Maiev held her hand to the side. The dagger landed in it, handle first. She studied it again, seeming to find it very fascinating. “We could have been saved so much trouble where your brother was concerned, but you worried about him more than the rest of our race. You set him on us, Archdruid, as sure as if you had unlocked his prison yourself . . . and that is only one of your crimes. . . .”
There was no doubt in Malfurion’s mind that Maiev was mad and had probably been mad for a long time. Adept throughout her life at surviving, she had been clever enough to hide that fact, acting as she knew Tyrande and he expected of her.
“I learned a number of tricks over the millennia, you know. I could not have survived your brother’s tender mercies if I had not.” Her eyes grew hollow for a moment as she dwelled in dark memories. “Picked up a few gifts like this dagger and learned some abilities necessary to trap demons . . . and Highborne. I have sacrificed so much, but it will all be worth it. I realized that this was the day I was working for, cleansing our people of the Highborne’s taint once and for all and removing your foul influence at the same time. . . .”
She replaced the dagger, then simply stared at her prisoner for several seconds. To Malfurion, it was almost as if Maiev no longer saw him, no longer believed he existed.
Jarod’s sister started talking again, only now her tone was more friendly. “I have to leave you now, Malfurion. I have guests I must attend to. Archmage Mordent and his associates are dying to know why I have asked them to come, and I do not want to disappoint them. . . .”
Malfurion tried to keep her attention, if only for the sake of the Highborne. He knew that her intentions for the spellcasters were of the lethal kind.
“Do not fret,” she jested. “When I am done with them, I will give you my personal attention. I promise, you will not feel slighted. I have chosen a special place where you will be jailed for your crimes just as your brother was.” Maiev’s tone grew even more contemptuous. “A cozy place where, since you saw so fit to make us mortal, you can gradually rot to death. . . .”
That said, Maiev performed a mock bow, then departed. Malfurion waited, but she did not reappear in his line of sight. He was definitely alone.
Throughout the entire time, the archdruid had been trying to find some weakness of which he could make use, but Maiev’s trap was thorough. Yet, he kept trying. He had no choice. It was very clear that Maiev fully intended to slaughter Mordent and several others. The other assassinations had been but tests and taunts. Now she had the confidence that she would be able to take on the leadership of the Highborne.
The pain and throbbing returned as he struggled, but Malfurion tried to ignore everything but his escape attempt. Maiev might be utterly mad, but the archdruid knew her determination, knew her adaptability. She would not seek to slay the spellcasters unless she felt certain she could succeed. If she felt so, then nothing—absolutely nothing—would stand in her way.
After all, in her mind, she was only doing her duty for the sake of her people.
Jarod stopped by the Temple of Elune in search of Malfurion, but the archdruid was not there. With Tyrande surely in Ashenvale by now, the former guard captain had expected to find her mate in the vicinity of the Sisters of Elune, who were most likely to be able to tell the archdruid something of the high priestess’s current circumstances.
Questioning the attendants on duty availed him nothing. They had not seen Malfurion since the day before. One suggested that Jarod seek him in the Cenarion Enclave, and with nowhere else to turn, the night elf had gone there. However, the druids he met there were equally unhelpful. Their leader often stepped off on his own to commune with the forest. Without any concrete reason to have them search for Malfurion, Jarod had to be satisfied with their assurances that the moment they heard from the archdruid they would alert him to the former officer’s desire to meet.
Jarod knew that he should just be patient and wait for Malfurion to return from wherever he was, but the same instincts that had saved him during the war and that had recently stirred again now made him suspicious of this timely absence. It was possible that someone had distracted the archdruid when he might most be needed. However, with no proof, it was up to him alone to find out if that was true.
Jarod decided to seek Eadrik in the hopes that the Gilnean would either know where Malfurion was or even help the former guard captain locate the archdruid. Eadrik shared Jarod’s concerns on matters such as the murders, and that was why the night elf thought that the worgen might assist him.
Wary of running afoul of another trap left by the assassins, Jarod veered far more south. He knew the territory well enough by now to know that there was a fair path along there that would lead him to the Gilneans. In addition, Jarod hoped to run into one of those who dealt with Darnassus in the name of their king. Such an encounter might lead to a much quicker answer and save him an unnecessary trek.
But even well on his way to their encampment, the former guard captain saw no sign of any of the cursed humans. That was a bit unusual, according to what he had learned from others. Generally, there should have at least been one or two of the worgen traveling to and from the capital on official duty.
As he neared the encampment, Jarod noticed one other odd fact. True, the worgen were silent in the forest, but he should have heard some sound of activity. It was as if they were all asleep . . . or gone.
But no sooner had he thought that than Jarod sensed he was no longer alone. Impatient with matters, he simply stopped and waited.
As the night elf hoped, a worgen slipped out from among the trees. In fact, it was the very worgen for whom he had been looking.
“Eadrik. Good! I wanted to talk with—”
The worgen signaled him to silence. Jarod obeyed instantly.
From farther back along Jarod’s path, there came a muffled gasp, followed by a grunt. Eadrik leapt past the night elf, who turned to join him.
Someone had been tracking Jarod. The night elf realized that he had not even noticed. Whoever it was had been very well trained in moving stealthily.
His mind went to the assassins. If they could murder Highborne, how easy it must have been to simply follow a fool like Jarod. His skill had evidently rusted greatly, after all.
Barely had he begun trailing Eadrik than he almost collided with the worgen, who stood stiffly, staring at something a little farther down the trail.
It was another worgen . . . minus his head. Even in death, he still retained his lupine form, something that Jarod had not expected.
The killer was someone of high skill, indeed. Jarod could see how cleanly the head had been severed. What made that more astounding was that the evidence he saw indicated that the worgen had been facing his slayer.
“I warned Samuel not to take this lightly! I warned him that they were dangerous even to us!”
“Who?”
Eadrik did not answer. With a growl, the worgen lunged ahead, on the path of whoever had killed his companion. Utterly baffled at this turn, Jarod had no other recourse but to keep up. That immediately proved difficult, for the worgen dropped down on all fours, increasing his speed dramatically.
The worgen sniffed the air as he ran, following the scent. The pair quickly left the vicinity of the encampment and, shortly after that, even the most remote part of Darnassus. The deep forest beckoned ominously, but neither slowed even though Jarod had a bad feeling about where things were heading.