The Demon Soul (warcraft)

by Richard A. Knaak

  “The captain and I will continue on alone for a few minutes.”

  Neither the night elves nor the demons looked pleased with this…save Varo’then, of course. He looked back at his men and growled, “By the order of the queen!”

  Unable to argue with such a fact, the retinue held its place while the pair slowly rode on.

  Azshara did not speak until they were far out of earshot from the rest. Smiling at Varo’then, she said, “Does it all go well?”

  “All what?”

  The queen glanced to the horizon. “The cleansing of my realm. I thought it would be done by now.”

  “Archimonde will see to it that it comes to pass, my queen.”

  “But I would like it done before Sargeras comes! Wouldn’t that make for a tremendous gift…for my intended?”

  It was all Varo’then could do to hold back. Swallowing his jealousy, he managed to say, “A tremendous gift, yes. It’ll all come to pass.”

  “Then what delays it?”

  “There are many things. Logistics, chance—”

  She leaned toward him, granting the veteran fighter with a striking view of her form. “My dear, dear Varo’then! Do I, in any manner of the imagination, look like a hardy, muscular soldier such as yourself?”

  His cheeks darkened. “Nay! Nay, Vision of Perfection!”

  “Then please…do not use such military terms. I would prefer you simply show me.” Azshara raised her hand palm up; in it appeared a small crystal sphere the size of a pea. However, as Varo’then watched, it grew to the dimensions of a large piece of fruit. Even despite the dimness, it glowed as he recalled the full moon once had.

  “Will you do me the pleasure, dear captain?”

  Taking the globe, the scarred soldier concentrated. While hardly at the level of a Highborne sorcerer, he had his skills with the arts. The view globe immediately reacted to him, turning his thoughts into visions.

  “You ask me what delays matters, my queen? I would say that these are some of the reasons.”

  From his memory, he first dredged up the image of a redhaired creature like nothing Azshara had ever seen. She peered closely, eyes glittering.

  “Handsome in his…foreign ways. Definitely male.”

  “A wizard. Powerful.” The face twisted like putty, altering in shading and shape. An older, wise figure appeared.

  “Gracious! Is this a corpse you show me?”

  “Nay. Despite his coloring—or lack of it—this creature lives. He was little danger to us when we encountered him, but I suspected then that he suffered some malady…and since that time, my spies have reported that he was seen in the company of a dragon—”

  Now this impressed the queen. “A dragon?”

  “Aye, and between him and the beast, they caused no end of trouble for Archimonde’s warriors. Both’ve vanished, though I suspect this one’ll be back.”

  “Perhaps not so ghastly after all,” Azshara commented, eyeing the pale figure so akin to a night elf. “And it’s only these who keep my world from perfection?”

  Captain Varo’then scowled. “There are some of our own, of course, my lady. Misbegotten or misguided. I’ve learned of two Your Glory might find of interest. You will forgive me if the images are indistinct, but they are from the minds of others passed on to me.”

  Azshara gazed at the new figures. One had his hair tied back and wore black, the other let it hang loose and seemed to be in drab-colored garments. Both faces were so akin to each other that she at first thought them one and the same.

  “Twins, my queen,” he clarified. “Brothers.”

  “Twins…how delectable.” She ran her fingers over the shifting images. “But so young…surely not leaders.”

  “Powerful of magic, it seems, but, nay, neither they nor the others lead the resistance. That falls, of course, to the esteemed Lord Ravencrest.”

  “Dear Kur’talos…I always thought him my most cherished servant, and this is how he rewards me.”

  Captain Varo’then dismissed the queen’s globe. Eyes overshadowed by his dark brow, he said to her, “Black Rook Hold has ever envied the palace, Light of Lights.”

  She pouted briefly. “I’ve decided that Lord Ravencrest has displeased me, Varo’then,” Azshara finally declared. “Can you remedy that?”

  He showed no sign of surprise. “The cost will be great…but it can be done, if that is your wish.”

  “My fondest one, darling captain.”

  Azshara stroked his cheek ever so slightly, then abruptly turned her mount around and headed back to the waiting guards. Her long, translucent gown fluttered behind her.

  Pulling himself together, the officer contemplated the desires of his mistress. Kur’talos Ravencrest had displeased her, and there was no greater crime in all Kalimdor.

  “It will be done, my queen,” he muttered. “It will be done.”

  They left Suramar far behind and pressed the demons in the direction of Zin-Azshari. Rhonin’s master spell had begun the push, but now Illidan’s Moon Guard and the soldiers on the line took over in earnest, crushing the demons wherever they attempted to make a stand.

  Rhonin did not let up despite his success. Although he gave himself moments to recuperate, he, too, took advantage of the situation to wreak new havoc on the Burning Legion. Every demon who fell the human imagined as the one who might harm his family if he failed. Rhonin no longer cared what effect his presence in the war had; if the Burning Legion was utterly destroyed here, then neither they nor the Undead Scourge would ever scar the world in the future.

  Brox, too, had long gone past any hesitation. He was an orc warrior and orc warriors fought. Brox let others worry about repercussions. He only knew that he and his ax thirsted for the blood of demons.

  The night elven host drove a wedge deeper into the center of the demon lines. On the flanks, the Moon Guard chopped away at the enemy. The Eredar and Dreadlords still struck back on occasion, but with nothing that Illidan’s forces could not handle.

  “We’re pushing them up into the hills of Urae!” Jarod called to Rhonin. “Beyond that lies only Zin-Azshari herself!”

  “A good thing that we’ve whittled them down so much!” the wizard returned grimly. “If they had enough reinforcements or organization, this would be a foul place to have to fight them! They’d have the upper ground!”

  “Once we reach the other side, though, the hills will be ours to take advantage of!”

  “Then the sooner we reach them, the better…”

  The demons continued to back into the hills in chaotic masses with little direction. Of Archimonde, Rhonin saw no sign. If the demon lord had been in control, then surely the Burning Legion would have fought better than this. Unless…

  Could it be? he wondered, startled by the mere possibility.

  “Jarod! Brox! I need to find Ravencrest!”

  “Go!” growled the orc as his ax cut through the armor of a Fel Guard, then the demon himself.

  Feeling guilty about leaving his comrades at such a time, Rhonin nonetheless felt certain that he had to find the commander and quickly. A horrible notion had occurred to him, but only the noble could verify or repudiate it.

  But locating Lord Ravencrest was no simple task. His night saber pushing slowly through the advancing soldiers, the wizard surveyed the area left and right with no success. His quarry could be in a thousand places, possibly even under Rhonin’s very nose.

  Anxiety growing, he finally managed to locate someone who might know Ravencrest’s whereabouts. Lord Desdel Stareye’s armor looked absolutely spotless and his own cat was still well-groomed. Rhonin wondered if he had even gotten close to the battle, much less participated in it. Still, Stareye had the ear of Lord Ravencrest, and that was all that mattered for the moment.

  “My lord! My lord!” shouted the red-haired wizard.

  The night elf gazed at him as if seeing something unsettling. Stareye reached into his pouch and took a bit of powder, which he sniffed. His sword remained sheathed.r />
  “This is a most inopportune time, spellcaster!” he chided. “What is it you want?”

  “Lord Ravencrest! Where is he? I need to speak with him!”

  “Kur’talos is quite busy enough right now. Shouldn’t you be back up front casting something?”

  Rhonin had met this night elf ’s type often in his own time. Leaders like Desdel Stareye were not only ineffective, but they were dangerous if put in command. Born to leisure, they had no true concept of war, treating it like a game.

  “This is highly important, my lord—”

  “Concerning what?”

  The wizard had no time for this, but saw that he would get nowhere unless he convinced Stareye of the seriousness of the situation. “I have to find out if Ravencrest’s had any outriders return of late! I want to know if anyone’s been beyond the hills!”

  The night elf snorted. “You’ll be able to see beyond the hills yourself in a few short hours.”

  Rhonin regretted that he had not forged some sort of magical link to the commander, but Ravencrest had forbidden such communication with him. It was the night elf ’s belief that, despite their powers, the spellcasters were more susceptible to invasion of their thoughts. He did not wish to risk his own plans, in turn, being read.

  The notion was a laughable one to the human, but he had long given up arguing for such a link. Now that surrender had come back to haunt him.

  “Lord Stareye…where is he?”

  A brief look of contemplation crossed the noble’s haughty countenance. Finally, he answered, “Follow me, then, wizard. I’ll lead you to where I last saw him.”

  Exhaling in relief, Rhonin rode up behind Stareye. To his surprise, however, the night elf began steering away from the battle. Rhonin almost objected, then saw that by doing so they would make better time crossing from one end of the host to the other. Here there were less soldiers causing a living barrier.

  But even with this maneuver, precious time slipped away as they wended their way to where Stareye said that he had most recently recalled Ravencrest. Meanwhile, the night elves pushed further up to the hills, the demons now forced through ever-narrowing passes.

  Maybe Stareye was right, the wizard thought dourly. By the time we do find Ravencrest, the elves’ll be over the hills and almost on the path to Zin-Azshari…

  “There!” his companion finally shouted. “You see his banner?”

  Rhonin did not. “Where?”

  “There, you fool! It—” Stareye shook his head. “Gone from sight now! Come! I’ll lead you to it, then!”

  But if Stareye thought to soon rid himself of the wizard, he was sorely mistaken. Rhonin watched carefully as he and the night elf now forced their way through the tightly-packed throng, but not once did he make out Lord Ravencrest’s banner. With the host moving so swiftly, the bearded commander had to constantly shift position, and that made Rhonin’s task all the more daunting.

  “Blast!” uttered the night elf after a time, wiping a bit of mud from his immaculate armor. “He was there! I saw him!”

  They cut across the advancing lines, yet still there was no sign of Ravencrest. Rhonin peered at the hills, so close now. They loomed like savage teeth. He could make out demons moving among them, their retreat much slowed by the climb. In some places, the Burning Legion had even ground to a halt.

  Or had they?

  Stareye raised a gloved hand to point ahead, but just at that moment a speck of dirt got into the wizard’s eye. Rhonin turned his head from the direction it had come and sought to blink it out.

  The banner of Black Rook Hold greeted his startled eyes.

  “There he is!” the human yelled.

  “No, I think this—” Stareye cut off as he followed Rhonin’s gaze. “Yes, of course! There!”

  Not bothering to wait for the noble to follow, Rhonin urged his mount toward Ravencrest’s position. Riding against the human tide proved harder than any part of the long trek so far, but Rhonin would not be denied. There was still a chance. All he had to do was reach—

  An uproar rose from the front. Horns sounded. Drums beat. Faces around the wizard looked aghast.

  “What is it?” he shouted at a soldier. When the soldier did not answer, Rhonin looked back.

  “No…” he uttered in horror.

  The hills now swarmed with demons heading toward the night elves. That alone would not have stopped Rhonin dead, but there were also demons pouring around the edge of the hills—a veritable flood of fiery, monstrous figures. Worse, in the hazy sky above, he saw a shower of huge rocks dropping toward the defenders. They were not rocks, of course, but another deadly rain of Infernals.

  The portal could not have supplied Archimonde’s force this well. As Rhonin watched the monstrous warriors swell to numbers greater than during any previous part of the struggle, he realized why the demon commander had let such a rout take place. He could only have been drawing fighters from other areas of Kalimdor, rightly seeing the night elves as the main opposition to the Burning Legion’s triumph.

  And now Archimonde had his adversaries exactly where he wanted them.

  The voices in Neltharion’s head whispered eagerly. The black dragon listened to each of them with the same rapt attention even though they all said the same thing.

  It is time…

  It is time…

  It is time…

  He clutched the Dragon Soul tight and held it high in his forepaw. Gaze sweeping across those of the other Aspects, he thundered, “It is time.”

  Bowing their heads in acknowledgment, they departed one by one from the cavern. Only when he was alone—save for the voices, of course—did Neltharion say anything more.

  “My time…”

  Mere minutes later, from every chasm, every cave mouth, they began to emerge. Some crawled out from beneath the ground while others leapt off the high mountain peak. Wherever there was an exit to the outside world, the dragons issued forth.

  It was time to act.

  Never before in the history of the world had there been so many assembled in one place. Now, as they took to the air, their combined magnificence awed even most of them. Red flew beside bronze who flew beside green. Blue and black darted up in the air, the five great flights now one.

  There were dragons whose wings seemed to spread across the heavens, others who in comparison were but like gnats. Whether ages old or new to the air, all had been included. The word of the Aspects had demanded it be so.

  The first dragons to leap into the heavens did not immediately head toward the realm of the night elves, however. Instead, they circled high above the mountains, gliding on thermals and waiting for their brethren. They filled the sky, many flying under or over one another to avoid collision.

  And the legendary behemoths continued to emerge from the mountains. To any who saw them, it looked as if the end of the world had come…and perhaps it had. The dragons understood the evil of the demons and that no one could stand idle in the face of such a threat. Dragon after dragon roared lustily as they stirred their blood in preparation for battle.

  Then the Aspects themselves appeared. Alexstrasza the Red, the Mother of Life. Malygos the Blue, the Spellweaver. Green Ysera, She of the Dreaming. In the absence of Nozdormu, the Timeless One, the eldest of his consorts took upon herself his part.

  Only when they were assembled did Neltharion the Black, the Earth Warder, present himself.

  The tiny disk gleamed so very bright, dazzling the dragons despite its otherwise plain exterior. Neltharion roared as he launched into the air, his cry echoing over and over throughout the chain.

  As Neltharion soared off, the other dragons followed. The time of reckoning was at hand. They had given of themselves to create the mightiest of weapons for use against the mightiest of foes, and if that proved not enough, they had claws, teeth, and more with which to still assail the demons.

  And if all that would not prove enough…then surely nothing would.

  Tyrande heard the cries, heard t
he horns. She knew immediately in her heart what they meant. Again the struggle had taken one of its mercurial shifts. The demons had struck back, and clearly hard.

  With a blurted apology to the unfortunate whom she had been healing, the new head of the order leapt atop her night saber. Shandris, already astride, made quick room for her, and the two rode off to find the other sisters.

  Most were already waiting for her. They included not only those who had originally been assigned to Tyrande, but many of the elder priestesses as well. All knelt or bowed their heads as she neared.

  “Please! Stop that!” Tyrande begged, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s not necessary!”

  “We await your orders,” Marinda respectfully said.

  Tyrande had been dreading this moment. It was one thing to organize aid for the refugees and wounded soldiers, another to fling the entire sisterhood into the heat of battle.

  “We must—” She stopped, silently prayed to the Mother Moon for guidance, and continued. “We must divide up evenly and support those areas weakest along the front lines…but not all of us! I want…I want a third of us to keep to the back and do what can be done for any of the injured or wounded.”

  Some of the sisters looked disturbed, clearly desiring to be up front alongside the fighters. Tyrande understood that, but also recognized that just because the battle was desperate, this was not the time to put aside the other skills the temple taught.

  “We need healers among the soldiers. Any soldier able to come back to fight aids our cause. Consider this also: There must always be a Sisterhood of Elune. Should we all stand and fight—and perhaps die—who will be left to spread her word and her love among our people?” Tyrande tried not to think about the possibility that there would be no people to teach about Elune if the demons won here.