The moon was not present in the sky, but that did not concern Tyrande. While the priestesses were strongest when it was visible, they were fully aware that it was never far away. Their link to Elune was powerful no matter what time of day or night or even cycle.
“Mother Moon, hear my entreaties,” she whispered. “Grant this humble one the cool, soothing powers of your touch. Guide my hands to the source of this abomination, and let me remove the taint so that this innocent might recover…”
Tyrande began humming under her breath, a way of focusing her will into her work. The injuries that she had healed for Broxigar paled in comparison to what she attempted now. It took all her control just to keep from feeling that she would fail.
Without warning, a pale, silvery light shone around her fingers. The victim’s mate stared wide-eyed, and again Shandris gasped. Tyrande’s hopes rose; once again, Elune was responding to her. Truly the goddess was with her this day!
The healer traced her fingers around the wound, taking special care where the foulness was worst. Tyrande could not help but grimace as she touched the pus-ridden areas. What sort of evil were the demons that their very bite or scratch left such horror in its wake?
As her fingertips went past the ravaged areas, the injury grew less horrific in appearance. The pustules shriveled, finally disappearing. The bloody crevice narrowed at each end, as if slowly sealing itself.
Encouraged, Tyrande continued praying to Elune. The infection shrank to a small, oval patch, while the wound itself became a scar, first fresh, then nearly gone.
The male suddenly groaned, as if awaking from a deep sleep, but Tyrande did not stop. She could not presume that the disappearance of outer signs meant that the wound had completely healed inside. There would be poisons from the infection in the victim’s blood.
Several tense seconds later, when the male’s chest finally rose and sank at a more sedate rate and his eyes fluttered open, the priestess knew that she had defeated the demon’s work. With a long exhalation, Tyrande leaned back and gave thanks to Elune. The goddess had granted her a miracle.
The female reached forward and took one of Tyrande’s hands. “Thank you, sister! Thank you!”
“I am merely the vessel for the work of the Mother Moon. If there is one to thank, it is Elune.”
Nevertheless, both the stricken male—Karius—and his mate continued to express their gratitude for what they saw as the priestess’s heroic effort. Tyrande nearly had to fend them off, so thankful were they.
“You can repay me by telling me in more detail what occurred,” she finally told the former victim.
Nodding, Karius related the story as much as he could recall. In the midst of their troubles, the two had realized that they needed food. However, the chaos at the time prevented them from finding anyone among the refugees who had enough to share. Most had fled with only as much as they could carry in their arms.
Spotting an area of forest he thought might contain berries and fresh water, Karius had left his mate with the promise that he would return shortly. Desperation made him attempt the foolhardy hunt at all, for surely others had stripped the forest of anything edible long before.
Karius had been forced to go deeper into the woods than he had intended. He began to worry that he might never find his mate again, although she had told him that she would stay behind if he was gone too long. When at last he discovered a bush with ripe, purple berries, Karius had quickly tried to fill the pouch on his belt, allowing himself an occasional berry to eat immediately so as to preserve his strength.
But just as he had filled the pouch, he heard something huge rummaging through the forest. His first thought was that it might be a tauren or bear. He had started back, his gaze constantly over his shoulder so that whatever emerged would not catch him by surprise.
And so it was that he was looking in the wrong direction when the beast charged him from the front.
Having once served Black Rook Hold, Karius still had some swiftness left to him despite the debilitating journey. He twisted around just as the monster—some sort of demonic hound with two horrific tentacles sprouting from its upper back—had tried to fall upon him. The beast did not seize his throat as it had intended, but instead clamped down on the leg.
Somehow, Karius had managed not to scream, although every fiber of his being had demanded it. Instead, the night elf grabbed for something, anything, with which to defend himself. His groping hand found a thick, pointed rock, and he swung it with all his might against the creature’s nose.
He had heard something crack. A harsh whine filled his ears and the beast released his leg. Even then, Karius doubted that he would have escaped the demon, but from somewhere in the distance, a sharp sound had suddenly echoed.
The hideous hound’s reaction to it had been both instantaneous and astonishing. It cringed first, then immediately leapt toward the source of the noise. Self-preservation urged Karius to immediately drag himself in the opposite direction. He had not even paused to bind the wound, which at that time had only been bloody. The mauled night elf had struggled all the way back to his waiting mate, each harsh step of the journey expecting the creature to return to finish him.
Tyrande digested his tale with a great sense of foreboding. Karius had indeed been very fortunate to survive an encounter with a felbeast. What that abomination had been doing behind the lines, however, worried her. Of course, one such beast, while dangerous, could be readily dealt with by Malfurion or the wizards. But what if there were more?
That in mind, she asked, “You mentioned a sound that drew it away. What sort of sound?”
Karius thought for a moment before responding, “It was a sharp, cracking sound.”
“Like thunder?”
“Nay…it reminded me of…of the crack of a whip, I’d say.”
The priestess rose to her feet. “I thank you for your patience. If you’ll forgive me, I must be on my way.”
“Nay!” protested the female. “ ’Tis we who thank you again, sister! I thought to lose him!”
Tyrande did not have time to argue any more. She gave both the blessing of the temple, then quickly went to where Shandris watched her with eyes as wide as plates.
“You healed him completely! I-I thought he would be dead before you could start!”
“As did I,” Tyrande returned, mounting behind the child. “The Mother Moon was generous to me.”
“I’ve never seen a priestess heal a wound so horrible…and that monster that made it—”
“Hush, Shandris. I must think.” The priestess took command of the night saber, turning the cat toward where last she recalled seeing the spellcasters. In her role as cleric, Tyrande often obtained information that even Lord Ravencrest’s strategists never picked up. Now, once again, she had heard something that Malfurion and Krasus needed to know.
The Legion’s assassins were closing in on them.
The black dragons returned under cover of night to their vast lair. Neltharion had been eager to come home, for there was much to be done. His plan was so near to fruition that he could taste it.
A smaller male atop a peak resembling an upraised talon dipped his head in homage. The Earth Warder paid him no mind, his thoughts too caught up in the moment. He landed in the mouth of the flight’s main cavern and immediately turned to his consorts, who dropped behind him. Deeper within the cavern, the roars of other dragons could be heard.
“I go below. I must not be disturbed.”
The females nodded, having heard this command from him oft before. They did not ask what the Aspect did down there. Like all in the black flight, they existed to obey. Every creature in the mountain was touched to some degree by the same madness that affected Neltharion most of all.
The huge black maneuvered through tunnels that barely allowed his immense form passage. As he descended deeper, the sounds of dragon life vanished and a new, odd noise echoed over and over. To any who listened, it most resembled what one might note in a blacksmith�
��s shop, for there could be heard repeated hammering on metal. The hammering went on without end, and as it increased in tempo, Neltharion’s savage smile grew wider, more satisfied. Yes, everything was coming to pass.
But the dragon did not head to the source of the hammering. Instead he turned at a side passage and continued his descent. After a time, the hammering faded away, leaving only Neltharion’s heavy breathing to echo in the dark corridors. No one but he was allowed to walk these lower chambers.
At last, the Earth Warder reached the vast chamber where he had cast his spell upon the Eredar. Yet, as he entered, the dragon’s head picked up, for he sensed that, despite appearances, he was not alone.
And the voices in his mind, the voices that had remained but steady murmurs while he had been among the other dragons, suddenly rose in a frenzy of excitement.
Soon…
Soon…
The world will be set to right…
All those who have betrayed you will know their place…
Order will be restored…
You will take your rightful rule…
This and more they repeated over and over to the Earth Warder. His chest swelled with pride and his eyes glittered with anticipation. Soon his world would be as he desired it!
“They have all given of themselves,” he told the empty air. “Even absent Nozdormu.”
The voices did not reply, but the dragon seemed to accept that they were pleased. He nodded to himself, then closed his eyes and concentrated.
And at his summoning, the Dragon Soul materialized.
“Behold its beauty,” he rumbled as it floated level with his admiring gaze. “Behold its perfection, its power.”
The golden aura surrounded his creation, glowing with an intensity never before achieved. As Neltharion fixed his will upon it, the Dragon Soul began to quietly vibrate. Throughout the chamber, the stalactites and stalagmites began to shake as if stirring to life.
The disk’s vibration increased with each eager breath by the Earth Warder. The entire chamber now trembled. Fragments of rock broke free from the ceiling, and several huge stalactites quivered ominously.
“Yes…” the dragon hissed eagerly. Neltharion’s eyes burned with anticipation. “Yes…”
Now the very mountain rumbled as if some huge volcanic eruption or great tremor took place. The ceiling began to break in earnest. Huge stones dropped everywhere, striking the floor with ear-shattering booms. Many bounded off the massive dragon’s hard hide, but he cared not at all.
Then, from the Dragon Soul ethereal shapes arose. They were shadows of light, vague images that darted around. Most had wings and their outlines were akin to that of Neltharion. Some were black, some bronze, others blue or red. They began to swarm above the disk, rapidly growing in number.
There were other shapes as well, smaller but more grotesque ones. They glowed a sickly green and many had horns and deep pits for eyes. Their numbers were far smaller, but there was an intensity, an evil, that made them as arresting as the intermingling ghosts above them.
They were the essences of all those who had contributed to the Dragon Soul’s creation, willingly or not. Tied to the disk, they represented, together, power that dwarfed even that of an Aspect such as Neltharion. Their simple appearance was enough to cause cracks and fissures in the solid mountain as the entire region now shook with vehemence.
A gargantuan stalactite suddenly broke free. Caught up in his reverie, the Earth Warder did not notice it until it was too late.
Only a formation of this magnitude could have injured the black dragon. It struck Neltharion on the left side of his jaw, ripping away even the hard, scaled flesh. One piece of bloody scale went flying, its hard edge hitting the Dragon Soul at the center.
Neltharion roared with horror, not for himself but rather at what had happened to his precious creation. The scale gouged the disk deep, ruining its perfection. The shapes above and below spun in an uncontrolled frenzy.
The dragon acted quickly, ending the spell. The ghostly figures sank back into the disk, but slower, more hesitantly than he desired. As they vanished, the tremor ceased, leaving only drifting dust to mark its brief but terrible passage.
When it was safe to do so, Neltharion seized the Dragon Soul and held it close. The gouge was not as deep as he had thought, but that it existed at all nearly threw him into a new fit. He had not expected anything, much less himself, to be a danger to the disk.
“You will be healed,” he whispered, cradling the tiny piece in his paw as a mother might cradle her child in her arms. “You will be my perfection again…”
Clutching the disk tightly, he departed the chamber as quickly as he could on three limbs, heading back up in a swift, half-hopping motion. Neltharion radiated a pensiveness that would have unnerved even his consorts. The Earth Warder’s breathing turned ragged, as if he feared that all he had wrought would now be for nothing.
Rather than return to where his own kind dwelled, however, the dragon veered to another series of tunnels. The hammering echoed louder as Neltharion moved his tremendous bulk through the narrow corridors, soon becoming distinct sounds of hard work. Peculiar voices chit-tered away, but their exact words were drowned out by the hammers.
Neltharion thrust himself into the new chamber. The fiery illumination forced him to let his eyes adjust for a moment. When they had, they revealed scores of tiny, limber goblins busy in various stages of metalwork. There were huge ovens everywhere, all fueled by the raging, molten earth far below. Half a dozen of the green-skinned creatures struggled to remove from one huge casing what seemed an oval shield fit for a giant. The metal inside blazed a bright orange. The goblins quickly turned the casing over, letting its contents drop into a vat of water. Steam rose in a tremendous burst, nearly boiling one slow worker.
Other goblins hammered away at various pieces. A few wearing smocks wandered among the rest, making certain that everyone did his task properly.
Not finding what he searched for around the chamber, Neltharion roared, “Meklo! Meklo, attend me!”
The leviathan’s cry overwhelmed all other sounds. Startled, the goblins halted in their work. Two almost poured molten iron on a comrade.
“To work, to work!” snapped a high-pitched, irritated voice. “Want to ruin all?”
The laborers immediately obeyed. From a walkway above, a spindly goblin of elder years, with a tuft of gray fur atop his otherwise bald head, scampered down to the impatient dragon. The chief goblin muttered to himself all the way, but his words held no anger against his master. Instead, he appeared to be constantly calculating things.
“Density of eight inches with a surface area of a hundred twenty square feet, which means approximately adding forty-two more pounds to the mix and—” His foot bounced against the center toe of the remaining forepaw. The goblin glanced up, acting almost surprised to see the leviathan. “My Lord Neltharion?”
“Meklo! See this!”
The Earth Warder brought his huge paw close so that the goblin could study the disk. Meklo squinted, making a tsking sound.
“Such craftwork, and now marred! The design was flawless!”
“A scale of mine fell upon it, goblin! Explain why that should damage the invulnerable!”
“Blood, too, I see.” Meklo looked up, surveying Neltharion’s injury for a moment before tsking again. “Of course, this makes perfect sense! My Lord Neltharion, you were integral in the formation of the disk itself, yes?”
“You were there, goblin. You know.”
“Yes. You created the matrix of its construction.” The head goblin thought a moment more, than asked, “The others, they’ve given their essences? They’re tied into the disk’s matrix?”
“Of course.”
“Aaah, but you are not. You created the Dragon Soul matrix, formed it with your power and blood, but you are the only dragon not directly bound to it.” The goblin grinned, showing pointed yellow teeth. “That makes you its only weakness, my lord. The scale,
your blood…any part of you has the capability of destroying the Dragon Soul. You could crush the disk with ease, I imagine.” Meklo made a squashing gesture with his index finger and thumb.
The Earth Warder’s eyes grew monstrous to behold, even for the goblin. “I would never do such a thing!”
“Of course not, of course not!” babbled Meklo, groveling for Neltharion. “Which means that nothing can ever destroy it, eh?”
The fury smoldering within the dragon lessened. Neltharion’s lip stretched back, revealing teeth larger than the goblin. “Yes, nothing. So, my Dragon Soul is…is invulnerable!”
“So long as you take no part in its destruction,” the spindly figure dared remind him.
“Which shall never happen!” Neltharion gazed down at the damage wrought on the Dragon Soul. “But this must be repaired! The disk must be perfect again!”
“It’ll require what it did last time.”
The dragon scoffed. “You will have all of my blood that you need! It will be whole!”
“Naturally, naturally.” Meklo peered back at the other goblins. “It will slow completion of your other plans. We need your blood and magic for those, as well.”
“All else can wait! The disk cannot!”
“Then we shall begin now, my lord. Permit me a moment to shut down work. I will return with the necessary assistance, then.”
As the goblin retreated, Neltharion breathed easier. His precious creation would be healed. Like him, it would be perfect once more.
And together, they would rule all…
Ten
“This is insufferable!” Lord Stareye said, removing a pinch of powder from his pouch and sniffing into one nostril. “A perfect opportunity wasted, Kur’talos!”
“Perhaps, Desdel. Perhaps not. Still, it’s done and must be looked past now.”
The two nobles stood in Lord Ravencrest’s tent with several other aristocratic officers, discussing a plan of action now that the rout had been stopped. Desdel Stareye, however, was convinced that Krasus had been premature in deciding that the host had to come to a halt just when they had their enemy on the run. Stareye felt certain that the night elves could have advanced all the way to Suramar unhindered if they had just listened to him—an opinion he had voiced more than once since Krasus and the others had joined the group.
The Demon Soul (warcraft) Page 13
