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Mordent, Var’dyn, and some of the others managed to look up at their captor. Maiev Shadowsong smirked as she stepped in front of her prisoners. “The archdruid was more of a challenge than all of you put together!”

“What is the meaning of this?” Archmage Mordent demanded through gritted teeth. “Release us!”

She chuckled. “You are a dense lot. I am just finishing what I started, only this time to end the game once and for all!”

“You!” Var’dyn snarled. “You are the assassin! I was right! Darnassus betrays us!”

“Darnassus betrayed me, you mean.” Maiev glared. “I served loyally for thousands of years! I protected the sanctity of our life! Then, in one fell swoop, the ‘great’ archdruid returns to the high priestess, marries her, and is proclaimed co-ruler! He declares us undeserving of regaining our immortality and then, worst of all, he brought your evil back among us!”

“Where is the archdruid?” Mordent demanded. “What have you done—?”

“Never mind him!” Var’dyn interrupted. “The assassin stands in front of us!” Grinning darkly, he started to glow with power.

“You have two ways to die,” their captor calmly said. “One is to accept the punishments for your crimes. For that, you will die relatively painlessly.”

“A little pain means nothing to a Highborne,” Var’dyn mocked, the glow about him growing stronger. “Let us see how much pain you can stand. . . .”

Despite the magical bonds that surrounded them, Var’dyn clenched his fist and cast. His body flared bright from so much gathered energy.

He screamed—or rather, tried to scream. His mouth gaped, but no sound escaped.

Var’dyn’s spell faded. Instead, a black aura enveloped him. Those Highborne nearest to him did their best to pull away for fear that somehow they would be caught up in whatever was happening.

Var’dyn continued his voiceless scream. His skin seared and began to peel away in burnt fragments. His eyes turned black. He shriveled. The burning Highborne struggled to move, but the bonds of energy held him in place as the spell of the black aura slowly consumed him.

His elegant garments became cinders. His flesh crumbled away, followed by the muscle and sinew beneath. Only when those were almost gone did the life extinguish from him. Moments later, even his bones had been reduced to ash that itself vanished.

The black aura faded.

That is the second choice of death you have,” Maiev blandly remarked.

The imprisoned spellcasters looked aghast. Recovering, Mordent said, “There is no need for this. Some agreement should surely be possible—”

She turned from them, but not before giving Mordent a crooked, mocking smile. “Oh, we have. We have agreed on your choice of death. Next, we are sure to agree on the crimes you are guilty of that make you deserve it.”

Mordent looked at her openmouthed, aware that he talked to someone who was utterly mad . . . and who held their lives in her hands.

The moment the sounds of war rang out, Haldrissa had abandoned her rest. Long used to sleeping in her armor—a survival trait of any sensible Sentinel—the commander had only had to put on her helmet. Seizing up her glaive, she had rushed to her nightsaber and ridden in search of her troops.

She had spotted them too late. Denea already had them crossing the river with the other groups. Haldrissa had felt an emptiness at watching her warriors go into battle without her.

But then she had witnessed the charge of the magnataur.

Like so many others, the veteran commander stared at the horrors looming over their comrades. She watched helplessly as one gigantic creature seized part of a cracked tree trunk and used it to bat away scattering Sentinels. Another took sadistic pleasure in snatching one fighter after another and throwing them toward the defenders still on the other side of the river.

Amidst all the carnage that the magnataur created, Haldrissa spotted a more subtle threat. The Horde moved in again behind the behemoths, and among the first were archers. With the Sentinels in disarray, the archers quickly moved across open areas in the river and onto a part of the bank where one of the magnataur’s thrown boulders had sent the defenders elsewhere for the moment.

The archers did not move as if simply going into battle, and for most purposes they would have been better suited remaining on the opposing shore. These had some other, more nefarious purpose in mind, although she could not say what.

Then some of the magnataur began tossing boulders again, this time specifically behind the center of the Alliance lines. Haldrissa had to make her cat veer away from that area in order to avoid being struck by sharp flying fragments. As the nightsaber turned, the high priestess briefly came into her view—as did the fact that Tyrande Whisperwind was directly in the path of the hurtling missiles.

There was nothing Haldrissa could do for the high priestess, who she realized was the particular target of the Horde. She gave thanks to Elune when Tyrande evaded the deadly rain, then realized too late why the archers risked themselves so.

By that time two arrows had downed the ruler of the night elves.

Priestesses and Sentinels rushed to the still figure. In Haldrissa’s mind, they wasted their energy. She was also furious with herself for not preventing what had happened, even if in truth there was little she could have done.

The Horde became the focus of her collapsing world. They had destroyed Silverwing, slain scores of brave night elves, and now assassinated the high priestess. Haldrissa thought that Azeroth was surely falling into doom, but she swore there and then that the Horde would pay dearly.

The commander turned her mount back to the mayhem. She searched everywhere for some way to avenge her people on the orcs.

And there he stood.

Haldrissa first recognized Garrosh by his stance. He was absolute master of the battlefield. He waved his foul weapon over his head, and even from where she was, Haldrissa imagined she could hear the axe’s wail. Beside him were several orcs who were likely guards, one of whom also carried with him a curled horn.

Without at first understanding what she did, the bitter commander charged toward the river. As she rode, reflexes took over, and out came the glaive. When an orc stood in her path, his eyes showing his eagerness for her blood, she rewarded him with a toss of the triple-bladed weapon that shot forth with the speed of an arrow and cut a swath through his barrel chest. Haldrissa had already caught the bloody glaive and ridden past before the orc’s corpse could even fall face first into the water.

On the other side, someone shouted her name. The commander stirred from her obsession just enough to see Denea staring wide-eyed at her. Two other mounted Sentinels from her outpost also paused to watch.

Haldrissa paid them no more mind. Only Garrosh Hellscream mattered. Despite a magnataur noticing her, the veteran warrior urged her nightsaber on.

A huge hand grabbed at the commander, but Haldrissa managed to evade the grasping fingers. She rode under the behemoth, avoiding a moving leg. Ahead, an orc mounted on a huge wolf saw her fast approaching and moved to intercept.

She could not throw the glaive here, but was more than practiced at using it hand-to-hand. Haldrissa blocked the axe that came at her chest, then slashed with the curved edge of one blade. The glaive tore through the orc’s throat, nearly beheading him. He tumbled back, dead.

But other orcs now saw her and seemed aware that she could be so close for only one reason. They moved to surround the night elf, who vaguely registered that she was going to die here, only yards from her goal.

However, no sooner did the first of the reinforcements join her original foe than he was attacked by another mounted Sentinel. Haldrissa saw that it was Denea. The younger officer fought with a zeal that showed that she understood what her commander hoped to do regardless of the consequences.