ten thousand years and you still think the world bends to your slightest desire. . . .”
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