Arthas approached the woman, and used the tip of his Frostmourne to lift the elven woman's head. The woman's eyes were of fury, and she tried to mumble something through her gag. The gag suddenly lit on fire, which harmlessly dissipated once the fabric was devoured. Arthas glanced at Jaina.
"You have plans for her. I can tell."
Jaina was, as always, perceptive. He indeed had plans for this woman. Her race would serve them as a perfect cudgel against the Legion. He considered striking her down, and raising her as one of his own, before quickly discarding the idea. If these Night Elves were even a bit as magically perceptive as Sylvanas' people, he ran a very great risk that they would sense her undeath. No, he will have to fall back on his old princely charm of persuasion. He withdrew his runeblade.
"You, Human." the woman addressed him. "We face a common enemy. It is clear to me now that you are no friend of the Burning Legion. As much as it pains me to say it, I find myself in need of your aid. And if your compatriot is correct, you have need of me."
"Perhaps." Arthas said. "Archimonde mentioned that two enemies of the Legion are still alive. One would be you. Who is the other?"
"Malfurion Stormrage" Sylvanas said before the Night Elf woman could answer him. "It is these two that the Legion blames for the loss at the War of the Ancients."
"Then I have another question. This Malfurion, where is he? If he truly is an infamous enemy of the Legion then he could serve a good use; a tempting distraction for the Legion at worst, a mighty fighter for us at best."
"Malfurion is…incapacitated. I must retrieve him."
"He is asleep, Whisperwind, and we both know it" Sylvanas said with distain. "That any woman would find it reasonable to choose a druid for their mate is an indictment on the entirety of the Kaldorei."
"Hey!" The woman started to protest, before Arthas cut her off. "And how do you know this, Sylvanas? You were not born among the Kaldorei."
"He is a druid." She scoffed. "Sleeping is almost all they do. And among them none are more lazy than the Druids of the Claw. You literally cannot get them to fight during Winter. They hibernate. And worse of all, druids are respected for spending most of their time sleeping." She stared Whisperwind right in the eyes. "Tell me, Priestess…the War of the Ancients was ten thousand years ago. How many of those years has he spent asleep?"
"…nearly seven thousand and a half." she sheepishly admitted.
Silence reigned for several moments before Arthas quipped "And I thought my father slept a lot in his old age."
"It's not that bad really." Whisperwind said. "He has spent nearly seven thousand and a half years sleeping, but he does wake up occasionally. I saw him last millennia."
"Perhaps, Prince Arthas, we can make do with the priestess alone? Anar belore, who knows what millennia of sleeping will do to the druid's power."
"Even if he is weak, he is of use. With any luck so will be his brethren." he looked over Whisperwind, and cut her bindings. He plastered a smile on his face, and extended his hand to her. "I am Arthas Menethil, prince of Lordaeron. I know of your last name, but we have never been formally introduced."
The woman stood up, and after a moment, grasped his hand. "Tyrande Whisperwind, priestess of Elune." They shook hands.
"You mentioned you must wake your beloved. Where does he rest?"
The woman's eyes narrowed. Arthas suspected that she saw through his pretty smile and pleasant tone.
"You must understand that I cannot in good faith disclose that to you. Mere moments ago, we were still enemies."
Arthas nodded. He understood. Unfortunately for her, he cared little for her objections. She would make herself of use, or be cast aside.
"And yet, I must insist. If you will not allow me to hear it; then select one of our group to accompany you. You will need the aid; especially should you encounter any undead."
"It's not about that." Tyrande guessed with precision. "You want to make sure I don't reveal your loyalties to the Archimonde."
"Alliances must be bound by something, Whisperwind." Arthas said calmly. "I trust any of my group to be the chain. Do not betray us to the Legion, and in the final battle, our forces will aid your fight against Archimonde."
The woman thought it through, but Arthas held no fear. She was weakened by her chains to the living. She could not afford to risk her life, and that of her race, on the gambit of betraying them. She needed all the allies she could get.
"The Quel'dorei, then. I'll need speed and skill. I can count on her for that." she finally relented.
Arthas nodded. She probably thought it was a safe choice. Arthas suspected it was a risky choice for them both. He could only hope she wished to destroy the Legion more than the Kaldorei irked her. And, of course, who knows what she might plot outside his view. He cast away the doubts easily enough. Sylvanas would see it through. And if she dares plot against him, he'll bear it through. She won't be the end of him.
Sylvanas floated over to Tyrande, and they both readied to depart. On impulse, Arthas called out her name. Sylvanas turned to regard him.
"None may stand against the might of the Scourge, Sylvanas. Our enemies will fall."
She considered his words for a few long moments. Finally, she spoke in a heavy tone. "Ana belore dela'na, Prince Arthas."
She turned, and departed with Tyrande with speed befitting of her people.
"'The Sun guides you, Prince Arthas'? Do these humans worship the Sun, Sylvanas?"
Sylvanas kept flying north east of Ashenvale. She mussed whether to just ignore her companion. After a few minutes she decided to respond.
"They worship the Light. If the stories are true, Arthas was once a paladin of great renown among his people."
She glanced at her companion, and saw that she had a hard time believing it. Nevertheless, it seemed like she would have no peace on this journey.
"Then why did you choose 'belore'?"
"Because it is we who worship the Sun."
"...I'm not sure I understand."
"You don't have to. It is enough that he will."
Silence once again reigned for few peaceful minutes. Riding as she was on her frostsaber tiger, Tyrande did not exert herself much when talking. Neither did Sylvanas. It was one of the few advantages of this forsaken form.
"So, you Quel'dorei have forsaken Elune then." It was a simple statement, but Sylvanas deeply suspected that it instead was a prodding question. She sighed in irritation.
"We rejected moon worship, and your other nocturnal ways."
"The Highborne are fools if they think to again court the enemies of Elune."
Silence reigned again. The words did not pierce her, nor she assumed that they were meant to. Her people have worshiped the Sun for many millennia. Whisperwind's warning will end up unheeded.
"You will find, Whisperwind, that it is not by Elune's will that you still breathe, but by the will of Arthas. It is not Elune defending these lands, but the immortal living and immortal dead. The Moon Goddess betrayed our people, but the Sun gave us strength in foreign lands. He ensured that our past king, Dath'Remar Sunstrider, would forge a weapon with power enough to slay our enemies, and secure our place in the world. But even Belore's light became dull and blunt before Arthas' will. What use is in life when everything is deluged in darkness? Whether by the will of the Sun, or solely by my own achievements, I must find the glow in this torment."
She saw fury in her eyes, and sighed. As much as she would enjoy fighting the woman, hurting her, they still had a need for her. She had to hold this alliance in place for just a bit longer. "…but, may Elune grant you strength, Whisperwind. We will need all the strength we can muster to destroy Archimonde."
The fury lessened, and though displeased, the woman attempted to reciprocate the gesture. "May…Belore grant you strength too, Sylvanas."
"If only I were so lucky. All the strength I draw; I do so from my master. The curse of the undeath. But there's nothing gained from giving up. With any luck our Gods will cooperate to grant us victory."
Thankfully, silence descended on them, and by the next day they reached the outskirts of Moonglade isle. As they approached a Kaldorei outpost, the woman spoke once more. "The Legion's pet orcs slayed Cenarius."
"The son of Elune is dead?" She could not prevent the shock from escaping her, as her deadened heart struck in surprise. "We fought those demon-infused orcs back near human lands of Strandbad. They fell before the might of the Scourge. How did these savages slay the son of a Goddess?"
"They are fierce fighters, even more so when they are imbued with the blood of the demons. Cenarius had almost slain them all before they had somehow managed to conjure up strength enough to repay him in kind. Though my heart grieves for him, we have a bigger problem at hand."
Sylvanas waited patiently for her to elaborate.
"Only the clarion call of Cenarius' horn can awaken the druids from their slumber. It rests nearby. We must claim it, if we are to have any chance against the Legion."
Sylvanas gave Whisperwind her most unimpressed look. She was beginning to seriously reevaluate whether it would better to cast her die with the Burning Legion instead. The woman clearly saw her look, and hurried to clarify.
"Don't look at me like that. Only Cenarius' powers can break through the Emerald Dream. His death must have had an adverse effect on the Dream. The Druids' surely sensed the corruption and death spreading through the forest. If they could wake, they would have met us already."
This did little to improve her predisposition against the druids. She found herself silently praying that the ally the Lich King foresaw for them was something more competent than a half-asleep druid.
They approached a thick, seemingly impassible forest. They passed through the trees as easily as if they were not there. Even in this ghastly form, she was still a Quel'dorei. They finally stepped foot into the Night Elven outpost. Whisperwind gasped, in shock, and then cried a call of revenge. Sylvanas could sympathize; it never was easy seeing your dead kin. The small outpost was littered with the dead Kaldorei warriors. A single-hand worth of those red-skinned orcs were also on the ground.
"We must be careful," Sylvanas suggested, "there's likely more of these creatures ahead."
"Careful?" the woman repeated, voice incredulous. "No, we must hurry. If these damned orcs claim the horn of Cenarius, all is lost. Elune's fury will strike down any of these foul creatures we come across."
The woman ran off east, and with annoyed sigh Sylvanas followed. As they neared the end of the path, and approached a body of water, they turned north crossing the shallow river to one of the Moonglave isles. As they kept marching north, they could hear a big ruckus. There was an orcish outpost it seemed. Idly Sylvanas considered what her punishment would be if she 'accidentally' wailed during the fight.
As the outpost came into view, they noticed that it seemed to be in ruins. Watchtowers broken, tents and buildings ablaze. There was death abound in the area. Two thirds of all dead were green-skinned orcs, one third the red-skinned ones. In the middle of the debilitated area stood twelve legion-infused orcs.
"The moment is upon us! Shom them no mercy!"
With a cry, Sylvanas struck. These orcs were enhanced by demonic powers, but she had learnt in human lands that a demonic orc fell as readily before her as any other. Two of her black arrows pierced their respective targets, and in mere moments, those bodies rose to assault their once-brethren.
"Elune give me strength!" was the chosen warcry of her companion, as her bow shot arrows covered in golden light at her enemies. Sylvanas found that ironic; servant of Elune using light as if of sun as her weapon.
In less than half a minute, what was once a group of twelve became a group of eight. Soon, a group four. And very soon after, a group of none. Her dark servants could not match the might of these orcs, but they served a crucial role of buying few precious moments of distance for Whisperwind and herself. Out of six she killed, only two of her Dark Minions survived.
The Kaldorei woman looked at her undead servants with distaste, but beckoned her as she leaped north. "Come. We must make haste."
They crossed another small body of water, and made their way to the next isle. One turn, and then another, and they could now, in the distance, see a clearing with two ghastly figures surrounded by fifteen dead legion-orcs.
"The Primal Guardians." Whisperwind explained. "These are forces of nature given form. If we are to claim the horn of Cenarius, they will have to perish."
That nearly stopped Sylvanas in her tracks. "They would raise their strength against the ones that created them? Were they not designed with the understanding that the Kaldorei would have need of the horn?"
"No." the woman said with a shake of her head. "They were designed to simply protect the horn. The great power of the horn could be a powerful beacon for those forsaken souls that hunger for power. If there was ever an unthinkable situation like this one, it was understood that Elune would guide her priestess, or some other, and grant strength enough to dispel the guardians from life."
"If a Quel'dorei engineer ever had caught wind of this absurd design they would have killed themselves in second-hand shame."
It wasn't strictly true. Their engineers saw many stupid non and magical designs, but it was expected from the young mortal races. But from their sister immortal elves? There were better expectations.
"All beings are capable of corruption, Sylvanas." she said sagely. "This is not perfect, I admit, but it is also a shield against treason from the lowest of our people, and the highest. A defense that can be bypassed is no defense of all."
This pierced Sylvanas' heart sharply. The fall of Quel'Thalas was marked with treason. Dar'Khan Drathir had betrayed his people to the butcher.
She remained deathly silent as they neared the two guardians. The apparitions turned to regard them. The white guardian gestured, and a shield of lighting formed around itself and the other guardian. The blue guardian gestured its hand and a frost armor, like one favored by Kel'Thuzad she noted, appeared to protect itself and its ally.
She had her servants advance towards her enemies. They would do little harm; apparitions could only be harmed by magic, but they could distract well enough.
She drew back her arrow and imbued it with her necromantic powers. She considered what part to attack; without organs there was no lethal shot. The answer arrived almost as quickly as she had asked it. The being gestured, though not spoke, to cast magic. Therefore, she released the arrow, she should destroy its arms. The arrow flew true, as if it could be any other way, and she quickly shot another similarly-infused arrow at his other arm. The lighting shield impacted her arrows, and they exploded as she predicted. Unfortunately for these guardians, lighting stops only so much. The force of the necromantic explosion created holes inside the frost armor, and faster than they could react she shot two more arrows. With both of its defenses nullified, its arms were pierced, and then, by her will, detonated.
She looked at her ally. The Night Elf did not bother with elaborate strategy. The ground denoted the place a lighting bolt had barely missed her, and Sylvanas observed how Whisperwind's light bolts simply slashed their way through the defenses of the guardian. The guardian fell quicker than her own, and with irritation, Sylvanas finished her opponent off too. They may have been intended to be powerful adversaries, but very little could stand against a well-equipped and swift elf.
"Elune favors us, Sylvanas. We must make haste."
"Stop that." she said in an annoyed tone. "We are allies, Whisperwind, not friends. Windrunner will do just fine."
"Are you friends with Arthas then? He seems to be your commanding officer, yet there's informality between you."
Sylvanas scowled. "He forces me to address him by his title and name."
The woman gave her a thoughtful look, before setting off. To the near north of the now-dead guardians was a pedestal below a curved archway. On top of the pedestal was a massive artifact; the Horn of Cenarius. It resembled more a trumpet of strange making than a horn, but the material was clearly of natural origin. She could feel the power of this horn. As she got ever closer, the truth of its enormity revealed itself. It was easily two-thirds the size of an average elven male; if she had to guess it was around 4'7''. She suddenly became intangible. Such a shame that she just couldn't help carry this monstrosity.
"The Horn of Cenarius...finally." her companion spoke, as she claimed it for her own. It appeared indeed heavy. They moved further to the west of the isle.
"Now that the horn is ours; where is Stormrage, Whisperwind? And the rest of the druids?"
"Just a bit further. There should be a cave nearby that will lead us to Malfurion's barrow."
Sylvanas had to trust her to be right. She knew a lot of Kaldorei lore, for much of it was carried by memory by the Quel'dorei expellees, but this is not something she knew. She knew, of course, of the Emerald Dream. The pact was sealed before the great exodus of her people, but she knew not where they chose to laze about.
The cave's pathway was long and curvaceous. They walked it almost as long as they have walked the rest of Moonglave. They exited it, eventually, in the south. As they turned, they could see the archway of Cenarius in the distance; to the north east. A gasp from her compatriot drew her mind to the current events.
"It is as if the land here is dying..."
Sylvanas had to agree. The grass was dead; the dirt was without moisture; cracks went periodically throughout the ground. Oh, and of course, the land was unnaturally blackened. If Whisperwind had been in Human lands during the Second Great war, or had anyone relay their experiences to her, she could perhaps best compare it to the lands around the Dark Portal. To Whisperwind this surely was a grave and new tragedy. To Sylvanas, however, this meant just one thing.
"The Scourge passed through here. The Blight is unmistakable."
"The...blight?"
"Areas of great undead concentration, of their magicks, and, I believe, of the plague of undeath, corrupt and kill the land. That is called the Blight."
"That is horrific. How can you stand to bring about such a destruction?"
Sylvanas smiled at her; the first genuine smile she gave the woman, and it was a pained one. "I could not, once upon a time. But now I serve the Scourge. Our master is not one to tolerate disobedience."
There was silence before Whisperwind spoke again. "I sense a lot of hate within your heart, Sylvanas," the bastard woman deliberately ignored her request it seems, "but as I fight for my people, for the lands of Kalimdor; I too will fight to free you of your master. No matter the crimes your ancestors might have committed, you do not deserve to toil for this…" she waved her hand around, at a seeming loss for words, "…vicissitude."
The nerve of this woman. Anger flared in Sylvanas' heart. Crimes of her ancestors? What about the crimes of the belore-damned Kaldorei who had exiled her people? They lost everything. They have risked their very lives to find a new home in unexplored lands. She dares? She DARES?
Her hand itched to go to her bow; it longed for a chance to fire. Her heart burned with fury, and it demanded vengeance.
How did the ignorant woman think she could free her from the Lich King's will? She knew nothing. It was by her own will that she would free herself. Deathly cold washed away the fury, as she heard that damned voice of her Legion-forsaken Master. "Break free from me, Sylvanas?" there was that hollow cold laughter before he continued. "For my glory you serve, Sylvanas. But it is by the will of my most beloved Death Knight, Arthas, that you still retain the will to think these treasonous thoughts. It is how he had made you. Other of my servants did not receive this boon. Ask the Lich, Kel'Thuzad, about the Crypt Lord, Anub'arak. That, too, could have been your destiny. Or perhaps mere thinkless undead puppet would have been my fancy."
Sylvanas shivered. The threat was certainly received. But the Lich King continued. "I had promised my champion that I would reward his servants. I know what your heart desires, Banshee. I know of its dark desires; revenge against the night elves, against your former prince, against my champion. I know of its kind desires; a place and safety for your people. And I know every desire in between. Some of these can be arranged. On the other hand, should you fail me, I can make sure to make your greatest fears into reality."
The voice left, and she was alone finally. She breathed heavily as if her ghastly body has suddenly found itself in need of air. She realized that Whisperwind had been trying to get her attention. She needed to salvage this. She could have her revenge. Later.
"I've just been thinking." she said as a quick excuse. She put on a fake but charming smile. "Thank you for your kind words…,Tyrande. But we must move quickly to druid. We are losing precious seconds to the Legion."
She did not believe her excuse, that was obvious enough, but with a wary look, she let the matter slide. Ten minutes later, the woman abruptly stopped.
"There should have been trees here, protecting the barrows. I have a bad feeling about this…"
They reached the barrow den. Its doors were broken, and the area was tainted with blood. Tyrande chocked out some mixture between a gasp and a sob, as she hurried inside in search of her beloved. In this one small moment, Sylvanas could sympathize. While the Kaldorei woman was away, Sylvanas inspected the horn she had discarded more thoroughly. It must serve a higher purpose than to steal the druids back from the Emerald Dream. If she could harness this leftover power of Cenarius…she knew better than to give voice to such thoughts.
Soon enough, Whisperwind returned, eyes ablaze with fury. The tip of her magically infused arrow rested on her throat, though Sylvanas wasn't concerned. If she was not willing to kill her, then she had need of her.
"We had a deal, Windrunner. And now Malfurion is dead."
Sylvanas certainly hoped that was the case. "You had a deal with Arthas. His servants are only three. Until the undead officially declare their rebellion, the Scourge serves the Legion. Remember, it is why Arthas had sent me. The undead would not obey you, but had we reached this place hours earlier, they would have obeyed me."
"So I am to simply forget this?" Now, Sylvanas began to grow worried. The arrow pressed harder against her incorporeal body, and the light of Elune burned her skin. She desperately needed to change tactics.
"Archimonde wants him alive!" she blurred out, hoping to persuade her this way. "He said he wanted both of you in his possession before he completes his march on the World Tree. Malfurion may yet still live; injured but alive!"
Personally, Sylvanas doubted it. The undead were likely on a general eradication mission as they happened upon his sleeping place. Still, she could not afford the fight here. She probably could escape from this position, and maybe even win, but they could not destroy the Legion without help.
The arrow moved back, and after a few moments of hesitation, Whisperwind shot it randomly in anger. It was not aimed at her. It took precious few minutes for Whisperwind to calm down.
"I do recall him giving similar instructions to the Dreadlord your group slayed…I must hold on to hope."
"If he is alive, then you'll best help him by awaking the rest of the druids. We all will need help in the final battle, and you can certainly make use of an army to rescue him. Neither will be possible if we pointlessly wander around."
"…North. We must go north to the barrow dens. It is there we can awaken Druids of the Talon and Claw. I only pray we arrive in time".