Velen lowered his palm. The Light faded from both his hand and the prince. The emotions faded, too, though they never completely vanished.
“And that is in great part why the Light touches you so deep.” The Prophet smiled slightly. “Very well, Anduin. We leave come sunlight.”
16
A Messenger’s Resolve
Malfurion rushed back to the temple, his sense of failure with Varian compounded by the knowledge that the Sentinel who had spoken with Tyrande at the summit—subsequently drawing the high priestess away—no doubt had news of some other disaster. He suspected that it might concern the Highborne, but prepared himself for anything at this point.
To his surprise, it was not one of the priestesses who greeted him but rather one of his own. The anxious druid bowed low as Malfurion approached.
“Parsis!” The other druid was skilled, capable of shifting to storm crow form, and, given a bit more seasoning, could someday become an archdruid of high standing. Naturally, Malfurion never quite mentioned this future he saw to the younger druid himself. “You were assigned to Ashenvale! Why are you here?”
“It is not for me to answer that, Shan’do,” Parsis respectfully responded, the younger druid clearly exhausted. “There is another who has more than earned that right.”
Malfurion did not question him further. Parsis led him to the area where but recently Shalasyr’s body had lain shortly after Jarod had brought it to Darnassus.
He heard voices within, the voices of priestesses at prayer. The archdruid glanced at Parsis and saw the younger night elf look disturbed. Something had changed for the worse since he had left this place.
As they stepped inside, Tyrande turned from where she had been leading four other senior priestesses in the prayer. The light of Elune shone down upon not only her and the priestesses but also a figure lying on the platform between them.
It was a Sentinel. Malfurion did not recognize her. Her violet skin had paled considerably, not a good sign.
In silence, he joined his mate. Tyrande leaned close and whispered, “Her name is Aradria Cloudflyer. She is a courier from Ashenvale.”
“A wounded courier?” Malfurion did not like the direction this was taking.
The high priestess started to continue, but the Sentinel suddenly moaned. Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed up at the pair, eventually fixing on Malfurion.
“Arch—Archdruid . . . you know, then . . .”
She fought to shift so she could face him better, and in doing so revealed a long, wicked scar running across her upper torso. Based on what Malfurion could see of it, it was a wonder that she was still alive. Other, smaller scars decorated what he could see of her body, but the huge one was clearly what had done the worst to her.
“The irony is, her own glaive did it,” Parsis muttered in his other ear. “She fell upon it during a struggle with several orcs. She had slain at least two before that happened.”
“What was she doing in orc territory? And why bring her here?”
“She was not in orc territory. She was well on her way here with an urgent missive from Commander Haldrissa.”
The archdruid looked to Tyrande for verification of the dread news. She sadly nodded.
“They—they snuck behind the lines . . . ,” Aradria rasped, evidently hearing well despite her condition.
“You must rest,” the high priestess advised her. “Your will and strength will aid in your recovery as much as the blessing of the Mother Moon.”
Aradria coughed harshly. Blood spattered Tyrande’s gown but she made no attempt to either move out of the way or wipe it clean. There was only concern for the messenger.
“I p-prayed to her . . . as I lay there, fading,” the Sentinel managed. “I prayed th-that if she let me survive long enough to do my d-duty, then I—I would be g-glad to give my life after. She granted that—that p-prayer.”
“I found her while communing with the forest some distance west of our outpost,” Parsis explained. “The trees were unsettled about some event that had taken place nearby. I searched around . . . and then I came upon her.”
The druid quickly described finding the bodies. Parsis had found at least four dead orcs, two of them ripped apart in a fashion that could only mean that they had been the victims of the hippogryph.
“P-poor Windstorm,” Aradria murmured. “He was such a loyal friend.” She coughed again. Tyrande took a cloth and wiped the Sentinel’s lips clean.
“I did what I could for her, but she had been bleeding for so long.” The druid looked ashamed.
Tyrande shook her head. “No one could have done more, Parsis, not even one of the Sisterhood.”
“He—he also brought me here . . . ” the Sentinel said. “I healed her as best I could, then shifted into storm crow form,” Parsis explained. “It was a very strenuous flight, but I knew not to stop.”
“They t-took the message,” Aradria continued, gulping in air as she spoke. “But I knew—knew what the commander wanted to s-say. . . .”
“Save your strength,” Tyrande insisted. “Let me tell them what you said to me.”
Aradria nodded, then shut her eyes. The high priestess quickly related Commander Haldrissa’s observations and concerns. The depth of the Horde’s incursions into western Ashenvale startled Malfurion and even Parsis, who had no doubt heard it before. All the while the priestesses quietly prayed for the courier who had risked so much to bring this news while it was still fresh.
“I am inclined to take everything that the commander mentioned—and Aradria swore by—as at least a very expert guess and likely very much the truth,” the high priestess finished.
“Does Shandris know Aradria is here?”
“I have sent someone to tell her.” Tyrande returned her attention to the stricken Sentinel. “We cannot begin to thank you enough for all you—”
The courier’s chest no longer rose and fell.
Bending near, Tyrande let her hand pass over Aradria. “She is . . . no more. She must have died at least a minute or two ago.”
“She almost looks as if she is smiling slightly,” Parsis said, choking a little at the end. “I wanted to give her a little more time to rest, but she insisted. . . .”
The high priestess straightened. “She asked something of Elune, and the Mother Moon saw how worthy she was. To be frank, I was also very surprised that she made it to us, much less lived long enough to tell us everything.”
“Then it behooves us to see to it that her sacrifice was not in vain,” Shandris called from the entrance. The sternness in her voice was due to Aradria’s loss. Shandris considered her Sentinels part of her.
“I did my best, General,” Parsis blurted, somewhat cowed by the famous warrior.
“I know you did, druid. I personally accepted your assignment to Ashenvale.” She strode up to the body. “And I remember her. A skilled rider . . . almost as good as I. Haldrissa chose the right person to carry the news.” To Tyrande and Malfurion, Shandris added, “We will of course have to send a force as soon as possible.”
“What about the summit?” Tyrande asked her husband.
“We turn it in another direction. We brought everyone together to try to strengthen the Alliance; this is exactly why.”
Shandris respectfully touched the dead Aradria on the shoulder. “With your permission, I have four of my best waiting outside to take her body. We will give her a proper send-off.”
The high priestess nodded. “Go ahead. Her name will be sung in the temple.”
“I appreciate that.” Shandris whistled two short notes and the other Sentinels entered. The high priestess and Malfurion stepped to the side. The priestesses looked as one to their leader, who gave them permission to depart.
Parsis bowed to the archdruid and his wife. “If I may, I think I should go with General Shandris. I have more recent knowledge of the land there and I suspect she will want to hear it.”