touched his cheek. “But take care around them.”
“You know that I will.”
Maiev bowed her head again. “With your permission, I will begin this hunt immediately.”
Tyrande nodded. Replacing her helmet, Maiev silently departed.
“I will send four Sentinels with you when you go to the Highborne,” Tyrande informed her husband. “They will act as bearers for the body.”
“Let me seek the aid of some of my calling. It might not be wise for the Highborne to be confronted by armed fighters just now.”
She saw the wisdom in his choice. “Are you going to leave immediately?”
“Not just yet. I wish Velen’s opinion on this and some other matters. I had not expected his arrival, but it may be that it was fortuitous. We will need his steady demeanor to keep temperatures from boiling over once all know of the murder. Every distrust among the various factions will suddenly rise to the forefront.”
It was decided that the Sentinels would remain on guard here for as long as needed. Tyrande also summoned another pair of priestesses versed in the preserving arts to do what they could to maintain the freshness of the body.
Aware that they could not let the Highborne wait long before being told of the discovery, the archdruid and the high priestess quickly returned to the banquet. They had feared that their absence might have caused a wariness to settle over the other participants, but, to their relief, everyone still seemed at ease. Part of that likely had to do with Velen, who had departed his seat to speak with the Dark Irons. What matter there was that would bring the draenei and the dwarves together, neither night elf could say, but Velen had somehow managed not only to keep Drukan distracted but also to make him feel cheered.
“The Light truly works in amazing ways,” Malfurion murmured to his wife.
“And Velen is clearly schooled in the art of diplomacy.” Tyrande hesitated as she saw another Sentinel approaching. “More news . . .”
The Sentinel saluted and immediately said, “High Priestess, Stormwind has arrived.”
The news brought both relief and concern to Malfurion and his mate. Tyrande asked, “How long ago?”
“When I left with this news, they had just disembarked. I searched for you here, but could not find you.”
The high priestess eyed her husband. “The attendants on duty at the portal have orders to guide the party to their quarters, but I should go and greet Varian. . . .”
To their other side, Genn Greymane’s voice suddenly rose above the din. He had an audience that consisted of most of Kurdran’s party. Genn, clearly much more relaxed due to not only the acceptance the others had shown but also the dwarven ale he had just finished downing, had begun regaling the others with some of his past battles against the Horde.
“The key was to keep our front united,” the king was saying as Malfurion and Tyrande moved on toward Velen. “Split us apart, and we’d all be crow food! Each man knew that to falter would mean his comrades dying for his mistake, and none would have that! We let out the Gilnean battle cry—”
“Consisting of a pleading for mercy so great the orcs no doubt turned from the lot of you in disgust,” said a mocking voice.
The effect of the words on Genn Greymane was immediate. He leapt up from the table, in his fury sweeping aside the food and drink before him without care to where or upon whom it landed. A dark cast fell upon his features, and for a moment he seemed to swell and even begin to change.
“Who dares spout such a monstrous slur upon me and Gilneas? Who?”
His outraged gaze swiftly pored over each and every person seated there, seeking the culprit. Most simply stared back, as stunned as he at the savage pronouncement. A few looked about anxiously.
And a few, such as Malfurion and Tyrande, looked from Genn Greymane to the direction from where the speaker actually stood. Malfurion took a step toward the commanding figure, but the high priestess stayed him with a hand.
The king of Gilneas caught their movement. He followed their eyes to his accuser.
“You . . .”
“And having swayed the orcs so eloquently, you no doubt did as all brave Gilneans do so well: skulked away and hid until the battle was over. . . .”
Genn clearly desired to lunge for his counterpart’s throat. His hands grasped at the air as if already crushing in the windpipe. Yet, somehow he managed to stay his