“It’s over,” he whispered, and leaned on the parapet. “Get them to safety before it’s too late!”
On the field below, spread out like markers in the map room, were other tiny figures. Some of them were heading back toward Thoradin’s Wall. Some were returning to the keep.
And some still stood in the field as if paralyzed.
The pain wasn’t abating, and Anduin clenched his jaw against it as he looked back at the wall. He forced his fisted hands to open and lifted the spyglass.
His mind saw things with a strange, swift clarity, and he immediately picked out Archbishop Faol and Calia. The former was close to the wall, urging his charges to rush through the gates to safety. But Calia stayed in the field, arguing with Elsie Benton. The priestess’s hood was down.
Calia...what are you doing?
Calia turned away from the Prime Governor, ran forward a few paces, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, “Forsaken! I am Calia Menethil! Head for the keep!”
What is that girl doing?” shouted Genn.
But Anduin was not listening. His gaze was riveted on the pair of women in the field, one human, one Forsaken,
and at that moment Elsie Benton dropped like a stone with a black-fletched arrow protruding from her chest.
Calia turned back toward Elsie, but she was too late. A look of horror was on her face, but there was nothing she could do now for the murdered Prime Governor. Calia shouted again, “To the keep! Run!”
Anduin jerked back, his mind reeling. Now he saw that everyone, humans and Forsaken both, had broken into a run.
Sylvanas had moved to the offensive, just like that. Right under their watchful eyes.