Arthas couldn't shake a strange feeling as he looked at Sylvanas. The Ranger-General was gracefully seated on a snow-white hawkstrider—a bizarre creature resembling a hybrid of an ostrich and an overgrown parrot. Why the high elves, the epitome of grace and style, had chosen these absurd birds as their mounts, remained a mystery to him.
"Do not underestimate them, Your Highness," Sylvanas's voice sounded even, but with a slight mockery. She had caught his gaze. "In the forest, a hawkstrider is faster and more maneuverable than any horse."
As she said this, she mechanically checked the hilts of two daggers fastened to her thigh. Arthas smirked almost imperceptibly at his own thoughts.
'One of the most lethal warriors of Azeroth astride a giant chicken. Even if it is a predatory one. It is quite difficult to get used to such a thing.'
Their small detachment presented a curious spectacle. In front—Sylvanas and her elite Farstriders in light leather armor, silent and keen-eyed. Behind them—Arthas and his twenty knights of the Secret Order, clad in coal-black steel, silent and monolithic as tombstones.
The elves eyed these grim warriors with unconcealed curiosity, who were unlike any order of Lordaeron known to them.
"Well, Your Highness, it is time," Sylvanas commanded, slinging her bow behind her back.
The weakness from the curse still clouded her consciousness, but after Lady Lilian's rituals, she felt she could fight at about sixty percent of her full power. That should be enough.
Two detachments, humans and elves, left the outpost and went deep into the forest. Their path lay to the north, to the nearest fortress of the Farstriders, located behind the saving magical barrier of Ban'dinoriel. To where safety awaited them.
They passed the hills about ten kilometers from the outpost when ugly, long-nosed shadows slipped from behind mossy boulders after their detachment. The troll scouts had picked up the trail.
Sylvanas rode at the head of the detachment, her body relaxed, but her senses were stretched to the limit. Her sharp ears, capable of distinguishing the rustle of a leaf at a distance of a hundred paces, caught only the whistle of the wind in the crowns. And that was wrong.
"Arthas," her voice was quiet but firm. The switch to a simple name was a signal of alarm. "Something is wrong."
"What's the matter, my lady? Did you hear something?"
Arthas had no doubt about her abilities. He knew that the curse had weakened her physical strength, but her senses, honed by centuries of service, her supernatural ability to hear and see the forest—remained the same. In this, she was still the best.
"On the contrary. I hear nothing," she replied. "This forest is too quiet. Usually it is full of sounds: the chirping of birds, the crackling of branches under the paws of wild animals... Now—emptiness. All the animals have hidden or gone."
"It seems we were right," Arthas's voice became harsh. "Everyone be on guard. An attack can begin at any moment. My lady, please, continue to monitor the situation."
"Leave that to me," Sylvanas replied. She leaned forward slightly in the saddle of her hawkstrider, and her longbow seemed to appear in her hand by itself. She transformed into a taut string, ready to release death at any moment.
She knew this forest like the back of her hand. Even during the march of the main army to the outpost, she had heard the displeased growling of forest lynxes. These predators, whose blood was saturated with the magic of the Sunwell, were too strong and fierce to fear a simple detachment of warriors. If even they had gotten out of the way, it meant someone much more dangerous was wandering nearby.
After a few minutes of tense silence, Sylvanas gave Arthas a conventional sign with her hand.
"Movement," she whispered. "Judging by the footsteps, scouts. And there are quite a few of them."
"Excellent. They've bitten," the prince answered shortly. "Since they are pursuing us so openly, it means they are confident in their strength. Most likely, one of their champions is with them."
"The terrain ahead will become more open! They will attack before it, in the forest!" she instantly assessed. Trolls loved to impose close combat in the thicket, where the maneuverability of cavalry and the range of bows were reduced to zero.
"Understood! We're breaking through to the open space!" — Arthas whipped the reins, and his warhorse surged forward.
Guttural cries in the troll dialect were heard from the thicket:
"The pointy-ears have spotted us! They're running!"
"Catch them! Ready the nets!"
"For Zul'jin!"
Arthas already saw a gap between the trees ahead when a dull thud and the panicked gobbling of a hawkstrider came from behind. He turned around: one of the rangers was entangled in a huge net of thick ropes and had fallen to the ground along with his mount.
Before the prince could even give an order, Sylvanas sharply turned her hawkstrider. Without aiming, she released three arrows in a row in one moment. Three short, gurgling cries were heard from behind the trees, and the dragging of the elf along the ground ceased.
This attempt seemed to be a signal. Like a sticky spiderweb, another dozen nets flew out from both sides from behind the trees. Several elves and knights, failing to dodge, were trapped.
"To battle!" thundered Arthas's voice.
The prince sharply turned his horse. His hammer flashed with the flame of the Light, and with one movement he burned a huge hole in the rope net, freeing his warrior.
The other knights did not sit idly by either. Each of them possessed monstrous strength. With a roar, they tore the bonds with their bare hands or cut them with the sharp edges of their plate vambraces. Having freed themselves, they immediately drew their swords and shields and formed a circle, covering the elven archers. Protecting allies was their profession.
The moment they formed an impromptu bastion, dozens of throwing axes and spears flew from the forest with a whistle. Like hail, they clattered against the steel shields.
Arthas snorted coldly and, spinning his hammer, deflected everything flying in his direction.
Suddenly, from a high crown, like a predatory monkey, a troll with two axes in his hands jumped down, aiming directly at Sylvanas. She was just helping one of her rangers to get free.
Sensing the danger, the Ranger-General spun around with lightning speed and put her longbow under the blow. The sturdy, enchanted yew withstood a blow that would have cracked an ordinary shield.
Sylvanas, using the inertia, turned the bow and, hooking the troll's neck with it, threw him to the ground with incredible force. Before the giant could come to his senses, the ranger she had freed cut his throat with one precise dagger strike.
Even more trolls poured out of the forest, but it no longer changed anything. The detachment of Arthas and Sylvanas was the elite of the elite. Having survived the first surprise, they took the battle under control. One of the knights raised a heavy shield, taking the blow of a troll spear. The steel howled but held. And in the same instant, from behind the knight's back, using him as living cover, Sylvanas leaned out. A short flick—and an arrow plunged right into the troll's eye. Teamwork in action.
The troll scouts, though resilient, could not break through their defense and only died one by one, delaying the detachment with their numbers.
"Curse it!" the troll commander roared, watching as Sylvanas, nimble and fast, sent another of his warriors to the next world. "The witch doctors lied! She is not that weak!"
Realizing that they could not cope, he threw back his head and let out a desperate cry:
"Mighty Halazzi! Help us!"
In response, a roar was heard from the darkest thicket. Low, guttural, primal, from which the blood seemed to freeze in the veins. This sound carried not only a threat but also dark magic. The movements of the knights and elves became stiff, uncertain. And the trolls, on the contrary, roared in response and rushed into the attack with doubled fury. The advantage of the heroes began to melt away.
"What kind of creature is that?" Sylvanas hissed. "No lynx in this forest roars like that!"
"That is not a beast," Arthas replied, knocking away another troll with his hammer. "It seems they really want to get you, my lady."
"I'll take that as a compliment," she snapped back.
"We can't stay here!" Arthas shouted, surveying the battlefield. "When the owner of this roar gets here..."
Before he could finish speaking, a blurred black shadow shot from the crowns of the trees. It swept through their formation so quickly that no one had time to react, and immediately disappeared into the forest.
Sylvanas's pupils immediately narrowed. What was that?
She saw the answer. One of her rangers, standing nearby, silently clutched her throat. Blood gushed from under her fingers in a fountain. The girl, with a look of complete bewilderment on her face, collapsed to the ground, not even understanding what had killed her.
"Behind you!"
Hearing Arthas's cry, Sylvanas turned sharply. Directly in front of her face, a couple of centimeters away, two malicious green lights were burning.
She instinctively flinched to draw the bowstring, but the curse slowed her reaction. Her hand only touched the string when claws, gleaming with a cold light, were already lunging for her throat.
Clang!
A ringing sound of metal and claw colliding was heard. A golden barrier, a shield of pure Light, flashed in front of Sylvanas. The black shadow, having run into it, flew back and again dissolved in the thicket.
"My lady, lead your people away! I will hold this creature!" Arthas shouted, holding his hammer in front of him.
"What? But...!"
"Your strength has not yet recovered! This creature is too fast! In this forest, if it gets close again, I do not guarantee that I will have time to save you!" — his words were a harsh truth.
The troll scouts were almost wiped out. But this one monster could single-handedly cut down their entire detachment in these thickets. If Sylvanas had been at full strength, the two of them could have given it a fight. But now she was no stronger than any other ranger and was only hindering Arthas, forcing him to protect her.
The Ranger-General understood this as well. Without saying another word, she looked at the prince with a long, heavy gaze and quietly said in Thalassian:
"May the Sunwell be with you."
"Warriors, follow me!" — she jumped onto her hawkstrider, and the detachment, picking up the wounded, rushed away from the cursed forest.
The shadow did not appear again. Like any cat, it did not attack without one hundred percent certainty.
Arthas was left alone. He finished off the last troll trying to crawl away, shaking the stinking blood from his hammer. After following the departing detachment with his gaze, he turned to the dark thicket.
'Well, it's time to teach this monster a lesson. A lesson about what the true wrath of the Light is.'
He prepared for battle. Now he could get a good look at the creature, when it attacked Sylvanas. A creature resembling a troll, but with the head of a lynx, covered in fur, with horrific claws instead of hands. An artificially created monster.
'So, Zul'jin has indeed returned to Zul'Aman… and not empty-handed.'