“My very thought,” the general commented. “Come along.”
Before they could depart, Malfurion asked, “Parsis, there was another druid assigned along with you—”
“Kara’din, Archdruid.”
“Did you contact him at any point?”
The younger druid looked more anxious. “Not immediately, I am sorry to say. I was—caught up in the matter of the courier. I did try to during the flight, but for some reason could not touch his mind! Forgive me! I wanted to tell you that, but—”
Malfurion could certainly not fault Parsis, who looked as if he were about to collapse despite his insistence that he go with Shandris. “Fret not. Tell the general everything you know, then get some rest. Do you understand?”
“Yes . . . yes, Archdruid.”
“I will not hold him any longer than necessary,” Shandris promised.
The Sentinels reverently lifted Aradria’s body onto a wooden stretcher, then carried her away. Shandris and the druid took up positions behind them.
Tyrande murmured a short prayer for the valiant courier as the Sentinels disappeared with the body. Then, frowning deeper, she said to Malfurion, “I was told what Varian did. I was stunned. What happened after he left? Did you go after him?”
“I went to talk with him. . . . It did not go any better than the voting did. We cannot depend on him to become the leader we have been seeking, Tyrande. There is no time now.”
“It is more important than ever, my love! Do you not understand? Elune foresaw this! Varian must guide us in this darkest hour!”
The archdruid grimaced. “He cannot even guide himself where his son is concerned. I heard them having an argument before I dared approach their quarters. That boy has had to grow up a lot. He may be young in human years, but he is much older in human spirit. Varian is going to have more trouble with him, I think.”
“Elune is not wrong, my love!”
He mulled things over, then sighed. “There may be one hope. There may be a way to make him come to terms with all that he has been through and by that learn to forgive others, especially Genn, for the mistakes they in turn have made.”
“What are you going to do?”
Malfurion took her in his arms and hugged her tight. “First, continue to have faith in you. Second . . . I think I need to take Varian on a hunt. . . .”
“Are you better?”
Jarod stirred. His body felt stiff and his shoulders ached when he moved his arms, but otherwise the only reminder of the horrific torture that he had suffered was the memory of it. That was more than enough for him.
“I am well enough,” he responded cautiously. “Where am I?”
“My quarters,” Maiev answered. She squatted down next to her brother, who lay on a reed mat that he expected served as her bed. She handed him a mug filled with wine.
“Thank you.” Jarod’s eyes quickly scanned the chamber. As he expected, Maiev’s home was all but devoid of personal effects save for a morbidly fascinating array of weaponry set upon the wall opposite him. Jarod recalled his sister’s interest in blades even before she had joined the Sisterhood and noted that, in addition to an exceptional collection of night elven ones, she had several that had obviously been obtained from other races. “What happened to me?”
“You ran into a trap. One intended for a Highborne, no doubt. Some people would have died from what you went through.”
“I thought I did.”
She found the comment amusing. “You barely got a scratch.”
There was pride in her tone, Jarod realized, pride in his stamina.
“Neva informs me that you were coming to see me,” Maiev prompted.
He told her his part in the grisly discovery and the request by Tyrande and Malfurion that he assist his sibling in her investigation. Maiev grunted her agreement with the suggestion.
“Looked over the body you stumbled upon,” she responded, her tone turning briefly to amusement again when saying the last. “Just like the first. Someone is very dedicated. Cannot say I blame them. Who would want the Highborne a part of us again? You?”
“The high priestess and archdruid want it to happen.”
Maiev chuckled. “And you? Have you found forgiveness for the Highborne? Truthfully?”
He could not lie to her. “I think that they have much for which to make amends, but I argued for tolerance at the end of the War of the Ancients and I still do now. I will trust in Tyrande and Malfurion on this. They have our best interests at heart.”
“Naturally.” Maiev rose, then extended a hand. “Done with that?”
Jarod had not noticed that he had finished his drink. He handed the mug to her, then tried to push himself to his feet.
“Take it easy, Brother.”
That only served to make him more determined to stand. Taking a deep breath, the former officer straightened.
“Very good,” his sister remarked. “If you are so recovered, I guess we will get back to the task, hmm?”
He thought of the body. “Did you inspect the victim?”
“For what little time they let me. That one Highborne, Var’dyn—you know him?—he had his people spirit their dead comrade away even quicker than they did the last. I suppose that they were not happy with some of the inspecting we did of that corpse.”
“Maiev . . .”
“Ha! We did not cut it up any more than the assassin did, so do not fret! I think they were afraid I might find some sorcerous trinket of theirs and keep it.” She sneered. “As if I would want anything to do with their powers. No, we are going back to the scene of your little incident. Come on. . . .”
He did not argue with her logic. The trek brought them back through the training area, where Neva again happened to be. She immediately joined them, taking up a place on Jarod’s other side and occasionally brushing up against him in a manner that made him nervous.
“You were chasing something, so Neva said. Did you see it?”
“No. Whoever it was proved too quick at every turn.”
“Whoever? A person? Definitely not an animal by accident?”
Jarod hesitated for a moment, then answered, “No. A person. He talked to me, even helped me.”
The two females halted. Maiev leaned close. “Tell me.”
Jarod described the interaction and how very apologetic his quarry had been throughout it all.
“So he saves you, then rushes off. Probably realized that you were not his desired prey, one of the Highborne.”
“He said he had not known that the trap was there. . . . And why was it? What would a Highborne be doing near this spot?” Jarod indicated the area just before them, which they had finally reached.
Neva immediately knelt by the spot he assumed was where he had been lying. She inspected the nearest tree trunk. “Here is something we did not notice before. Bits of fur.”
“Interesting.” Maiev examined them. “Well . . . it is fur. And you were helped here by someone . . . someone furred?”
He could easily see where she was heading with her comment. “You think it was a worgen?”
“Very likely. The worgen have been snooping around the edges of the city quite a bit,” his sister offered. “They have been given permission to enter and they do, now and then, but they seem to have developed an interest in skulking around too.”
The former guard captain bluntly asked, “Do you think that they are the ones who killed the Highborne?”
“I do not know what reason they could have—not yet—but they could also be acting as the dupes of some other party. I am eliminating no one. The notes were written in the same archaic style.”
“Then it must be a night elf at the heart of this,” he decided. “Someone who lost a loved one during the war.”
“Well, that narrows it down,” his sibling cut in sarcastically.
“I would like to talk with that worgen again.” Jarod tried to recall any detail he could, the voice his most significant clue. “Find out why he was lurking around here in the first place. It might not have anything to do with the Highborne, though—”