The Sundering wwotat-3

by Richard A. Knaak

  The black dragon was near. Malfurion sensed him just where the mountains began to blur. He also sensed something else, a foul taint that permeated the region and felt far older than anything else. It reminded the druid of what he had felt when probing deep into the Demon Soul. It had not only been imbued with Neltharion’s madness, but something more sinister. Then, though, it had only been a trace and he had thought little of it.

  What could it be?

  Deciding that he could not worry about it now, Malfurion ventured closer. The landscape rippled — and suddenly his dream form reentered the mortal plane.

  The huge cavern surrounding him was like a scene out of some nightmare. Noxious-looking clouds of green-gray gas shot up from huge, molten pits dotting the floor. The pits bubbled and hissed and now and then their steaming contents boiled over, spilling across the already-scorched stone. The volcanic activity filled the cavern with a fiery, bloody light and created macabre, dancing shadows. Truly a fitting home for the beast that had slaughtered so may with so little regard.

  Malfurion suddenly realized that, in addition to the bubbling and hissing, another sound constantly ranged in the background. Hammering. The more he concentrated, the more the druid realized that it was not simply one hammer, but many, and that there were other sounds of activity as well. Voices, constantly-jabbering voices.

  Drawn by it, Malfurion’s dream form flew through solid rock yards thick. The sounds reverberated through the mountain. It became an incessant barrage of work-related noises, as if a huge smithy existed within the mountain.

  Then the rock gave way to a scene that made the volcanic pits tranquil in comparison.

  Goblins. The wiry creatures ran about everywhere. Some worked at huge vats and ovens, pouring steaming, liquid metal into massive, rectangular molds. Others beat with well-worn hammers on hot plates that looked almost like armor for some gargantuan warrior. Scores more hammered out huge bolts. All the while, they all jabbered with one another. Everywhere Malfurion looked, goblins worked on some project or another. A few in grimy smocks wandered about, directing efforts and now and then urging on the slothful with flat-handed slaps on the back of their green, pointy-eared heads.

  Aware that this could not be a task with good intentions behind it, he floated closer. Yet, despite what he saw, Malfurion could not figure out what the goblins planned.

  “Meklo!” roared a thunderous voice suddenly. “Meklo! Attend me!”

  The druid froze in mid-air, briefly overcome by panic. He knew well that voice, as did anyone who had survived the first use of the Demon Soul.

  And a moment later, from another cavern corridor, the black dragon himself emerged.

  Malfurion quickly moved behind one of the ovens. While he should have been invisible even to Neltharion, past experience had proven that the mad beast could still sense him at times. The path Cenarius had shown Malfurion had enabled the druid to slip past Neltharion’s protective spells as planned, but in order to properly search for the artifact, the night elf unfortunately had to stay as close to the mortal plane as possible.

  After a brief hesitation, the goblins continued their work, albeit with not quite so much chattering. Neltharion surveyed the area, seeking out the “Meklo” he desired to see.

  If anything, the leviathan looked even more monstrous than when he had flown from the scene of destruction. His body was distorted, bloated, and his eyes held a more horrible madness than ever. More shocking, the rips and tears in his scaled flesh had only grown, fire and molten fluids constantly gushing from each pulsating wound. It almost looked as if eventually Neltharion’s body would tear itself apart.

  But all thought of the terrifying transformation wrought upon the black dragon vanished from Malfurion’s thoughts when he saw what the giant held tight in one huge paw.

  The Demon Soul…

  Malfurion wanted to fly up to the dragon and steal away the golden disk, but that would not only have been impossible, it would also have been suicidal. All he could do for the moment was watch and wait.

  “Meklo!” Neltharion roared again. His tail came down with a massive thump, causing several of the goblins to jump in fright.

  But one who appeared unperturbed by this display was a spindly, elder goblin with a tuft of gray fur atop his head and an extremely distracted expression. As he passed where Malfurion hid, the druid could hear him muttering about measurements and calculations. The goblin nearly walked up to Neltharion’s lowered head before finally glancing at his master.

  “Yes, my Lord Neltharion, yes?”

  “Meklo! My body screams! It cannot contain my glory by itself anymore! When will you be ready?”

  “I have had to recalculate, recalibrate, and reconsider every aspect of what you need, my lord! This will require much caution, or we may bring further disaster upon you!”

  The dragon’s snout thrust against the goblin, almost bowling Meklo over. “I want it ready! Now!”

  “By all means, by all means!” Meklo stepped out of biting range. “Please let me look over the latest plate — ” The goblin squinted, gazing at Neltharion’s paw. “But, my lord! I did warn you, I did, that holding the disk while in this present state amplifies the effect on you! You really need to put it elsewhere until we’ve made you over!”

  “Never! I’ll never let it leave me!”

  Meklo stood his ground. “My lord, if you don’t put it aside, your present condition will consume you and then anyone could take it from your burnt bones.”

  His words finally registered with the dragon. Neltharion snarled… then reluctantly nodded. “Very well… but the plates had better be ready, goblin… or I’ll be having a snack!”

  His head bobbing up and down quickly, Meklo blurted, “Most assuredly, Lord Neltharion, most assuredly!” Daring his master’s further wrath, he added, “Remember! It must remain on the mortal plane! Your initial use of it unbound the spells more than we expected! The new spellwork needs several more days to bind to the physical shell before we can guarantee that such a thing will never happen again!”

  “I understand, gnat… I understand…” With a hiss, the black leviathan angrily turned about and headed back into the corridor.

  Malfurion tensed. The dragon was going to secrete the Demon Soul somewhere. Now was the druid’s opportunity to discover the location.

  Ignoring the goblins, Malfurion carefully drifted after the Earth Warder. Neltharion’s great girth filled the tunnel, allowing the druid no manner by which to see what might lay ahead unless he chose to fly around or through the dragon. Aware of the risks in that, the night elf forced himself to be patient.

  That patience wore thin as Neltharion wended his way through a labyrinth of tunnels. The sense of ancient evil the druid had earlier felt only increased as they journeyed. Where Neltharion went was clearly shunned by others. Only once did the Earth Warder pass one of his own flight, that much smaller dragon prostrating himself before his master. Beyond that, no life, not even an earthworm, appeared. The Earth Warder was taking no chances. His obsession with the Demon Soul included distrust of even his own followers — not entirely surprising considering the power the disk granted its wielder.

  Malfurion gradually moved nearer, finally ending up just above the dragon’s sweeping tail. He all but urged the leviathan to haste.

  The giant abruptly paused, his head twisting to look over his shoulders. Malfurion instinctively flew into the nearest wall, sinking deep into the stone. He waited for several seconds, then, dropping to a lower point, thrust his head out to look.

  Neltharion was already on his way. Cursing his overreaction, the druid gave chase.

  Scarcely had he caught up when the Earth Warder suddenly veered into a narrow cavern. It was all Neltharion could do just to fit into it, the sides of his huge torso scraping the walls.

  “Here…” he muttered, apparently speaking to his creation. “You’ll be safe here.”

  The sense of dread had grown more so, but Malfurion fought down the d
esire to flee. He almost knew where and how the dragon hid the Demon Soul.

  With great delicacy, Neltharion reached up and took hold of a tiny outcropping. As he did, it flashed — and the piece he removed left behind in its wake a gap clearly gouged out by some great creature, likely the dragon himself.

  Neltharion eyed the Demon Soul. Then, with much hesitation, he gently set it into the hole. The moment he had, he thrust the false rock back in front.

  Again, there was a flash and now the area looked completely normal. Had he floated directly in front of it, Malfurion could have never guessed that it was not. The false covering had fashioned itself perfectly to fit its surroundings.

  Of more interest than even that, however, was that Malfurion could now not sense the disk. Its foul energies were invisible to even the most careful search. The dragon might not have been able to hide it beyond the mortal plane, but clearly had devised the next best thing.

  Neltharion paused, eyes still fixed on the spot where he had secreted the Demon Soul. One great paw reached up again, the sharp claws but inches from the false front.

  With another frustrated hiss, the black leviathan suddenly lowered his paw and began backing out of the cavern.

  The druid sank into the stone again, waiting until he was certain that he had given Neltharion enough time to depart. Seconds passed like hours. Finally satisfied that the dragon had to be gone, the night elf peered out. Seeing that the cavern was empty, Malfurion then drifted toward where the Demon Soul lay.

  Even almost pressed up against the false front, he felt nothing. Despite his desire to be away from this cursed place, Malfurion decided to take one look at the disk to make certain that he knew everything necessary concerning it and its whereabouts. Krasus would have questions.

  He leaned forward, his dream form slipping through Neltharion’s camouflaged vault.

  A savage roar filled the cavern.

  The Demon Soul forgotten, Malfurion flung himself deep into the walls, soaring several yards through before daring to pause.

  He felt an intense, monstrous force probe the area, seeking whatever did not belong. Though it had not so far touched Malfurion, the night elf already recognized the black dragon as its source.

  Neltharion had evidently detected something amiss. However, from the vague, sweeping movement of his search, he did not know what it was. The druid stood frozen, uncertain whether it was better to try to leave or to remain where he floated.

  The magical probe swept closer, but again passed the night elf by. Malfurion started to relax — then suddenly felt the dragon reaching out directly at him.

  The druid immediately pulled back farther. Neltharion’s search retreated. The dragon had again missed him.

  But the night elf dared not risk himself anymore. He had discovered the whereabouts of the disk. As for the Earth Warder, he might be suspicious, but it was doubtful that he realized someone had actually been nearby.

  Malfurion retreated from the caverns, from the mountains. As he left the latter, he sought for the unfinished world within the Emerald Dream. Only when he had reentered it did the druid feel any sense of security.

  That sense of security vanished as he once again felt Neltharion’s overwhelming presence.

  The dragon knew of the Dream realm’s layers…

  The night elf desperately concentrated, focusing all his will on his mortal shell. He imagined returning to it even as he felt the Earth Warder reach out his direction —

  And just when he thought the mad beast had him… Malfurion awoke.

  “He’s shaking!” Rhonin blurted from the night elf’s left. “And drenched with sweat!”

  “Malfurion!” Krasus filled the druid’s gaze. “What ails you? Speak!”

  “I — I’m all right…” He paused to catch his breath. “Neltharion — he — he almost noticed me, but I evaded him.”

  “You have already gone in search of him? You were not to do that!”

  “The — the opportunity arose…”

  “Now, he’ll be warned,” Rhonin muttered.

  “Perhaps, perhaps not,” the human’s former mentor returned. “More likely, he will chalk it up to the many shadows he thinks surround him.” To Malfurion, the mage asked, “Did you discover the Demon Soul?”

  “Yes… I know where it is.” The druid managed to answer. He saw again Neltharion, the savage draconian face giving him chills. “I’m only afraid that we might not be able to take it from him.”

  “But we have to,” Krasus said, nodding understanding over Malfurion’s concern. “But we have to… no matter what the cost.”

  Five

  Soft hands touched Illidan’s face as they washed his burnt, wasted flesh. The scent of lilies and other flowers wafted over his nostrils. He began to stir at last, rising up from the self-induced coma he had used to escape his pain. The latter had finally subsided to something tolerable, but Malfurion’s brother doubted that it would ever completely fade.

  But as full consciousness returned, his world was suddenly filled with a maddening display of colors and violent energies. The sorcerer gasped and put his arms across where his eyes had been, for there were now barely even lids to cover them. Even that, though, did nothing to keep the swirling energies and constantly-shifting colors from almost driving him mad. This was Sargeras’s gift to him, a demonic, magical view of the world.

  Then, Illidan Stormrage recalled the words of Rhonin, the human wizard. Focus, the powerful spellcaster had so often insisted to him. Focus and it all comes together. That’s the key…

  Forcing back his initial shock, Illidan tried to follow through. It was nigh impossible, at first, for there seemed an endless chaos, much too much for a mere mortal like him to control.

  But, with the same resolution that had propelled him up so quickly among the Moon Guard, Illidan forced order upon matters. The colors began to organize, the energy to flow with regularity and purpose. Shapes began to form from the natural energies inherent in all things, alive or inanimate.

  He realized at last that he lay upon a stuffed couch, its fabric so smooth and soft it was almost sensual. There were three figures standing nearby — all female, Illidan belatedly realized. The more the twin focused, the more he could detail features. Night elves all, they were young, exquisite, and clad in rich but alluring gowns.

  More distinctions appeared as he fixed on the one who had been washing his injuries. Illidan sensed the silver coloring of her hair — silver that was not natural — and the feline appearance of her eyes. In truth, his perceptions were more acute than ever. The sorcerer could read minute variations in strands of hair. He could sense the level of power each of these Highborne wielded — and knew that, of all three, the one cleaning his wounds was by far the strongest. Even then, though, her skills were nothing in comparison to his.

  The lead handmaiden recovered first. Putting aside the damp cloth, she brought forth what, through the energies surrounding it, Illidan knew was a silken scarf the color of amber.

  The color of his lost eyes.

  “This is for you, lord sorcerer…”

  He understood exactly what it was for. This new, sharper sense of sight had momentarily made him forget how he must look to others. With the sort of bow he would have given Lord Ravencrest, Illidan accepted the scarf and wrapped it over where his eyes had been. Not at all to his surprise, the scarf in no manner inhibited his new abilities.

  “So much better,” murmured the female. “You should look your best for the queen — ”

  “Thank you, Vashj…” came Azshara’s voice suddenly. “You and the rest may retire for now.”

  Vashj clamped her mouth shut, then bowed as she and the other two retreated from the chamber.

  Illidan caught his breath as he turned his senses to the queen. A brilliant radiance surrounded Azshara, a silver glow he finally recognized as indication of the power she wielded. Illidan would have blinked if he could. Although Azshara had been beloved by all her people, some, such as hi
m, had assumed that her skills in the arts were negligible. He had always believed that she had required the might of the Highborne for the casting of spells. Illidan wondered if even the late Lord Xavius or the erstwhile Captain Varo’then had ever understood just how accomplished their monarch was.

  “Your majesty.” Moving from the couch, the sorcerer went down on one knee.

  “Please… rise up. There is no need for such formality in private.” Somehow she moved right up to him without Illidan noticing her do so. The queen guided him back to the couch. “Let us be more comfortable, my darling sorcerer.”

  As they sat, Azshara leaned toward Malfurion’s twin. Her touch set his soul on fire. Her very presence felt almost hypnotic.

  Hypnotic? Illidan studied her.

  The glow around Azshara had intensified, so much so that it even overlapped him. How Illidan had missed it revealed much about the queen’s control.

  Even with that knowledge, it was all he could do from being overwhelmed by her.

  “I’ve been most impressed by you, Illidan Stormrage! So very clever, so very powerful! Even our Lord Sargeras sees that or else why would he grant you such a precious gift?” Long, tapering fingers caressed the scarf. “Such a shame to lose the beautiful amber eyes, though… I know it hurts much…”

  Her face was enticingly close to his and, at the moment, it was impossible not to want it closer. “I — I endured it, your majesty.”

  “Please! For you, I’m merely Azshara…” Her fingers ran from his eye sockets to the rest of his face. “Such a handsome face!” She touched his shoulder, pushing aside part of his clothing. “So strong, too… and with the mark of the Great One there as well!”

  Frowning, Illidan glanced down to where her hand lay.

  An intricate pattern of dark tattoos enshrouded his shoulder. Beneath them and well-shielded, the night elf sensed an unearthly magic — the magic of Sargeras — that permeated his flesh. That he had not felt any of it until now stunned Illidan. With a quick glance to his other side, the sorcerer saw that a similar pattern marked his body there. Sargeras had truly claimed Illidan as a creature of the Legion.