Authors: Richard A. Knaak
“Down this way!” called the priestess in the lead. She steered her mount around a descending trail, then vanished briefly around the edge of a hill that they had been skirting.
The others followed suit, aware that each second counted. But as they came around the hill, Malfurion shouted, “Look out!”
Coming seemingly out of nowhere, the battle flowed into them. Desperate soldiers fell back as grinning demons chopped into their weakening lines. The riders just barely missed colliding with the former. Worse, the fluidity of the line brought them face-to-face with the enemy.
The sister in the lead tried to deflect the burning blade of a demon, but she moved too slowly. The monstrous sword ripped through her shoulder and neck and she dropped like a stone. Her mount tore into the demon immediately after the attack, but there was nothing that could be done for its rider.
“Mistress!” the remaining sister shouted. “Get back!” She shared blows with a Fel Guard, beating him away from Tyrande.
Malfurion’s childhood friend did not shirk from the battle, though. With a fierceness that reminded Krasus of one of his own, she came to her companion’s aid, driving her blade under the demon’s armor. The Fel Guard crumpled and briefly the defenders’ line reformed.
“We need to reach Rhonin and Lord Ravencrest!” Krasus urged.
Yet, despite their best efforts, they found themselves pushed back by the sea of bodies. Krasus cast a spell that sent the fallen weapons of other demons flying into those monstrous warriors in the forefront. Beset by both the night elves and the enchanted blades, many demons died.
The effort pushed Krasus more than he had expected. Again, Korialstrasz’s weakness affected him, too. His younger self had expended himself against Neltharion, and the link between the two had evidently even let him draw from Krasus.
Malfurion proved more effective. He whipped up a dust storm that blinded only the Burning Legion, forcing the demons to swing recklessly in the hopes of finding some target. Soldiers picked off the confused warriors with ease.
Focused on the encroaching invaders, Krasus paid no attention to the sky; thanks to Neltharion, he saw no reason why anyone would need to look up anymore.
But when he heard the screaming sound and noted the growing shadow, Krasus finally did look up, just in time to curse his failing.
The two Infernals struck…and chaos overwhelmed all.
The hurtling demons hit the ground with devastating results. A tremendous quake overwhelmed everyone. Soldiers were sent flying. Others screamed as huge chunks of stone and earth—tossed up by the Infernals’ landing—crushed them.
Tyrande’s mount was struck by one such missile and fell, tossing the priestess into the fray. The other sister reached for her, but a fiery blade caught her through the heart. Malfurion, too, attempted to grab Tyrande, but one of the Infernals rose from the pit it created and barreled into his night saber.
He received no aid from Krasus. The dragon mage hung half-conscious in the saddle, the side of his head bruised by what must have been a huge rock. Worse, Krasus’s mount, panicked by the tremors, ran off with the stricken figure.
The druid finally leapt from his night saber. The Infernal ran past him, the brutish demon interested only in general carnage.
Fighting through the mob of disheartened soldiers, Malfurion caught sight of Tyrande. One hand pressed against her head, she half-knelt in the mayhem. Her helmet lay at her feet, one part severely dented. The druid marveled that she was alive.
“Tyrande!” he cried, stretching a hand out to her. She stared blankly at it a moment before taking it. Malfurion dragged her back from the worst of the fighting.
With Tyrande leaning on him, the druid headed for somewhere to momentarily hide. All he cared about was getting her away from this area. Malfurion felt guilty for having asked her to come, even though there was likely no part of the battle where anyone could be considered safe.
He half-dragged her up the hillside. Even up here, it was not so safe, for night elves and demons already fought at the base. At the moment, however, it was the only possible choice.
A few green plants still hung to life on the hill. The druid touched one and begged of the plant its moisture. He brought the green leaves to Tyrande’s lips, letting precious water drip into her mouth.
She moaned. He readjusted her position, letting her head rest in the crook of his arm. “Easy, Tyrande. Easy.”
“M-Malfurion…the others…”
“They’re all right,” he lied. “Take a minute to clear your head. You struck it when you fell.”
“Hel’jara! She—it went right through her!”
Malfurion quietly swore; if she recalled the one sister’s death, then she would soon recall too much more. “Try to relax.”
But even as he asked that of her, Malfurion himself tensed. He felt certain that someone watched them.
Quickly peering behind him, the druid thought that he caught sight of a shadow. One hand immediately twisted into a fist. Had one of the attackers slipped through?
“Tyrande,” he whispered. “I’m going to talk to Krasus. He’s not far. You rest more.”
She gazed at him with an expression that indicated she found something wrong with what he said, but could not identify just what. Hoping that her mind would not clear too quickly and make her remember that the mage had become separated from them, Malfurion gently let her rest against the hill, then slipped away.
As he cautiously wended his way toward where he thought he had seen the shadow, the druid focused on spells utilizing what existed around him. The land here would be only too eager to aid him if he sought to destroy a Fel Guard or other demon.
Someone or something had been here. He saw a slight depression in one area, but it was smaller than he would have imagined from one of the fearsome warriors. The print indicated either a very short figure or some animal, though he could not say which. There also seemed to have been more than one creature.
Pushing past a tree, he halted. Ahead came the sound of something scraping against rock. Malfurion rushed ahead, already prepared to attack.
However, as he came around another tree, he saw not a demon, but a slighter, more familiar figure. Another night elf.
She scrambled out of sight, slipping away too fast for him to follow without leaving Tyrande dangerously alone. The young female had not been wearing armor or robes of the temple, but rather garments such as many of the refugees wore. In one hand, she had been carrying something long and wooden, but his brief glimpse had not given him enough of an image to guess just what.
It was not so surprising to find a refugee wandering about. The ordinary people were now likely scattering in fear. The host was being decisively beaten back, and nothing seemed capable of saving the night elves this time.
Malfurion turned and hurried back toward where he had left Tyrande. She was all that mattered to him now. He could do nothing for any young refugee who had gotten so far from the rest.
The druid scrambled among the trees, eyes already searching for Tyrande. Malfurion had wasted precious time chasing after the young figure; he had to get Tyrande and himself away from here quickly, before the fight rose to where she lay.
As he came around the last of the trees, Malfurion gave a sigh of relief. The sounds of combat were still some distance away. Tyrande would be safe—
He stopped dead as he came upon the prone figure of his childhood friend…and an ominous figure hovering over her.
It should have been impossible for the creature to hear him, but it turned to Malfurion nonetheless. Hooves kicked at the rocky earth as the goatlike figure confronted him. The upper half resembled one of his own kind, save for the wicked horns curling high above. The all-too-night-elven face leered at the druid as the newcomer’s taloned fingers stretched in anticipation.
But what was most terrible, even more so than finding this creature looming above his Tyrande, was the fiend’s face.
Malfurion knew that face. He had told no one, but it haunted his dreams. Even though there were some changes in the features, he could never have forgotten the eyes…the black and crimson crystal eyes.
Lord Xavius had risen from the dead.
T
he lines of the night elves proved so fluid now that everyone’s position shifted continuously. That notwithstanding, Lord Ravencrest did what he could to keep order, to keep morale. For all that he had argued with the noble in the past, Rhonin now felt thankful that the master of Black Rook Hold had the sway over his soldiers that he did. The wizard could not imagine someone like Desdel Stareye doing the same.
Ravencrest finally caught sight of the human. Riding toward him, he shouted, “Wizard! I need you up there, not back here!”
“One of us should remain near you, my lord!” In truth, Rhonin wanted to stay nearby to hear any reports that might come, but protecting the commander of the host had also become a priority with him.
“I’d rather you be up by the Moon Guard and Illidan!” For the first time, Ravencrest betrayed a secret. “I’d feel much better if you took the lead at this moment! The lad’s good, but we need control now, not mayhem! If you’d please!”
Pointed out like that, Rhonin could hardly argue. Already he had sensed Illidan drawing ever more wildly from both his comrades and the Well itself. After witnessing the madness of the black dragon, Rhonin could easily imagine Illidan becoming likewise the more he freely immersed himself in his magic.
“As you say, my lord!” Urging his mount forward, the wizard looked for Illidan. It was not hard to locate the young sorcerer. Like a beacon of silver light, Illidan stood out among the defenders. The aura he wore about him nearly blinded those closest, but of course, Malfurion’s twin was too blinded by his own might to realize how he affected the rest.
Even as Rhonin neared, the black-garbed figure unleashed a series of explosive bolts at the oncoming horde. Demons were tossed everywhere, scorched body parts even raining down near the wizard. Unfortunately, a few soldiers, also caught in the fringe of the spell, perished in the same horrible manner.
One of the Moon Guard collapsed. Illidan snarled at the rest and the much more experienced spellcasters sheepishly realigned themselves so as to remove the fallen one from their magical matrix.
What does he think he’s doing? thought Rhonin to himself. At this rate, they and everyone around him will be dead!
Illidan started casting, then noticed the wizard. The night elf grinned at Rhonin, so pleased with his work that he failed to notice that the rest of the army was collapsing.
“Master Rhonin! Did you see—”
“I’ve seen everything! Illidan! Ravencrest wants me to take over! We need to coordinate our attack and bring back some semblance of order!”
“Take over?” A dangerous look flashed across the night elf ’s expression. “From me?”
“Yes!” Rhonin saw no reason to placate Malfurion’s brother; the fate of an entire people—an entire world—might very well hang in their hands.
With clear bitterness, Illidan acquiesced, then asked, “What do we do?”
The mage had already thought that out. For the time being, he wanted to remove Illidan from the matrix completely, giving the Moon Guard the opportunity to recuperate. With Rhonin at their head, they would be able to assist while still recovering.
“I’ve tried contacting Krasus, but to no avail! So much magic might be making it difficult! Your link to your twin should be stronger, more inherent! I need you to find the two of them for us! We need their aid in this, too!”
The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed, a clear sign that he recognized what Rhonin was doing. Nonetheless, he nodded again. “I’ll find my brother. We wouldn’t want to be without his powers, would we?”
Illidan moved away before Rhonin could say anything. The wizard frowned, but knew that he could expect no better understanding from the hot-headed youth.
A few of the Moon Guard looked almost relieved when Rhonin joined their efforts. They no longer cared that he was an outsider; they just knew that he would lead them well.
“We need to sweep away their front line much the way we did once before,” he informed the group. “Bind with me and we’ll begin…”
As he prepared for his spellwork, Rhonin took one last glance at Illidan. The sorcerer still wore a look of aggravation, but appeared to be doing as told. Eventually, the wizard thought, Malfurion’s brother would learn to appreciate what Rhonin had done.
At least, the fiery-tressed mage hoped so.