The Demon Soul (warcraft)

by Richard A. Knaak

  And among the fearsome figures now wreaking havoc on the Burning Legion, he saw Tyrande.

  Before he could call to her, a demon thrust at him. The towering Fel Guard would have cut through the druid if not for his swift reflexes. The night elf rolled out of range, then cast a spell.

  The ground beneath his adversary’s feet turned into a wet, sandy mixture. The Fel Guard sank in up to his waist, but managed to keep from dropping any farther. He clawed at the edge with his free hand, trying to pull himself free.

  Malfurion gave him no such opportunity. He kicked the blade out of the demon’s hand, then ran after it. The monstrous warrior twisted about, trying to snare his legs. Malfurion slipped, one foot caught by his foe. He seized the hilt of the sword just as the demon dragged him to the quicksand.

  Swinging with all his might, the druid buried the blade in the Fel Guard’s head.

  As the demon sank slowly into the mire, Malfurion saw that not all was going well. The sisterhood had the upper hand, but more than one of them faced imminent threat. Even as he straightened, one priestess was torn from the saddle by a felbeast, who bit through her neck as easily as through silk. Another sister tumbled to the ground as a demon drove his weapon through the open jaws of a night saber, the other end of the blade bursting out between the cat’s shoulder blades. A second warrior dispatched the priestess a moment later.

  But what terrified Malfurion most was when his gaze fixed upon Tyrande once more. Locked in combat with one of the Fel Guard, she failed to notice the Houndmaster and his whip.

  The lash should have wrapped around her throat, but a chance shift by her mount instead had it bind her arms to the sides. The skeletal knight tugged hard, pulling Tyrande off her panther as if her armored form weighed nothing.

  “No!” cried Malfurion, starting after her.

  Krasus, in the midst of casting a spell, tried to grab his arm. “Druid, you are safer here—”

  But the night elf cared only about Tyrande. His training all but forgotten, he angled his way through the battle. When he got near enough, he leapt—but not for his childhood friend.

  The immense form of the Houndmaster resisted Malfurion’s weight as he struck the demon, but it did cause the hideous figure to lose his concentration. The whip loosened its grip on the priestess, letting her land softly on the earth.

  “Fool!” spat the Houndmaster, grabbing the druid by his shoulder. “I am Hakkar…and you are nothing.”

  He did not see the dagger that Malfurion pulled from his belt. The small blade sank into the demon’s arm at the place where the elbow joint offered some vulnerability.

  With a howl, Hakkar dropped his quarry. He pulled the dagger free, the sharp blade covered in the thick ooze that was the demon’s blood. However, instead of using the dagger on Malfurion, the Houndmaster tossed it aside and retrieved his fallen whip. He stalked toward the rising druid, arm already raised.

  “Hisss ordersss are to keep you alive if posssible…I think it will not be posssible, though…”

  Hakkar struck. Malfurion clamored in pain as lightning flared all over his body. He felt as if he were being burned alive.

  However, a part of him remained calm throughout his agony. It drew upon Cenarius’s teachings, pulling Malfurion away from his pain. The anguish of the whip faded into nothing. The Houndmaster struck him a second and third time, but it might as well have been a slight breeze for all the druid felt it.

  Malfurion understood that the punishment would eventually ravage his body regardless of the lack of pain. His shan’do’s teachings but gave him the chance to do what he could to defend himself…if at all possible.

  “I will keep you jussst barely alive, perhapsss,” mocked Hakkar, hitting him again. “All he ssseeksss isss enough life to torture! There will be jussst that…“

  The fearsome giant raised his whip again.

  Malfurion’s gaze twisted up to the heavens. The cloud cover offered him his best hope, and the Houndmaster, ironically, had aided in that choice.

  The wind assisted him first, stirring the clouds to motion. They disliked being so disturbed and in their anger quickly grew black. Although it went against his nature, Malfurion fed their rage, then played on their vanity. There was one here who commanded lightning of his own and flaunted it.

  Hakkar took his stillness for surrender. Eyes blazing, the Houndmaster pulled his arm back. “One more ssstroke, I think! One more ssstroke…”

  The clouds rumbled, shook.

  Lightning shot down, not one but two bolts that hit the huge demon dead on.

  Hakkar let out a roar of pain that made every bone in Malfurion’s body shiver. The Houndmaster stood bathed in brilliant light, his arms outstretched as if he sought to embrace that which destroyed him. The whip, already burnt black, fell from his trembling grasp.

  All around the scene of the battle, the felbeasts abruptly paused in their struggles and howled mournfully.

  At last, the heavenly illumination faded away…and the ashy corpse of the demon lord dropped limply to the grass.

  The monstrous hounds howled once more, then their bodies glowed as they had when first summoned. As one, the felbeasts vanished, their cries still resounding.

  Bereft of both Hakkar and his pets, the few remaining demons put up little resistance against the priestesses and Krasus. As the last fell slain, Malfurion staggered over to Tyrande.

  She sat on the ground, still half-stunned. When she saw him, however, Tyrande’s face broke out into a wonderful smile that made Malfurion forget his own pain.

  “Tyrande! This miracle is yours…”

  “No miracle, Malfurion. One who I healed told me of a felbeast behind our lines. He also described hearing what I believed was the demon commanding them.” She gazed briefly at what remained of Hakkar. “I went to warn you and the others, only to find that Krasus and you had departed for here. Perhaps it was Elune speaking to me, but I felt certain that you were at risk.”

  “So you turned to the sisterhood. I’ve seen few soldiers who fight better.”

  She gave him another smile, this one tired but pleased. “There is much about the temple that outsiders do not understand.” Her expression grew more serious. “Are you all right?”

  “I am…but I fear that Krasus and I came here for no good reason. I’d hoped to contact Cenarius so that the wizard might be able to gain some sort of mount that could carry him to the land of the dragons.”

  “Rhonin and Brox hinted as much, but I could scarcely believe—does he truly dream that he can meet with them?”

  The druid glanced over at Krasus, who had been aided in rising by two of the sisters. Like so many others, they treated him with reverence even though they were not quite certain why. The mage strode toward where the Houndmaster lay, his expression perturbed. “You see him. You sense something within him, Tyrande. I think he can do it, if somehow he reaches their realm.”

  “But unless a dragon itself carries him there, how else can he make the journey in good time?”

  “I don’t know. I—” A sudden shadow covered the pair. Malfurion looked up, and his hopeless expression changed to one of wonder.

  They circled the party thrice before finally ascending in an area away from the nearest night saber. The cats hissed, but did not otherwise attempt to attack the new arrivals, perhaps because they themselves were not sure what to make of them.

  With their vast, feathered wings and ravenlike heads, they resembled jet-black gryphons at first sight. Even the fore-limbs were scaled and taloned like those of the aforementioned creature. Beyond that, however, they were entirely different animals. Instead of leonine torsos and hindquarters, these two had equine forms, even down to the thick tails.

  “Hippogriffs,” declared the knowledgeable Krasus, his disturbed expression shifting to one of intense satisfaction. “Swift and certain fliers. He could not have chosen better, your Cenarius.”

  Tyrande did not look so thrilled. “But there are two of them.”


  The mage and Malfurion studied each other, both recognizing why Cenarius would send more than one mount.

  “I’m to go with Krasus, it seems,” answered the druid.

  Seizing him by the arm, Tyrande snapped, “No, Malfurion! Not there!”

  “I see the sense of the forest lord’s decision,” Krasus interjected. “The druid will be better able to guide the hippogriffs, and his link to Cenarius will give him good standing with the queen of the reds, Alexstrasza…She Who Is Life.”

  The priestess’s eyes pleaded with him, but Malfurion had to agree. “He’s right. I have to go with him. Forgive me, Tyrande.” On impulse, the druid hugged her. Tyrande hesitated, then returned the brief hug. Malfurion gazed down at her and added, “I fear you might have to help Rhonin and Brox explain our absence. Will you do that for me?”

  She finally surrendered to the inevitable. “Of course I will. You should know me that well.”

  The hippogriffs squawked, as if impatient to be on their way. Krasus obliged them by quickly mounting. Malfurion climbed aboard the second one, eyes still on Tyrande.

  Seizing his wrist, she suddenly started whispering. It took a moment for the two riders to realize that Tyrande was giving Malfurion a blessing from Elune.

  “Go safely,” she finished quietly. “And return the same way…for me.”

  The druid swallowed, unable to say anything. Krasus ended the awkwardness of the situation by gently prodding his hippogriff in the ribs with his heels. The beast squawked again, then turned in preparation for flight. Malfurion’s mount instinctively followed suit.

  “Farewell and thank you, Tyrande,” he called. “I’ll be back soon enough.”

  “I will hold you to that, Mal.”

  He smiled at her use of his childhood nickname, then had to cling on tight as the hippogriff charged into the air after its mate.

  “The journey will be long,” shouted Krasus, “but not nearly so long, thanks to the demigod’s gift!”

  Malfurion nodded, not entirely paying attention. His gaze remained on the shrinking figure below. He watched her watch him in turn, until finally he could no longer see her at all.

  And even then he watched more, at that instant knowing in his heart that Tyrande did exactly the same.

  Eleven

  The demons did not regroup and attack, which the night elves took as a promising sign even if Rhonin and Brox felt otherwise. Ravencrest dared use another evening to let his troops rest more and although both outsiders agreed with the need for that, they also knew that the Burning Legion would be in no way idle during that period. Archimonde would be plotting, planning, each second his adversaries delayed.

  The discovery of the disappearance of Krasus and Malfurion did not sit well with the night elves. Jarod looked as if he were heading to the gallows, and not without good reason. It had been his responsibility to see that nothing happened to the desperately-needed spellcasters, and now some of them had abandoned the host under his very nose.

  “Lord Ravencrest will have my hide for this!” the former Guard officer uttered more than once as he and the others headed to the noble’s tent. That Tyrande, who had just returned after seeing Malfurion and Krasus off, had insisted on coming to help explain matters did not comfort Jarod in the least. He was certain that he would receive the most terrible punishment for having let such valuable members of the host simply leave.

  And, indeed, it initially appeared that the bearded elder might do as he said. Upon hearing the news, Lord Ravencrest let out a furious roar and struck aside the small table that he had been using for his various charts and notes.

  “I gave no permission for such foolish activities!” yelled the master of Black Rook Hold. “By perpetrating this outrage, they threaten the stability of our forces! If word should leak out that two of our spellcasters have abandoned us at this integral moment—”

  “They didn’t abandon anyone,” protested Rhonin. “They went for help.”

  “From the dragons? Those two might as well walk directly into the jaws of the first one they see, for all the aid we can expect from those creatures! The wizard’s pet was good enough assistance under his guidance, but wild dragons…”

  “The dragons are the oldest, most intelligent race of our world. They know more than we will ever learn.”

  “And they’re likely to eat most of us before we even get the chance to!” Ravencrest retorted. He glanced at Tyrande, and his tone grew a bit more respectful. “And what part does a Sister of Elune have in all this?”

  “We have met before, my lord.”

  He peered closer. “Aaah, yes! We have! Your female friend, Illidan!”

  The sorcerer, who had been silently standing to the side, nodded. Illidan’s expression revealed nothing.

  Ravencrest crossed his arms. “I had hopes that either of you might have some influence over young Malfurion at least. I know that no one can command Master Krasus, no one, indeed.”

  “Malfurion meant to come back,” the priestess countered, “but his patron gave indication that he should travel with the wizard.”

  “Patron? You refer to that nonsense about the demigod, Cenarius?”

  Tyrande pursed her lips. “Illidan can attest to the existence of the forest lord.”

  His mask crumbling, Malfurion’s twin muttered, “ ’Tis true. Cenarius is real. I’ve seen him.”

  “Hmmph! Dragons and now demigods! All this might and magic abounding around us, yet we are losing strength, not gaining! I suppose this Cenarius also has reasons for not siding with us!”

  “He and his kind battle the demons in their own manner,” she answered.

  “And speaking of the demons, did not either of these fools consider that they’re constantly at risk from assassins? What if they were attacked before they ever—” Ravencrest paused as he noted the shifting gazes of the party. “Were they attacked?”

  The priestess bowed her head. “Yes, my lord. I and my sisters were there. We aided them in defeating the demons. Both left uninjured.”

  Next to her, Jarod grimaced and Illidan shook his head in exasperation. Ravencrest exhaled, then fell back onto the short bench he had been utilizing for a chair. Grasping an open flask of wine, he downed a good portion and rasped, “Tell me about that.”

  Tyrande did, briefly recapping her discovery of assassins nearby, then her horror when she found out that Malfurion and Krasus had already ridden off to the woods. She and her sisters had raced like the proverbial wind after the pair, and had come upon them in the midst of a titanic struggle. The priestesses had charged in fully aware that they risked their own lives and a few had perished, but all had felt that Krasus and the druid were essential to the overall victory. No sacrifice was too great to keep them alive.

  At this point, a slight snort escaped Illidan, but Ravencrest appeared most interested. He listened carefully to the details of the battle, and when Tyrande spoke of the demon with the whip, his eyes lit up.

  “One of their commanders, surely, the leader of their assassins,” he noted.

  “It seemed so. He was powerful, but Malfurion summoned the lightning from the heavens and slew him.”

  “Well struck!” The noble seemed caught between admiration and frustration. “And exactly the reason why at least the druid should’ve returned to us! We need his power!”

  “The Moon Guard and I will make up for his unpermitted absence,” Illidan insisted.

  “It’ll have to, sorcerer. It’ll have to.” He put the flask aside and stared at the party, especially Rhonin. “Do I have the word of you, wizard, that you’ll not follow the path of your compatriot?”

  “I want to see the Burning Legion defeated, Lord Ravencrest.”

  “Hmmph! Not at all a satisfactory answer, but one I expected from one of your ilk. Captain Shadowsong…”

  Swallowing, the younger night elf stepped forward and saluted. “Yes, my lord!”

  “I at first considered having you punished severely for your failure to keep this ba
nd under control. However, the more I know of them, the less I can imagine anyone managing to do that. That you’ve kept them alive and intact this long speaks of your merits. Continue your task—so long as you still have anyone to watch, that is.”

  It took a few seconds for the words to register with Jarod. When he realized that the noble had actually complimented him for surviving his time with the spellcasters, the officer quickly saluted again. “Yes, my lord! My thanks, my lord!”

  “No…my sympathies to you.” Ravencrest leaned forward, reaching for one of the charts. “You are dismissed, all of you. You, too, Illidan.” He shook his head as he eyed the sheet and muttered, “Mother Moon, spare me from all spellcasters…”

  Malfurion’s brother took his expulsion as if his patron had struck him full across the face with his gauntlet. Dipping his head in an aborted bow, the sorcerer followed the rest out of the commander’s tent.

  Brox and Rhonin strode side by side, both silent. Tyrande walked with the captain, who still looked awed that he had departed with his head attached to his neck.

  A hand touched the priestess’s shoulder. “Tyrande…”

  The others moved on while she turned to face Illidan. Gone was his brief anger at being dismissed by his lord. Now he wore an intense expression akin to the last time that the pair had talked.

  “Illidan? What—”

  “I can’t stay quiet any longer! Malfurion’s terrible naïveté brings this on! This is the final straw! He’s grown reckless, undeserving of you!”

  She tried to politely step away. “Illidan, it’s been a long, difficult—”

  “Hear me out! I accepted his desire to learn this 'druidism’ because I understood his hopes to be different! I, of all people, understood my brother’s ambitions!”

  “Malfurion is not—”

  But again he would not let her finish. Amber eyes almost glowing, the sorcerer added, “This path he follows is erratic, dangerous! It is no saving grace! I know! He should’ve followed my path! The Well is the answer! See what I’ve accomplished in such a short time! The Moon Guard are mine to command and through them I’ve sent many a demon to death! Malfurion’s path leads only to his own destruction—and possibly yours, as well!”