“I would have liked to have known what you planned.”
“You might have changed your mind in coming. I wanted you here. Besides”—she slipped her hand behind her; when Maiev brought it forward again, her brother saw that she was now armed—“we were not so helpless as you thought.”
Neva imitated Maiev, revealing that both females were armed.
Jarod snorted. This was the sister he remembered. Maiev would do anything to see her duty through to the end. It was something to remember while he helped discover the ones behind the assassinations of the Highborne.
“It is likely a night elf behind this,” he said with continued irritation. “Our people have a much better reason than the worgen to want the Highborne dead.”
Maiev began to head back toward Darnassus. “Oh, you are probably right on that. This will lead back to night elves. But the worgen . . . they need watching, too, do you not think?”
Neva gave Jarod a coy smile as she followed Maiev. After a moment the former guard captain trailed after. He was still angry with his sibling for her recklessness, although in retrospect he could see from her colored history how such a trait could have developed over the millennia. In some ways he suspected that her recklessness had been the difference between life and death for Maiev.
But I will not stand by while you do that again, Jarod swore. If they were to work together, Maiev would have to understand that her brother would be no one’s fool, not even hers. Their success—and possibly the stable existence of their people—depended on her understanding him.
It suddenly struck him that his anger at his sister made him feel more alive than any other moment after Shalasyr’s death. Aware of Jarod’s relationship with Maiev, Shalasyr would have found that amusing.
Ahead of him, Maiev muttered something to Neva, then chuckled. That stirred up another subject, one that he doubted Maiev would have found so funny. Jarod had learned something of interest during the encounter with the worgen—something his sister would have liked to know.
He had gradually recognized the voice of the leader of the group. It had been that of his rescuer. Jarod had not immediately made the connection due to the fact that when this worgen had rescued him, he had done so in his human form, using fingers rather than claws to grasp the injured night elf. He had also whispered then, as opposed to the gruffer, more commanding tone used during this encounter.
But even more important, there had been a look in the worgen’s human eyes that had indicated that he, in turn, had understood that Jarod recognized him. Even despite that, the worgen had ordered them released.
Jarod intended to find out why . . . and when he did, it would be without the impediment of his sister. Maiev would just have to wait until her brother returned from the worgen encampment.
Of course, that was assuming that they would let him leave alive a second time.
17
Into the Forest
The next day came, and still the outpost was not attacked. Haldrissa would have taken heart save for the fact that by now she knew better. The Horde was merely implementing the next stage of whatever plan its commander in Ashenvale had in mind. She already knew that whoever was in charge was high among the leadership, certainly picked by the new warchief, Garrosh Hellscream.
An hour after dawn, the gates swung wide open and a force of mounted Sentinels supported by archers and warriors on foot rushed out to confront whoever might be there. Haldrissa led the charge herself, her nightsaber roaring eagerly as the scent of the orcs reached it.
But although they found traces of the archers, there were no actual sightings of the Horde. It was as if they had melted back into shadow once their foul task had been accomplished.
Denea was blunt in her assessment. “We should have charged out during the night. I knew we should have.”
Haldrissa ignored the slight to her decision. The commander considered her options again. Of all the outposts, the two most significant were her own—in great part due to its central proximity to the rest of those lining Alliance-held lands—and Silverwing. Silverwing was unique. It was a bastion of defense in, of all places, hostile territory, the Horde’s outpost of Splintertree not all that far to the northeast. Even when the orcs had pushed forward elsewhere, Silverwing had prevailed. It maintained itself through the bravery of its fighters and a thin patch of ground connecting it to the rest of the Alliance territory.
There had been no contact with Silverwing, but that did not mean that it had fallen. The smoke that they had seen from their position had been more to the north. Silverwing was slightly more south and across the Falfarren River. Haldrissa suspected that the smoke came from one of the lesser outposts, likely Forest Song. She hoped that the defenders there had managed to hold, especially since she could do nothing for them at the moment.
The fact that there had been no hint of Silverwing’s downfall encouraged the commander, but she knew that she had to act fast. If they could link up with Silverwing, they would present the Horde with a more solidified front.
There was no need to wait for word from Darnassus. It was clear that Aradria had perished even if her body had not been discovered by the supply wagons. There would be no help until communication could be reestablished and that would take some time. She already had three nightsaber riders heading west, but suspected that whatever the Horde commander had in mind would be unleashed before the capital could send help.
“Silverwing . . . Denea, I need our force divided in two, one to defend here, another to march with us to Silverwing. This moment.”
“We ride there today?”
“That depends on you.” Haldrissa did not care if Denea took any offense at her words or tone. The commander had no more patience, and her second had to be reminded who was still in charge.
Perhaps in order to prove that Haldrissa had underestimated her, Denea had the outpost’s contingent divided up within the hour. Even still, it felt like much too long. The commander kept waiting for the Horde to suddenly attack again. They did not, but whether that was a good sign, she could not yet say.
She considered leaving Denea in charge, but chose instead to appoint one of the other officers. Haldrissa would need her most efficient officers at the front, and Denea was certainly the best of those, ambitions aside.
The column moved out cautiously, with scouts riding ahead and reporting back on a regular basis. The only traces of the Horde were footprints, and those tended to be so mixed in direction it was difficult to follow any trail from them.
Haldrissa did not like the unpredictability of the Horde strategy of late. This was not the type of war that she was used to fighting. Whoever coordinated the enemy’s efforts constantly left her guessing. She could only hope that her own decisions would counter whatever they planned.
Though the world has changed so much, at least war should remain a comfortable constant, Haldrissa mused darkly. She wished that they had already reached Silverwing. Knowing that they could then make a proper stand against whatever the orcs wanted to throw at them would go a great way toward easing her mind. Give her a clean, straightforward battle with all the accompanying traditions, not perplexing tricks such as the Horde was suddenly using.
Give her war as it was meant to be.
There was war . . . and Varian could not have cared less.
His son had left him. Anduin had left him.
How his opponents in the arenas would have mocked the onetime gladiator for his mournful state . . . had any of them survived. The great Lo’Gosh teary-eyed for his child.