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