The Demon Soul (21 page)

And just as the hippogriff obeyed, Malfurion materialized around the mountain’s edge.

Krasus had his beast rise slightly to compensate for the oncoming druid. He and Malfurion rode nearly level; any closer and they would have collided.

The mage caught sight of the edge of a leathery wing behind his companion.

He forced the hippogriff down again.

Malfurion had the second animal drive up into the sky with such speed and abruptness that the druid almost slid off its back.

Krasus’s pursuer had no time to register the change in direction. Nor, for that matter, did the druid’s. So caught up in their own hunts, the dragons could not stop their momentum.

With a thundering boom, the two giants collided head on.

The dragons roared in pain and shock. Tangled together, they rolled to the side, crashing into the very peak that Krasus had earlier chosen.

The entire region shook as they battered against it. From his high seat, Krasus thought he heard the crack of bone, but he did not wait around to find out. As the two dragons fell from sight, Krasus waved Malfurion on. By the time the two leviathans recovered, the mage and the druid would be long gone.

Krasus eyed the peaks rising ahead. He was very near his goal now…and more than ever, he needed to know just what was happening.

I
llidan should have been going over strategy with the Moon Guard, but at that moment he couldn’t have cared less about the war. All he could think about was that he had made an abysmal fool out of himself in front of Tyrande. He had bared his soul to her, only to discover that his brother had already staked his territory. Tyrande had chosen Malfurion.

The worst of it was, his twin was probably too caught up in his craft to notice.

Lord Ravencrest’s personal sorcerer stalked past a picket. The guard stationed there raised his weapon and, in a slightly anxious voice, declared, “All are to stay within the bounds of the camp, Master Illidan! By order of—”

“I know whose order it is.”

“But—”

Illidan’s amber eyes stared deep. The soldier swallowed and stepped aside.

The area beyond was still slightly wooded, the Burning Legion having lost the opportunity during their brief hold to destroy everything. While many took heart from this fact, Illidan would not have cared if the entire area had been scorched. He raised one hand slightly and even considered starting the conflagration himself, then dropped the idea.

Even though Malfurion had run afoul of demons in the lands south, his brother had no fear of doing likewise here. In the first place, Illidan walked only a short distance from the camp, stepping barely out of sight. In the second place, any demon who tried to attack him now would have been reduced to ash in the blink of an eye. Illidan’s inner rage was such that he dreamed of fighting something, anything, in order to drain himself of the jealousy he felt now against Malfurion.

But no felbeast sought to drain him dry, no Infernal attempted to barrel him over. No Eredar, no Doomguard, not even one of the laughable Fel Guard. The whole of the Burning Legion feared to face Illidan alone, for they knew he was an unbeatable force.

Save where it concerned the love of one person.

Finding a huge rock upon which to sit, Illidan thought over all his wonderful plans. Lord Ravencrest’s adoption of him as one of his most trusted servants had been a coup; it had enabled the twin to at last seriously consider what had been formulating in his mind for the previous three seasons. He had long looked past Tyrande as a child, and saw her as the beauteous female that she was. While Malfurion had talked to birds, he had planned on how to ask Tyrande to be his mate.

In his head, everything had fallen into place perfectly. One could not but help admire his position, and he knew that many other females had indicated their desire for him. Over a short period of time, Illidan had gained control of those Moon Guard left alive, and his hand had saved many night elves from destruction. He was powerful, handsome, and a hero. Tyrande should have fallen over herself to be his.

And she would have, if not for Malfurion.

With a snarl, the sorcerer gestured at another rock nearby. It transformed instantly into a recreation of his brother’s face, so much his own and yet not.

Illidan clenched his fist.

The face shattered, fragments crumbling into a loose pile.

“She should’ve been mine!”

His words echoed through the woods. Malfurion’s sibling snarled at his own voice, each repetition reminding him how much he had lost.

“She would’ve been mine…” he corrected himself, lost in pity. “If not for you, brother Malfurion, she would’ve been mine.”

He is always taking precedence, came the sudden thought into his head, when clearly it should be you.

“Me? Because I have these eyes?” Illidan laughed at himself. “My miraculous amber eyes?”

A sign of greatness…an omen of legend…

“A jest played upon me by the gods!” The sorcerer rose, heading deeper into the woods. Even on the move, however, he could not escape the voice, the thoughts…and some part of him did not truly wish to.

Malfurion does not even know she wants him. What if he would never know?

“What am I supposed to do? Keep them apart? I might as well try to keep the moon from rising!”

But if Malfurion would perish in the war before he could ever know the truth, it would be as if her choice never happened! She would surely come to you if there was no more Malfurion…

The sorcerer paused. He cupped his hands, and in the palms he created an image of Tyrande dancing. She was slightly younger and wearing a flowing skirt. The image was her as Illidan recalled from a festival a few seasons back. That had been the first time he had considered her more than a play friend.

If there was no more Malfurion…

Illidan suddenly clapped his hands shut, dissipating the vision. “No! That’d be barbaric!”

And yet Illidan paused immediately after, perversely fascinated by the thought.

Many things could happen to one in the midst of battle. Not death, perhaps, but the demons must know about Malfurion, especially. He destroyed the first portal, slew the queen’s advisor, and now one of the Legion’s commanders…they would want him alive…very much alive…

“Turn him over…to them? I—”

Battles become confused, some are left behind. No one is ever to blame…

“No one is ever to blame…” murmured Illidan. He opened his hands, and once again Tyrande’s image danced for him. He watched it for a time, considering.

But once more, the sorcerer clapped his palms tight. Then, as if sickened by his dark thoughts, he brushed his hands against his garments and quickly headed back to camp. “Never!” he growled under his breath. “Not my brother! Never!”

The sorcerer continued muttering to himself as he walked. He therefore did not notice when the figure separated itself from the trees, watching him from a distance and chuckling at the night elf ’s momentary lapse of honor and brotherhood.

“The groundwork is laid,” it whispered in amusement, “and you yourself will build upon it, twin of the druid.”

With that, it snuck off in the opposite direction…moving along on two furred limbs ending in hooves.

Unwilling to wait any longer for the druid and the mage to return, Lord Ravencrest ordered the night elves to move out the next day. It was clear that most of his followers would have preferred to march at night, but the noble would not let the demons see him as too predictable. His fighters were gradually becoming as accustomed to the sun as much as they could, even though it meant that their strength was not at its peak. Ravencrest now relied on the determination of his people, their understanding that, if they failed, this would be their end.

The Burning Legion, in turn, awaited them not all that far away. The night elves marched knowing that bloodshed lurked just beyond the horizon, but they marched nonetheless.

And so, once more the struggle for Kalimdor went on.

While the night elves battled to survive and Illidan sought to come to grips with his foul thoughts, Krasus struggled with an entirely different matter, one that Malfurion suspected he had not planned for.

“It goes on for as far as I can detect,” the mage hissed in frustration.

“It” was invisible to the eye, but not to the touch. “It” was a vast, unseen shield that held them but a day—by Krasus’s measurement—from their goal.

They had discovered it the hard way. Krasus’s hippogriff had collided with nothing, the crash so violent that the mage had been thrown from the injured animal’s back. Malfurion, aware that his own hippogriff could never reach Krasus in time, sought out the aid of the wind. A powerful mountain blast threw his companion up again, close enough for the druid to grasp the mage’s arm. They had then landed to study this new obstacle.

And after several hours of study, Krasus appeared no closer to the answer…and the sight of him looking so baffled unnerved the druid more than he let on.

At last, Krasus uttered the unthinkable. “I am defeated.”

“You find no method by which to pierce it?”

“Worse, druid, I cannot even contact anyone within. Even my thoughts are barred.”

Malfurion had come to deeply respect Krasus. The mysterious mage had helped save him when Lord Xavius had captured his spirit. Krasus had also been instrumental in enabling the night elf to vanquish the queen’s advisor and destroy the first portal. To see him thus…

“So close,” continued the mage. “So very close! This is his work to be sure!”

“Whose work?”

His eyes narrowing, Krasus looked just enough like a pale night elf to make his expression that much more unsettling. He appeared to be measuring his companion and Malfurion suddenly found himself hoping to be found worthy.

“Yes…you should know. You deserve to know.”

The druid held his breath. Whatever Krasus desired to reveal, it surely had to be of monumental importance.

“Look directly into my eyes, Malfurion.” When the night elf had obeyed, Krasus said, “There are three of us that you and yours term 'outsiders.’ There is Rhonin, who calls himself a human, and there is Brox, the orc. You know not their races, but they are as you see them—a human and an orc.”

The elder figure paused. Thinking he had to respond, Malfurion nodded. “A human and an orc.”

“Have I ever said what it is I am? Have either of the others specified?”

Thinking back, the night elf could not recall anyone giving name to Krasus’s race. “You’re of night elven blood. You look enough like us to be kin, if—”

“I might look like one of your kind if he were dead a year or more, but that is as close to a resemblance as we can admit, yes? What you see is only a guise; there are no blood ties between your race and mine…nor, for that matter, mine with humans, orcs, dwarves, or tauren.”

Malfurion looked confused. “Then…what are you?”

Krasus’s gaze drew him in further. All he could see were those alien eyes. “Look deep, druid. Look deep and think of what you know of me already.”

As he stared into his companion’s eyes, Malfurion recalled everything he knew, which was not much at all—a spellcaster of remarkable knowledge, and talent. Even at his most ill, Krasus had carried about him an aura of incredible age and ability. The sisterhood had sensed it, although none of them seemed to understand exactly what it meant, as did the Moon Guard. Even the night sabers treated him better than they did the masters who had raised them.

And for a time, the mage had even commanded the friendship of a dragon…

…A dragon…

Without the behemoth near, Krasus had suffered as if on his deathbed. The dragon, too, had shown signs of weariness beyond the ordinary. Together, however, they had been as one, their strength magnified.

But there had been more to it than that. Korialstrasz had spoken with Krasus like none other—as an equal, almost a brother.

Seeing the growing realization on the druid’s face, Krasus whispered, “You are at the threshold of understanding. Cross it now.”

He opened himself up for Malfurion to see. In the night elf ’s mind, Krasus transformed. His robes ripped to shreds as his body grew and twisted. His legs bent in reverse and his feet and hands became long, clawed appendages. Wings sprouted from his back, expanding until they were great enough to blot out the moon.