The ride from Goldshire to Stormwind City took about thirty minutes. So close to the capital, the roads here were well maintained and very level. At this time of year, the roads through tranquil Elwynn Forest were carpeted with irises that had bloomed and withered. As clattering hooves passed along the woodland trail, those beautiful flowers were swept up from the ground, and a rush of wind drifted to either side behind the horse.
Windsor rode his warhorse, his body rising and falling with its strides. The old marshal, who had spent his life in the saddle, was an accomplished rider, galloping toward the white city in the distance. Behind him, Duhan and other veterans who had heard the news followed. By the time they reached Stormwind City, more than a dozen armored soldiers had gathered behind Windsor.
Most were around Duhan's age, though a few were white-haired old men. They were all veterans who had retired after the Orcish War. Before Stormwind City descended into disorder, these veterans had received preferential treatment, and most had been scattered among the towns around the capital to serve as sheriffs.
Stormwind City was very close to Northshire. That beautiful little town housed Northshire Abbey, one of the Church of the Holy Light's three great holy sites in the Eastern Kingdoms, and a force of five hundred soldiers was stationed there. Windsor could have gone there for help, but after receiving that letter, the old marshal had abandoned the idea.
It was only a guess, but what if that terrible guess proved true?
Northshire Abbey was directly subordinate to the Cathedral of Light. If the nightmare really came true, going there would be walking straight into a trap.
Windsor was unwilling to take that risk. Besides, he had not come to attack Stormwind