And as the one behemoth stomped among the scattering defenders, another broke through the forest elsewhere, sending trees down on the fighters and seizing other victims in his thick, four-fingered hands. As the second monster crushed the life out of his prey, the rest of the trees exploded and identical fiends fell upon the would-be victors. The battle had turned into a catastrophe of proportions as terrible as the legendary creatures loose among the tiny night elves.
They have set magnataur upon us! the high priestess marveled grimly. They have dared set magnataur loose in Ashenvale!
The danger to the Horde itself surely should have been obvious to Garrosh, but he had taken the risk and thus far had chosen well. To bring the savage giants of the wastes of Northrend to Ashenvale had surely been a mighty test in itself. Tyrande could not imagine how even the Horde could have managed to bring them without some sacrifice already on its part.
With heavy thumps, the magnataur wreaked havoc merely by moving. Tyrande counted eight in all—every one of them bulls—and though a small number, it was astonishing to see them together. So violent were magnataur that males such as these lived isolated from one another, or else they constantly came to blows.
The beasts crushed and tossed about their victims as if the mighty Alliance army was little more than ants. A nightsaber lacking its rider attempted to bite at the heavy, cylindrical leg of one of the magnataur. For its bravery, the cat was taken up in one hand, then torn apart with both. The magnataur then threw the mangled pieces into the river, which already ran red with blood.
Somewhere out there, Tyrande knew Shandris was trying her best to save her troops. The high priestess yearned to continue her own charge, but knew that she had to try to stop the magnataur first.
Reining her cat to a halt, she called upon Elune’s aid in that regard. As it always did, the light of the Mother Moon shone down upon her. Tyrande prayed for guidance—
Yet another huge boulder soared above her. Too late, Tyrande realized that the magnataur were the “catapults,” and for them Garrosh evidently had one particular target in mind. The glow of Elune had actually pointed her out to them. The magnataur, for all their savagery, were intelligent enough to understand what was needed. Garrosh wanted the glowing target destroyed. If it was another priestess, that would be one fewer to aid Tyrande.
And if they slew the high priestess . . . they knew that they would deal the night elves and the Alliance a devastating blow.
The shadow of the boulder passed in front of her. The high priestess pulled hard, turning her mount away from the oncoming crash and the deadly spray that would follow.
As she did, though, a sharp pain caught her near the shoulder blade. Another did near the lower part of her back.
Two arrows had struck the high priestess.
Tyrande knew that she had been tricked. Whether by the magnataur or one or two daring archers, Garrosh wanted the night elf ruler dead. In this case, the boulder had been the decoy the archers had needed.
And as the monsters from Northrend tore through her people, Tyrande dropped limply to the ground.
25
Valor
Var’dyn looked impatiently at Archmage Mordent as they neared the grove where they were supposed to finally have answers to the horrendous crimes against the Highborne. Mordent moved with the confidence of one who had made the right decision, a decision of which the younger, ambitious spellcaster did not approve in the least.
“What does it matter if we are handed the culprits’ heads? Darnassus is complicit in this: you know that! This went on much too long and with too many excuses! The archdruid is—”
“Someone who has given us the chance to survive,” Mordent replied calmly as he walked.
“Pfah! We do not need him to survive! The Highborne—”
The senior mage turned abruptly, causing not only Var’dyn, but the rest of the party to stumble to a halt. Mordent studied the other magi—all younger than him—before finally settling his gaze upon Var’dyn once more.
“Azeroth has changed . . . changed in a manner unseen since Zin-Azshari fell. Nothing is as it was before. What we have done to maintain our ways for all these millennia no longer applies! How many are there of us now? How are our ranks replenishing? How many children born to our people over the last generation?”
Although no one answered—not even Var’dyn—it was not because they did not know the answers. Rather, it was just the opposite: they knew too well the truth.
“When we were immortal,” the senior archmage went on, “such things did not matter much. Death was a minor occurrence generally due to carelessness. Now, as with our brethren in Darnassus, we face mortality. But unlike our brethren, the Highborne will not be mourned if we cease to exist, unless we prove we can change. We must abide by the rules of the high priestess and the archdruid until we are accepted back into night elf society. . . .”
“We fought beside them—” Var’dyn started.
“A moment of necessity more than remorse. As soon as we could, we reverted to our ways, played with our magic—and did nothing else! We learned nothing from Zin-Azshari’s fall!”
“These murders cannot be forgiven!”
Mordent thumped the bottom of his staff on the ground. Sparks flew and the dirt and grass beneath burnt black. “And they will not! If the assassins are captured, they will be turned over to us! Darnassus justice demands that as much as our own! Now, will that satisfy you for the moment?”
Var’dyn sullenly nodded.
“I will not betray Malfurion and his mate, Var’dyn. They honor their word; I honor mine. That is the key to our future. We respect each other.”
Archmage Mordent turned back to the path ahead and resumed walking. The other Highborne followed, Var’dyn a step after. However, he quickly repositioned himself next to their leader, and no one argued. Var’dyn had the power and skill to maintain his position unless Mordent decreed otherwise and, despite their current differences, the senior archmage still favored the younger spellcaster.
A figure suddenly stepped out onto the path. They recognized one of those who served Maiev Shadowsong. “I have come to lead you.” She glanced around at the party. “Best to keep close together. You will need to on the path ahead.”
Var’dyn sneered, but Mordent politely responded, “Lead on. We are anxious to have this concluded.”
“So are we. This has gone on long enough.”
Some of the Highborne nodded satisfaction at this comment. Darnassus after all understood that these heinous crimes had to be punished.
They followed the slim female along the winding route, which wound even more than Mordent or Var’dyn recalled from the directions given to them earlier. Still, all that mattered was that soon they would be at their destination.
“Where is Maiev?” Mordent asked. “Has she the villains ready for us?”
“Justice will be meted out when you arrive there. She promises that.”
Even Var’dyn radiated some satisfaction upon hearing that. The Highborne grew more eager to reach their destination, which their guide assured them was very close now.
They entered a clearing. The Watcher strode on.
“Is this not it?” queried Var’dyn impatiently.
Their guide continued walking, not even bothering to look back.
“Insolent whelp.” Var’dyn raised a hand toward her.
Mordent used his staff to bring the hand down before the other mage could cast. “Wait. There is something wrong. . . .”
Jagged lines of crimson energy thrust up from the ground. They ensnared the Highborne before any among them could cast a spell. The energy then ran through each of the magi, who doubled over from sharp pain.
“As arrogant as ever,” someone commented with contempt. “More than ten thousand years and you still think the world bends to your slightest desire. . . .”