Most other times, Brox would have argued about accepting a ride. To show anything but the utmost strength to another was considered shameful in the eyes of his people. Still, he felt weak in the legs and decided that a good warrior also did not unnecessarily risk those who had come to his aid. The orc mounted the night saber and allowed Rhonin to guide it.
“It’s beginning…” muttered the human. “They’re starting to experiment with creating an army of the unliving. This is probably not the only place that they’ve been attempting this.”
The thick mist made their going slow. Brox, peering about, saw the body of a dead night elf, one of the original inhabitants by the look of the garments. That it lay unmoving gave the orc a conflicting feeling of relief and distaste.
“You understand what I’m saying, don’t you, Brox?”
The orc did. Anyone who had survived the final war against the Burning Legion and lived through the awful aftermath would have understood. No one in their time period had not at the very least heard the horror stories, the tales of the Plaguelands and the ghoulish hordes wandering it. Too many more had experienced their own loved ones rising up from the dead and trying to add the living to their grisly ranks.
The Scourge now stalked the world, spreading terror as they attempted to make of it one vast Plagueland. Quel’Thalas was all but gone. Most of Lordaeron, too. The undead haunted nearly every realm.
Here, in the far past, Brox and Rhonin had just come across the first inklings of the Scourge’s creation…and both knew that, despite this small victory, there was nothing that they could do to change that terrifying part of the future.
Fifteen
The voice was constantly in Illidan’s head, whispering what at first were unthinkable things. Yes, he was jealous of his brother, but the sorcerer could never see himself causing Malfurion any harm. That would have been like cutting off his own left arm.
And yet…he could not help finding such thoughts also a slightly bit comforting, a way in which his misery over losing Tyrande could be somewhat assuaged. Deep down, Illidan still harbored some slight hope that she would see things differently, that the priestess would realize how superior he was to his brother.
The foul mist that had spread all the way from Zin-Azshari did nothing to lighten his mood. As he strode up to Lord Ravencrest, he saw that the bearded noble looked none too pleased, either. Despite their renewed progress, now not only were Malfurion and Krasus gone, but Rhonin had yet to return from the mission upon which he had insisted on going. Illidan was certain that the night elves could survive without the other spellcasters, but he at least would have preferred the human to return. Rhonin was the only one capable of teaching him anything concerning his craft.
Going down on one knee before his master, Illidan bowed his head. “My lord.”
“Rise, sorcerer. I summon you to prepare yourself and the others for departure.”
“But Master Rhonin—”
“Has but minutes ago returned and reported. What he tells me urges our immediate march. We must crush the demons and take the capital as soon as possible.”
That Illidan had not sensed the wizard’s return surprised the younger night elf. As he stood, he said, “We shall be ready to ride.”
The sorcerer turned to depart, but Ravencrest shook his head. “That isn’t the only reason I’ve summoned you, lad. It’s to tell you what the wizard discovered, and it is for your ears only.”
Illidan’s chest swelled with pride. “I will tell no one, not even the Moon Guard.”
“Not until I tell you to do so, yes, lad. Hear what Master Rhonin discovered and digest it well…if you can.”
Then, the master of Black Rook Hold related the horrific tale of what had happened to Rhonin’s party. The sorcerer listened first with disbelief, then astonishment. He did not, however, react with the disgust, the dread, with which Lord Ravencrest did. Instead, for the first time, Illidan found himself admiring the audacity of the demons.
“I didn’t think such possible!” he said once the noble had finished. “What command they have of their spellwork!”
“Yes,” returned Ravencrest, not noting Illidan’s morbid fascination. “Too dark and lethal a command. We now face a greater threat than even I believed. How abominable a thing to consider, even by them!”
Illidan did not see the matter in the same light. The demon’s spellcasters allowed no limits to their imagination. They worked to create whatever their abilities allowed, the better to gain their ultimate goal. While the goal itself was not to be admired, the efforts of the warlocks surely were.
“I wish that we could capture one of the Eredar,” he murmured. The sorcerer imagined conversing with the demon, learning how its manner of spellcasting differed from his own.
“Capture one? Don’t be silly, lad! I expect them to be slain on sight, especially now! Every dead warlock means less chance for a repeat of this horror that Master Rhonin and the others confronted!”
Quickly smothering any hint of his esteem for the warlocks, Malfurion’s brother quickly nodded. “O-of course, my lord! That remains one of our highest priorities!”
“I should hope so. That’s all, sorcerer.”
Illidan bowed, then immediately retreated. His mind was awhirl with thoughts concerning what he had just learned. To raise the dead! What other fantastic feats could the Eredar perform? Even the two wizards had never hinted of such abilities, or surely they would have seen the good sense in calling up the battlefield casualties of both sides to use against the Burning Legion!
Lord Ravencrest was making a terrible mistake. How better to defeat an enemy than to learn their strengths and add them to your own arsenal? With such skills added to those which he had already picked up, Illidan believed he would be nearly capable of crushing the demons by himself.
Surely then Tyrande would see that he was the superior choice.
“If only I could learn from them…” he whispered.
Almost as soon as he said it, Illidan glanced around anxiously, certain that there was someone nearby who had heard. However, the sorcerer found his immediate surroundings empty, the nearest soldier many yards away.
More confident again, Illidan marched off to rejoin the Moon Guard. He had much thinking to do. Much thinking.
The shadow moved away from Illidan’s retreating back, skirting the tent of Lord Desdel Stareye. Even with his hooves, the figure walked silently across the harsh ground. Guards making their rounds somehow missed seeing him despite being very near at some points. Only those he chose to hear or see him ever did so.
Xavius leered, quite pleased with his efforts. The satyr had not only served his glorious master, but set well into motion his own vengeance. He had marked the druid’s brother immediately, and now the process of corruption had begun. The questions, the desires, were there, and Illidan Stormrage himself would now fan the flames. It was only a matter of time.
The satyr slipped out of the camp to where the others awaited him. Even Archimonde did not realize everything Xavius plotted, for the former night elf answered now to Sargeras alone. Neither Archimonde nor Mannoroth had any sway over him.
Yes, Xavius thought, if all went as planned, when Sargeras entered the world, it would be he who stood at the right hand of the demon lord…and Archimonde and Mannoroth who would be forced to kneel before him.
Pain woke Krasus, pain that wracked every fiber of his being. Even trying to breathe hurt so very much.
“Hush, hush,” twittered a feminine voice. “You are not yet fit to rise.”
He tried opening his eyes, but that also proved too much of a strain. “Wh-who…”
“Sleep, sleep…” Her voice was pure music, but had in it something that told the stricken wizard that she was more than a human or a night elf.
Krasus fought against the suggestion, but his strength abandoned him and he drifted off. Dreams of flight filled his slumber. He was a dragon again, but this time he had a proud plumage like a great bird. The ma
ge thought little of this, simply thrilled to be aloft once more.
The dream went on and on, never ceasing to tantalize him. When someone shook Krasus and finally tore him from it, he almost cursed the intruder.
“Krasus! It’s Malfurion! Awaken!”
The dragon mage grudgingly returned to consciousness. “I…I am with you, druid.”
“Praise Elune! I thought you would sleep forever.”
Now that he was awake, Krasus realized that the night elf had quite possibly done him a tremendous favor. “I believe I was supposed to sleep…at least until our host returned.” The slim spellcaster looked around at their surroundings. “And perhaps I am still sleeping.”
The room around them, while spacious, was of such odd construction that Krasus had to inspect it. It was formed from many, many branches, vines, and other material packed together with dirt and more. The room was rounded at the ceiling, and the only entrance appeared to be a hole far to his right. He looked down and noticed that his own bedding was of similar material, made soft by a draping of fresh leaves artfully woven together. On a small table made from the stump of a tree, a bowl carved from an impossibly-huge nut held water, which he assumed was for him.
Sipping from it, the dragon mage continued his inspection. His eyes narrowed as he realized that what he had taken for an inner wall was, in point of fact, a passage. The curve of the room and the way the walls had been created made it almost impossible to see the corridor without standing directly in front of it.
“It goes for a very long distance,” Malfurion offered. “I found another, much larger chamber, and from that I went on to two more. Then I ran across more corridors and decided I had better return to you.”
“A wise thing.” Krasus frowned. His sharp ears had picked up a sound from without that he had finally been able to identify. Birds. Not just one type, however; the wizard heard at least a dozen different calls, some of them extraordinarily unique.
“What is outside?”
“I’d rather not say, Master Krasus. You should see it yourself.”
His curiosity stirred, the slim figure rose and walked to the opening. As he neared it, the calls grew more intense, more varied. It was as if every type of bird nested outside…
Krasus hesitated, surveying the room again. That was what his surroundings reminded him of…a huge bird’s nest.
Already suspecting he knew what he would see, the dragon mage stuck his head through the entrance.
It seemed that every species of bird did nest around them. Certainly they had the room. Everywhere Krasus looked, he saw huge, outstretched branches filled with foliage. In each of the branches, some avian had made its home. At a quick glance, he saw doves, robins, cardinals, mockingbirds, and more. There were birds from temperate zones and others from more exotic climes. They intermingled. They sang together. There were berry feeders, fish catchers, and even those who preyed on other birds—although the last seemed quite content with the rabbits and lizards they now brought for their young.
Gazing above, Krasus discovered more nests. The foliage of this incredibly huge tree was filled to the brim with all the birds of the world.
It was also filled with the astounding structure of which his chamber was one of only hundreds.
Like the myriad tunnels of a giant ant colony, the “nest” spread throughout the branches. A quick estimate by the wizard measured it large enough to house the entire night elven army—mounts included—plus the refugees with more than ample room to spare. Despite its outwardly weak appearance, Krasus was also quick to see that the edifice was more durable than it seemed. As the wind rocked the foliage, the “nest” waved and adjusted accordingly. The dragon mage touched one edge of the entrance and realized that it was held together better than the stones of a mighty fortress.
Then…he finally looked down.
To imagine that a dragon could suffer from vertigo would once have been impossible for Krasus to even consider. Yet now he teetered at the entrance, unable to come to grips with what he saw.
“Master Krasus!” Malfurion pulled him away from the entrance. “You almost fell! I’m sorry! I should’ve told you what to expect!”
Krasus exhaled, regaining his senses. “I am all right, my friend. You can release me. I know full what to expect now.”
“I had to throw myself back when I first looked,” the druid told him. “I was afraid that I’d be blown outside by the wind.”
Now better prepared, Krasus returned to the opening. He gripped the sides, then peered down again.
The tree extended down for as far as he could see, branches jutting out everywhere. As elsewhere, birds perched or nested in them. Krasus stared as best he could, but of the base of the tree he could still make out no sign. Clouds drifted past, huge ones that signified just how high up they were.
The night elf came up beside him. “You can’t see the ground, either, can you?”
“No, I cannot.”
“I’ve never heard of a tree so vast, so huge, that one could not see the ground beneath it!”
“I have,” Krasus replied, dredging up ancient memories from his ravaged mind. “It is…it is G’hanir. The Mother Tree. It is the place of all winged creatures, separate from but a part of the mortal world in a manner akin to the Emerald Dream. G’hanir is the tallest tree atop the tallest peak. The fruit it bears carries the seeds of all earthly trees.” He thought further. “It is the home of our host…the demigoddess, Aviana.”
“Aviana…?”
“Yes.” A fleet, white form flying toward their general direction caught his attention. “And I believe she is on her way to us even now.”
The winged figure grew rapidly in size as it approached, finally coalescing into a massive white peregrine falcon larger than either of them. Krasus urged the druid back, leaving the entrance completely open.
The gigantic falcon fluttered through. A transformation then overtook it. The legs grew, thickened. The wings shrank, turning into slim, feathered hands. The body reshaped, becoming more like that of a female night elf or human, and the tail shifted into the trailing end of a gossamer white gown.
A slim, wide-eyed woman almost human in features eyed the pair. Her nose was sharp, but very elegant. She had a pale, beautiful face the color of ivory, and for hair she wore a wondrous mane of downy feathers. Her gown fluttered as she walked—on two delicate but still sharply-taloned feet.
“Awake, awake you are,” she said with a slight frown. “You should rest, rest.”
Krasus bowed to her. “I am grateful for your hospitality, mistress, but I am well enough to continue on now.”
She cocked her head as a bird might, giving the mage a reproving look. “No, no…too soon, too soon. Please, sit.”
The duo looked around and discovered that two chairs, made in the same fashion as the nest, waited behind them. Malfurion waited for Krasus, who finally nodded and sat.
“You are the Mother of Flight, the Lady of the Birds, are you not?” asked the dragon mage.
“Aviana I am, if that is what you mean.” Her wide eyes inspected Krasus. “And you are one of mine, one of mine, I think.”
“The thrill of the sky is known to me, yes, mistress. I owe my soul to Alexstrasza…”
“Aaah…” The demigoddess smiled in a motherly fashion. “Dear, dear Alexstrasza…it is long since we spoke. We must do so.”
“Yes.” Krasus did not push the point that now was hardly the time for visits. He did not doubt that Aviana knew exactly what was going on in the world and that despite her pleasant visage, she conferred with the other demigods and spirits on how to deal with the Burning Legion.
The sky deity looked to the night elf. “You, you, on the other wing, are one of Cenarius’s…”
“I am Malfurion.”
Aviana twittered, a sound like a songbird. “Of course, of course, you are! Cenarius speaks well of you, youngling.”
The druid’s cheeks darkened.
A question burned in Krasus
’s mouth, and he finally had to blurt, “Mistress…how do we come to be here?”
For the first time, she looked surprised. “Why, you chose to come here, of course, of course!”
The last thing Krasus could recall was the worm closing in on them as they reached the gate. He looked to Malfurion for clarification, but the night elf obviously knew less than him. “You say I chose to send us here?”
Aviana raised one delicately-boned hand. A multicolored songbird with a sweeping tail flew through the entrance and alighted onto the back of the hand. The demigoddess cooed at the small creature, which rubbed its head against hers. “Only those who truly desire to come here do. This one found you and your friend lying among the branches, the branches. There was also much scattered flesh of a very large and tasty worm. The children will feast for some time on it…”
Malfurion looked sick. The mage nodded. When he had blacked out, the portal had collapsed, cutting the huge worm in two.
Ignoring his own distaste, Krasus said, “I am afraid that this is the sole time that it was in complete error, mistress. I did not mean for us to come here. I cast a spell that went awry.”
Her petite mouth formed another smile. “So you do not wish to fly again, to fly again?”
Krasus grimaced. “I would like nothing more.”
“Then that, then that, is in part why you ended up here.”
The dragon mage mulled over her words. His continual longing to be what he was had evidently influenced his spellcasting and Aviana had sensed it. “But there’s nothing you can do for me.”
“So sad, so sad.” The demigoddess let the songbird fly out again. “But perhaps I can, perhaps I can…if you truly insist on departing.”
“I do.”
“Very well, very well.” From within the inner plumage of her left wing, Aviana plucked one feather. As she held it up, a silver sheen covered it. The sky deity handed the feather to Krasus, who took the gift with reverence and studied it. Certainly Aviana’s feather had power, but how would it enable him to fly?
The Demon Soul (warcraft) Page 21