Authors: Richard A. Knaak
Krasus continued to look around. The Burning Legion never came in one assault. They always had another attack waiting for the proper moment.
He spotted four Doomguard flying side by side. After a moment, he realized that they all held onto what at first seemed a long, thick rope. As they neared, however, he saw that it was not a rope, but rather some sort of flexible metal line.
He jerked his gaze in the opposite direction. Sure enough, four more demons carried a similar object, and both groups appeared headed for Korialstrasz’s wing area.
“Malfurion! Look there!”
The druid did, his expression turning perplexed. “What do they plan to do with that?”
“Tangle or bind his wings, likely! Korialstrasz is too distracted! We must do what we can to stop them!”
Even as he spoke, the elder mage sighted two more groups likewise armed. The demons wanted to ensure they accomplished their dire task.
As those carrying the lines neared, the other Doomguard fought with more frenzy. Krasus and the night elf tried focusing on the true threat, but the Burning Legion would not permit them.
A huge gust of wind abruptly scattered many of the hellish warriors above. Malfurion exhaled, the spell—with all else—taking something out of him. However, he had bought Krasus time to act.
Borrowing from one of the druid’s most potent attacks, the one that had slain Hakkar, Krasus eyed the first group. The demons nearly had the impossibly-long wire over a distracted Korialstrasz’s left wing. If they succeeded in looping it around, the dragon would be forced to try to stay aloft with the right—an insurmountable task.
The bolt struck only one of the demons, but the very line they carried sent the shock through to the others. The monstrous attackers shook and screamed, then, as the lightning faded, their limp hands released the metal bond. The four plummeted into the mist.
Although he had stopped one set, Krasus now saw that there were at least five others. The other winged fighters closed again, bedeviling the three.
“I must ask of you the greatest of favors!” thundered the red dragon. “Cling to me as if your lives depended upon it, for they certainly will!”
The two smaller figures immediately obeyed. Krasus shouted, “Hook your feet under the scale, Malfurion! Quickly!”
Just as they both did what he suggested, Korialstrasz spun on his back.
The tactic took the Burning Legion by complete surprise. Korialstrasz’s huge, leathery wings struck demon after demon. Two of the groups carrying the metal lines went floundering, their burdens vanishing into the mist below.
As he spun, the red behemoth also unleashed three quick but stunning bursts of flame. The first two utterly ravaged a pair of Doomguard. The last missed, but scattered several more attackers.
“Look out!” Malfurion cried.
A huge missile barreled into the dragon’s chest. Krasus’s footing slipped, and he suddenly dangled by his hands. The druid could do nothing to help him, barely holding on himself.
The fiery figure bounded away from its victim. The Infernal dropped into the mist unconcerned about the tremendous distance it would fall. Even from up here, the demon would survive a crash below unscathed.
The other attackers used the moment to close. Krasus kicked at the blade of one as he pulled himself back onto the red dragon’s back. Malfurion threw some more particles from his pouch, but the now wiser Legion forces all but avoided them. Only one Doomguard fell prey to the vines, but with so many others around, the loss was negligible.
As Krasus seated himself again, one of the groups began winding the long line around Korialstrasz’s right wing. Jabbing his fingers at the four, he spoke another word of power.
His fingernails snapped off, flying at the demons. As the nails flew, they stretched to more than a foot long each. In rapid succession, all four demons froze where they were as the sharp missiles bored through them. Krasus rubbed his fingers—where new nails were already growing—and watched as the demons dropped.
“Korialstrasz!” Krasus shouted. “We must break free! We cannot stay here and fight like this!”
This time, his younger self heard him, and, although clearly he did not like to leave the battle unfinished, he deferred to Krasus. “That may be more difficult than you think!”
Krasus understood exactly how difficult it would be. There were Doomguard everywhere and the dragon, mindful of his riders, had to move with care. That was what the Burning Legion now counted on.
But they had to leave. They had already delayed too long.
The leviathan paused to incinerate a careless Doomguard. “I have one notion! It worked before! Hold tight again!”
Neither Krasus nor the night elf had ceased holding tight since nearly being tossed earlier. Still, they both gripped the dragon by the scales as best they could.
And no sooner had they done it than Korialstrasz’s wings ceased beating.
The dragon sank like a rock, leaving the startled demons hovering high above. By the time they started after, Korialstrasz was far, far out of reach.
Malfurion shouted. Krasus gritted his teeth and recalled too late that this had been a favorite strategy of his when younger. Most opponents, even other dragons, expected his kind to stay aloft. Vaguely Krasus remembered experiencing something like this when Korialstrasz had fought the two blacks.
Down and down they fell, the dragon using his wings only to keep from flipping over. It seemed impossible that his passengers would hold on, but somehow they did.
It occurred to Krasus that, with the mist so thick, his younger self might not see the ground soon enough, but then a strange thing happened—the mist simply vanished. It was as if some great being had cut a wedge out of the haze. A faint touch still remained, but visibility was so good that Krasus could see hills far, far away.
“Ha!” roared a triumphant Korialstrasz. He beat his wings, jostling his companions slightly. The dragon caught the wind and eased smoothly into flight again. Of the Burning Legion, there was no sign.
Korialstrasz did not wait for them to catch up. He flew on toward their original destination, moving at a speed that none of the demons could possibly match.
Behind Krasus, Malfurion gasped, “May I never have to do that again! Night elves were surely not meant to fly as much as I have!”
“After this journey, I would hardly blame you for such feelings…” Krasus suddenly eyed the path ahead. “Once again, I am having a sense of déjà vu. Most disturbing.”
“What is it? What’s wrong now? More demons?”
“That would be a simple situation, druid. This appears far more complex.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at this swath of clarity in what has been one continuous blanket of evil since the Burning Legion’s arrival.”
“Maybe my people are defeating them and this is the first sign.”
Krasus wished that he could share Malfurion’s optimism. He raised his head to the air and, as Brox often did, sniffed for a scent. What the mage sensed nearly overwhelmed him and confirmed his fear.
“Korialstrasz! Smell the air! Tell me what you detect!”
The dragon immediately obeyed. What Krasus could see of his expression turned startled. “I sense…I sense our own kind…”
“Only one?”
“No…there are so many, they overlap…”
“What does it mean?” Malfurion asked Krasus.
The dragon mage hissed. “It means that the demons we fought have done us more harm than I could have imagined!”
“But…we escaped virtually unscathed…”
Krasus would have preferred a few new wounds to what they had instead suffered. Even the minutes used to fight their way free of the trap had been too much. The others would be far ahead by now.
There was so much that he wanted to relay, but the spell cast on him prevented it. To Malfurion, Krasus could only utter one thing, but it was enough.
“The other dragons are ahead of us, druid…and he, no doubt, is at the head of the flight.”
Krasus saw that Malfurion had grasped the essence of his words immediately. The dragons were heading for the battle, certain that they wielded a power sufficient to destroy the Burning Legion.
They could not know that Neltharion, the one who led them to that battle, would there betray them…
Miles ahead and swiftly approaching their destination, the dragons flew ready for battle. Neltharion had led them along a route low to the ground, using the might of the Dragon Soul to eradicate the mist. That in itself had impressed the rest, including Alexstrasza and the other Aspects. No one doubted the amazing properties of his creation.
And as he soared toward his impending triumph, Neltharion’s head filled with the whispering voices. Nearly there, nearly there! they said. Soon, soon! they promised.
Soon all would bow before his glory, and the world would be made right.
“What do you wish of us?” Alexstrasza called to him.
I wish you to bare your throat to me…the Earth Warder thought, but instead answered, “I have described the array! I need all set in the sky as I asked! The Dragon Soul will do the rest!”
“As simple as that?”
I want to make it easy for you to bow to me…“Yes, as simple as that.”
She asked no more questions, for which Neltharion was grateful. His mind raged, and her nattering had nearly caused him to give himself away.
The Dragon Soul—his Dragon Soul—continued to clear the way for their eyes. As Neltharion peered ahead, he caught a glimpse of movement on the ground, movement like thousands of ants.
They had come upon the battle. He could scarcely contain his glee.
Patience…murmured the voices. Patience…
Yes, the black dragon could afford to be patient a little longer. He could be magnanimous. The prize was so great, a few more minutes would not matter.
Just a few more minutes…
Brox saw them first. Wiping the sweat from his brow after having dispatched a felbeast, the orc happened to glance up and see the first of the leviathans arrive over the battle scene. He gaped for a moment, almost losing his head to a Fel Guard for his stupidity. Brox traded blows with the demon, cut the creature into three pieces, then stepped back and looked around. Unfortunately, that one was not near.
The orc snorted. Rhonin might not know of the dragons yet, but surely it would not be long before everyone became aware of their presence.
The struggle, Brox decided, had just grown a lot more interesting.
Rhonin had never reached Lord Ravencrest. The noble stood within sight of him, but the sudden shift in the fight had forced the wizard to concentrate instead on keeping the front line from collapsing before him. Several quick spells of short duration had helped stabilize it, but he could not save the situation all by himself. Unfortunately, the Moon Guard was already stretched thin in some places and in others Illidan had them focusing on him so that he could cast his grand spells.
Malfurion’s brother had grown more and more reckless, and not simply because of the circumstances. He flung spells left and right as if they were pebbles, not caring that he came precariously close to hitting his own people.
Another area threatened to buckle. Prodded on by the Doomguard, three Infernals collided with the soldiers there, tossing them everywhere. Fel Guard poured through, chopping and thrusting at anything that still showed life.
The red-haired wizard gestured, but just as he finished the last bit of his spell, an explosion rocked the region in question. The Infernals shattered and the monstrous warriors behind them fell, their armor and most of their flesh torn away.
Had that been the only result, Rhonin would have cheered. However, among the demon dead were many night elves who had suffered the same horrible fate. Survivors cried out for aid. Blood splattered everything.
Rhonin cursed, but not because the fault had been his. His spell remained uncast.
His furious gaze fell upon Illidan. The sorcerer had finally done it. He had killed his own, and the most horrific part was that he had either not noticed or not cared.
The Burning Legion forgotten, Rhonin began shoving his way toward Malfurion’s twin. Illidan had to be taken to account; this could not happen again.
The subject of his righteous ire turned and saw him approaching. Illidan gave him a smile of triumph, which did nothing to alleviate the wizard’s anger.