The Sundering wwotat-3

by Richard A. Knaak

  She was not entirely astounded by his confession. There had been hint of his concerns in their prior conversations. It had originally surprised her that there was any independent thought left in the palace — the demon lord surely desiring absolute devotion — but perhaps Sargeras had finally spread his will in too many directions.

  Whatever the reasons, the high priestess gave thanks to the Mother Moon for this opportunity. She felt certain that she could entrust herself to Dath’Remar.

  “This is our only chance,” the sorcerer emphasized. “The demon lord’s minions are out near the Well performing some spellwork. They’ll be occupied long enough. The others are waiting below, in the stables.”

  “The others?”

  “We can stay here no longer, especially if you are discovered missing. This was decided. I arranged so that most who would leave would not be included in the demons’ present task… and those who had to be will be honored for their sacrifice for the rest of us.”

  “May the Mother Moon watch over them,” Tyrande whispered. The fates of those others would not be pleasant ones when Mannoroth and his lord discovered the night elves’ duplicity. “But what about the guards?”

  “There are a few of them among us, but most are the dogs of Captain Varo’then! We will have to be cautious about them! Now come! No more questions!”

  He led her out into the corridor where the second Highborne waited. Tyrande hesitated at first, suddenly startled to actually be out of her cell. Dath’Remar, glaring impatiently, pulled her along.

  Up a long flight of stairs they rushed, Dath’Remar’s companion taking the lead. There were no signs of sentries, which the priestess assumed had to mean that the sorcerers had done their best to clear the path ahead of time.

  The stairway ended at an iron door upon whose center had been framed the beatific face of Azshara. Seeing her made Tyrande involuntarily shake, a reaction which stirred a sympathetic look from the two Highborne.

  “Through here is the hall that will lead us directly to the stables. The others should have the mounts ready. When the gates open, we charge like the wind.”

  “What about… what about the demons?”

  He straightened in pride. “We are the Highborne, after all! We are the finest spellcasters in all the realm! They will fall before our might!” Then, with less hubris, Dath’Remar added, “And, likely, many of us will fall as well…”

  “I sense the way is clear,” interjected the second sorcerer, smiling arrogantly. “The distraction spell still holds Varo’then’s little curs.”

  “But not much longer, I suspect.” Dath’Remar gently pushed aside the door. Sure enough, the hallway beyond was devoid of the grim-faced soldiers.

  “We are nearly at the stables,” the other Highborne remarked, his own confidence growing. “You see, Dath’Remar! So much worry about a worthless pack of — ”

  His words ended in a gurgle as a bolt pierced his neck, the end coming out the opposing side. Blood sprayed Tyrande and Dath’Remar.

  As the dead sorcerer tumbled to the floor, several guards filled the corridor.

  “Halt right there!” ordered a subofficer with a plumed helm.

  In response, Dath’Remar angrily waved one hand to the side.

  An invisible force bowled over the guards, sending them flying against the walls like leaves in the wind. The clatter of their striking echoed throughout the hall.

  “That will teach them to dare attack a Highborne of the Elite Circle!” he snapped.

  “Someone will come to investigate the noise,” the priestess counseled.

  To his credit, Dath’Remar seemed to acknowledge his overzealous assault. With a grimace, he pulled Tyrande along.

  They entered the stables but a short time later, where Tyrande found herself confronted with an amazing sight. She had assumed from her companion’s description that there would be a fair number of Highborne, but not so many as she saw before her now. Surely a good third of the caste awaited, including entire families.

  “Where is — ?” began one female, but, a look from Dath’Remar immediately silenced her on the subject of the dead sorcerer.

  “We heard the struggle above and sensed the shifting of magical forces,” added another male. “The demons will have sensed it, also.”

  “It was necessary.” Dath’Remar led Tyrande forward. “You’ve a swift mount for the priestess, Quin’thatano?”

  “The swiftest.”

  “Good.” The sorcerer turned to her. “Mistress Tyrande, we will need you to speak for us when we reach the host. We are aware of the ill-feelings the rest will have toward our kind — ”

  “We will make them listen!” urged the female High-borne. “We have the power to do so — ”

  “And likely get ourselves all slain!” growled Dath’Remar. To Tyrande, he added, “You will do this for us?”

  “Such a question! Of course, I will! I swear, by the Mother Moon!”

  This seemed to satisfy him, if not some of his fellows. Yet, it seemed that everyone here deferred to Dath’Remar Sunstrider when it came to decisions.

  “Well enough, then! The word of the high priestess should be sufficient for all!” He indicated the night sabers. “Mount up! We’ve not a moment more to lose!”

  The fleeing Highborne brought little with them, a mark of the urgency. Well-accustomed to the fineries of life, Tyrande would have expected them to have nearly brought their entire homes.

  Another sorcerer handed the reins of a sleek, lean female panther to the priestess. Hanging from the animal’s side was a long, sturdy sword no doubt stolen from Captain Varo’then’s soldiers. Nodding her gratitude for this welcome gift, she climbed up and waited.

  Dath’Remar looked to make certain that everyone was ready, then pointed at the two huge, wooden doors leading out. “We ride together! No breaking off! Those that do shall suffer the consequences of their carelessness. The demons are everywhere. We must fight and ride at the same time, possibly for days.” He straightened. “But we are the Highborne, the foremost wielders of the Well’s bounty! With it, we shall tear open the path ahead and leave in our wake the bodies of those who would seek to prevent our passing!”

  Tyrande kept her expression neutral. Even the Highborne had to know that many would die and die brutally. She silently prayed to Elune to guide her in aiding her new companions. These Highborne sought redemption for their part in bringing the Legion to Kalimdor; Tyrande would do whatever necessary to see to it that they were given the opportunity to receive that forgiveness.

  Dath’Remar pointed at the entrance. “Let the way be open!”

  The huge doors exploded outward.

  “Ride!”

  Tyrande urged her mount after his.

  The first of the Highborne burst through the shattered doors, their night sabers leaping over the wreckage with ease. The corpses of a few demons littered the immediate area, apparently caught up in the devastation.

  “Mannoroth and the others should still be at the Well!” shouted Dath’Remar. “Therein lies our hope of success!”

  Mention of the Well brought Illidan into Tyrande’s thoughts. How she wished that he was among these trying to escape the demon lord’s evil rather than embracing it.

  The sinister mist pervading Zin-Azshari did not slow the riders, the Highborne likely very familiar with it by now. The priestess focused on following her rescuers and waiting.

  Waiting for the first threat to their flight.

  And when it came, it came in the form of felbeasts, who leapt upon riders in the middle of the pack, bringing down two and nearly eviscerating another. The demons’ tentacles adhered to the bodies of the victims, draining them with gusto.

  A female spellcaster threw what at first appeared a tiny stick. However, by the time it reached its target, it had stretched out into a full lance, which pierced the felbeast in the chest.

  The other demonic hounds perished in similar fashion, the last of them fleeing off with loud, dismayed howl
s. Dath’Remar sent a bolt of lightning down on the survivors, obliterating two and sending their body parts raining down on the fleeing Highborne. A third felbeast escaped.

  “We are surely known now!” the sorcerer snarled. “Faster!”

  A deep, mournful horn blared. Moments later, several others from far ahead of the party responded. Tyrande prayed fervently to Elune, aware that the night elves would very soon be fighting for their lives.

  “Sarath’Najak! Yol’Tithian! To me!” The pair in question rode up beside Dath’Remar. Each raised a fist ahead and began chanting.

  A sharp, continuous flash of crimson energy formed before the lead riders. Even Tyrande sensed the tremendous forces summoned from the Well.

  Then… out of the mist materialized a wall of gargantuan, tusked warriors framed by the greenish flames radiating from their armored forms. The Fel Guard poured toward the renegades with weapons nearly as long as Tyrande.

  But the first to meet the crimson barrier burned. Their own flames took on the same cast as the sorcerers’ creation, then engulfed the demons. Monstrous warriors shrieked and fell to the wayside. In only a heartbeat, nothing remained of those stricken save a few scorched pieces of armor.

  But the demons continued to press and soon they surrounded the escapees. Individual sorcerers began casting their own spells, with mixed success. They could not concentrate on every demon present and those that managed to slip past wreaked havoc on the night elves. A female went down as her mount, its throat severed, collapsed beneath her. Before she could rise, the Fel Guard who had slain her cat beheaded her. Another Highborne was stripped from the saddle, his body impaled through the back before being tossed without care under the trampling paws of the night sabers.

  One huge warrior managed to slip in behind Dath’Remar. Gasping, Tyrande drew her blade and prayed for Elune to guide her hand.

  The sword took on the pale, silver glow of her patron. It cut through the demon’s armor as if through air.

  With a grunt, the Fel Guard started to turn toward Tyrande — and the top half of his body slid off. The demon crumpled, the priestess’s blessed strike so fine that its victim had not at first realized that he was dead.

  Unaware of his near-fatal brush, Dath’Remar shouted something to his two comrades. Tyrande could not see what they did, but the shield that they had created not only spread farther afield, but also shifted to an intense blue.

  There was a crackling sound and the first demon to run into the new spell flew back as if tossed by a catapult. He crashed among his fellows, his body crumbling to dust.

  This new spell proved far more effective. Slowed down by the demons’ initial onslaught, the escaping Highborne now regained speed. Yet, behind them they left more than a dozen of their number, most ripped apart by the savage blades of the Burning Legion. Riderless night sabers, their backs soaked in blood, kept with the pack.

  A younger Highborne female near Tyrande screamed, then rose up and vanished into the mist. A second later, her scream cut off with a terrible finality and her broken body dropped among the fleeing figures.

  Night elves began looking up and around in consternation. Tyrande looked over her shoulder — and saw, too late, the clawed hands that seized an older male and dragged him up out of sight.

  “Doomguard!” she shouted. “Beware! Doomguard in the mists above!”

  Another pair of claws came down near her. Tyrande slashed. She heard a savage growl and the Doomguard retreated… minus one hand.

  Two robed spellcasters raised their arms. What seemed like a halo formed first over them, then spread out over much of the rest of the party.

  But before they could finish whatever spell they sought to unleash, an explosion rocked them. Their night sabers reeled and the two Highborne were thrown.

  From the center of the explosion arose an Infernal. How the demon had fallen among the riders without being either seen or detected, Tyrande did not know, but, at the moment, that hardly mattered. The Infernal began rampaging among the night elves, crashing into full-size panthers without so much as losing a step.

  Even as that happened, two more Highborne were stolen from their seats by Doomguard above. The priestess looked to Dath’Remar, but there was no help or guidance from that direction. The lead sorcerer was already hard-pressed to keep back the thickening ranks of Fel Guard, who appeared to be trying by sheer numbers to overwhelm the spell he and the others had concocted. With each step, the escape slowed and by Tyrande’s estimation, it would not be long before the Highborne came to an utter halt.

  Pulling up, she raised her sword to her face and called again upon the powers granted her by the Mother Moon. Whether or not she survived, Tyrande could not stand idly by while others perished.

  “Please, Mother Moon, hear me, Mother Moon…” the priestess muttered.

  The glow about her blade spread to her, at the same time intensifying. Tyrande thought of the cleansing light of the lunar deity, how, under it, everything was revealed for what it was.

  The silver aura flared bright.

  Under Elune’s light, the mist melted away. Demons on the ground and in the sky found nothing shielding them. More important, they suddenly cringed and looked away, unable to withstand the divine illumination.

  And in faltering, they opened a way for the riders.

  “There, Dath’Remar!” Tyrande shouted. “Ride that way!”

  He did not have to be encouraged. Dath’Remar and his two comrades blazed the path the priestess’s prayer had revealed. Mostly blinded, the few demons before them proved minor obstacles readily crushed.

  “Ride through! Ride through!” the leader of the High-borne encouraged. Their attackers fell away, none strong enough to resist the light.

  Her heart emboldened, Tyrande enthusiastically followed with the rest. The glow about her extended some distance beyond the fringes of the group. She thanked Elune over and over again for this miracle…

  But, just as Tyrande herself cut past the Legion’s lines, clawed hands seized her, ripping the priestess from her night saber. With a startled cry, she flew up and away from her companions.

  Straining, Tyrande looked into the contorted visage of a Doomguard. The demon’s eyes were all but shut and his ragged breathing indicated just how much the illumination around her pained him.

  Without hesitation, she cut at the armored figure. Her blow landed sideways, but it startled her attacker. One hand lost its grip. Tyrande had no opportunity to look down to see how far away the ground was. She could only pray that Elune would cushion her fall.

  With grim determination, the priestess drove her blade through the Doomguard’s chest.

  His jerking movements tore the sword from her grip. The last bit of the demon’s hold vanished.

  Tyrande clutched his dead body, hoping to pull it under her before she hit the earth. Unfortunately, in his death throes, the Doomguard twisted out of her reach.

  She shut her eyes tight. Her prayers were to her goddess, but her last focused thoughts were on Malfurion. He would blame himself for her death, if that was now to be, and she wanted no such burden upon his shoulders. What happened to her would be fated by the gods, not his actions. Tyrande understood that Malfurion had done all he could, but that the fate of their people far outweighed her meager self.

  But if only she could have looked into his face once more…

  Tyrande struck the ground… and yet, the collision was not at all as she expected. It barely even shook her, much less broke all her bones and split open her skull.

  Her fingers touched dirt. She had landed… but, if so, why was she still in one piece?

  Rolling to a sitting position, Tyrande looked around. The aura about her had faded, leaving her surrounded by mist and alone save for the broken bodies of night elves and demons.

  No… not alone. A tall, so very familiar figure emerged from the resurging mist and, at sight of him, her cheeks flushed.

  “Malfurion!”

  But almost the ins
tant that Tyrande uttered the name, she knew that she had chosen the wrong one.

  Illidan, his mouth fighting a frown, leaned over the fallen priestess. “Stupid little fool…” He reached down a hand. “Well? Come on with me… if you’d like to live long enough to see me save the world!”

  Fifteen

  Above the center of the Well of Eternity, the Demon Soul flared bright. Within the abyss formed by the Sargeras’s spell, forces set in play by both the Soul and the Well churned, slowly building up into the creation of a stable portal. From his monstrous realm, the lord of the Legion prepared for his entrance into this latest prize. Soon, so very soon, he would eradicate all life, all existence, from it… and then he would go on to the next ripe world.

  But there were others waiting in growing expectation, others with dire dreams far older than even that of the demon lord. They had waited for so very long for the means to escape, the means to reclaim what had once been theirs. Each step of success by Sargeras toward strengthening his portal was a step of success for them. With the Well, with the Demon Soul, and with the lord of the Legion’s might, they would instead open up a window into their eternal prison.

  And once open, there would be no sealing it again.

  The Old Gods waited. They had done so for so very long, they could wait a little longer.

  But only a little…

  * * *

  And with the entrance of Sargeras surely imminent, Archimonde threw everything into the battle. He stripped warriors from all other directions, knowing that the defeat of the host would be the defeat of the world.

  The host, in turn, fought because it had no choice but to fight. Night elves, tauren, and others knew only that to give in meant to bend their necks to demon blades. Fall they might, but not without giving everything they could.