Authors: Richard A. Knaak
Rhonin quieted. He knew as well as the dragon mage what fate would eventually befall the red flight. Even if the Burning Legion was defeated in this period, the dragons would still suffer terribly. Deathwing the Destroyer would see to it that the orcs gained control of them, especially Krasus’s own red flight, and used them as beasts of war. Many, many dragons would die for no good reason.
“But there was just beginning to be hope for us again,” Krasus added, his stare drifting momentarily. “And that, more than anything else, gives me another reason to see that history does not change.”
“I only know what happened from the histories preserved by the wizards of Dalaran, Krasus. You know them from living this time—”
The gaunt, almost elven figure hissed again. “Your recollections based on the writings are likely more accurate than my own riddled mind. I have come to the conclusion that Nozdormu’s intrusion into my thoughts, while helpful in setting us on this mission, also were too much for me to absorb completely without the loss of other memories.” Nozdormu, the Aspect of Time, had been the one to call upon Krasus and warn him of the crisis. The huge, sand-colored dragon now could not be contacted even in this period, and Krasus feared that he was, in all his incarnations, trapped in the anomaly. “I fear that I will never entirely recall this time period—and what is missing is enough to fuel my uncertainties as to the outcome.”
“So we fight and hope for the best.”
“As has been done by everyone in battle throughout history, yes.”
The bearded human nodded grimly. “Suits me just fine.”
On and on the night elven forces traveled, advancing miles without pause or delay. Most of the soldiers marched with high spirits, for it seemed that the enemy was not at all eager to match blades with them. With ears sharper than any of the creatures around him, Krasus heard soldiers pointing out that much of the destruction and death caused by the demons had been on unsuspecting and ill-prepared innocents. Once they had faced an organized resistance, the demons themselves had been slaughtered. Some even speculated that if the night elves had pursued the Burning Legion back to Zin-Azshari after that first battle instead of withdrawing to gather more strength, then the war would have already been over.
Such comments bothered Krasus; it was one thing to go into battle with confidence, another to believe the foe so easily defeated. The night elves had to understand that the Burning Legion was death incarnate.
His gaze turned to the one night elf who seemed to realize some of this. Krasus recalled that Malfurion would be a key to winning this struggle, but he could not remember exactly how. That he was the first of the druids was a significant point, though not the only one. The dragon mage had already determined that everything must be done to protect him.
With nearly most of the night spent, scouts suddenly returned from the southeast. Ravencrest had organized a steady stream of outriders to ensure the most up-to-date information possible.
The three night elves looked quite bedraggled. Clearly, they had ridden their heavily-panting night sabers at a swift pace for some time. Sweat covered their faces and grime colored their garments. Pausing only to sip water, they reported their findings.
“A small column of the fiends is moving methodically through the region of Dy-Jaru, my lord,” said the senior scout. “We’ve seen smoke and fire and sighted refugees heading away.”
“Estimate of the enemy’s numbers?”
“Difficult to say for certain, but far less than this host, definitely.”
Ravencrest tugged on his beard, considering. “Where are the refugees heading?”
“It looks to be Halumar, my lord, but they’ll not make it. The demons are on their heels.”
“Can we come between them?”
“Aye, if we hurry. There’s just enough of a gap.”
The noble reached out a hand to one of his aides. “Chart.”
Immediately the proper map was handed to Ravencrest. He unrolled it, then had the scouts point out the locations of the refugees and the Burning Legion. When he saw them, he nodded. “We must move up the pace and prepare to meet them in daylight, but it can be done. We will still be on the path to Zin-Azshari. We can afford this minor detour.”
“Especially as it might save a few innocent lives,” Rhonin muttered under his breath to Brox.
Krasus leaned forward. “Did you mark the demons? What kind did you see?”
“Mostly those called the Fel Guard.”
One of the other scouts added, “I saw a couple of the hounds and one of the winged demons, the Doomguard.”
The dragon mage frowned. “A meager assortment.”
“They no doubt ran far ahead of the rest in their zeal,” Lord Ravencrest announced. “We shall teach them the benefits of restraint…not that they’ll live long enough to appreciate the lesson.” To his officers, he commanded, “Give the order! We head to meet them!”
The army shifted almost instantly. The night elves moved with eagerness, ready not only to save their kin, but to taste the first victory in their grand march to the capital.
Illidan and the Moon Guard shifted position, taking up areas along the width of the host. The Sisters of Elune did likewise, their groups poised to aid in whatever way necessary, be it healing or war. As the only outsiders, Rhonin, Krasus, and Brox remained together, although the two wizards had already agreed that Rhonin would watch Illidan once the battle began. Neither still trusted him to be cautious.
Malfurion stayed with them, in great part because Ravencrest was still uncertain over how best to use his unusual abilities. With Captain Shadowsong’s unit guarding the four, the noble felt satisfied that the druid would be protected well enough for him to decide on his own what attacks would work against the demons.
Between having studied with Cenarius all day and riding most of the night with the prospect of battle imminent, Malfurion felt his exhaustion growing. The demigod had taught him how to better draw strength from the natural world and Malfurion hoped that he would be given the opportunity to do so before the night elves met the Burning Legion.
The sun rose over the horizon, vanishing quickly into a thick, low cloud cover that actually benefited the host. The spells that Krasus and Rhonin had used on both them and Brox enabled their vision to immediately adjust to the changing light, but the soldiers for the most part had let their eyes grow accustomed in the normal fashion. The cloud cover gave the nocturnal race some relief, further stirring their enthusiasm for the coming conflict.
The scouts continued to ride in and out gathering information. The demons had not yet caught up to the fleeing night elves, but they were close. Encouraged, Ravencrest urged his warriors on. Sending forth a large contingent of night saber riders, he planned to come at the Burning Legion from two sides.
When word came that the host had begun to cut between the refugees and their pursuers, the noble had the horns sounded. The signal set the soldiers into battle readiness.
And at last, as they flowed over a series of low hills, the night elves came upon the foe.
The fiery demons had laid waste to every inch of the land, leaving all scorched. No life existed behind them. The dead lands that Krasus witnessed while astride Korialstrasz spread to the horizon and the horror of it steeled the defenders more.
“It’s as the scouts have reported,” the master of Black Rook Hold muttered, drawing his sword. “All the better. Now we show them the folly of ravaging our fair land.”
Krasus studied the horde. Still a great enemy, but nothing the night elves could not destroy readily. “My lord, caution is still suggested…”
But Ravencrest did not hear him. The elder night elf twice waved his sword back and forth, and every horn in the host blared at once.
With a single shout, the night elves descended upon the demons.
The Burning Legion did not falter at the sight of the superior force. Rather, the armored demons roared lustily, eager to add to the carnage that they had already wreaked upon Kalimdor. The refugees forgotten, they surged toward the night elves.
A set of two high notes was followed almost instantly by a wave of arrows that filled the sky. Like shrieking banshees, the bolts dropped among the monstrous warriors, piercing throats, limbs, and heads. Dead and wounded demons toppled over everywhere, forcing others to slow to clamber over them.
A bolt of golden lightning struck the center of the horde, tossing Fel Guard left and right. Gobbets of flesh and the ooze that was the demons’ blood rained down upon the survivors. Krasus looked to his left and saw Illidan laughing at the successful results of his first attack. The young sorcerer immediately directed several of the Moon Guard into a pattern akin to the one used during their first battle against the Burning Legion. Illidan planned to draw from his comrades and amplify their power through him.
The dragon mage frowned. Such tactics tended to drain those providing the power more than the one who cast the spell. Should he not pay attention to the condition of his companions, Illidan threatened to weaken them to the point where they could not defend themselves if personally attacked by the Eredar.
But concern for what Malfurion’s brother might cause because of his negligence gave way to concentrating on the enemy alone. For the first time, Krasus cast a spell without the aid of Korialstrasz’s presence. He did not know what to expect, but when he felt the power build up inside him, the elder conjurer smiled.
A fearsome wind swept over the center of the demons’ front ranks. It threw the horned warriors together, even directed their weapons against one another. Mayhem arose among the enemy there.
The chaos gave the night elves a perfect opportunity. As the first of the soldiers reached the demons, they quickly slaughtered those they faced. The Legion’s front lines could not maintain any organization. Fel Guard dropped by the scores as they sought in vain to regroup.
Another flight of arrows decimated the ranks further back. Within minutes, a good quarter of the horde lay either dead or dying. Krasus should have felt more confident, but he still found the battle moving much too easily. The Burning Legion had never fallen with so little trouble.
Not that he could discuss his uncertainty with the others. Brox had slipped in among the fighters and somehow gotten all the way to the front. Astride his night saber, he swung the huge ax around and around. Wherever the weapon’s blades cut, the orc left death. The head of a demon flew over Brox as the green-skinned warrior shouted his challenge to the enemy.
As for Rhonin, he cast spells whose intensity made Krasus envious. Touching upon the green flames that were an inherent part of the demons, the red-haired wizard made them truly fiery and, in a sense, caused the demons to consume themselves. One after another they fell, quickly reducing to ash and a few bits of armor. Rhonin’s expression was among the grimmest that Krasus had seen among the defenders; the dragon mage had no doubt that his former pupil thought constantly of his wife and unborn children, whose future literally hung on victory in this war.
Where was Malfurion? At first the lanky wizard could not spot the druid, but then he saw the young night elf at the rear of the host. Malfurion sat quietly atop his mount, his eyes closed in concentration. Krasus felt nothing at first, but then he noted a pressure in the earth, a pressure that moved toward the Burning Legion. With his magical senses, he followed its path, curious as to what would happen.
And suddenly, beneath the first few rows of the horde, roots sprouted up. Tree roots, grass roots…any and every sort of root that one could imagine. Krasus realized that Malfurion had caused them to not only stretch forth from the untainted ground, but to grow as most could never possibly do under natural conditions.
A horned warrior stumbled, then, with a startled roar, fell forward into the waiting blade of a night elf. A felbeast growled and snapped as its massive paws became entangled. Everywhere demons tripped, twisted, and battled just to keep standing. They made for easy prey and scores more perished because of the roots. However, none of the night elves, Krasus saw, had even the slightest difficulty with the tendrils. In fact, several times the roots cleared paths for the soldiers, further aiding their cause.
With less than half of the demons still fighting, victory was surely at hand…and yet Krasus did not trust in the host’s success. He surveyed the entire scene, finding nothing to add credence to his concerns.
Nothing, that is, save one lone winged demon flying up into the cloud cover. Krasus watched him ascend, then quickly tried to cast a spell.
He caught the demon just before the creature would have vanished into the clouds. The mist itself wrapped around the Doomguard warrior like a shroud, sealing his wings to his tall, armored form. The demon struggled, but could do nothing. A moment later, he dropped like a deadly missile toward his own comrades.