And mere seconds later, a shadow briefly covered them… a shadow sweeping over the entire area. The winged form moved so fast that it was lost among the clouds before any could identify it. The orc held his ax ready, while Krasus and Malfurion prepared spells.
Then the gargantuan form burst into the open again, diving directly for the trio. Its huge, leathery wings beat easily as it descended.
Krasus exhaled, his generally-somber expression breaking into a brief grin. “I should have known! I should have felt it!”
Korialstrasz had returned.
The mage’s younger self landed just before the trio. The red dragon was magnificent to behold. His crest ran all the way to his tail. He was large enough to have swallowed the trio in one gulp, yet, despite his toothy maw, one had only to look into his eyes to see his intelligence and compassion.
Perhaps it was a bit narcissistic of Krasus to admire his earlier incarnation, but he could not help it. Korialstrasz had proven himself much more adept than the elder version ever remembered being. It was as if that they were two distinct creatures despite being one and the same.
Letting the dust settle, Korialstrasz greeted the three with a nod of his huge head. His eyes focused most on Krasus.
“A stroke of luck that I sensed some spellwork as I passed near,” he rumbled. “My thoughts have been so caught up in other matters, I otherwise would not have noted your presence.” To the mage, he added, “Not even yours.”
That did not bode well. “You speak of your search for the others?”
“Yes… and I found them. They are seeking some manner by which to evade or deal with the Earth Warder’s foul disk, but have not come up with any answer as of yet. Even my queen dares not face Neltharion unless they have some defense. You saw what happened to the blues! Slaughtered to extinction!”
Krasus thought of the eggs he had salvaged, but decided that this was not the time to deal with that matter. “Alexstrasza’s concern has merit. There is no honor or purpose in flying out to simply be destroyed.”
“But if we dragons do not aid the mortal races, there will be no hope for any of us!”
“There may be hope, though. You have not asked why we are to be found here.” Krasus indicated the druid. “Young Malfurion has located the Earth Warder’s hidden lair and knows where the Demon Soul is.”
The crimson giant’s reptilian eyes widened. “This is true? Perhaps an all-out assault while he slumbers — ”
“Nay! This must be done with secrecy, cunning. We hope to slip in and steal the disk. Otherwise, Neltharion may take it first and then we are all dead.”
Korialstrasz saw the wisdom of this, despite the perils inherent in the plan. “Where must you go?”
Malfurion described what he had seen in the Emerald Dream. Krasus had vaguely recognized the region and so it came as no surprise that his younger self did, also.
“I know it! A foul place! There is an evil there older than dragons, although what it might be I cannot say!”
“That is of no consequence at the moment. Only the Demon Soul is.” The tall, pale figure eyed the hills. “And if we hope to even have an opportunity to steal it, we had best begin our journey. It will take the night sabers some time to traverse those hills.”
“The night sabers?” Korialstrasz looked bewildered. “Why should you need them now that you have me?”
“You face the greatest risk of all,” Krasus pointed out to the dragon. “You cannot change shape; therefore you remain a very visible target. More to the point, you are very susceptible to the Demon Soul. With one whim, the black could make you his slave.”
“Nevertheless, I will do what I can. You need to reach his lair in a timely manner. The cats are not swift enough and you dare not attempt it by spell.”
Arguing with oneself was pointless, Krasus saw. Korialstrasz would indeed enable them to reach their goal much sooner. However, once there, Krasus would insist that his younger version leave and leave quickly.
“Very well. Brox, prepare to turn the night sabers out. I will prepare a short missive for mine to carry. They will return to the host on their own and, hopefully, Rhonin will receive my word of our progress. Take what we can carry. No more.”
It did not take them long to shift their belongings to the massive red. After the mage had secured the message to his cat, they sent the animals away. Krasus and his companions then mounted near the dragon’s shoulders. Once they were all aboard, Korialstrasz shifted back and forth to make certain that his passengers were secure, then spread his wings.
“I will make haste… but with care,” he promised them.
As they rose into the sky, Krasus grimly eyed the landscape ahead. Korialstrasz was a boon to them, but the success of their quest was in no manner assured now. Neltharion — Deathwing — would be on the watch for enemies, imagined or otherwise. The party would have to watch their every step once they reached his domain. Still, at least there was one thing in their favor.
So close to the dread one’s lair, they certainly would not have to worry about any more demons.
Six
Lord Desdel Stareye had a wonderful plan.
That was how he stated it to all concerned. He had designed it all himself, so it was foolproof. Most of his fellow nobles nodded eagerly and cheered him with goblets of wine held high while the rest simply kept their peace. The soldiers on the lines were too weary to worry and the refugees only cared about surviving. The few critics Stareye might have had now numbered but a handful, Rhonin chief among them. Unfortunately, the constant departures of Krasus had made even the commander’s healthy fear of the outsiders dwindle. The moment it had even appeared that the human had been about to find fault with the grand design, Stareye had politely suggested that the council could manage its own efforts and that the wizard had other duties to which he should be attending. He had also doubled the guards in the tent, making it clear that, should Rhonin refuse his suggestion, they would act.
Not desiring a confrontation that would only threaten the stability of the host, Rhonin abandoned the tent. Jarod met him near where the tauren camped, Huln walking with the officer.
The night elf read his expression. “Something bad…”
“Maybe… or maybe I’ve just become too cynical where that pampered aristocrat is concerned. The overview of his plan sounds too simple to work…”
“Simple can be good,” offered Huln, “if it is drawn from reason.”
“Somehow, I doubt Stareye has reason. I don’t understand why Ravencrest and he got along so well.”
Jarod shrugged. “They are of the same caste.”
“Oh, it all makes so much sense, then.” When the night elf failed to note his sarcasm, Rhonin shook his head. “Never mind. We’ll just have to watch out and hope for the best…”
They did not have to wait long. Stareye set his plan into motion before the sun set. The night elves redistributed their forces, creating three wedges. Following their lead, the tauren and other races did the same. The noble pulled back much of his cavalry, sending them around to the left flank. There they waited a short distance from the main host.
The front of each wedge was made up of pikes, followed by swords and other hand weapons. Behind those and protected from all angles were archers. Each wedge also included evenly-distributed members of the Moon Guard. The sorcerers were there to protect against the Eredar and other magic wielders.
The wedges were to drive forward as hard as they could, cutting into the Burning Legion’s lines like teeth. Those demons caught between the wedges were to be the focus of the archers and sword wielders. The night elves were to move in concert, no wedge outreaching another. The cavalry were held in reserve to cover any weak points that developed.
There was some skepticism among the Earthen and the tauren, but, having no experience with large-scale military strategy themselves, they bowed to what they assumed was the night elves’ superior knowledge.
Jarod rode beside Rhonin as the host moved forward. The demons
had been uncommonly hesitant, an action that Stareye took as a good omen, but that the other two believed meant a need for more caution.
“I’ve talked to the Moon Guard,” the wizard informed his companion. “We’ve a few tricks in mind that may make certain his lordship’s plan comes to fruition. I’ll be coordinating them.”
“Huln promises that there will be no weakening from the tauren and I think the furbolg indicated something of the same,” the captain replied. “I worry, though, if Dungard Ironcutter’s people are enough to hold his part of the line.”
“If they fight anything like a dwarf I know called Falstad did,” commented Rhonin, thinking back. “They’ll be the least of our problems.”
At that moment, the battle horns sounded. The soldiers ahead immediately steeled themselves, increasing their pace.
“Be ready!” shouted the wizard, his cat picking up the pace.
“I wish I was back in Suramar before all this…”
The landscape ahead sloped downward, finally giving them a clear view of what lay ahead.
A sea of demons stretched all the way back to the horizon.
“Mother Moon!” Jarod gasped.
“Keep a grip on yourself!”
A trumpeter signaled the attack. With a lusty cry, the night elves started running. Deep roars from the right marked the tauren and furbolgs. A curious, wailing blast noted the Earthen’s advance.
The battle was joined.
The Legion’s front line almost immediately buckled under the intense assault. The wedges drove right into the demons. Scores of horned warriors fell to the pikes.
Jarod grew excited. “We’re doing it!”
“We’ve got momentum, but it’ll slow!”
Sure enough, after several yards in, the Burning Legion began to get its bearings. They did not completely stop the onslaught, but every new foot was bought slowly, painfully.
And yet, the night elves did continue to move forward.
That was not to say that there were not dangers or bad losses even in the beginning. A few Doomguard fluttered overhead, trying to get past the pikes and strike the archers. Some were brought down by their very targets, but others managed to keep aloft over the defenders. Armed with long maces and other weapons, they dove down, smashing skulls or gutting night elves occupied with other shots. However, under the onslaught of the archers and Moon Guard, they soon retreated.
At another point, the demon lines opened up to unleash a pair of Infernals against the wedge there. The soldiers attempting to block them were crushed and the wedge blunted, almost inverting. One Infernal was brought down by the Moon Guard, albeit not before several archers had perished. The other continued to wreak havoc among the night elves even after they managed to seal the break behind him.
Rhonin tried to focus on the lone demon, but there were too many soldiers around the creature. Every time the wizard thought that he could cast a spell, he took a risk of slaying several night elves.
From nowhere came three of the Earthen. The dwarves barreled their way through the ranks until they came upon the Infernal. Each of the squat but muscular figures carried war hammers with huge, steel heads.
The Infernal made a lunge, but missed. One dwarf slipped under and battered the stone monster’s legs. Another came at the demon from the side. The Infernal managed a back-handed slap at his second attacker, but what would have killed a night elf, shattering his bones in the process, only shook the Earthen for a moment. The Infernal had finally come up against creatures with as hard a skin as his.
Now all three dwarves brought their hammers into play. Wherever they struck the demon, the heavy weapons left cracks and fissures. The left leg collapsed, forcing the Infernal down on one knee.
And the last Rhonin saw of the demon was all three Earthen bringing their hammers down on his head.
The wizard noticed Jarod Shadowsong riding back to him. Rhonin had not even known that the captain had disappeared. “Did you summon them?”
“I thought that they might have a better chance!”
Rhonin nodded his approval, then surveyed the battle again. Recovering from their brief setback, the host was once more pushing the Burning Legion back. The demons maintained a defiant look despite their forced retreat, but everything they did only briefly halted the night elves’ determined progress.
“The damned thing’s working after all,” muttered the spellcaster. “Looks like I’ve underestimated his lordship.”
“A good thing, Master Rhonin! I shudder to think what might’ve happened if it had failed!”
“There is that — ” Rhonin let out a howl as an intense force seemed to try to crush his very brain. He tumbled off his mount before Jarod could grab him, striking the ground hard enough to jar his bones. Leaping down after him, the night elf tried to help the wizard rise.
Horrific pounding filled Rhonin’s head. The sounds of battle faded in the background. Through bleary eyes, he saw Jarod speaking, but no voice reached him.
Harder and harder the pounding grew. Through his agony, Rhonin understood that he had been attacked by some spell, yet this one had hit with more stealth than any in the past. Briefly the wizard thought of the Nathrezim, whose power had animated the dead, yet this did not feel like their work.
The agony became overwhelming. Rhonin struggled against the crushing sensation, but already knew that he was losing. He was near to blacking out and, if that happened, he feared he would never wake again.
In the midst of the attack, an emotionless voice echoed in his thoughts, You cannot stand against me, mortal.
The wizard needed no one to tell him who spoke. As Rhonin’s strength at last failed and the blackness took him, the demon’s name echoed through his fading senses.
Archimonde…
Jarod Shadowsong quickly dragged the still body back behind the lines. The night elf frantically studied Rhonin for some wound, but found nothing. The human was completely untouched, at least on the outside.
“Sorcery,” he muttered. Jarod grimaced. A person of little talent in that direction, he had a healthy respect for spellcasters. Anything that could affect Rhonin had clearly originated from a powerful source. To him, that meant only the most powerful of the demons they so far faced, the one called Archimonde.
The fact that Archimonde had found the opportunity to seek out the wizard disturbed the captain very much. Archimonde should have been frantically busy trying to keep order among his retreating forces. Everywhere Jarod had looked, the Burning Legion had been close to crumbling. Lord Stareye’s plan had proven a grand success —
The night elf’s eyes widened.
Or had it?
Brox held on as tight as the others as Korialstrasz flew them toward their destination. The orc had lived in the time when the red dragons had been ruled by his people, but he had never flown on one himself. Now he reveled in the sensation and for the first time truly sympathized with the dragons who had been enslaved. To be so free, to live in the skies, only to be forced to die like dogs for the will of another… it was a fate to make any orc shudder. In fact, Brox felt some kinship with the dragons, for, in truth, his people had been slaves of a sort also, their most basic instincts twisted into something grotesque by a demon of the Burning Legion.
Once, Brox had simply wanted to die. Now, he was willing to face death, but death with purpose. He fought not just to defend his people in the far-off future, but to defend all whom the demons sought to crush. The spirits would decide if his life needed to be sacrificed, but Brox hoped that they would wait long enough for him to strike a few more decisive blows… and, especially, see that this quest was fulfilled.
The hills gave way to mountains, which at first reminded him of those near his home. However, the mountains soon changed and with them changed something in the air. The landscape turned desolate, as if life was afraid or unwilling to be in this place. Korialstrasz had mentioned an ancient evil and the orc, perhaps more attune to the world than most, felt that evil perm
eate everything. It was a foulness worse than that spread by the demons and made him want to reach for the ax strapped to his back.
The dragon suddenly descended between a pair of dank, sharp peaks. Korialstrasz effortlessly glided through the narrow valleys, seeking a proper landing place.
He finally landed in the shadow of a particularly sinister mountain, one that reminded Brox of a monstrous warrior raising a heavy club for a strike. The harsh upper edge of the peak added to the already-prevalent feeling of being watched by dark powers.
“This is as close as I dare fly,” the dragon informed his passengers as they dismounted. “But I will still follow along for a time.”
“We aren’t far,” Malfurion commented. “I remember this area.”
Krasus eyed the same peak that had so caught the orc’s attention. “How could one not? A very appropriate abode for Deathwing.”
“You’ve said that name before,” the druid said. “And Rhonin, too.”
“It is how we know the Earth Warder where we come from. His madness is well documented, is it not so, Brox?”
The veteran warrior grunted agreement. “My people also call him Blood’s Shadow… but, yes, Deathwing is known to all living creatures, much to their dismay.”
Malfurion shuddered. “How do we avoid being noticed? I only escaped detection because of what Cenarius had taught me, but we can’t all journey to the Emerald Dream.”
“Nor would there be any point,” replied Krasus. “We could not touch the Demon Soul from that plane. We must be in this one. I know him best. I should be able to guard us from any warning spells. However, that will mean it will be up to you and Brox to do the rest.”
“I’m willing.”
“I, too.” The orc hefted the magical ax. “I will cleave the black one’s head from his neck if I must.”
The mage chuckled, if briefly. “And there would be song to sing, would there not?”
At first, Korialstrasz led the way, the dragon making the finest defense of all, even in Brox’s eyes. However, before long, the path grew narrower, until finally it was all the leviathan could do to squeeze through.
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