to show weakness, my love, even if in these extraordinary times it would certainly be reasonable to do so. We already knew how terrible things are in some of the other regions; that they have all come here is a sign that, despite everything, the Alliance holds together.”
Malfurion shook his head. “But to what extent?”
She took his arm and led him off to the temple. “That,” the high priestess answered soothingly, “we will find out come the morrow. Until then, there is little point in worrying too much.”
Malfurion frowned but said nothing. As he and Tyrande headed off, though, he took one last look at the portal.
But the one figure he hoped would materialize did not do so . . . and the archdruid wondered if he truly ever would.
10
THE BANQUET
With all having arrived save Stormwind, it behooved Malfurion to indeed see that the summit began. In order to build the mood to a positive level, he and Tyrande had agreed to host a banquet for all the guests. Accustomed to dealing with diurnal races, the night elves held the dinner banquet at sunset in an open area just beyond the confines of Darnassus. With food and drink of countless varieties set before them and the tranquil forest nearby, the rulers, emissaries, and their staffs gradually relaxed. Even Drukan went out of his way and permitted food not brought by his vessel to be served to the Dark Irons . . . but only after his chosen taster had verified that nothing was poisoned.
Night elf musicians played not only music composed by their own race but also favored works from among the peoples represented by the guests. There was only one common thread between the songs: all of them had been chosen to stir the heart, to suggest promise in the future.
Yet, there were still undertones of trouble brewing. Malfurion had spoken with more than one representative and in the process sought to verify his suspicions concerning the state of each realm. What he had learned at times discouraged him far more than his confident face reflected.
Among the dwarves, food was growing scarce, and old, bitter rivalries threatened to engulf the race. To add to the troubles, many of their underground passages had collapsed during the Cataclysm and still needed to be cleared. Thus far, matters had not come to a head, but they needed only one incident to have that happen.
The human domains also had to rebuild, and some of them were arguing over where current borders existed. Food and shelter were common problems, and Tyrande and Malfurion had already promised what aid the night elves could offer. Sisters of Elune and druids now journeyed through each part of the Alliance, using their abilities to heal both the people and nature.
But, from what Malfurion had heard, it was not enough.
Still, overall, the banquet began to have the effect that he sought. The dwarves did not even argue among themselves, and the gnomes had not set off any disastrous inventions.
Seated by Tyrande, Malfurion looked at the empty places to his right. “Genn indicated he would be arriving soon,” the high priestess informed her husband. “Eadrik just came with the message.”
“I thought I saw Eadrik, but I was not certain. There should be—” He hesitated as he caught sight of a shape nearing the banquet. “Odd. Who is that approaching now? It looks like—a draenei!”
Tyrande squinted—something she was having to do more and more often—in the direction he was staring. “Not just any draenei! That is Velen.”
Others began to notice the extremely tall figure—he stood nearly a foot taller than Malfurion—in the golden robes. His skin was alabaster white and his legs ended in thick cloven hooves. The Prophet had silver hair that reached past the shoulders and was set in ornate braids. He also had a matching beard that hung nearly to his waist.
Velen’s eyes were a brilliant blue and literally glowed. But most arresting of all was the luminous sigil just above his head, a sign of the gift he had been granted from the mystical naaru, energy beings from beyond Azeroth, beyond the otherworldly realm of Outland. They were creatures with an affinity to the Holy Light, of which Velen was now the chief prophet of the draenei. Other draenei wielded the power of the gift, but none so much as the figure before the assembly. In fact, the Light not only emanated from the sigil but at certain times almost seemed to faintly surround the august arrival