Shandris and the high priestess took in everything, but voiced no opinion until the pair was done. At that point Tyrande Whisperwind looked to her general. “What say you?”
“It sounds as if the line is well set up. The thrust forward might be wise; one should never keep on the defensive with the Horde. I will have scouts set out immediately while we distribute our own forces along the perimeter Commander Haldrissa has established. The river is a good point of defense in case we have to pull back for one reason or another. We will leave a row of archers to give cover fire in case of that.”
“The goblin mist,” Haldrissa reminded her.
“No mist, natural or otherwise, will obscure our sight this time,” the high priestess promised. “Elune will see to that.”
The commander visibly exhaled. Suddenly, she felt very exhausted.
Tyrande looked upon her with sympathy, focusing for one moment on the eye patch. “You have served me well over the millennia, Haldrissa . . . and sacrificed much too. Now serve me by getting some well-deserved rest.”
“I know how the commander has laid out everything,” Denea offered before Haldrissa could turn down the gracious suggestion. “She can rest easy knowing all will be well.”
“It is settled, then.” The high priestess’s gaze met the commander’s. In those eyes, Haldrissa saw nothing but respect and compassion. Tyrande truly believed Haldrissa needed sleep, and who was she to argue with the co-ruler of all night elves?
“As you wish.”
Tyrande corrected her. “As you must, Haldrissa. We will need your experience badly. You know Ashenvale better than most.”
“Thank you, High Priestess.” From many others, the veteran warrior might have taken the comments as simple assuaging of any hurt feelings on Haldrissa’s part, but from Tyrande the commander knew that they were honest. That made her feel better as she excused herself and headed toward where she had made her camp.
As she retired, she kept her glaive nearby. It was very relieving to have the high priestess and the general in control of things, but Haldrissa had indeed been stationed in Ashenvale much longer than nearly anyone else here. She was more at home in the forests of this land than she would have been back in Darnassus. She felt attuned to Ashenvale, and when it suffered, it was as if a part of her did also.
And as she shut her eye, she could not help feeling that, despite the presence of the high priestess, much more terrible suffering was meant for Haldrissa’s beloved Ashenvale. . . .
Tyrande missed Haldrissa’s presence almost immediately, but gave no hint. Other than Shandris, the rest of the officers were much, much younger than her. Several had grown up only knowing the War of the Ancients as some epic tale of their parents. They could appreciate the obvious repercussions it had created and understood such matters as why most people hated the Highborne, but they still did not understand just how much the high priestess felt as if she were suffering from déjà vu. Here she was again, having to defend a world turned upside down by the evil of a creature who thought itself the ultimate judge. Back then it had been Queen Azshara. Now, it was Deathwing the Destroyer. And because of both of them, the night elves were faced with daunting obstacles to their continued survival.
But although instead of demons she faced the Horde, Tyrande found no solace in that. Blood was blood; death was death.
I am growing old, she mused, then quickly buried the thought. Instead she looked into herself and reached for Elune’s comforting blessing. Although she herself did not notice it, the shaft of soft, pale light that often shone down on her when she looked to the Mother Moon for guidance reappeared. Only when several Sentinels went down on one knee did she realize it.
“Rise, please.” Tyrande did not like her mere presence as Elune’s vessel to cause one disruption after another. While in general she had been successful at lessening the kneeling, moments like this frustrated her. Neither she nor the lunar goddess sought adulation . . . although, admittedly, even she happily revered Elune. Tyrande just did not believe that she also deserved reverence; she was only the Mother Moon’s servant.
Shandris was off organizing the troops with the assistance of the ambitious young Denea and several other officers both from Ashenvale and Darnassus. The Sentinel lines had already been shored up.
One welcome addition to the army gathering in defense of Ashenvale was a ship of mixed forces that had unexpectedly been offered to Tyrande just before departure. With Theramore’s suggestion, members of the escort of each representative had been offered the chance to volunteer to help. So many had joined that the ship had been packed tight. In addition to Jaina Proudmoore’s people, all three dwarven clans—including the Wildhammers and a number of their gryphons—the gnomes, the draenei, and other humans stood ready to fight alongside the night elves.
She peered beyond the river, beyond the forest edge on the other side. In the distance, mist gathered over the area. It had begun coalescing almost exactly the moment that the force under her overall command had arrived, as if the Horde had been awaiting her arrival.
Elune, guide us, she prayed. The high priestess surveyed the warriors making up the front. They all had that earnest, wary look she recalled too well from the many wars in which she had fought.
A warning horn sounded.
Tyrande searched for the source, but instead found Shandris riding toward her, Ash’alah, the high priestess’s own cat, racing alongside.
“Mount!” Shandris called as she pulled up. “Mount quickly!”
“What is it?”
Shandris pointed to the east. As if a silent but raging river, the goblin mist surged forward. Gigantic trees vanished as the thick fog enveloped them. Within the short moment that Tyrande had watched it, the mist had nearly reached the river.
She leapt aboard her nightsaber just as another horn blew from the southeast. It did not surprise either of them to see that the mist now rushed forth there also.
A shout from ahead signaled the mist’s advance there, also. Tyrande marveled at the mechanisms the goblins must have put together to create this fog. As the wind shifted briefly, she also smelled the stench that Ashenvale’s defenders had reported. The fog was more of a huge patch of smoke, as if the forest were on fire somewhere.
“You would do better farther back,” Shandris suggested.
“I did not come here to hide behind everyone else. I am here because I am needed, Shandris . . . especially at this moment.”
Tyrande raised her hands toward the sky. Even though the moon was not evident now, the beam of silver light shone down brighter upon her.
Tyrande focused her mind entirely on her prayer. She asked much of Elune but believed that the deity expected what she intended and would grant it.
Shandris gasped, then recovered. Other Sentinels looked her way, but the general angrily waved them back to their watch.
A beam of moonlight shone down upon Tyrande. The high priestess glowed brighter than the day. The glow grew, first spreading before her, then expanding to her left and right.
The light of Elune draped across the Alliance lines, confronting the encroaching goblin mist wherever it was. The foul-smelling fog moved above the river first, reaching the midway point. But then the moonlight met it.
Tyrande stared straight ahead. As the power of Elune neared the mist, she felt the other priestesses who had come with the expedition finally join her efforts. Strengthened by their prayers, Tyrande’s plan thrust ahead.