Many of the changes were simple or subtle and it amazed Rhonin that he had not thought of them himself. However, now something had come to truly test the revamped host. A ploy no one could have expected from Archimonde.
Yet, as they neared, it was not quite a battle that they confronted, but rather a confusion. Night elves sought to bring weapons into play, but the tauren and Earthen that Rhonin saw appeared to have no interest in playing any part in their own defense. They stood idly by as their allies frantically tried to fill the gaps that they created by their inaction.
“What by the Mother Moon are they doing?” Jarod demanded to the air. “They’ll undermine everything! I finally had the nobles convinced of their necessity.”
Rhonin started to answer, but just then he became aware of something far beyond the line. The enemy was even closer than he could have imagined. The wizard made out hulking forms, winged creatures, and a vast variety of ominous shapes that he, who had faced the Legion in the future, still could not identify.
Oddly, they moved almost at a walking pace and from them Rhonin heard no bloodcurdling calls. There were giants among them, too, giants that dwarfed any demon of which the wizard was familiar. The winged forms did not remind him of Doomguard and although there were other flying horrors among the Burning Legion, he could not recall any matching those approaching.
Jarod reined his night saber to a halt near a tauren that turned out to be none other than Huln. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you fighting?”
The tauren leader blinked and looked at Jarod as if the questions made no sense. “We will not fight these! It would be unthinkable!”
A pair of Earthen nearby echoed his words with stern nods. Jarod at first looked dismayed, then his expression turned resolute.
“Then, we will fight them ourselves!” he growled, riding past the tauren.
But Rhonin had grown very suspicious concerning the reasons for the allies’ reticence. “Wait, Jarod!”
“Master Rhonin, not you, too?”
The oncoming horde was now close enough that the wizard could make out some individual features… enough to verify for him that he had been correct in calling the night elf back.
“They’re not the Legion! They’ve come to join us, I’m sure of that!”
He was even more certain when he saw that which lead them, a towering creature moving on four swift legs and atop whose shaggy head was a rack of magnificent antlers. The gargantuan being was followed closely by scores of creatures resembling satyrs in that their upper torsos were like those of night elves, but their lower bodies were instead those of fauns and they were all young, beautiful females. They seemed almost as much plant as animal, their skin covered in sleek, green leaves. While more delicate-looking in some ways, there was that about their demeanors that made him suspect that any foe would regret confronting them.
Already caught up in their preparations, the soldiers paid this figure no mind. Rhonin realized that a catastrophe of great proportions would quickly take place if he did not put a stop to things.
“Jarod! Ride up with me, quick!”
With the night elf in tow, the crimson-tressed wizard urged his mount past startled soldiers. Jarod caught up to him, shouting, “Are you mad? What are you doing?”
“Trust me! They are allies!”
The figure in the lead suddenly loomed over them. Startled, Rhonin barely reined in time.
“Greetings, Rhonin Redhair!” boomed the antlered being. The female figures eyed the wizard with curiosity. “We come to join the fight for our precious realm…” He studied Jarod Shadowsong. “Is this the one with whom we must coordinate our actions?”
The human glanced at his companion, who sat openmouthed. “He is. Forgive him! I find myself a little astounded by your coming as well… Cenarius.”
“Cenarius…” muttered Jarod. “The forest lord?”
“Yes, and I believe he’s brought some august company with him.” Rhonin added, peering beyond the mythic guardian.
It was as if the tales of his childhood had come to life… and, indeed, perhaps that was the most apt description. Rhonin and the night elf gazed up — often high up — at giants known only from the dreams of mortals. For all his height, the forest lord was dwarfed by some of his companions. A pair of twin, bearlike creatures like veritable mountains flanked Cenarius, one eyeing Rhonin with particular interest. Beyond them and only slightly smaller, a being resembling a wolverine with six limbs and a serpentine tail eagerly surveyed the distant battlefield. His breath came in hungry pants and his massive claws raked the ground, creating massive grooves.
Towering over almost everything else was a humongous, tusked boar with a mane of sharp, even deadly thorns. A name came unbidden from Rhonin’s early studies… Agamaggan… a demigod of primal fury…
Some were not so overwhelming, but were no less stunning. There was a beautiful yet dangerous-looking bird woman around whom flocks of avians abounded. A tiny red fox with a sly yet gnomish visage scurried between the legs of the giants and darting around many of the demigods were minute, sword-wielding men with butterfly wings… pixies of a sort.
A shape pure white flashed by at the edge of the wizard’s gaze. He immediately sought out the source, but found nothing. Yet, an image remained burned in his thoughts, that of a huge stag with antlers that seemed to reach the heavens…
And on it went. Male figures with hooded faces and whose flesh — what little there was visible — was oak bark. Hippogriffs and gryphons fluttered in the air and creatures resembling giant stick bugs with humanoid forms swayed patiently in the wind. Further on, there were scores of other unique figures, some of whom the wizard would have been hard-pressed to describe even while staring at them — but all of whom bore marked resemblance to some particular aspect of the natural world.
And even from where he stood, Rhonin could sense the energies surrounding each, the natural forces of the world embodied by those created first to protect it from harm.
“Jarod Shadowsong…” the wizard managed. “May I introduce to you the demigods of Kalimdor… all of them.”
“At your command,” Cenarius added respectfully, his front legs falling to a kneeling position. Behind him, the others followed suit in their own manner.
The new leader of the host swallowed, unable to speak.
Rhonin took a quick look behind himself. Everywhere, soldiers, tauren, furbolgs, Earthen, and more watched the tableau in awe. Most now recognized that these newcomers were beings of tremendous age and power… all of whom were now acknowledging Jarod as the one from whom they would take their cues in battle.
Cenarius rose, eyeing the night elf as one did an equal. “We await your word.”
And to his credit, the former Guard captain straightened, replying, “You are all very welcome, elder one. Your strength is greatly appreciated. With any luck, we have a chance, a good chance, of surviving.”
The forest lord nodded, his eyes looking beyond Jarod to the other mortal defenders. A determined expression steeled Cenarius’s bearded countenance. “Yes. You have it right, Lord Shadowsong… we have a chance…”
Twelve
As Malfurion stirred from unconsciousness, pain struck him over what seemed every inch of his body. It was almost enough to send him back to the darkness, but a sense of urgency pushed him on. Slowly, the druid began to register sounds and, just as significant, the lack of sounds.
He opened his eyes and was greeted by the soft shadow of night. Thankful for once to avoid the glare of daylight, Malfurion pushed his aching form up to a sitting position, then surveyed the region.
He let out a gasp.
Some yards beyond and half-buried in a crater no doubt caused by the collision, the dragon Korialstrasz lay still.
“He — he lives…” managed a rumpled figure rising like a specter from the grave. “I — I can readily assure you of th-that.”
“Krasus?”
The mage stumbled toward him, looking more gaunt
and pale than ever. “Not… not the circumstances I had planned for our reunion.”
Taking hold of the elder spellcaster, Malfurion guided him over to a rock and made Krasus sit. “What happened? How do you come to be here?”
Taking a deep breath, the robed figure explained how he had led the black dragon on a chase, trying to buy time for the night elf and the orc. As he spoke, Krasus seemed to recover much of his strength, something the night elf attributed to the other’s amazing background.
Then, Malfurion recalled mention of their other comrade. “Brox!” he blurted, looking around. “Is he — ”
“The orc lives. I think his hide and skull even stronger than a dragon’s. He came to me just as I stirred. I believe he is out trying to locate food and water, our own destroyed in the crash.” Krasus shook his head and continued, “We may also thank Korialstrasz for our relative health. He did what he could to protect us — including a hasty spell — at cost to himself.” The mage said the last proudly.
“Shall I try to heal him as I did once before?”
“No… the last time, you drew upon the strength of a healthy land. Here, you might have to draw too much on yourself. He would understand. There is another way.” Krasus did not explain what it was, though, instead saying, “As to how the two of us came to be together, Korialstrasz found me as I lay recuperating from a narrow escape from the black one. He had slain a guardian of Deathwing’s, then feared — rightly, as it turned out — that something had gone wrong with our plan to steal the disk.”
With Krasus astride, they had taken a circuitous route to avoid both Deathwing and any other sentinels he might have stationed, then had followed as best they could the tell-tale trace magic Krasus detected from the Demon Soul. Unfortunately, they had not found the pair until after those from the palace had captured them and taken the disk.
“That was your brother with them, was it not, Malfurion?”
The druid hung his head. “Yes. He… I don’t know what to tell you, Krasus!”
“Illidan bears their taint,” the mage said pointedly. “You would do best to remember that and remember well.” There was something in his tone that hinted of more knowledge in respect to Malfurion’s twin, but Krasus did not elaborate.
“What do we do now? Do we go after the Demon Soul?”
“I think we must… but first, you need to tell me everything you can about what transpired before my arrival.”
Nodding, Malfurion detailed his and Brox’s capture, the taking of the malevolent disk, and the arduous journey. Each time it was necessary to mention Illidan, Malfurion nearly choked.
Krasus listened stone-faced, even when the night elf described as best as he could recall for what purpose they hoped to utilize the Demon Soul. Only when Malfurion had finished did the mage respond.
“It is an even more foul scenario than I had imagined…” he muttered, half speaking to himself. “They will have planned this… and yet… and yet, in it there may be some hope…”
“Hope?” Malfurion could hardly see any hope in what he had told the other.
“Yes…” Krasus rose. Steepling his fingers, he rested his chin on them as he considered further. “If we can only make them listen.”
“Who?”
“The Aspects.”
The night elf was incredulous. “But we can’t! They’ve shut themselves away, even from you! If Korialstrasz were conscious, then — ”
“Yes,” interrupted the dragon mage. “And it is Korialstrasz who, in part, may aid us in bringing them out… if I know She Who is Life as I do.”
His words made little sense to Malfurion, but the druid had gotten used to that somewhat. If Krasus had some plan in mind, the night elf would do whatever he could to help.
The rattle of loose rock presaged Brox’s return. Unfortunately, the orc returned empty-handed.
“No stream… no puddle. No food… not even insects,” the warrior reported. “I have failed, elder one.”
“You have done as best as you could, Brox. This is a dismal land, even so far from Deathwing’s domain.”
At mention of the black scourge’s new name, Malfurion tensed. “Do you think that he might still come after us?”
“I would be astounded if he did not. We must attempt something before that happens.” Krasus peered over his shoulder at the unmoving form of Korialstrasz. “I give thanks that this Captain Varo’then used the Demon Soul in haste, or else we would all be ash. Korialstrasz can recover — and I know that — but, it is up to us to make contact first. And by us, I mean you, night elf.”
“Me?”
As Krasus’s eyes narrowed, Malfurion noticed for the first time how reptilian they were. “Yes. You must walk the Emerald Dream again. You must find its mistress, Ysera.”
“But we’ve already attempted that since the dragons were driven off by the Demon Soul and she’s refused to respond.”
“Then, this time you must tell her that Alexstrasza must know that Korialstrasz is dying.”
Aghast, Malfurion looked at the huge body, but Krasus immediately shook his head. “No! Trust me… I would be the first to fear that. Just tell Ysera. She cannot but help alert She Who is Life of this.”
“You want me to lie to the mistress of the dream realm?”
“There is no other choice.”
Thinking about it, the druid saw that his comrade made sense. Only a warning of such magnitude might gain one of the Aspects’ attention. They would not think Malfurion so foolish as to risk their wrath with a false story.
There remained only the question as to what would happen when the dragon discovered that he had lied.
But Malfurion could not think about that. He trusted in Krasus’s judgment. “I’ll do it.”
“I will try to watch over you. Brox, I leave it to you to protect both of us, if necessary.”
The orc bowed. “My honor, elder one.”
As he had done in the past, Malfurion sat with legs folded and cleared his mind first of all outside disturbances, then worked on easing the aches of his body. As the pain receded, he focused on the mythic realm.
Even despite his present condition, the night elf discovered it easier than ever to enter the Emerald Dream. The only unsettling sensation was a warmth at the points where the two small nubs on his forehead were located. Malfurion wanted to reach up and touch them in order to see if there had been any change, but knew that his first priority was finding Ysera.
He considered searching for her across the elemental landscape, then realized that, being who she was, all he had to theoretically do was call out to her. Whether or not the Aspect responded was another matter entirely.
Lady of the Emerald Dream, Malfurion called in his mind. She of the Dreaming… Ysera…
The druid sensed no other presence, but knew that he had to continue. She was here, somewhere… or everywhere. Ysera would hear him.
Ysera… I bring dire news for She Who is Life… the consort of Alexstrasza… Korialstrasz… is dying… Malfurion pictured the scene, trying to give the one he sought to contact some notion as to where the male dragon lay. Korialstrasz is dying…
He waited. Surely now the mistress of the dream realm would appear. How could she not at least investigate such potential tragedy?
Time was a nebulous thing in the Emerald Dream, but it still passed. Malfurion waited and waited, yet of the green dragon, he sensed nothing.
There came a point when at last he knew that to hope any longer would simply prove folly. Deflated by his failure, the druid returned to his body.
Krasus’s anxious gaze met his own. “She responded?”
“No… there was nothing.”
The mage looked away, frowning. “But she should’ve responded,” he muttered half to himself. “She knows what it would mean to Alexstrasza…”
“I did as you said,” the druid insisted, not wanting Krasus to find fault with his effort. “Said everything as you suggested.”
The robed figure patted him
on the shoulder. “I know you did, Malfurion. Of you, I have the utmost faith. It is a — ”
“Dragon!”
Brox’s warning cry came just before the behemoth materialized through the clouds. Malfurion focused on those clouds, hoping that he could urge them to some effort against the attacker.
But not only was it not a black dragon who approached, its very appearance made Krasus laugh heartily. Both the night elf and the druid gazed with some concern at their senior comrade.
“She comes! I should have realized that she herself would seek to discover the truth about such dire news!”
A crimson dragon the size of Deathwing hovered overhead. As Malfurion studied her, he recognized certain traits and knew that he had seen this particular giant before.
Alexstrasza, the Aspect of Life, landed anxiously next to the body of Korialstrasz. Even despite her reptilian appearance, the night elf recognized the all too common traits of fear and concern.
“He cannot be dead!” she bellowed. “I will not permit it!
” Krasus strode up next to the prone male, displaying himself before the red female. “And he is not, as you can so plainly see, my queen!”
Her consternation changed to confusion and then to anger. Alexstrasza thrust her head down toward the tiny mage, her maw coming within arm’s length of his body.
“You of all who know me know what a bitter jest that was! I feared that — that you — and he — ”
“Not for the lack of the Demon Soul’s trying,” he returned. “If its current wielder had not been so unversed in its usage, you would see four dead here.”
“You will explain yourself in a moment,” the dragon snapped. “But first I must see to him.”
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