The druid did not hide his disappointment. He could only hope that, wherever she was, the blood elf was safe.

But just exactly where would a safe place soon be?

“I know you,” Varian said, gazing past the night elf to Lucan.

“Foxblood. We thought you lost.”

The cartographer nodded. “I have been.”

Tyrande received a short but very polite nod. Varian had met her in the past, just before regaining his throne. “Your Majesty…” He then turned his attention back to Thura. The sword rose again and fixed with deadly purpose on the orc. “But why bring this filth into Stormwind City, Broll? What were you thinking? Her warchief used a fog to skulk up to our walls in the past, like some honorless assassin! Rather than face us directly, he used plague to soften us, a foul weapon no true warrior would wield—”

“Thrall is no assassin skulking in the fog nor is he an honorless warrior!” she retorted. “You can’t speak of him—”

Before it could get worse, Broll interjected, “Lo’Gosh! There’s no time for this eternal arguing! She is with us! I vouch for her with my life! My life!”

“You place little value on your existence, then, Broll—”

“Stop it! There are more important matters! Tell me truthfully; how long do you think the capital has left?”

“I’d have said we were lost already, but though their progress is undeniable, they move slowly. Still, our weapons are for the most part useless against them and all but a few areas have grown silent. By tomorrow — assuming that there is even a tomorrow — there may be nothing holding out but part of the keep. If you’ve anything in mind at all that might save us, I’ll lend what help I can.

You know that.”

“I’m grateful to hear that. I hope you’ll still feel so after I’ve told you what we hope to do.” The druid quickly explained his notions.

Varian’s brow wrinkled deeply as he tried to comprehend everything.

“I’ll take your word for it, Broll,” the monarch finally said. “The question remains, what to do about it?”

“My shan’do is the key…somehow. I believe he’s the key.” Broll indicated Lucan. “Your man’s got a distinctive talent…but it has a tendency to send us on a different path. We need to reach Darnassus fast…faster than even I can travel on my own…”

“There are still some flying mounts left to us here in the keep,”

Varian suggested. “A couple that might be useful—”

Tyrande suddenly stepped up. “King Varian. If you can answer a question, it occurs to me suddenly that there might be another manner by which one of us could reach Darnassus much more quickly. Even more quickly than the swiftest mount you have.”

“If I can answer in any way that aids our plight, by all means ask…”

“Do you know where our ambassador is now?”

Varian scowled. “Caught in her sleep like so many others…in her chambers, if I recall the report.”

“We need someone to take us to her,” the high priestess insisted.

“I can’t leave command.” The king looked from Tyrande to Broll.

Finally, “Major Mattingly!”

A gray-haired veteran soldier in bright gold-and-red armor with a royal blue surcoat bearing the proud Stormwind lion head rushed up. His face was lined by long experience and he wore a short beard. In his right hand he wielded a longsword.

“The druid!” the major rasped when he saw Broll. “I know you…”

“And I you,” Broll returned. “You serve under General Marcus Jonathan—” The night elf broke off, recalling what the soldier who had brought them here had said. The Valley of Heroes, where the general and Mattingly would have been stationed, had already fallen.

The major’s eyes verified Broll’s concern. “The general sent for reinforcements when first the mists began to take our men. He sent me to procure them. Before I could return, the mist covered the valley…”

“Damned fool here almost rode into it even then,” Varian added without any anger. “But Mattingly knew we needed every man and ordered his just-gathered force back here…” To the major, the lord of Stormwind said, “You know where the night elf ambassador lived — lives. I need someone trusting but wary enough to get them there

…though I’ve not been told exactly why.”

Tyrande did not hesitate. “She has a hearthstone.”

Varian’s eyes were not the only ones to widen. Broll also knew of what the high priestess spoke, though even he himself had only twice seen one of the artifacts. A hearthstone was a palm-sized crystal, oval in shape, that was bound by arcane magic to not only its bearer, but a particular place. Most often, they were tied to great locations such as, apparently in this case, Darnassus. Distance did not matter.

“I’d thought them only legend,” Varian remarked warily. “Things heard only in stories concerning magi…or elves.”

“Or elves,” the high priestess repeated with a brief, dour smile.

“Interesting that your ambassador should have one.”

“But good for us now, perhaps.” Tyrande calmly responded.

Nodding, the king said no more. He looked to the major, who saluted. Mattingly signaled the others to follow him.

Varian made no attempt to stop the orc from following the night elves and neither Broll nor Tyrande dared leave her with the humans. Thura likewise appeared to have no inclination to stay.

But one member of their party proved a surprise. Rather than remaining with his king and countrymen, Lucan Foxblood also followed.

“You’re home,” Broll muttered. “Stay here!”

“I might be needed,” Lucan argued, his eyes filled with a determination that would not be denied. “My abilities may be unpredictable and dangerous, but they may be of some use…in case of a need to escape…”

The druid said nothing more. They were already at the keep gates.

A shouted command from the major opened the way, though the sentries were quick to shut the entrance right behind them. As they exited the keep, Tyrande remarked on what all of them immediately noticed.

“The mist is thick here, but those poor souls are nowhere to be seen…”

“Why should they be here?” Broll grimly returned. “This part of Stormwind’s already under their master’s reign!”

Indeed, there came not a sound from anywhere nearby, though in the distance they could hear the shouts, screams, and explosions that marked the dwindling defense. The eerie silence was a stark reminder of what much of Azeroth was like at this point.

“She must hold on,” the druid rumbled, referring to Ysera. “She must…”

“And we must pray that Malfurion is all right and can help us,”

Tyrande added. She did not say what was clear in her tone, that she was also simply fearful for him for his own sake and for the love she bore for him.

“Your ambassador keeps a dwelling in the Trade District,” the major informed them, “though I’ve never understood why she would prefer that to the Park, where your people tend to congregate.”

When the high priestess did not explain, Mattingly tugged on his beard and changed the subject. “Best we avoid Cathedral Square.

They’re still defending it and we might get caught up in a spell. Also, we’ve got to avoid the canals…the mists are particularly strong in them…they caught a lot of people unaware down there when they first flowed into the city.”

Lucan grimaced. “But that means we’ll have to pass through the Old Town district.”

This brought a harsh laugh from Mattingly. “At this point that won’t make too much of a difference to most of the rest of the capital, Foxblood!”

They ran along a stone street upon whose northern side was marked an entrance to the Dwarven District. From there flowed more sounds of desperate struggle. The dwarves, at least, were still fighting.

With continued vigilance, the major led them across a walkway and into the Old Town. There, despite their guide’s comment, the others could see that Lucan had been rightly concerned about entering. The Old Town district was a part of Stormwind City that had not been so hard hit by the orcs and thus had never needed true rebuilding. However, that also meant that less attention had been paid to its upkeep since then, and so while preserved, it was not nearly as pristine as the rest of the capital. True, the Hall of Champions could be found here, as well as the army’s barracks, but so could beggars, thieves, and the poor. The streets were far dirtier than what the party had traveled thus far and there was an odor of decay that had nothing to do with the Nightmare save that it enhanced it yet more.