“Dark rangers?” Anduin murmured, eyes darting between the two men. “Can we be certain?”
“Certain? No, but I’ve seen a damned mess of their arrows in my time and the style matches, and so does the accuracy,” Greymane huffed, pacing faster, every bit the caged and furious wolf.
“What would the dark rangers be doing in Zandalar? The Zandalari are allies of the Horde, and that would not make them friend to Sylvanas or her rangers.” Anduin had nearly put his hand down on one of the soldiers’ boots. Distracted, he had forgotten they were in the presence of the dead. But now he looked closer and felt keenly the stab in his chest. By the Light, they were all so terribly young . . .
He took small, cold comfort in the thought that at least the soldiers were home and protected in a sanctuary of the Light.
“It could be a warning from Sylvanas. Perhaps she sent her rangers to punish the new queen. The Dark Lady was still warchief when they made their alliance, but our spies believe Queen Talanji has pulled her support and remains largely independent. We all know how well Sylvanas takes betrayal.” Turalyon said gravely.
Anduin nodded, considering the paladin’s point of view, but Greymane had other ideas, tossing up his hands in frustration.
“This is our opportunity, Anduin, don’t you see it? Where Sylvanas goes her dark rangers are sure to follow. She may be close at hand, and these murders her critical mistake. We should gather what forces we can spare and sail west. Whether she is in league with the Zandalari or moving against them matters not; we must not squander a chance to finish this.”
He ended with a resounding note to his already galvanizing baritone, but Anduin didn’t move. Instead, he stared resolutely at Turalyon, who appeared unconvinced at best. The paladin shifted in his heavy golden plate armor, a crease of worry between his brows.
“Now is the time to think, my king, not the time to react. There are still spies unaccounted for in the field, and we must not forget the armistice. Zandalar is a vast continent, certainly, but the eyes there are friendly to the Horde, not to the Banshee Queen.” He tucked a fist under his chin thoughtfully. “The Horde wants her dead as much as we do. The armistice you signed is meaningless if we cannot rely on the Horde to share intelligence of this nature.”
“The armistice,” Greymane hissed, obviously unenthused. “We can rely on the Horde for nothing. How many times must we learn this lesson, Anduin? I know you know better.”
Anduin did. He did not necessarily trust the Horde, but he did weigh their actions. Were they untrue to their words, they would have assassinated him and his Alliance generals outside the gates of Orgrimmar before or after the mak’gora.
He waited a moment, hoping Greymane would calm down, but the man’s face had turned red with fury, his thick white whiskers bristling.
“Genn . . . ” Anduin tore his eyes away from his advisor and friend, instead raking his gaze across the bodies laid before them. “Rash action has harmed us far more often than care and caution. I will not overcommit to what could be a diversion.”
High Exarch Turalyon nodded his agreement.
“We must ask ourselves: Why would Sylvanas go to Zandalar? What would she want there?”
“What does it matter?” Greymane thundered. “You said it yourself, Turalyon. The Zandalari queen pledged herself to Sylvanas first. Perhaps that vow remains true. Perhaps she has turned her back on the Horde and even now shelters the traitor and her soldiers.” He gestured to the fallen spies. “Perhaps these brave few were killed for discovering the truth.”
Anduin had a duty to the truth, whatever it might be. Both men provided opinions he valued, but he could not deny that Turalyon offered the more tempting take. Still. Still.