that filled Jarod’s view over the next few seconds was one of nightmare. He saw something lupine . . . yet roughly humanoid in shape. It was at least as tall as he was, but nearly twice as wide and far more muscled. Long, deadly claws flashed by his face but did not touch him. The eyes—
The eyes were those of no beast.
A powerful fist thrust against Jarod’s chest, shoving the air from his lungs. The night elf bent over as he struggled for breath. In the back of his mind he waited for the killing strike, by either claw or bite.
But the strike did not come, and when Jarod managed to lift his head enough to see before him, it was to discover that he was again alone. The only hint that anything had stood before him was the already slowing shift of branches.
Jarod darted after the unseen creature. He ducked around another tree—
—and then nearly ran into his sister, Maiev, who suddenly stood right in front of him. She had removed her helmet, revealing deep scars across her face that startled Jarod as much as her sudden presence in front of him.
“Never go chasing someone alone in unfamiliar territory. I thought that was one of the first things I taught you.”
Jarod looked down to see the point of her umbra crescent touching his chest. He had noted the weapon at her side when he first spotted her, but had never expected to have it wielded against him.
Chuckling at his discomfort, Maiev withdrew the weapon. In one smooth movement she hooked it at her side again.
“I thought that, of all people, I could trust in my sister.”
“Perhaps more than a scorned love,” she returned. “That was General Shandris Feathermoon I saw retreating in defeat in the temple, was it not?”
“Maiev . . .”
“She was quite in a shambles when you vanished so long ago—”
“Enough, Maiev!” His joy at reuniting with his sister quickly became tempered by her comments about Shandris. Still, he tried to regain his initial enthusiasm. After all, it had been so long. . . . “It is so good to see you again! I wondered if we might meet when I returned here. I had hoped so.”
“Why?”
Her question put him off balance. “You are my sister! My only flesh and blood! We have not seen each other in millennia!”
“And whose fault is that?” she snapped without warning.
“Maiev—” Suddenly, Jarod faced a person whose expression was filled with anger, with bitterness. This was not the reunion for which he had hoped.
Maiev shook her head at his obvious naïveté. “Did you think I would forget even after all this time? You shamed us! You were one of the leaders of our people! I was quite proud of you then. My little brother, commander of the night elf host! I watched you grow during the war, taking over after the death of that aristocratic imbecile, Stareye, and proving to everyone that the name Shadowsong should be respected by all!”
“You do not understand—”
“You never will, it seems. You apparently never understood duty and loyalty—”
She hesitated when she noticed something on his face. Only then did Jarod feel the moistness running down his left cheek and the stinging near his eye. He touched his hand to the moisture, then looked at his fingers.
Blood. Jarod could not recall when it had happened, but assumed that it must have been during his encounter with the mysterious creature. Yet, he did not remember the beast scratching him there.
“That got dangerously close to your eye,” his sister commented, with a surprising hint of softness in her tone. She put a finger to the stinging area. “Did you fall or slip on the path? I remember you being better skilled on the hunt than that.”
It only occurred then to Jarod that he had not yet had a chance to tell her about the startling confrontation. “Maiev! There was something here in the forest with us! Something I have never seen before anywhere. I ran into it just before I caught up with you! It could still be nearby—”
Her mockery died away, and Maiev the warrior took over. “Did it do that to you? What did it look like?”