The Sundering wwotat-3

by Richard A. Knaak

  She leaned over Korialstrasz, spreading her wings wide so as to encompass the male’s entire form. As she did, a golden radiance surrounded the great Aspect, one that quickly enveloped Korialstrasz as well. A gentle warmth touched Malfurion, easing his troubled mind. It occurred to him that here was a being as much a part of his calling as Ysera, possibly more. Druids worked with the natural life forces of the world and who better represented that than Alexstrasza? “He has suffered much,” the dragon stated, her expression softening. “The Demon Soul, as you have rightly declared that abomination, caused him great harm… but, yes, he will recover completely… given the opportunity, that is.”

  The golden aura receded. Turning her massive head to the sky, Alexstrasza let out a great roar.

  To the party’s surprise, two more gargantuan reds dropped through the clouds. They circled once, then alighted near opposite ends of Korialstrasz. Once near, they still proved to be smaller than their queen, but on par with the unconscious male.

  “Your command, my queen?”

  “Take him back to the lair and place him in the Grotto of the Shadow Rose. He will mend better in mind and soul there. Treat him gently, Tyran.”

  The larger of the two newcomers bowed his head respectfully. “Of course, I shall, my queen.”

  “You will find there will be some more memory loss,” Krasus interjected, not at all overawed by the presence of so many dragons. But then, he was one, also, Malfurion had to remind himself. “Those shall never be recovered,” the mage added.

  “Perhaps that is for the best,” she returned, gazing at the tiny figure with the utmost fondness.

  “As I thought.”

  Krasus stepped back as the two males — Alexstrasza’s other consorts, apparently — carefully seized Korialstrasz, then took to the air. The Aspect, meanwhile, turned her full attention to the cowled figure. The fondness had become mixed with annoyance.

  “It was not a particularly pleasant trick you played! Ysera alerted me immediately and although it was against my better judgment, I immediately came to investigate — as you knew I would!”

  “If I have been remiss,” Krasus answered, bowing deep. “I accept your anger and your punishment.”

  The huge dragon hissed. “You have me here and you speak of the Demon Soul in another’s grip! How does this all come to pass?”

  Without preamble, the mage went into the tale. Alexstrasza’s expression changed several times and some of her anger faded. By the end of the story, disbelief dominated her emotions.

  “Into the sanctum of Neltharion himself! It is a wonder that any of you live!” She cocked her head as she studied Krasus. “But, from you, I am growing less surprised by such actions. It is only a shame that after so much effort, the disk ends up in the clutches of those as monstrous in their own way as the Earth Warder has become.”

  “Yet, this seeming disaster offers us potential for salvaging at least some part of Kalimdor, my queen. The greatest goal they have is to bring into our world their master, Sargeras…”

  “And they will use the Demon Soul to do that!”

  “Yes… which means that they can wield it for no other purpose during that attempt.” Krasus met her gaze defiantly. “The dragons will have nothing to fear from it. This is the moment when the Legion will be at its most vulnerable…”

  “But the disk — ”

  “This is the one chance when you might seize it, as well,” he pointed out. “And if you cannot destroy it, you can certainly bind it so that Deathwing will never be able to wield it again.”

  “Deathwing,” she growled. “So appropriate for him now. There is no more Neltharion, no more Earth Warder. Truly, he is Deathwing… and you are right, this is our one chance to make certain that his foul creation troubles us no more.”

  Although it clearly slipped past Alexstrasza’s attention, Malfurion noticed Krasus’s expression briefly darken. In some manner, the mage had not been entirely honest with the dragon. The night elf said nothing, trusting that whatever secret Krasus held back, he held it back for good reason.

  “Malygos will be of no use to us, I regret to say,” the gigantic red murmured. “And the Timeless One is still missing, but his flight stands with us. Ysera’s flight and mine will fly united, also…” Alexstrasza nodded. “Yes, it is possible. You are correct. I will speak with her and the consorts of Nozdormu. I should be able to convince them.”

  “Quickly, I hope.”

  “I can only promise to try.” She spread her wings, but before the dragon could take off, Krasus signaled again for her attention. “You have more to say?”

  “Only this. The Old Gods seek to use the disk, too, and they manipulate the Legion.”

  Her eyes widened so much that Malfurion was taken aback. Alexstrasza caught herself, then demanded, “You are certain of this?

  “There is question… but, yes.”

  “Then I must make doubly certain of convincing the rest. Is that all or do you have another surprise?”

  Krasus shook his head. “But it is paramount that we return to the host and try to convince their commander to coordinate with the flights. All can still easily go awry if we do not. Can you aid us in our journey? I fear my powers un-trustworthy at this time.”

  The queen considered. “Yes, I have something I can quickly do. Stand far back, all of you.”

  As Krasus and the others quickly obeyed, Alexstrasza once more stretched her wings. At the same time, the golden radiance returned a hundredfold stronger, yet, now it concentrated most behind the dragon. So bright was it that Alexstrasza’s shadow lay well-defined before the trio, covering the landscape where once Korialstrasz had lain.

  The dragon queen uttered words that made no sense to Malfurion save that he felt the power that each syllable contained. Alexstrasza cast a spell of terrible potency… but for what purpose?

  The ground before the night elf rumbled. Brox grunted, eyeing the earth as if it were a foe. The hard surface started to rise…

  And with a grinding sound, one vast piece broke free. Something about it struck the druid as familiar, but, only when another, similar portion tore loose farther away did Malfurion understand.

  They were wings. The rising earth perfectly matched the outline of the Aspect’s shadow. Even as the rock wings flapped once, another, more sinewy section joined them in life — and immediately opened its maw to unleash a cry identical in tone to that earlier uttered by Alexstrasza.

  A stone replica of the dragon queen pulled itself free of the ground.

  In all ways, it looked like a perfect carving of the great red, save in color. Even the eyes bore the same wisdom, the same care, that he had seen in hers.

  The two giants stood side by side, the reproduction watching the original. The glow faded from Alexstrasza and she focused on Krasus.

  “She will do for you as I would do for you.”

  The mage looked humbled. “I am not worthy of you, my queen.”

  Alexstrasza snorted. “If you were not, I would not be here.”

  The stone version raised its — her — head in what was recognizable as mirth, then also looked down at Krasus.

  “I go now to convince the others,” the red added. “I feel certain that all will be as we hope.”

  “Beware! Deathwing will still desire his abomination!”

  She gave him a knowing look. “I am familiar with him of old. We will keep him from interfering.”

  With that, Alexstrasza leapt into the air. She circled over the party once, her gaze upon Krasus in particular. Then, with a last sweep, the Aspect soared up into the clouds.

  “If only I could tell her…” the cowled figure whispered.

  “Tell her what?”

  Krasus frowned as he eyed the druid. “Nothing… nothing that I dare change.” His expression shifted back to determination. “We have the means by which to return swiftly to our comrades! Let us not waste it…”

  But Malfurion was not finished. “Krasus… who are ‘The Old Gods
’ of whom you spoke?”

  “A terrible evil. I will say no more, but know this. To defeat the Legion is to defeat them…”

  Malfurion doubted it was all that simple, yet the night elf chose not to pursue his questioning any further… at least for the time being.

  The stone dragon bent low as the three approached. Malfurion marveled at the fluidity of the creature, the grace with which such a thing could mimic true life. It showed the power of the Aspect, that she could create such a wondrous imitation of herself.

  With Krasus in the lead, the trio climbed atop near the shoulders. Once aboard, the size difference between Alexstrasza and Korialstrasz became even more apparent.

  “You will find that the scales will shift as readily as on a true dragon,” Krasus explained. “Slip your feet in behind them to secure yourself better, then hold on as you generally do. She will be faster than Korialstrasz.”

  Their mount waited until all three had settled in, then, with a roar worthy of the dragon queen, she flapped her heavy wings and took off. Krasus had not been exaggerating. Even before the golem leveled out, she had already flown some distance.

  The miles quickly raced by as they flew. The night elf gazed over the stone leviathan’s shoulder, still not used to flying, especially so high.

  “Couldn’t we have followed Illidan and the others and taken the disk back?” he asked the mage.

  “Even if we had caught up with them, it is most likely that we would have suffered a similar, if not more lethal, fate than previous. If they are not well into the Legion-held lands already, I would be surprised. As frustrating as it is for me to say this, our chances greatly improve once they deliver the Demon Soul to the palace.”

  Malfurion grew silent. Everything that Krasus said made sense, but the very notion of just letting the demons have the disk — if only to distract them for a time — repelled the druid immensely.

  Yet, it did not repel him as much as the fact that it was his own brother who had personally made such a dire event possible.

  You have pleased me very much… the voice from within the portal grated. So very much…

  Illidan and Captain Varo’then knelt before the fiery hole, Malfurion’s brother revealing none of his thoughts as he listened to the demon lord’s praise. He and Azshara’s underling had left the rest of their party behind once they had entered the ravaged regions conquered by the Legion. Illidan had not wanted to dare a spell transporting them until that point, for he highly respected the black dragon’s own skills. The Earth Warder might have seized upon their spell and brought them to him, not a fate at all enticing.

  The duo had materialized in this very chamber before the startled gaze of Mannoroth, the high-ranking demon’s disconcerted expression a bonus for not only the sorcerer but apparently Varo’then, too. However, before Mannoroth’s surprise could fully transform to outrage, Sargeras had reached out from the beyond to demand if his servants had accomplished their mission.

  Informed that they had, Sargeras now lavished praise on them. Such only further frustrated the demon lord’s lieutenant, but his devotion — and fear — of Sargeras obviously outweighed any animosities. However, clearly trying to gain some bit of glory for himself, Mannoroth immediately rumbled, “Very well done, indeed, mortals!” He stretched out one meaty paw toward Varo’then. “I’ll take that now so that I can prepare the spell for the portal.”

  Although he showed nothing on the outside, Illidan’s heart jumped. Now, of all times, the sorcerer had no desire to give over the disk to a demon. Still kneeling, he gazed up at both the waiting giant and the portal. “With all due respect, Lord Mannoroth, the intricate magicks of the dragon’s creation are better wielded by myself, who now understands them best thanks to our master’s gift.”

  To emphasize his point, Illidan raised up the scarf. Even Mannoroth grimaced at the sight.

  “He makes a valid point,” the captain interjected. “But as the current bearer of the disk, I respectfully suggest it is the great one who shall decide who wields it in order to strengthen the portal.”

  Both the sorcerer and the demon glanced with annoyance at the soldier, who stared straight into the abyss and paid neither any more attention.

  “Of course, it’s Sargeras who decides,” Malfurion’s twin quickly agreed.

  “None other,” echoed Mannoroth.

  There can be but one wielder, the demon lord’s voice declared. And that one shall be… me…

  His pronouncement caught all of them offguard, but, especially Illidan. This was not — this could not be — the outcome. Everything hinged on his manipulating the disk.

  Almost the instant he thought that, Illidan immediately checked the mental shields that he had built around his innermost thoughts. Secure in the knowledge that Sargeras could not have possibly detected anything, he focused on this new problem. There had to be some way…

  “With all due respect, great one,” the sorcerer dared interrupt. “The portal is a night elven creation and so in the manipulation of it with the disk — ”

  The portal is no longer a concern… not now that I have the dragon’s toy…

  The words reverberated in the heads of each. Illidan, Captain Varo’then, and Mannoroth stared uncomprehendingly at the monstrous gap. Even the Highborne, who continuously strained to keep the portal together, almost paused, so stunned were they.

  The disk shall open the way, as planned, but through a medium more trustworthy than this pathetic little hole… The gap pulsated. One more powerful, more certain to hold when bound with the power of you have brought me… I speak, of course, of the Well itself…

  Thirteen

  Jarod Shadowsong did not feel like a legend, but the eyes of everyone he passed gazed at him as if he was one. His reputation, already built up far beyond what it deserved for his minuscule successes on the battlefield, had grown a hundred times greater with the coming of such mythic beings as Cenarius and the other ancient protectors of the world. The story of the intentional public acknowledgment of him as commander by Cenarius had been retold over and over throughout the camp until some variations had him clad in gold and accepting the forest lord’s service by knighting the latter with a gleaming, magical sword. Despite the outrageousness of such tales, few among the defenders seemed to scoff at them. Even the council of nobles eyed the low-caste officer with something resembling reverence.

  There was no one Jarod could talk to about his concerns, either. Rhonin was the closest thing to a confidant, but the human kept insisting that the night elf live with the changes in his life.

  He dared not even go to the priestesses and seek some sort of confession by which to unburden himself of his anxieties. With Maiev all but high priestess, word would certainly get back to his sister… and that was the last thing the officer wanted.

  For one of the few times since having command thrust upon his back, Jarod rode alone through the camp. He had told his adjutants that he would not be long and so there was no need for them to follow. Besides, everyone already knew who he was. All they had to do was ask and he would easily be located.

  He received constant salutes and more than a few grateful expressions. Some sisters of Elune working among the wounded looked up at his pacing, even they nodding respectfully. Thankfully, Maiev was not one of them.

  One slightly shorter priestess adjusted her helmet, saw him, and immediately came running. Jarod reined his mount to a halt, fearful that she bore some message requiring a meeting with his sister but aware that he could hardly turn tail.

  “Commander Shadowsong! I was hoping to see you again!”

  Jarod scrutinized the priestess’s face. Attractive, although a little younger up close than he had first supposed. The face was familiar, but where —

  “Shandris… it’s Shandris, isn’t it?” The orphan that Mistress Tyrande had taken under her wing before her kidnapping.

  Her eyes widened appreciatively at his remembrance of her. Jarod suddenly felt very uncomfortable under that in
tense gaze. Shandris was a year or two away from being old enough for a suitor and while he was not that many years ahead of her, it was still a gulf the size of the Well of Eternity.

  “Yes! Commander, have you heard anything about her?”

  Now, he recalled their last conversation… and each one previous. Her missing rescuer had been a focal point of each and every one of their encounters. Jarod had been polite with her, but never could give her the answer she sought. There had been no attempt to rescue the high priestess. How could there be? She had surely been taken to the palace and, if so, had likely been slain shortly thereafter.

  But Shandris refused to believe that Tyrande would not return. Even when Malfurion, the most logical one to attempt to rescue her, had gone off on his mission, Shandris had half believed that when he returned, the druid would somehow have Tyrande with him. Jarod had kindly tried to convince her otherwise, but the young female had a stubborn trait worthy of a tauren. Once she set her mind on something, she kept to it — which was also why when the novice had first begun to look at him with personal interest, the soldier had started to worry.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry, Shandris.”

  “And Malfurion? He’s back?”

  He frowned. “There’s been no sign of him, either, little one, but I must remind you, his mission leads him elsewhere. What he and the others attempt means more to our people than even rescuing the high priestess means to you and, especially, the druid. You know that.”

  “She’s not dead!”

  “I never said that she was!” he snapped back. “Shandris, it would be a dream of mine for her to be rescued, but even Mistress Tyrande would understand why that’s not come to pass!”

  Her expression froze for a moment, then softened. “I’m sorry! I know you’ve got so much to do! I shouldn’t bother you with this, Jarod.”

  Oblivious to her use of his first name, the former Guard captain tried to placate her. “I’ve always time for you, Shandris…”

  Her eyes took on a sudden glow that warned him that he had taken his placating one step too far. Again, the novice looked at him in a manner females did not generally look at Jarod Shadowsong.