away. Malfurion could all but read him. Eadrik feared betraying his lord in even the slightest manner.
“Your loyalty is commendable, but if you do not tell me now, I must demand the truth from Genn. With the summit imminent, any question I have concerning Gilneas’s application to rejoin the Alliance might tilt matters in a direction neither he nor I would prefer.”
The human swallowed, then finally nodded. “It’s nothing, Archdruid! I wasn’t meaning to watch you at all! It’s just that you happened to be here—happened to be here with one of them. . . .”
“One of . . . the Highborne? You have been watching the Highborne?”
Swallowing again, Eadrik continued: “My lord knows some of their history from you and others. He distrusts whatever influence they might have.”
It was something Malfurion had heard before. Those previous to state this belief had all been night elves, though.
“No slight was meant to you,” the human quickly added. “My lord has the greatest respect for your abilities and word.”
“Then he may take my word that the Highborne are of no concern to Gilneas. That should keep him from sending you or anyone else on unnecessary excursions.”
Eadrik bowed his head. “Yes, Archdruid.”
Malfurion took on a kinder tone. “I know that you are all on edge due to the summit. It will go well.”
“We understand.”
“Please give Genn my best.”
The human gave a short bow, then scurried into the forest. Malfurion frowned and turned toward Darnassus. He believed that Eadrik had told the truth when he had said that Genn Greymane distrusted the Highborne. The archdruid also believed that Gilneas had not had anything to do with the one mage’s disappearance.
But what Malfurion Stormrage also believed was that this incident somehow was tied to the summit . . . and possibly the desired failure of it.
9
A FINAL FAREWELL
The funeral for Shalasyr was a short, relatively modest affair despite Tyrande’s desire to see Jarod’s bride honored appropriately. That had been due to Jarod’s choice: he had felt that Shalasyr would have not wanted much pomp and circumstance. She had preferred simplicity, and he believed that included her final rites. Of course, there was also the nagging guilt that perhaps Jarod had insisted on the shorter ceremony simply so as to lessen his agony a bit.
Attendance was limited to those who had known her best. The high priestess stood behind the funeral bier upon which the body of Shalasyr had been placed. The light of Elune shone down through the temple ceiling, focusing on both Jarod’s beloved and Tyrande.
“Darkness covered us in the beginning,” she uttered, “and we could not see. We cried for guidance and the moon shone down bright upon us. Her soft light not only illuminated the night for us but also gave comfort. Her light touched us from within, enabling us to see even when the moon was not visible. . . .”
Whether this was entirely fact was not something debated among the night elves. What the high priestess stated concerned as much the souls of her people as it did actual events. What no one could argue with was that the Mother Moon took special care with her favored children, and they were grateful to her for that.
Jarod knelt at the forefront, his gaze never leaving Shalasyr’s beautiful, almost ethereal face. She could have been a marble statue, so perfect did she seem to him. His mate looked utterly at peace, even appearing to wear the hint of a smile.
“Now,” Tyrande went on, “we ask that the Mother Moon guide our sister Shalasyr on her sacred journey and that her ancestors and loved ones who have gone before her will make her welcome. . . .”
Jarod heard nothing after that. He saw only his life with Shalasyr and all the mistakes that he had made during it. He was grateful that she had put up with him despite all those mistakes when, had she remained behind, she could have been a revered priestess of the Mother Moon.
Tyrande raised her arms, reaching toward the moonlight. Jarod broke out of his reverie for a moment, then lost interest again.
He looked up a moment later as a silver aura suddenly radiated from Shalasyr’s body.
No one else seemed to notice . . . or at least no one reacted. Jarod stared at the soft, comforting glow as it rose over his beloved. It took on the vague shape of a figure and slowly separated from the still form.
“Shalasyr . . . ,” Jarod murmured.
The shape paused