Without warning, another worgen leapt into sight in front of them. Having expected something, Jarod did not even flinch as the newcomer first landed on all fours, then sleekly rose to face the night elf.
It was the worgen for whom he had been searching. The fur was unmistakable. What was also unmistakable was the worgen’s displeasure at Jarod’s arrival.
“You . . . you shouldn’t have ever come back here. . . . ” To the worgen who had led the night elf to this place, he growled, “And you should know better!”
The other Gilnean’s ears flattened and a slight whining sound escaped him. The second worgen dismissed him with a curt wave that displayed for Jarod the long, so very sharp claws.
The chief worgen then turned his gaze toward the trees. Ears pricking up, he let out a slight snarl.
Jarod heard nothing, but a few seconds later the worgen relaxed slightly.
“We’re alone now,” the worgen announced with confidence.
The night elf did not ask how the other could be certain. He trusted in the worgen’s senses. “I appreciate your talking with me—”
“I’ve not said I would! You should’ve known the last time you were here that you weren’t wanted!”
As he spoke, the worgen’s muzzle neared Jarod’s face. One snap from the savage jaws could have easily ended the conversation—provided the Gilnean could have accomplished that before Jarod’s sword impaled him. That the night elf kept the blade at his side and not in his hand in no manner gave the worgen advantage; Jarod’s reflexes had not slowed that much over the millennia.
As if sensing that he could not cow the night elf, the worgen pulled his muzzle back slightly. The two eyed each other for a moment.
“I am sorry,” Jarod finally replied calmly. “I came alone so as to not disturb matters any more than necessary. If I can speak with you for a moment, you will not hear from me again.”
The worgen snarled but finally nodded. “Ask what you want quickly!”
“My name is Jarod Shadowsong—”
“I care nothing for your name! Ask your damned questions!”
The former guard captain nodded. “You did not say anything about being the one to rescue me from that trap.”
“Which should have been enough to tell you I wanted nothing more to do with it. It was a moment of weakness. . . . ” But in the worgen’s tone there was the first hint of sympathy. “I couldn’t leave you there, though.”
“For which I will always owe you. But tell me, why were you there in the first place?”
The Gilnean looked away. “We know of the spellcasters’ murders. We know that we are believed by some to be the culprits! My lord ordered otherwise, but some of us decided to seek answers ourselves.”
“And did you find anything?”
The worgen glared at the heavens. “Yes. We found we die quite easily, too, when snared by traps like the one that caught you!”
Jarod started. “One of yours perished?”
“The trap was not exactly the same. As with yours, it was all but invisible, only the telltale sign of withered foliage where the trap was set revealing its presence. That was how I discovered the one that caught you. This trait we learned, unfortunately, in retrospect from the loss we suffered.”
“I am sorry.”
His companion nodded in acceptance of Jarod’s sympathy. “We could not free her in time. Like yours, it first tortured, yes, but then it made certain that if one managed to escape, a second element would seize the heart from within.” He bared his teeth in remembrance of the foul deed. “We found later that her heart had literally exploded.”
“By Elune!”
“You see now why I did what I could to release you.”
“Where did this happen?”
The worgen again bared his teeth. “Not all that far from where you met your disaster. That was why I was near: I wanted to study the place where she died to see if there was any clue that would help us avenge her.”
“And was there?”
“The only clue was the trap that nearly did you in, night elf.” The Gilnean’s ears flattened. “There’s no more I can tell you.”
The finality in the Gilnean’s tone made it clear that Jarod should not try to push. The night elf understood. “I appreciate what you have told me. It should help.”
“I doubt it. Your sister seems set on blaming us.”
“Maiev will see that what needs to be done will be done,” Jarod replied somewhat defensively. “She has always upheld her duty to our people.”
“But we are not your people.” With that, the worgen stepped back to depart.
Jarod started to do the same, but paused. “If you think of anything more, you know my name.”
The worgen snorted . . . then hesitated. “And mine’s Eadrik. I trust you with that on the assumption that you’ll keep it to yourself.”
“Of course.”
The Gilnean vanished among the trees. Jarod stood there for a moment, wondering whether he had accomplished anything. The worgen’s words milled around in his head as he tried to make sense of it all.
Tried to make sense of it all . . . and prayed that no other Highborne would be assassinated before he could.
21
A Line Drawn
The scouts came rushing back to Haldrissa, who suddenly discovered that she had dozed off in the saddle. Fortunately, neither Denea nor any of the other officers noticed, as they were more caught up in the startled looks of the returning Sentinels.
Haldrissa made a quick count and came up two short. Yet, although the scouts rode with much urgency, they did not move as if the Horde were on their heels.
Unfortunately, the news they brought might as well have been such.
Silverwing had fallen.
The scouts had only sketchy information. It was not until a few moments later that those who could much better attest to the disaster arrived.
The once-proud Silverwing Sentinels had been reduced to perhaps a quarter of their strength, and many of those were wounded. Among their survivors was the acting commander, Su’ura, who related the terrifying tale of the outpost’s fall.
Haldrissa grimly listened to the news, all the while thinking that the end of the world as she knew it had finally come. Even the Cataclysm had not touched her this way. Silverwing was gone.
The Horde was sweeping over Ashenvale . . . with Garrosh Hellscream himself leading the way.
“We should ride to meet them now!” snapped Denea. “They will never expect us to be so close already! We will catch them by surprise!”
Several of the other younger Sentinels voiced their support. Haldrissa noticed that Su’ura—no coward—was not among them. Nor was the “scout” who stood near her, and the senior commander would have expected such a one to be the first to demand they turn and fight.
“No,” Haldrissa quietly announced. “We will not.”
Denea gaped. “But the whole purpose of our march was to meet up with Silverwing in order to better secure a line of defense against the Horde—”
“There was more to it than that, but the point is . . . Silverwing is no more. That changes everything. We cannot properly set up a good line of defense in this region, and attacking the Horde right now would play into their hands. You heard her report and you know what we ourselves experienced. The Horde has new strategies, and if Garrosh Hellscream is at the forefront, they will have more to throw at us than what we have seen thus far.”
“You are not suggesting we turn back?”
Denea’s arguing was bordering on insubordination, but under the circumstances Haldrissa forgave her.
“Only as far as just west of the river. We cross and then take up a position not far from it. Let them struggle across. We will better bring them down as they try.”
It was clear that Denea and some of the others still looked more interested in supposedly surprising the Horde by moving forward and attacking, but they obeyed orders. Su’ura and Illiyana organized the survivors. Those too weak were given mounts.