“No . . . the scratch I must have gotten from a tree branch after I collided with the creature. It did not attack me!” Jarod collected his thoughts. “I did not get a good look. It happened so quickly. Something lupine . . . I think! All I saw were claws, teeth, and a shape not unlike our own, but wider. . . .”
“Oh.” Maiev no longer looked interested. “One of them. There is nothing to fear there. They do not dare get on the high priestess’s or Archdruid Malfurion’s bad side.”
He could not believe that what he had seen could be so easily dismissed. “‘Them’? There are more like that? Roaming around Darnassus’s boundaries?”
“Forget it, Brother. It fled, did it not? That tells you all you need to know. They are cowardly skulkers with no bite! The worgen are undesirables who could not even save their own home.”
“What are—” But before Jarod could finish, Maiev had begun to move on. She did not head directly toward Darnassus, but rather took a path that would make her skirt the east side of the capital. Jarod had to rush to keep up.
“Do as I say and forget them,” she repeated. “Besides, it is certainly not your duty to police the capital. You gave up any sense of duty millennia ago.”
The barb hit true. Jarod grimaced but sought to defend himself. “Maiev, I gave our people centuries of dedication to duty, of devotion to—”
“Centuries of dedication?” she laughed in his face. “That is nothing! Jarod, I have remained true to my duties as a protector of the night elf race from the moment I became a priestess of Elune, and afterward as a Watcher, until even now! I volunteered to oversee the imprisonment of Illidan Stormrage, even though that meant my fate was locked for millennia with his! I pursued him when other misfortunes enabled his escape! I survived torture as his prisoner and finally had the chance to do what should have been done in the very beginning . . . slay the archdruid’s accursed twin!”
“Maiev!”
She waved off the hand he reached to her. “Spare me any sympathy! I chose duty where you did not. Sometimes that has meant that I have made decisions that to others were not always evident as the right ones until much later, but I regret none of them.”
“I understand. You have ever been determined to do what was best for all, regardless of how it made you look at times. I have always admired that steadfastness in you.”
The muscles in his sister’s face grew a little less taut. A hint of weariness touched her gaze. “I do what I must do.”
This time he would not brook her blocking his hand. He put a hand on her shoulder and wished that the armor would not prevent him from gently squeezing Maiev there. “I have missed you. Of all those I left behind, I missed you the most.”
“The general would not enjoy hearing that.”
“Do not joke with me about that. Not now.”
She patted him on the arm. “My mistake. You have had a terrible loss. I recall Shalasyr. Well skilled in the martial arts training of the Sisterhood. She would have made a good Watcher.”
He grew uncomfortable. “I need to return. I am sorry, Maiev. Later—”
“Yes. Later we will talk more. Be off with you. My condolences.”
Jarod hesitated, then turned. However, a nagging guilt at leaving matters so unfinished made him almost immediately look back.
Maiev was gone.
The former guard officer nearly called out, then hesitated. Brow furrowed, he eyed where his sister had stood, then resumed his journey back to Darnassus and his Shalasyr.
In another part of the forest near Darnassus, others had gathered. They were clad much more elegantly than other night elves and bore about them an inherent air of superiority. Their sleek robes were flamboyant and brilliantly colored.
Although clearly night elves, these were the Highborne, the highest caste of old night elf nobility. However, due to their continued use of arcane magic, they had been shunned by their brethren following the War of the Ancients. Once, there had been many more of them, but some had fallen serving their arrogant and evil queen, Azshara, while others had been later transformed in other manners, turned into the reptilian, sea-dwelling fiends called naga.
Refugees from Eldre’Thalas—better known to most in this age by the more apt title Dire Maul—these night elf magi and their fellow survivors remained shunned by many of those in Darnassus. Though the Highborne even now maintained an air of absolute independence, in truth they found themselves in need of others. However, that by no means meant any lacking in arrogance or in their desire to continue their study of the arcane, no matter what the cost.
There were twenty at this gathering, twenty of the strongest. Var’dyn Skyseeker was leader of the twenty and had aspirations to be much more: the eventual successor to the Highborne’s speaker, Archmage Mordent Evenshade. Var’dyn now guided the spell that the twenty cast, a test of their power. The swirling energies gathered within the circle the casters formed. The faces of each male and female in the group glowed from not only the radiance but also his or her deep enthrallment.
Var’dyn gestured, and the energies came together in one powerful yet compact sphere. He gestured again, and tendrils reached out in the four directions of the compass.
We are now ready, he told the others through the link that their spellwork created.
As one, the Highborne drew a sign in the air. The tendrils grew stronger, and more erupted from the sphere. The sphere itself pulsated rapidly—
A horrific wind tore through the region. Highborne cried out in surprise as they were buffeted. The circle broke, but Var’dyn kept the link solid. They had come this far with their efforts; he was not about to let them all fail.
Then, what at first some mistook for thunder roiled through the area. Var’dyn looked up, but there were no clouds. He stared at the treetops, which shook violently . . . more violently than the wind demanded. It was they, in fact, that were the source of the deafening roar.
“Keep to your efforts!” Var’dyn snapped at some of his companions, the clearly unnatural actions of the forest finally unnerving them enough to cause risk to the spell. He led the way, concentrating harder and trying to draw the others back into the effort.
A tremendous wrenching drowned out the roar. One of the nearest trees bent down. Its limbs now acted like so many tentacles from some kraken. They reached for those Highborne below them.
More wrenching arose from beyond the boundaries of the gathering. Everywhere, the closest trees stretched their branches toward the spellcasters.
The link weakened beyond Var’dyn’s will to keep it intact. The gathered energies faded, and the tendrils dissipated. The sphere shrank—and then melted away with a pitiful hiss.
As it vanished, many of the exhausted Highborne slumped to the ground. Var’dyn remained standing, although it was secretly an effort to do so. Gritting his teeth, he searched the forest for the cause of the disaster.
“I made matters very clear regarding the practice of your arcane arts!” boomed a voice from every direction. “This goes against everything upon which the archmage and I agreed!”
One of the other spellcasters thrust a finger toward Var’dyn’s left. There, the branches and underbrush gave way of their own accord to open a path to a lone figure wielding only a staff.
“Archdruid . . .” Var’dyn did not bow to Malfurion Stormrage, though he did nod his head in respect. “I have petitioned over and over about some mild changes in our agreement, but received no suitable answer. We need more leeway in our efforts; our powers will stagnate if we cannot utilize them in a sufficient manner—”
Malfurion strode up to Var’dyn, then raised the staff slightly. Var’dyn wisely quieted. “Your petition is still under consideration by both Mordent and me—as you have been informed more than once—and there has been no answer on it for reasons you have already been told! The reputation of the Highborne will always be stained by their past. As the archmage’s thero’shan, you should understand that. You Highborne chose to stay in Eldre’Thalas, defending and hiding in your special city as the war bloodily played out elsewhere.”