Vereesa did not like waiting. Most people thought that elves had the patience of glaciers, but younger
ones such as herself, just a year out of her apprenticeship in the rangers, were very much like humans in
that one regard. She had been waiting three days for this wizard she was supposed to escort to one of
the eastern ports serving the Great Sea. For the most part, she respected wizards as much as any elf
respected a human, but this one had earned nothing but her ire. Vereesa wanted to join her sisters and
brothers, help hunt down each and every remaining orc still fighting, and send the murderous beasts to
their well-deserved deaths. The ranger had not expected her first major assignment to be playing
nursemaid to some doddering and clearly forgetful old mage.
“One more hour,” she muttered. “One more hour, and then I leave.”
Her sleek, chestnut-brown, elven mare snorted ever so slightly. Generations of breeding had created an
animal far superior to its mundane cousins, or so Vereesa's people believed. The mare was in tune with
her rider, and what would have seemed to most nothing more than a simple grunt from the horse
immediately sent the ranger to her feet, a long shaft already notched in her bow.
Yet the woods around her spoke only of quiet, not treachery, and this deep within the Lordaeron
Alliance she could hardly expect an attack by either orcs or trolls. She glanced in the direction of the
small inn that had been designated the meeting place, but other than a stable boy carrying hay, Vereesa
saw no one. Still, the elf did not lower her bow. Her mount rarely made a sound unless some trouble
lurked nearby. Bandits, perhaps?
Slowly the ranger turned in a circle. The wind whipped some of the long, silver-white hair across her
face, but not enough to obscure her sharp sight. Almond-shaped eyes the color of purest sky blue drank
in even the most minute shift of foliage, and the lengthy, pointed ears that rose from her thick hair could
pick up even the sound of a butterfly landing on a nearby flower.
And still she could find no reason for the mare's warning.
Perhaps she had frightened away whatever supposed menace had been nearby. Like all elves, Vereesa
knew she made an impressive appearance. Taller than most humans, the ranger stood clad in knee-high
leather boots, forest-green pants and blouse, and an oak-brown travel cloak. Gloves that stretched
nearly to her elbows protected her hands while yet enabling her to use her bow or the sword hanging at
her side with ease. Over her blouse she wore a sturdy breastplate fashioned to her slim but still curved
form. One of the locals in the inn had made the mistake of admiring the feminine aspects of her
appearance while entirely ignoring the military ones. Because he had been drunk and possibly would have
held back his rude suggestions otherwise, Vereesa had only left him with a few broken fingers.
The mare snorted again. The ranger glared at her mount, words of reprimand forming on her lips.
“You would be Vereesa Windrunner, I presume,” a low, arresting voice on her blind side suddenly
commented.
She had the tip of the shaft directly at his throat before he could say more. Had Vereesa let the arrow
loose, it would have shot completely through the newcomer's neck, exiting through the other side.
Curiously, he seemed unimpressed by this deadly fact. The elf stared him up and down—not an entirely
unpleasant task, she had to admit—and realized that her sudden intruder could only be the wizard for
whom she had been waiting. Certainly that would explain her mount's peculiar actions and her own
inability to sense his presence before this.
“You are Rhonin?” the ranger finally asked.
“Not what you're expecting?” he returned with just the hint of a sardonic smile.
She lowered the bow, relaxing slightly. “They said a wizard; that was all, human.”
“And they told me an elven ranger, nothing more.” He gave her a glance that almost made Vereesa raise
the bow again. “So we find ourselves even in this matter.”
“Not quite. I have waited here for three days! Three valuable days wasted!”
“It couldn't be helped. Preparations needed to be made.” The wizard said nothing more.
Vereesa gave up. Like most humans, this one cared nothing for anyone but himself. She considered
herself fortunate that she had not had to wait longer. It amazed her that the Alliance could have ever
triumphed against the Horde with so many like this Rhonin in their ranks.
“Well, if you wish to make your passage to Khaz Modan, then it would be best if we left immediately.”
The elf peered behind him. “Where is your mount?”
She half-expected him to tell her that he had none, that he had used his formidable powers to transport
himself all the way here . . . but if that had been the case, Rhonin would not have needed her to guide him
to the ship. As a wizard, he no doubt had impressive abilities, but he also had his limits. Besides, from
what little she knew of his mission, she suspected that Rhonin would need everything he had just to
survive. Khaz Modan was not a land welcoming to outsiders. The skulls of many brave warriors
decorated the orc tents there, so she had heard, and dragons constantly patrolled the skies. No, not a
place even Vereesa would have gone without an army at her side. She was no coward, but she was also
no fool.
“Tied near a trough by the inn, so that he can get some water. I've already ridden long today, milady.”
His use of the title for her might have flattered Vereesa, if not for the slight touch of sarcasm she thought
she noted in his tone. Fighting down her irritation with the human, she turned to her own horse, replaced
the bow and shaft, then proceeded to ready her animal for the ride.
“My horse could do with a few more minutes' rest,” the wizard suggested, “and so could I.”
“You will learn to sleep in the saddle quickly enough . . . and the pace I set at first will enable your steed
to recoup. We have waited far too long. Few ships, even those of Kul Tiras, are endeared to the thought
of sailing to Khaz Modan simply for a wizard on observation duty. If you do not reach port soon, they
may decide that they have more worthy and less suicidal matters with which to deal.”
To her relief, Rhonin did not argue. Instead, with a frown, he turned and headed back toward the inn.
Vereesa watched him depart, hoping that she would not find herself tempted to run him through before
they managed to part company.
She wondered about his mission. True, Khaz Modan remained a threat because of the dragons and their
orc masters there, but the Alliance already had other, more well-trained observers in and around the
land. Vereesa suspected that Rhonin's mission concerned a very serious matter, or else the Kirin Tor
would have never risked so much for this arrogant mage. Still, had they considered the matter well
enough when they had chosen him? Surely there had to have been someone more able—and
trustworthy? This wizard had a look to him, one that spoke of a streak of unpredictability that might lead
to disaster.
The elf tried to shrug off her doubts. The Kirin Tor had made up their minds in this matter, and Alliance
command had clearly agreed with them or else she would not have been sent along to guide him. Best
she put aside any concerns. All she had to do was deliver her charge to his vessel, and then Vereesa
could be on her way. What Rhonin might or might not do after their separation did not concern her in the
least.
For four days they journeyed, never once threatened by anything more dangerous than a few annoying
insects. Had circumstances been different, the trek might have seemed almost idyllic, if not for the fact
that Rhonin and his guide had barely spoken with one another all that time. For the most part, the wizard
had not been bothered much by that fact, his thoughts focused on the dangerous task ahead. Once the
Alliance ship brought him to the shores of Khaz Modan, he would be on his own in a realm still overrun
not only with orcs but patrolled from the sky by their captive dragons. While no coward, Rhonin had little
desire to face torture and slow, agonizing death. For that alone, his benefactor in the council had
provided him with the latest known movements of the Dragonmaw clan. Dragonmaw would be most on
the watch now, especially if, as Rhonin had been told, the black leviathan Deathwing did indeed live.
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