Thargas’s grin widened. With a nod, he led his group after the two priestesses. Tyrande relaxed a little once the dwarves were out of sight.
“Well done, my love,” the archdruid whispered. “Best to get them moving so as not to stir up troubles again, especially if the next ones through are—”
The portal flared, and a small band of dour black-clad dwarves warily stepped through. They were of a pale, almost deathly complexion and, to the archdruid, were almost interchangeable save for the fact that some had dusky brown hair, others a dull black or faded red. Only the lead dwarf seemed to have any true individuality, and that from the cunning the night elf could read in the emissary’s burning red eyes.
Although their weapons were not drawn, the Dark Irons’ hands hovered near them, just in case. However, upon seeing only Malfurion, Tyrande, and the priestesses waiting to help guide the guests, the group relaxed . . . slightly.
“Hail, emissary of the Dark Iron clan . . . ” Tyrande uttered, unfamiliar with any of the party, including the leader.
“I am Drukan. I speak fer Moira Thaurissan,” the shadowy figure in the forefront rasped. His red eyes took stock of the two chief figures in front of him, clearly sizing up their potential as threats.
“You are welcome, Drukan, you and your escort. We have your quarters available, not to mention meal and drink.”
“We’ve brought our own.” Drukan indicated several heavy sacks and kegs of ale his companions carried. “We’ll need nothin’.”
“As you like. I will see that they are removed. If you change your mind, please let me know.”
Drukan grunted. He and his cohort trailed after the two guides Tyrande provided.
Once the Dark Iron dwarves had stepped out of earshot, Malfurion muttered, “Trusting souls.”
“They came here. That says a lot. And from what little you have told me, they seem to be in about as much agreement with us as the Bronzebeards.”
“The Dark Iron dwarves cannot afford to become isolated right now. They need to maintain ties with the Alliance in general, if not perhaps their fellow dwarves.”
The portal activated again.
“Wildhammer greets its hosts!” the short, rather stout figure in red and gold armor roared cheerfully from the forefront of the latest arrivals. The other dwarves behind him added their own boisterous rumbles of agreement, a few accenting their greetings with waves of their hammers.
Tyrande stepped forward to greet the leader. “Welcome, Kurdran. A pleasure to have you with us.”
The dwarf, his long, thick beard an even more fiery red than his armor, smiled. “I thought I’d waited long enough before poppin’ up. Those Dark Irons give any problem?”
“Other than refusing our food and drink, they were very polite,” the archdruid answered.
“Like as nae they’re afraid o’ bein’ poisoned by someone, as it’s nae so uncommon among their ilk. Glad tae hear everythin’ went as I’d planned, then.”
“‘Planned’?”
The Wildhammer dwarf leaned close and in a conspiratorial tone explained, “None o’ us wanted the others tae get tae the island first, an’ no one wanted tae be dead last. So we all agreed tae arrive at the same time, our honor on that sworn on the hammer.” Kurdran snorted. “No one mentioned this portal, though. Got tae it, an’ arguin’ broke out about who had the right tae go up ahead o’ the others!”
“And that was when someone suggested gambling for it?”
“Well . . . I didna exactly say it that way, but, yes, that’s what I told ’em.”
The high priestess’s eyes narrowed knowingly. “You were the one who suggested it. . . .”
“That’s it! And worked out very well, I think.”
Tyrande pressed. “So it is sheer coincidence that the order happened as it did? You seem very cheerful for being third, and the Dark Irons’ being second is perhaps the safest situation there.”
Kurdran cocked his head. If anything, his grin widened more. “Now, would I be the type to go fixin’ a game o’ bones?”
“You must be weary after your long journey,” she said, as if the question had not been asked. Tyrande, smiling back, gestured to two more priestesses. “They will take you to your quarters. Food and drink have been made ready.”
“I thank ye fer all o’ us!”
The dwarf gave both his hosts hearty handshakes, then led his party off after the guides. The encounter with Kurdran proved only a slight reprieve. As other representatives arrived, both night elves again became aware of just how much hung on the success of the gathering—and how much also hung on not only Varian Wrynn’s arrival but his agreement on the most important matters as well.
There had still been no official word concerning the king of Stormwind’s coming, and while both trusted Shandris’s report, they could not help but grow concerned. With the arrival of each other faction, the thought that perhaps something had happened grew stronger.
When it seemed clear that no more ships would arrive for some time, the duo gratefully retired. There were no official audiences: Tyrande had wanted the emissaries to relax first, the better for their minds to be calm for the upcoming debates.
“No one spoke of his own realm’s troubles,” the archdruid noted as they neared the temple. “Perhaps that will not be a situation during the gathering.”
“Do you really think so?”
Malfurion shook his head. “No. Not really.”
Their conversation ended as both noticed a pair of conspicuous figures waiting outside the temple. Even from a distance, their brilliant garments marked them as Highborne.
“Archmage Mordent,” Tyrande greeted politely. The Highborne leader was slightly thinner than his companion, and his face was more lined. “Var’dyn. To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”
Neither Highborne gave any indication that there might have been some hint of sarcasm on her part. They knew the high priestess well enough to know that she treated them respectfully.
“Var’dyn here insisted that we come. I knew you had other pressing matters to attend to, but it seems the only way to assuage his concerns and those of the younger, more impatient ones.”
“Is something amiss?”
The younger Highborne cut in. “The perfect question, save that instead of something, you might say someone!”
“Mind your place!” Mordent insisted to his protégé. “There can be a hundred innocent reasons for Thera’brin’s absence!”
Malfurion took command of the conversation. “One of yours is missing, Archmage? When was he last seen?”
“He was one of those with me,” Var’dyn answered. “No one noticed that he did not return until much later.”
“Everyone was unaffected by the spellwork?”
“Of course! We knew what we were doing!” The younger Highborne looked very offended by any suggestion otherwise.
Mordent shook his head in disappointment. “Behave yourself! You will answer with the proper respect the archdruid and high priestess deserve.”
Var’dyn grudgingly nodded. “My apologies, Archdruid. Continue, please.”
“Does anyone recall where they last saw him?” Malfurion pressed.
“None remember him returning after the spellwork. I asked all of them.”
The archdruid considered what Var’dyn had said, then turned to his mate. “I had best deal with this now.”
“I think so. Please be cautious.”
He smiled grimly. “I will be.”
Var’dyn led Malfurion back to the location of the spellcasting. The mage obviously still distrusted anyone who was not one of the Highborne, but answered all of the archdruid’s questions.
“And no one recalls at all where he even stood?”
“There was no need to.”
Malfurion could not fault that logic, though it seemed to him that if the Highborne had as much concern for one another as they pretended, someone would at least have remembered something concerning the missing spellcaster’s whereabouts. The archdruid knelt down near the area where the circle had formed. He waved his hand over the grass and murmured to the blades.