“I would let you admire my work, but you might see fit to try to interfere again. . . .”
Maiev threw whatever she had gathered from her pouch at Jarod.
But instead of flying at the former guard captain, the small black particles were blown to the side by an unexpected wind. As the particles hit the various trees and other flora, they created a terrible hiss. Jarod saw smoke rise in each spot.
Instinct made him look to Malfurion, who now stood on the other side of the Highborne. The archdruid met his gaze. The millennia faded away as they again became comrades in battle against a dangerous foe. Jarod read the archdruid’s intentions and nodded. He moved just as the archdruid bent down in front of another, identical artifact and began concentrating. In doing so, Malfurion presented his back to the insane warden.
Maiev swore and reached for her pouch again. Jarod ran for his dagger.
Ignoring her brother, Maiev honed in on the archdruid. She raised the hand high.
Not caring about accuracy, Jarod tossed the dagger. It collided flat against the helmet just next to the eye slit, momentarily startling Maiev. The contents of her palm—whatever they were—spilled harmlessly to the ground.
Drawing her crescent again, Maiev focused on Jarod.
“You seem to be running out of tricks, Brother! Getting tired—and old? You can blame the grand and glorious archdruid for that too! Everyone cheers him for his part in getting Teldrassil cleansed and purified of the Nightmare’s taint, but they forget that he also fought against getting the World Tree properly blessed! Said that it was time the night elves actually lived in their world. Death was welcome! You might say that he killed your precious Shalasyr, Jarod! She would be just fine, forever immortal, if he had not decided he knew best for all of us!”
“Shalasyr died because it was her time,” Jarod responded to his sister. “As we all should.”
Maiev smiled again. “Then you will not mind dying now.”
She teleported, reappearing at his right side and swinging her umbra crescent. With a desperate twist, Jarod saved himself from death but not injury. The tips of the blades cut through his side, just deep enough to make him scream. He clutched at the wound as he stumbled forward.
Although the wound did not cut into an organ, it was still a harsh one. Jarod had to keep his hand pressed to the six-inch slash as he sought the glaive that had slain the second Watcher.
No longer considering her brother of consequence, Maiev immediately spun back to the archdruid. Malfurion was caught up in trying not only to free the Highborne but also to keep them from dying before that happened. He could not afford to take even the slightest concentration away from Mordent and his companions, which left him entirely open to Maiev.
Pain and loss of blood threatening to overwhelm him, Jarod reached the glaive. Using the one hand available to him, he did his best to grip the weapon. It was almost impossible for him to stand straight, and he knew that if he did, the blood flow would increase. Nevertheless, Jarod forced himself to do exactly that. He had to stand straight to throw the glaive. Worse, he had to do it without his dominant hand.
He had been a guard captain, a military commander, a leader, and then someone simply trying to make certain that he and his wife survived the wilderness. In many ways, even more than his career, his life with Shalasyr had meant that he had been forced to adapt to doing things as necessary, not as convenient.
Jarod threw.
The glaive flew at Maiev. She heard the sinister whisper of it as it moved exactly as Jarod had calculated. His sister brought up her crescent to deflect the oncoming weapon, her casual movements showing her disdain for his “desperate” act.
But Jarod had not tossed the glaive horizontally, as was normal. He had thrown it almost vertically, and in order to block what she thought was coming, Maiev held her weapon nearly the same way.
Thus, unimpeded, the flying glaive tore into her forearm close to the wrist. The blades cut through the armor and into the flesh.
Maiev cried out and dropped her crescent.
Jarod’s toss was not perfect. The glaive returned but landed in front of him, not in his grip again. He had to quickly bend for it, which brought about renewed agony and caused him to falter for a moment.
As he stood up, he saw that Maiev was no longer where she had stood. Jarod glanced fearfully in Malfurion’s direction, but the archdruid was untouched and well at work. Whatever he was doing had at least caused an end to the Highborne’s suffering, though they remained imprisoned.
Jarod found Maiev heading toward the far perimeter of the clearing. The hand near the wound hung limply. She held the wound tight with the other hand.
A few more steps or a single blink and she would be in the forest, making good her escape. Jarod had to stop her.
“Maiev!”
She paused and looked back. Through the slits of her helmet, her eyes were still defiant, still mocking.
He held the glaive ready. “Surrender, Maiev. You have no choice. I do not want to kill you.”
She laughed. “And you will not. As I indicated, that is the difference between us, Jarod. I do what has to be done, no matter what.”
Jarod started to throw. From behind him he heard movement and voices. By the sound of them, they were obviously not more of Maiev’s followers but rather searchers from Darnassus.
Maiev’s eyes flashed in triumph. “You are a fool. I will see our people restored to their greatness. . . . You have only delayed the inevitable.”
She teleported just as Jarod finally threw. The glaive struck where her lower legs would have been. The blades cut harmlessly into the brush, and the weapon then bounced off to the side.
“Elune, forgive me . . . ,” he muttered.
There were weak moans from the direction of the Highborne. Hand pressed against his side, Jarod stumbled toward the archdruid, who had finally found the way to release the magi. Many of the Highborne lay sprawled, unconscious.
Malfurion looked up from assisting Mordent. Jarod felt his shame rising.
“I failed. I am sorry.”
“You did not fail,” the archdruid pointedly replied. “They are alive.”
Jarod weaved back and forth, the adrenaline that had kept him going now fading. He shook his head. “I mean Maiev. I could have stopped her. I could have killed her. She would have killed me.”
“I know that.” Malfurion turned his head to observe several Sentinels and two druids burst into the area. “They will find her. They will take her alive, if possible.” He looked to Jarod again. “You did not fail, Jarod. You remained what a night elf should be. Maiev did not.”
“I—” Jarod felt the world starting to turn on its head. His hand slipped away from the wound, enabling Malfurion to see just how bad it actually was. “I—”
“Cenarius! Jarod! You should have told me!”
“She is my sister—”
The archdruid jumped up to grab him as he collapsed.
27
The Horde Ascendant
The Alliance lines struggled to re-form. Shandris knew that they had little time; if she were Garrosh—as repugnant a thought as she could imagine—she would get the Horde and, especially, the magnataur to turn around and resume the attack. Even if he did not know about the success of his archers in bringing down Tyrande, he would not want to waste the chaos he had already sown.
Tyrande . . . Shandris fought back a shiver. The archers had come closer to killing the high priestess than they even knew. Of course, none of them had survived to tell their master; Shandris had spotted them too late for her mother, but not too late to have her own archers shoot them.
The Sisters of Elune prayed feverishly over Tyrande, who was better but not yet whole. There had been something on the arrow heads that persisted in her body. She would recover, but it would take time.