draenei looked perturbed. “How did you find out?”
“What do you mean?”
“Matters have arisen that take me elsewhere. I planned to choose another priest to act as representative of the draenei and leave in the morning after giving my farewells to our hosts.”
His revelation cemented Anduin’s course. “I knew nothing. I knew only that I can learn best if I come with you.”
“Your father . . .”
“I’ve told him.”
The Prophet frowned. “Perhaps you should reconsider. The path of the Light is not a simple one, and you are young. Gifted, yes, and I say that honestly. Come to me in three years, perhaps—”
“If you try to leave me behind, I’ll follow. I know that I’ve chosen right. I feel it.”
“So young . . . and yet so old,” the draenei remarked with a sigh. He noticed the youth rub his arm. “You have an injury. Let me help you.” The Prophet placed an open hand on the area in question.
The Light emanated from the draenei’s palm, a wondrous glow no larger than an apple yet radiating so much majesty. It spread to the injured region. The pain in Anduin’s arm quickly receded, becoming little more than a memory in but the blink of an eye.
And as that happened, Anduin felt a stirring in his heart. Emotions arose, feelings of love and forgiveness.
Along with those feelings, an image formed, one not of memory, but rather imagination. Anduin only knew his mother from pictures, and so the vision he had of her was one formed throughout his young life. In that vision, she was glorious, comforting. . . .
“You love her very much, your mother,” Velen murmured. He did not bother to explain how he knew what Anduin was thinking. Velen was the Prophet, after all.
“She died when I was a baby, but all I’ve seen and heard from my father and others of the court makes me feel I know her . . . and love her.”
The draenei nodded. “And you love your father much also.”
Anduin swallowed, recalling the pain and the constant frustration with the king . . . but also all that Varian had sought to do for him. “Of course. Whatever our disagreements . . .”
Velen lowered his palm. The Light faded from both his hand and the prince. The emotions faded, too, though they never completely vanished.
“And that is in great part why the Light touches you so deep.” The Prophet smiled slightly. “Very well, Anduin. We leave come sunlight.”
16
A MESSENGER’S RESOLVE
Malfurion rushed back to the temple, his sense of failure with Varian compounded by the knowledge that the Sentinel who had spoken with Tyrande at the summit—subsequently drawing the high priestess away—no doubt had news of some other disaster. He suspected that it might concern the Highborne, but prepared himself for anything at this point.
To his surprise, it was not one of the priestesses who greeted him but rather one of his own. The anxious druid bowed low as Malfurion approached.
“Parsis!” The other druid was skilled, capable of shifting to storm crow form, and, given a bit more seasoning, could someday become an archdruid of high standing. Naturally, Malfurion never quite mentioned this future he saw to the younger druid himself. “You were assigned to Ashenvale! Why are you here?”
“It is not for me to answer that, Shan’do,” Parsis respectfully responded, the younger druid clearly exhausted. “There is another who has more than earned that right.”
Malfurion did not question him further. Parsis led him to the area where but recently Shalasyr’s body had lain shortly after Jarod had brought it to Darnassus.
He heard voices within, the voices of priestesses at prayer. The archdruid glanced at Parsis and saw the younger night elf look disturbed. Something had changed for the worse since he had left this place.
As they stepped inside, Tyrande turned from where she had been leading four other senior priestesses in the prayer. The light of Elune shone down upon not only her and the priestesses but also a figure lying on the platform between them.
It was a Sentinel. Malfurion did not recognize her. Her violet skin had paled considerably, not a good sign.
In silence, he joined his mate. Tyrande leaned close and whispered, “Her name is Aradria Cloudflyer. She is a courier from Ashenvale.”
“A wounded courier?” Malfurion did not like the direction this was taking.
The high priestess started to continue, but the Sentinel suddenly moaned. Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed up at the pair, eventually fixing on Malfurion.
“Arch—Archdruid . . . you know,