The Sundering wwotat-3

by Richard A. Knaak

  The priestess suddenly understood that the lack of encounters along the way to the Well had not been entirely due to Illidan’s cunning.

  More frantic now, she prayed over and over to Elune for aid. Illidan had to be warned that he was being duped. She was certain that his grand spell would somehow only trigger a worse disaster.

  Mother Moon! Hear my pleas!

  A blessed warmth filled Tyrande. She felt the spell that Illidan had put on her suddenly fade away. Her hopes rose anew.

  “Illidan!” the priestess immediately cried out. “Illidan! Beware — ”

  But even as he started to look her way, the sorcerer brought his palms together… and a beam of black light burst forth, racing out into the storm-rocked heavens above the Well of Eternity.

  Tyrande felt the presences withdraw. Worse, as they faded away, she also sensed their immense satisfaction.

  Her warning had come too late.

  Sargeras felt the last vestiges of resistance suddenly fall away. The portal that he desired began to fully form. Soon, he would gain entrance into this life-befouled world…

  Krasus jolted.

  “What is it?” called Alexstrasza.

  The cowled figure eyed the tiny vision of Zin-Azshari lying far ahead… and the colossal tempest spreading out over the Well of Eternity. He shuddered. “I fear we have even less time than I calculated…”

  “Then, we must make even greater speed!” With that, the huge red dragon beat her wings harder yet, her muscles straining from effort.

  Peering behind them, Krasus saw the other dragons follow suit. Everyone sensed that, more than ever, time was against them. The mage silently swore. This should not have happened. Even his own kind had taken far too long to debate the merits of what should have been obvious. If they had only listened…

  Yet, Krasus could also not help thinking that, if he and his comrades failed, the doom befalling not only the night elves but unborn generations ahead would be in tremendous part his fault. He himself had hesitated to toy with Time, then, when the decision had finally been made to do so, he it was who had suggested attempting no pursuit of Illidan’s band. Of all who had crossed its path, Krasus knew most the cursed way of the Demon Soul. If he had tried to track down those who had taken it from Malfurion, then perhaps there would have still been a chance to retrieve the disk.

  But that was neither here nor there. What mattered now was to make amends, to still return history to its former course.

  “We must be prepared!” he called out to Alexstrasza. “Even though we will bypass the palace, neither the High-borne nor Mannoroth can be taken lightly, even by our ancient line! They will attack from Azshara’s stronghold! Nor must we forget what else seeks use of the portal the Well and the Soul create! They will also do everything within their power to keep us from the disk.”

  “If sacrifice ourselves we must to save Kalimdor, then we but fulfill our sacred duty!” she responded back.

  Krasus gritted his teeth. The future he knew so well was still a possible thing, but just as likely was one — supposing that they succeeded — where any or all of them perished here. For himself, that was something he could accept. To see his beloved queen die, though…

  No! She will not! The mage prepared himself. Whatever it took, he would do his best to see that Alexstrasza lived… even if without him.

  The dragons came upon the outskirts of Zin-Azshari and Krasus, who had expected the carnage wrought by the Burning Legion’s initial entrance into the mortal plane, was still highly repelled by all he saw. Memories of that second war, when Dalaran and other nations had fallen before the demons and their dread allies, stirred.

  Below, endless ranks of demons looked up at their coming and roared challenge. The dragons ignored most, the Fel Guard and their like bound to the ground and, therefore, of little threat. Of more interest were the Doomguard, who came up in great numbers, fiery lances and blades at the ready.

  Alexstrasza watched a massive group converge on them, then, pulling her head back, she released a fount of flame.

  Cries arose and burning Doomguard plummeted. With that single breath, the crimson leviathan had cleared the sky of almost a hundred demons.

  “Gnats…” she muttered. “Nothing but gnats…”

  Then, one of the green dragons in the back roared in surprise as he was pummeled by several huge, round missiles. Krasus did not have to see them close to know that they were Infernals. Even the scales of a huge dragon were not entirely impervious. The wounds the green suffered were superficial, but repeated strikes would eventually take their toll.

  “Let us make some use of these foul creatures!” Ysera hissed. She focused her closed eyes upon the next wave.

  The new band of Infernals slowed. They continued to descend, but far from their intended targets. Krasus calculated their new path and smiled grimly. The palace was about to learn firsthand of the sort of devastation that they had permitted into Kalimdor.

  But Krasus’s earlier warning of the dangers that both the Highborne and Mannoroth represented proved all too prophetic in the moments following, for suddenly the stormy sky unleashed a barrage of horrific, black bolts. Caught in the center, the dragons and their riders were forced to break formation just in the hopes of surviving.

  Not all did. Perhaps slowed by the earlier barrage of Infernals, the green male hesitated. More than a dozen bolts struck him hard. Lightning scorched through his left wing, then seared him horribly in his tail and chest.

  But although the lightning ceased, the worst was yet to come. Each of the wounds burned bright, and, as Krasus watched, their damage rapidly spread along the dragon’s body. Weakened further, the green made an all too easy target for more of the Highborne’s lightning. Six more bolts caught the male as he fought to stay aloft. The dragon roared in agony, his death knell echoing in Krasus’s ears.

  The green dropped from the sky.

  His huge form hit the Well’s dark waters hard. Yet, even for so gigantic a creature, the dragon’s collision was as a pebble to the swirling maelstrom. Barely a ripple marked the green as he sank into the foreboding lake.

  A foreboding rumble filled their ears.

  “Hold on tight!” commanded Alexstrasza, turning.

  A new, frenzied attack swarmed the dragons. Black lightning shot down everywhere and, this time, no dragon survived unscathed. Even Alexstrasza shook as one bolt caught her on the right hip.

  “It does not burn!” she exclaimed. “It is so very cold! It chills to the bone!”

  “I will see what I can do for it!”

  “No!” She glanced back at him. “We must preserve our strength for attack — !”

  The Aspect of Life abruptly banked, barely avoiding a pair of bolts that would have struck not only her dead-on, but Krasus as well. All over the heavens, dragons twisted about in a macabre ballet. Krasus looked about and saw that all his companions still held tight. He had feared that the necessity of avoiding the magical lightning might make it impossible for the dragons to keep their riders aloft, but even under such circumstances, the ancient leviathans kept watch over their charges.

  But this could not go on forever. Eyes narrowed, Krasus peered toward the center of the Well. Yes… he could detect the Demon Soul. He could also sense that the portal was nearly complete.

  “To the center!” the cowled spellcaster shouted. “We have little time!”

  Alexstrasza immediately veered that direction. Krasus leaned forward. As vast as the Well of Eternity was, it still proved only a few beats of Alexstrasza’s vast wings to bring them within sight of their objective.

  Sure enough, there, high above the gaping maw of the maelstrom, the Demon Soul floated almost serenely. Surrounded by an unholy black aura, it was unaffected by the fearsome magical storm.

  “It will be protected!” Krasus reminded her.

  “Ysera and I will work in conjunction with Nozdormu’s prime consort!”

  He nodded. “Rhonin and I will watch for reaction
from Sargeras or the Old Gods!”

  The riderless dragons withdrew to watch for attack from Zin-Azshari. The three female dragons encircled the sinister disk, their previous encounter with it making all extremely wary. Alexstrasza looked once at her counterparts, then nodded.

  From each burst forth a golden light.

  Their spells touched the Demon Soul simultaneously, enveloping it. The foul aura about it was smothered by their power. The disk began to tremble…

  Without warning, their spells were suddenly repelled. The backlash was so terrible that all three dragons were tossed backward for some distance. It was all that their riders could do to maintain hold.

  Barely clinging to his queen, Krasus shouted, “What is it? What happened?”

  Alexstrasza managed to right herself. Her eyes stared wide at the Demon Soul, now some distance off. “The Old Gods! I felt them! But from within the disk! The Demon Soul not only bears a part of our existence, but theirs as well!”

  The news did not entirely surprise Krasus. Yet, clearly their addition to the disk’s creation did not hinder the Elder Gods as it did the dragons. They obviously hoped to wield it, something that the other dragons could not do. Deathwing had evidently crafted it differently where they were concerned… if he had even realized their intrusion.

  “Can you penetrate their spellwork?”

  “I do not know… I honestly do not know!”

  Krasus swore. Once again, he had underestimated the Three.

  He saw Rhonin trying to signal him. The wizard pointed in the direction of Zin-Azshari. Krasus turned his gaze toward the fabled city —

  — And watched as more than a score of shadowy abominations, each as large as a dragon, soared toward them.

  Seventeen

  Azshara had been primping herself. Oh, it was not that she was not already perfection incarnate — even she knew that much — but that for once the queen had found someone worthy of more effort.

  My Lord Sargeras is arriving! At last, one fit to be called my husband!

  Not for a moment did Azshara question the sanity of her convictions. She who had mesmerized her subjects was herself mesmerized by the lord of the Legion.

  At that moment, a tremor shook the palace. It was not the first to do so. Pulling herself from the splendid view in the mirror, the queen spun around. “Vashj! Vashj! What is responsible for that awful racket?”

  Her chief handmaiden came rushing in. “A feeble attempt by rabble to stop the inevitable, so reports Captain Varo’then, oh Light of Lights!”

  “And what is the dear captain doing about this insult to my ears?”

  “Lord Mannoroth has given to him and his hand-picked soldiers appropriate mounts. The captain is already on his way to deal with the miscreants.”

  “So, all is proceeding as it should? There will be no delay of our lord’s arrival?”

  Lady Vashj bowed elegantly. “None that Lord Mannoroth foresees. The rabble batter uselessly at the spell.”

  “Splendid…” Queen Azshara went back to admiring herself in the mirror. There was really nothing else she could do to further enhance her beauty. The silken gown trailed behind her over the marble floor, its gossamer design leaving very little unrevealed. Her luxurious hair was piled high and glittering star diamonds — illuminated by their own inner light — decorated it in strategic locations.

  Another tremor struck, this one much nearer. Azshara heard cries from the direction of her handmaidens’ quarters and saw cracks spread across the wall there.

  “See if anyone is injured, Vashj,” she commanded. As the latter moved to obey, the ruler of the night elves added, “And if so, please relieve her of her duties and send her back to her family. I will accept nothing but utter perfection from those who would surround me.”

  “Aye, Light of Lights!”

  A distasteful frown greeted Azshara as she looked again to the full-length mirror in the opposing wall. The queen immediately imagined greeting her Lord Sargeras. That brought back the smile.

  “There… now we just have to wait a little longer…” She continued to survey herself, dreaming of the world that she and her new mate would create. A world as perfect as her.

  A world worthy of her.

  Malfurion shook his head, trying to clear it of the vertigo he had suffered during Ysera’s tumble. It amazed him that he even had a head left to shake, considering that more than once the druid had been hanging by his hands over the gaping hole at the center of the darksome Well.

  “What happened?” he asked, not realizing that he repeated Krasus’s own query.

  Ysera told him much the same as Alexstrasza had the mage. The night elf listened with sinking heart. To come so close, only to have their hopes dashed so quickly…

  Then, he, like Rhonin and Krasus, saw the horrific forms rising up from the city. Malfurion saw that soldiers rode astride the abominations, which resembled bats formed from shadow. He knew without a doubt that Captain Varo’then would be leading the sinister band.

  Sure enough, a moment later, the druid made out the familiar figure of the scarred officer. Sword out, Varo’then shouted something to those behind him. Immediately, the soldiers broke up into three groups, one for each flight. Only then did Malfurion see that he had terribly underestimated their numbers. There had to be at least three beasts for every dragon.

  Alexstrasza wasted no time. The red dragon unleashed a stream of fire — which went through the foremost monster and continued on, finally fading. Even the soldier riding the beast looked unfazed.

  “That’s impossible!” Malfurion gasped.

  “Impossible… yes…” Ysera’s eyes moved back and forth rapidly beneath her shut lids. “There is… a fault in our perspective of these fiends…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That they are not quite as they appear to be nor are they where they seem.”

  Yet, if that was the case, Varo’then and his soldiers made for very tangible illusions. Two of the shadow creatures fixed onto Brox’s mount, tearing at her wings. The bloody scores that they made in her hard, scaled hide were proof enough as to their deadliness. Yet, when the bronze sought to strike back, her attacks went for naught.

  Ysera, too, fell prey to them. One flew past her throat, raking it with curved, black claws that were a part of the wing. Blood dripped from the red wounds. Ysera snapped at the wing, but her bite found only air.

  “I know where they must be!” growled Ysera, for one of her rare times losing her patience. “But when I wish to strike, they are no longer there!”

  To make matters worse, one in particular now fixed upon Malfurion and the Aspect… the beast carrying Captain Varo’then himself.

  “I thought I spied you!” sneered the scarred night elf. “As slippery as your brother! I warned them! I knew he couldn’t be trusted!”

  Malfurion had no opportunity to ask what Varo’then meant by his words, for the next second the captain and his unholy mount were upon the druid and the dragon. A fetid smell engulfed Malfurion and even Ysera wrinkled her nose. Intangible to their attacks this horror might be, but its stench was so powerful that the druid felt as if struck by a fist.

  A mocking laugh was all that warned Malfurion of the captain’s lunge. Varo’then’s blade stretched impossibly, darting for the other night elf’s unprotected chest.

  Tipping to the right, Malfurion avoided the sword, but nearly lost his grip. As he clutched tight, Varo’then attacked him again.

  Ysera could do nothing, for the inky form of the bat creature all but enveloped She of the Dreaming. At the same time, a second monster snagged the dragon’s hind legs.

  Something that Cenarius had taught him suddenly came to mind. Reaching into a pouch, the druid removed a small, prickly seed. Unlike those he had used against the Burning Legion in the past, this one had points too delicate to wreak any havoc on the foe. However, they were especially adept at sticking to anything with which they came into contact.

  He tossed out two
to the heavens and through his casting the two became four, then became eight, sixteen, and doubled accordingly in rapid succession. Within a heartbeat, hundreds filled the air, then thousands. They did not, as they should have, cling to the dragons or Malfurion’s comrades, for that was not the druid’s desire. Rather, he sought to use them to find out the truth about their adversaries.

  The first ones passed through the bat creatures, but, curiously, others began sticking to empty space. More and more quickly followed suit. Shapes began to form, shapes creating quite a revelation.

  The secret of the shadow bats finally lay revealed. The monstrous mounts of the soldiers shimmered constantly, disappearing from sight every few seconds and reappearing elsewhere almost instantly. To fight them would still prove tricky, but now the defenders had a far better idea of where to strike and that was all that they needed.

  Perhaps because the bronze female was part of the Aspect of Time’s flight, she reacted quickest. With great gusto, the dragon seized upon one bat who materialized just within reach. Her swiftness astounded Malfurion, as did her savageness. She ripped through what passed for a stout neck on the creature, then sent it and its frantic rider hurtling into the black void below.

  “Damn!”

  At the angry epithet, Malfurion looked over his shoulder to find Captain Varo’then almost upon both his and Ysera’s back. The scarred night elf thrust and this time managed to scrape the druid’s leg. His thigh stinging, Malfurion threw the first thing that he could pull from a pouch.

  His adversary sneezed — and so did his hideous mount. Taking advantage of the distraction, Ysera dove into the monster, biting and tearing with such abandon that no semblance of her superior intellect remained apparent. She was pure beast, fighting with the same primal fury as her foe.

  But the shadow creature was not defenseless. Its claws were still as sharp as the dragon’s and its long fangs looked more than able to pierce hard scale. With a strange keening cry, it met Ysera eagerly.