They had taken the guard from her door, the insidious Captain Varo’then deciding that such were wasted on a prisoner clearly going nowhere. Tyrande could hardly blame the officer for his decision; she had certainly revealed herself to be of no threat to the palace.

The sound of sudden footsteps caught her attention. It was hardly the time to bring her food and water. Besides, since the one time she had accepted both from Dath’Remar, Tyrande had neither eaten nor drunk anything more. The Highborne had begged her on both his successive visits to do so, but she took only what she needed, not wanting to risk becoming accustomed to depending upon those who had imprisoned her.

The door slid open with a short-lived creak. To her surprise, it was Dath’Remar and another Highborne. The latter glanced inside only once, took stock of the prisoner, then slipped back into the corridor.

“Dath’Remar! What brings you — ”

“Hush, mistress!” He surveyed the cell as if expecting to find it filled with Fel Guard. Seeing that they were alone, Dath’Remar approached the sphere.

From his robes, he removed the sinister artifact that Lady Vashj had used to briefly free her. Tyrande bit back an exclamation, at first wondering if perhaps the sorcerer intended the same fate for her as Azshara’s attendant had.

“Prepare yourself,” Dath’Remar whispered.

He repeated the same steps Vashj had. The sphere lowered and the invisible bonds vanished.

Stiff, Tyrande nearly fell. The Highborne caught her in one arm, the artifact held close to her throat.

“My death will avail you little,” she told him.

He looked startled, then glanced at the thing in his hand. With utter repugnance, the other night elf tossed it away. “I have not come to perform such a foul deed, mistress! Now, keep your voice low if you wish to have any hope of escaping this place!”

“Escape?” Tyrande felt her pulse race. Was this some new, cruel jest?

Dath’Remar read her eyes. “No trickery! This was discussed long and hard by us! We cannot stand this obscenity any longer! The queen — ” He almost choked, clearly caught between his devotion to Azshara and his repugnance for all that had occurred. “The queen… she is mad. There can be other explanation. She has turned her back on her people for a being of depravity and carnage! This Sargeras promises a perfect world where we, the Highborne, would rule, but all some of us see is the ruination of everything! What paradise can be built from blood-drenched stone and parched earth? None, we think!”

She was not entirely astounded by his confession. There had been hint of his concerns in their prior conversations. It had originally surprised her that there was any independent thought left in the palace — the demon lord surely desiring absolute devotion — but perhaps Sargeras had finally spread his will in too many directions.

Whatever the reasons, the high priestess gave thanks to the Mother Moon for this opportunity. She felt certain that she could entrust herself to Dath’Remar.

“This is our only chance,” the sorcerer emphasized. “The demon lord’s minions are out near the Well performing some spellwork. They’ll be occupied long enough. The others are waiting below, in the stables.”

“The others?”

“We can stay here no longer, especially if you are discovered missing. This was decided. I arranged so that most who would leave would not be included in the demons’ present task… and those who had to be will be honored for their sacrifice for the rest of us.”

“May the Mother Moon watch over them,” Tyrande whispered. The fates of those others would not be pleasant ones when Mannoroth and his lord discovered the night elves’ duplicity. “But what about the guards?”

“There are a few of them among us, but most are the dogs of Captain Varo’then! We will have to be cautious about them! Now come! No more questions!”

He led her out into the corridor where the second Highborne waited. Tyrande hesitated at first, suddenly startled to actually be out of her cell. Dath’Remar, glaring impatiently, pulled her along.

Up a long flight of stairs they rushed, Dath’Remar’s companion taking the lead. There were no signs of sentries, which the priestess assumed had to mean that the sorcerers had done their best to clear the path ahead of time.

The stairway ended at an iron door upon whose center had been framed the beatific face of Azshara. Seeing her made Tyrande involuntarily shake, a reaction which stirred a sympathetic look from the two Highborne.

“Through here is the hall that will lead us directly to the stables. The others should have the mounts ready. When the gates open, we charge like the wind.”

“What about… what about the demons?”

He straightened in pride. “We are the Highborne, after all! We are the finest spellcasters in all the realm! They will fall before our might!” Then, with less hubris, Dath’Remar added, “And, likely, many of us will fall as well…”

“I sense the way is clear,” interjected the second sorcerer, smiling arrogantly. “The distraction spell still holds Varo’then’s little curs.”

“But not much longer, I suspect.” Dath’Remar gently pushed aside the door. Sure enough, the hallway beyond was devoid of the grim-faced soldiers.

“We are nearly at the stables,” the other Highborne remarked, his own confidence growing. “You see, Dath’Remar! So much worry about a worthless pack of — ”

His words ended in a gurgle as a bolt pierced his neck, the end coming out the opposing side. Blood sprayed Tyrande and Dath’Remar.

As the dead sorcerer tumbled to the floor, several guards filled the corridor.

“Halt right there!” ordered a subofficer with a plumed helm.

In response, Dath’Remar angrily waved one hand to the side.

An invisible force bowled over the guards, sending them flying against the walls like leaves in the wind. The clatter of their striking echoed throughout the hall.

“That will teach them to dare attack a Highborne of the Elite Circle!” he snapped.

“Someone will come to investigate the noise,” the priestess counseled.

To his credit, Dath’Remar seemed to acknowledge his overzealous assault. With a grimace, he pulled Tyrande along.

They entered the stables but a short time later, where Tyrande found herself confronted with an amazing sight. She had assumed from her companion’s description that there would be a fair number of Highborne, but not so many as she saw before her now. Surely a good third of the caste awaited, including entire families.

“Where is — ?” began one female, but, a look from Dath’Remar immediately silenced her on the subject of the dead sorcerer.

“We heard the struggle above and sensed the shifting of magical forces,” added another male. “The demons will have sensed it, also.”

“It was necessary.” Dath’Remar led Tyrande forward. “You’ve a swift mount for the priestess, Quin’thatano?”

“The swiftest.”

“Good.” The sorcerer turned to her. “Mistress Tyrande, we will need you to speak for us when we reach the host. We are aware of the ill-feelings the rest will have toward our kind — ”

“We will make them listen!” urged the female High-borne. “We have the power to do so — ”

“And likely get ourselves all slain!” growled Dath’Remar. To Tyrande, he added, “You will do this for us?”

“Such a question! Of course, I will! I swear, by the Mother Moon!”

This seemed to satisfy him, if not some of his fellows. Yet, it seemed that everyone here deferred to Dath’Remar Sunstrider when it came to decisions.

“Well enough, then! The word of the high priestess should be sufficient for all!” He indicated the night sabers. “Mount up! We’ve not a moment more to lose!”

The fleeing Highborne brought little with them, a mark of the urgency. Well-accustomed to the fineries of life, Tyrande would have expected them to have nearly brought their entire homes.