The Demon Soul (warcraft)

by Richard A. Knaak

  “The soldiers have fought valiantly,” the mage replied politely, “but they are of flesh and blood and are flagging. They must have this rest.”

  “Food, too,” grunted Brox, who had accompanied the spellcasters. The night elves had clearly not desired the orc’s company, but as Ravencrest had not commanded him to be put out, no one, not even Stareye, would make an objection to his presence.

  “Yes, there is that,” the master of Black Rook Hold agreed. “The soldiers and refugees are eating and bedding down and that’s the end of it. Now, then, we move on to what must happen next.”

  “Zin-Azshari, certainly!” piped up Lord Stareye. “Queen Azshara must be saved!”

  The other nobles echoed his sentiments. Krasus frowned, but said nothing. He and the others had discussed the matter before their arrival, and all had agreed that the night elves would cling to the belief that their monarch was a prisoner of the demons. Since Zin-Azshari was also the access point by which the Burning Legion entered Kalimdor, it seemed futile to argue for any other course of action. For one reason or another, the capital had to be taken.

  Krasus did not think, however, that Malfurion’s people could do it alone.

  Ignoring protocol, he stepped up and demanded, “My Lord Ravencrest! I must speak again on a subject I know you wish not to hear, but that cannot be avoided!”

  Ravencrest accepted a goblet of wine poured by Lord Stareye. Even in the midst of crisis, the hierarchy of the night elves insisted on some benefits. “You’d be referring to communications with dwarves and such.”

  Next to him, Stareye scoffed. Similar expressions graced the features of most of the other nobles.

  Despite that it was clear that this would be a repeat of all his previous defeats, the mage persisted. “At this moment, the dwarves, tauren, and other races are surely fighting their own struggles against the Burning Legion. Separately, there is some small chance that you will survive, but a concerted effort by all could see Zin-Azshari taken with a loss of far fewer lives!”

  “Tauren in Zin-Azshari?” blurted one noble. “How barbaric!”

  “They’d rather have the demons there?” muttered Rhonin to Malfurion.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” the druid replied morosely.

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  The bearded commander downed his wine, then handed the goblet back to Lord Stareye. He eyed the mage as one would a respected, albeit misguided, elder. “Master Krasus, your contributions to our strategy have been well appreciated. Your knowledge of your craft exceeds that of any of our sorcerers. In the guidance of the arts, I heartily turn to you for suggestions.” Ravencrest’s frown deepened. “However, when it comes to other matters, I must remind you that you aren’t one of us. You don’t understand basic truths. Even if I did something as mad as summon the dwarves and tauren to our aid, do you think honestly they would come? They distrust us as much as we do them! For that matter, even if they would join us, do you expect our soldiers to fight alongside?”

  “The dwarves are more likely to turn on us,” interjected Stareye. “Their avarice is well-documented. They would rob us and then scurry back to their holes.”

  Another officer added, “And the tauren would spend as much time fighting with one another. They are beasts more than intelligent creatures! Their chaos would spill over into our fighters, cause such disarray that we would be easily wiped out by the demons!”

  Lord Ravencrest agreed. “You see, Master Krasus? We would be inviting not only bedlam into our midst, but certain destruction.”

  “We may yet face that by going on alone.”

  “This particular discussion is at an end, good wizard, and I must respectfully order that you do not bring it up again.”

  The two stared at each other for several seconds…and it was Ravencrest who glanced away first. Despite that small victory, though, Krasus acquiesced.

  “Forgive me for overstepping my bounds,” he said.

  “We are about to discuss supplies and logistics, Master Krasus. There really is no need for the presence of any spellcaster during this session, save Illidan, who serves me directly. I would suggest that you and the others get some much needed rest yourselves. Your skills will be welcome when we advance again.”

  Krasus bowed politely, saying nothing more. With the others following, he calmly glided out of the tent.

  But once out of earshot of those within, the pale mage commented bitterly, “Their shortsightedness will put a tragic end to this struggle. Alliance with the other races is the key to victory…”

  “They won’t accept them,” Malfurion insisted. “My people will never fight alongside such.”

  “They accepted Korialstrasz readily enough,” countered Rhonin.

  “There are few who can deny a dragon, Master Rhonin.”

  “Too true,” muttered Krasus, looking thoughtful. “Rhonin, I must go find them.”

  “Find who?”

  “My—the dragons, of course.”

  Brox snorted and Malfurion looked startled. The druid knew that Krasus had a link with Korialstrasz, but even now he did not understand the full truth.

  “The dragons, Master Krasus? But they’re a force unto themselves! How can you possibly think to do so?”

  “I have my methods…but to accomplish the fact also requires swift transportation. The night sabers will never do for that. I need something that can fly.”

  “Like a dragon?” Rhonin asked wryly.

  “Something smaller will suffice, my friend.”

  To the surprise of the others, it was Malfurion who suddenly came up with a suggestion. “There are woods not far from here. Perhaps…perhaps I can contact Cenarius. He may have a solution.”

  From Krasus’s expression, this was not entirely satisfying, but no one could come up with anything better. He finally nodded, saying, “We shall have to depart as soon as possible, then. Captain Shadowsong will otherwise either seek to detain us or, even worse, follow with his troops behind us. I fear that will draw both the Burning Legion and the night elves to our mission.”

  Jarod and the rest of the bodyguard had been given time to recuperate. No one thought the wizards in physical danger amidst the host, and the soldiers could hardly defend against any magical assault better than their charges. Come the march, the bodyguard would immediately resume its duties, of course.

  But by then, Krasus hoped to be on his way.

  “Do you really think this necessary?” asked the redtressed wizard.

  “I go for two reasons, Rhonin. The first is that of which we speak. The dragons can turn the tide. As for the second reason, that is more personal. I go to see why I sense only silence from them. That should not be so, as you understand. I need to discover the truth.”

  He received no more objections. Lord Ravencrest intended for the night elves to march at first dark, and Krasus had to be far from here before he was discovered missing.

  Rhonin nodded. “What about Brox and me?”

  “If our druid friend here can gain me transportation as he says, he will be able to return well before nightfall. In the meantime, you and Brox must try to stay from the sight of Lord Ravencrest. He may ask about us. He will be furious enough when he discovers I have left.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. At least no one will be questioning his decisions out loud.”

  Ignoring the human’s jest, Krasus turned to Malfurion. “We must go. If we take a pair of night sabers toward the area of the refugees, the soldiers will not bother with us much. We can then come around and head toward the woods.” He let out a slight hiss. “And then we must pray that your patron will come to our aid.”

  They quickly left the others, following the elder mage’s suggestion as to their course. Soldiers eyed them with some suspicion and curiosity, but as the pair were not heading toward the front, the looks did not last long.

  Malfurion was still uncomfortable with Krasus’s mission, but did not question the conjurer. He respected the latter’s wisdom and kne
w that Krasus understood the dragons better than anyone he had ever met. Often, he even seemed almost one of them. Surely somewhere in his past, Krasus had enjoyed the unique experience of having dwelled among the ancient creatures for some period of time. What other explanation could there be for his link to the leviathans?

  It took nearly three hours, but they finally entered the woods. The comfort Malfurion felt the last time he had entered such a place did not touch him now. This forest had experienced the taint of the Legion and the marks remained. If not for the sudden turnaround by the defenders, it very well would have been reduced to ruin already.

  Despite the imminent threat, life still abounded here. Birds sang, and the druid could sense the trees sending ahead word of the new intruders. The rustling grew particularly fierce whenever Krasus neared, almost as if the forest, too, could sense his differences. They did, of course, also welcome the night elf, clearly noting his aura and the obvious blessing of Cenarius.

  But of the demigod, the druid sensed nothing. Cenarius had many tasks at hand, foremost trying to stir his counterparts to an active and organized defense of their world. How, then, could Malfurion hope that the woodland deity would have time to respond to his call?

  “This land has suffered much already,” his companion uttered. “I can taste the evil that has been here.”

  “So do I. Krasus, I don’t know if Cenarius will hear me here after all.”

  “I can but ask you to attempt to reach him, Malfurion. If you fail, I will not hold it against you. I will then have to make do with the night saber, although that will slow my journey greatly.”

  They reached a spot deep in the woods where the druid sensed a bit more tranquillity. He informed Krasus of this and the pair dismounted.

  “Shall I leave you alone?” asked the mage.

  “If Cenarius chooses to come, he will do so even if you are with me, Master Krasus.”

  Malfurion found a seat among the soft, wild grass. Krasus stepped respectfully to one side so as not to disturb the druid.

  Closing his eyes, Malfurion focused. He reached out first to the trees, the plants, and other life, seeking from them any hint of the demigod’s recent presence. If Cenarius had been here, he would soon know.

  But the forest offered no hints of the deity. Frustrated, the druid considered his other options. Unfortunately, only the Emerald Dream truly offered him a certain way of immediately contacting his shan’do.

  It was as he had feared. Exhaling, Malfurion concentrated on the ethereal realm. He did not have to enter it completely, only touch upon its edges. Then he could send out his thoughts to Cenarius. Even interacting that much with it bothered Malfurion, but it had to be done.

  He felt himself beginning to separate from his mortal shell. However, instead of allowing the transition to complete, the druid held himself midway. Doing so proved more of a strain than he had thought, but Malfurion did not plan to stay in such a state long. He imagined Cenarius as he knew him, using that to help create a link…

  His concentration was suddenly jarred by a voice in his ear.

  “Malfurion! We are not alone!”

  The rapid retreat back into his body shook the druid. Momentarily stunned, he could do nothing else save open his eyes…in time to see a felbeast charging toward him.

  Someone muttered words of power, and the hideous hound shriveled within itself. The beast curled and twisted, swiftly becoming a grotesque, mangled pile of bone and sinew.

  Krasus grabbed Malfurion by the arms, lifting him with startling strength. The elder mage asked, “Can you defend yourself yet?”

  The druid had no time to respond, for suddenly the woods came alive with not only the demonic hounds, but horned, bestial Fel Guard. The two spellcasters were outnumbered at least ten to one. Their mounts, bound to one tree, snarled and pulled at their tethers, but could not free themselves. The demons, however, ignored the panthers, their targets clearly being the mage and the druid.

  Drawing an invisible line around them, Krasus uttered another short spell. Crystalline spikes thrust up from the ground, growing to the height of a night elf.

  Three Fel Guard became impaled on the spikes. A felbeast howled as another spike tore off part of its muzzle.

  Krasus’s swift action gave Malfurion time to think. He looked to the trees nearest the oncoming demons and asked of them their aid.

  Thick, foliage-covered branches stretched down and snagged four of the monstrous warriors. They pulled the demons high, dragging them from sight. Malfurion could not see what happened to the victims, but he noted well that they did not reappear.

  Other trees merely stuck their branches out, timing their appearance to the Legion’s charge. One felbeast tumbled helplessly as it fell over a branch; another was even less fortunate, its neck cracking when it collided with the unexpected obstruction.

  Yet still the demons swarmed them, especially the hounds. They seemed to leer as they approached, the notion of two trapped spellcasters no doubt stirring their hunger.

  Despite the effectiveness of Malfurion’s attack, the demons seemed to fear Krasus more, and with good reason. Possessing knowledge of his craft far greater than the night elf ’s of his own, the mage cast with both speed and extreme ruthlessness. It was a far cry from the sickly figure he had been when first they had met. True, Krasus appeared under immense strain even now, but he in no way faltered because of it.

  A crack like thunder echoed throughout the forest. Krasus grasped at his throat, where a thin, blazing tentacle now wrapped around it, tightening like a noose. The mage was pulled back off his feet and dragged toward the very spikes he had created.

  Daring a glance over his shoulder, the night elf beheld a sight nearly as frightening as Archimonde—a huge, skeletal knight, his head a horned skull with flames for eyes, using a fearsome whip to drag Krasus to his doom. The newcomer stood taller than the other demons, and from the way they parted for him, Malfurion guessed that this was the leader.

  Seizing a few blades of grass, the druid tossed them toward the sinister lash. The grass blades spun swiftly as they flew, then sliced away at the whip like well-honed knives until at last one cut completely through.

  Krasus gasped as the end of the lash separated. He fell to his knees, trying to unbind what remained. The demon stumbled a few steps back but managed to sustain his balance. He drew back the whip and prepared to use its still-formidable length against the druid.

  Surrounded by demons, his companion incapacitated, Malfurion did not hold much hope for his chances of survival. He and Krasus had not only left themselves open to the demonic assassins ever trailing them, but this time their leader had come to ensure there would be no escape. No Jarod would come to their aid. Only Rhonin and Brox knew of their departure, and both assumed that the pair would be all right. How misguided they had all been.

  To his surprise, though, the demon did not immediately strike again. Instead, he hissed to Malfurion, “Sssurrender, creature, and you will be ssspared! I promissse thisss in the name of my mossst honored massster, Sssargerasss! It isss your only hope of sssurvival…”

  Krasus coughed, trying to clear his throat. “S-surrendering to the Burning Legion i-is a fate far worse than the most terrible death! We must fight even if we are destined to lose, Malfurion!”

  Grim memories of his brief encounter with Archimonde made the night elf think the very same thing. He could just imagine what the demons would do with prisoners, especially those who had been instrumental in foiling their plans so far. “We’ll never surrender!”

  His fiery orbs flickered angrily, and the demon snapped his whip four times. Lightning flashed as the lash struck the earth. Huge shapes suddenly formed before the demon. With each snap, a fiendish hound materialized.

  “Then my petsss will feed well upon you, ssspellcastersss!”

  Krasus steadied himself, then turned to gaze at the lead demon. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

  But the skeletal knight was prepared for his atta
ck. He swung the whip around and around, creating a haze. The haze sparkled suddenly, as if something exploded against it.

  The night elf bit back an epithet. Their adversary had easily dealt with what should have been a powerful spell.

  “It is as I feared,” Krasus muttered. “It is the Houndmaster. Hakkar!”

  Malfurion would have liked to ask him what he knew of the demon, but at that moment the other monsters resumed their charge. The spikes provided some defense, but the demons now began tearing, clawing, and chopping them apart. In the background, their leader laughed, a sound like a hundred angry serpents.

  Yet, just as the first of the Fel Guard tore through and started for the pair, warriors astride night sabers charged into the battle from all sides, their beasts mauling some of the demons before the latter realized they were under assault. As the newcomers attacked, they sang.

  Malfurion gaped at them, only belatedly realizing that they were not the soldiers of Jarod Shadowsong. Their armor was more silver and—he looked twice—shaped for more feminine figures. The song he heard was in praise of the Night Warrior, the fearsome battle incarnation of the Mother Moon.

  The Sisterhood of Elune had come to their rescue.

  For the first time, Malfurion saw the quiet, gentle priestesses in their wartime roles. Many carried long, curved swords, while others wielded short lances with points on both ends. A few even had bows no longer than their forearms, from which they swiftly shot dart after dart.

  The effect on the demons was immediate. Felbeasts dropped, riddled. A priestess swung her blade with the ease of a soldier, decapitating a horned warrior. Two night sabers dropped upon another hound, slashing it repeatedly from both sides until all that remained was a bloody carcass.