the orcs as they had thrown themselves against impossible odds. Such an act was not extraordinary where orcs were concerned: they often reveled in showing their willingness to sacrifice themselves.
“But what were they sacrificing themselves for?” she murmured to herself.
“What did you say, Commander?” Denea asked.
The pain from her wound coursed through Haldrissa, forcing her to put a hand to her head. Still, the notion of what had truly happened burned deep. “Send word ahead to the outpost. Have them survey the area carefully—”
“You think there are more orcs?”
“No.” She wished she were wrong. That would help matters. They were too late, though. The attackers had done their part, giving their lives for the Horde. “No . . . by now they have slipped back through. . . .”
There had been forays by orcs in the past, but something about this particular one struck her as sinister. The Horde had never sent a party this deep in this region, and certainly not one of such size.
She would have to send word to the general as soon as possible. For months, Shandris and the high priestess had been awaiting some act by the Horde that hinted of a change in the delicate balance between the two factions. Haldrissa now believed she had witnessed that very act.
But what does this incursion augur? the wounded commander wondered anxiously.
She had no answer. Still, whatever form it would take, the one thing Haldrissa did know was that there would be much, much more blood than had been spilled this day. Much more.
3
JAROD SHADOWSONG
“She is dying . . . my Shalasyr is dying!” the male night elf blurted to the archdruid. Jarod Shadowsong’s face was lined like no night elf’s that Malfurion had ever seen. While some of those lines had probably been the result of Jarod’s life away from his people, others were clearly more recent and likely had to do with the unmoving female so carefully held in his arms.
Jarod’s hair and beard had silvered, a stark change from how Malfurion recalled him. Jarod had been younger than Malfurion when they had first met—more than a thousand years, in fact—but the silvering and the lines made him look that much older than the archdruid. Malfurion wondered what the night elf before him had lived through since their last meeting.
“Jarod . . . ” It felt so strange to Malfurion to say the name, the two not having seen one another in nearly ten thousand years.
“It has been a long time since we last met,” the former commander and still-legendary hero from the War of the Ancients murmured, his eyes hollow. “Forgive me for coming to you like this. . . .”
Malfurion waved aside Jarod’s apology. Looking over Shalasyr, he saw how grave her condition was. “I could try to heal her, but I think it best if we bring her straight to Tyrande so that we have all options available to us! Quickly, now!”
Jarod looked hesitant to surrender any part of his hold on his companion, but at last he let the archdruid aid him. As the throng watched in absolute silence, the pair carried Shalasyr toward the temple.
The two Sentinels at the entrance moved respectfully aside as the archdruid neared. One gaped at the sight of Jarod; even with the cropped beard and long, loose mane—both utterly silvered now—there was something in his weathered face that remained absolutely recognizable to any who had seen him in the past.
“She will save you,” Malfurion heard the onetime captain murmur to the still female. “Tyrande will save you. . . . She will speak with Elune. . . .”
Malfurion hid his frown. Shalasyr felt extremely limp, and from the position by which he held her the archdruid could not tell if she breathed. She was beyond his power at this point, which only left Elune. Yet, how much would even the moon goddess do in such a drastic case?
Through the corridors of stone and living wood they rushed. Some of the priestesses they saw quickly offered assistance, but the archdruid understood that only his beloved would have the power to help Jarod’s mate at this point.
Her personal guard came to attention as Malfurion and his companions neared the sanctum she utilized in her role as high priestess. One of the guards wordlessly opened the way. Malfurion noted how every set of eyes focused first on Jarod before taking in Shalasyr. Everyone had long assumed that Jarod Shadowsong had perished at some point during the past millennia,