Authors: Richard A. Knaak
He bolted upright, then nearly tumbled off the night saber upon which he had been half-sitting. Strong but slim fingers kept him from losing what remained of his balance and pulled him tight against an armored torso. Recalling Archimonde, the druid instinctively sought to pull away from that armor.
“Hush, Malfurion! Be careful!”
Tyrande’s voice brought him completely back to consciousness. He gazed up into her concerned face. She had the helmet back so that he could fully see her features, a most welcome sight.
“I dreamt—” he began, then stopped. There were parts of his dream that were too personal to tell one who was not promised to him. “I…dreamt,” Malfurion concluded apologetically.
“I know. I heard you speak. I thought I heard my name, and Illidan’s.”
“Yes.” He dared not say more.
The priestess touched his cheek. “It must’ve been a terrible dream, Malfurion…but at least you finally slept.”
Suddenly aware of his close proximity to her, the druid straightened. He looked around, noting for the first time the sea of figures surrounding them. Most were civilians, many of whom looked confused and completely out of their element. Few night elves had ever suffered much. This displacement surely had to have pushed many to the brink.
“Where are we?”
“Near Mount Hyjal.”
He gaped at the peak. “So far? This can’t be!”
“I’m afraid it is.”
Malfurion hung his head. So, after all their efforts, his people were still doomed. If the demons had already driven the defenders this far back, how could the night elves possibly hope to recover?
“Elune watches over us,” Tyrande whispered, reading his expression. “I pray to her for guidance. She’ll give us some reprieve, I’m certain.”
“I hope so. Where are the others?”
“Your brother is with the Moon Guard, over there.” She pointed north. “I’ve not seen Krasus or the others.”
It was not Illidan to whom Malfurion desired to speak. After his confrontation with Archimonde, the druid wanted desperately to find the wizards. They had to be warned that the powerful demon led the forces pursuing them.
That assumed, of course, that Krasus and the rest still lived. Had Archimonde hunted them down after dealing with Malfurion?
“Tyrande, I’ve got to find the outsiders. I believe they are still the key to our survival.”
“You’ll never make it on foot. You’re still weak. Take my night saber.”
He felt ashamed that she would sacrifice her own mount for his possibly-futile search. “Tyrande, I—”
But she gave him a look that he had never seen before, a steadfast, determined expression such as Malfurion had noticed only on the most senior, most dedicated priestesses of Elune. “It is important, Malfurion. I know that.”
She slipped off the huge cat before he could argue again. Taking only her pack and her weapons, Tyrande looked up at the druid and insisted, “Go.”
Unable to do anything but nod his thanks, Malfurion shifted his position, then urged the night saber through the throng. He was determined that he would not fail Tyrande’s trust; if the others lived, Malfurion would find them.
The cat battled its way through soldiers and civilians, snarling but never striking despite its obvious discomfort of being surrounded by so many bodies. The druid was pleased to see that the soldiers had kept order for the most part. The majority of the civilians were being politely but firmly herded on, their pace consistent. The demons had no doubt counted on the chaos caused by mixing the two diverse groups together. At least that danger had so far been avoided.
But with so many more bodies added to the host, finding even three such unique figures as the orc, the human, and Krasus proved daunting. Only after letting his gaze sweep over the crowds for the dozenth time did Malfurion finally think to make use of his arts.
He refused to enter the Emerald Dream just yet, as there were other means by which he believed he might sense them. Reining the night saber to a halt, the druid shut his eyes and reached out around him. Throughout the region, he touched the minds of the other night sabers that he could see, speaking to them as he had the beasts of the forest during his lessons. Malfurion even touched the mind of Tyrande’s mount so as not to miss the slightest chance of a sighting. The cats, well-familiar with their masters, surely would notice the differing scents of the three strangers.
But the first animals did not recognize those the druid sought. Bracing himself, Malfurion stretched his senses farther, reaching to creatures far beyond his sight. Some of the refugees carried with them pets, and even those Malfurion asked. The more minds he contacted, the better his odds.
At last, one of the dark panthers responded. The answer came not in words, but rather smells and images. It took the druid a moment to digest them, but in the end he realized that this creature had recently seen the orc. Brox was the most distinctive of the trio, and so it was small wonder that the night saber would recall him best. To the cat, the warrior was a mix of heady, thick smells reminiscent of the deeplyburied wild side of the mount. In Brox, the night saber sensed a kindred spirit. In fact, the animal’s image of the tusked warrior made the orc resemble a night saber on its hind legs, one arm ending in a huge pair of claws that had to be Brox’s ax.
Finding out exactly when and where the cat had seen Brox proved a bit trickier. Animals did not measure time and distance as night elves did. Yet, with some effort, the druid finally determined that the panther had seen Brox only an hour or two earlier, near the center part of the great exodus.
Veering his own mount in that direction, Malfurion continued to ask other night sabers of any sightings. More and more, he came upon those who recalled not only Brox, but also Rhonin and Krasus. Something about the elder mage now took prominence in the creatures’ minds; they looked to him with a respect that such able predators reserved only for far superior ones. However, they did not fear Krasus as they might have another beast, almost as if they understood that he was something much, much more. In truth, Malfurion soon discovered that the night sabers would have been more likely to obey a command by Krasus than they would the handlers who had raised them.
Marking this as yet another of the many mysteries surrounding the not-quite-night-elven mage, Malfurion spurred his cat to greater speed. The going was difficult, for they rode against the living tide, but with the druid’s guidance, the night saber made headway without injuring any of those in its path.
The general situation worsened as he approached where the outsiders had to be. The sounds of battle rose in the distance and unsettling flashes of crimson and dank green light rose from the horizon. Here the soldiers were more wary and exhausted. These were clearly those who had been most recently up on the front line holding the demons back. The scars and terrible wounds Malfurion passed gave testament to the unabated fury of the Burning Legion.
“What are you doing here?” demanded an officer with blood and ichor on his once-immaculate armor. His eyes teared. “All noncombatants to the head of the flow! Begone with you!”
Before the druid could explain, someone behind Malfurion called, “He’s supposed to be up here, captain! That should be plain with just a look at his face!”
“Illidan?” Glancing over his shoulder, Malfurion saw his brother, virtually unscathed, riding up. Illidan wore the first grin that his twin had seen in his journey; it looked so out of place in the situation that Malfurion feared his sibling had gone mad.
“I had thought you lost!” the sorcerer said, slapping Malfurion hard on the shoulder. Failing to notice his brother wince, Illidan turned to the officer. “Any more questions?”
“No, Master Illidan!” The soldier saluted quickly and moved on.
“What happened to you, brother?” the black-clad twin asked. “Someone said that they saw you struck down, your mount torn to pieces…”
“I was saved…Tyrande brought me to safety.” The instant he mentioned her name, Malfurion regretted it.
The grin remained, but the good humor behind it fled. “Did she? I’m glad that she was so close to you.”
“Illidan—”
“It’s good that you’re here at this time,” the druid’s sibling went on, cutting off any further discussion of the priestess. “The old wizard’s been trying to organize something and he seems to think you’re important.”
“Krasus? Where is he?”
The sorcerer’s grin grew almost macabre. “Why, just where you’re heading, brother. Up at the very edge of the fight…”
The wind howled. An oppressive heat tore at the night elves who had been chosen to be the defending line. Now and then, a cry would come from somewhere in the ranks, and the triumphant roars of a demon would immediately follow.
“Where is Illidan?” Krasus asked, even his tremendous patience wearing thin. “The Moon Guard refuses to act without him save to shield themselves!”
“He said he was coming,” Rhonin interjected. “He needed to speak with Ravencrest first.”
“He will receive credit enough if we succeed, and no one will blame him if we fail, for we’ll all be dead…”
Rhonin could not argue with his former mentor. Illidan wanted nothing more than to please his patron. Malfurion’s brother was the opposite of the druid—ambitious, wild, and oblivious of the risks to others. The two wizards had already discovered that three of the Moon Guard they had hoped in part to rely on were no longer available. The demons had not slain them; they were simply crippled with exhaustion from feeding Illidan their power.
Yet, despite his reckless use of the other night elves, they appeared to have bound themselves to him. When it came to casting spells of any substance, Illidan could do what they could not. He also had the political backing of Lord Ravencrest, and night elves were nothing if not status-conscious, even in the face of annihilation.
Rhonin suddenly straightened. “Beware!”
What resembled most a floating mushroom made of mist descended upon the line. Before the spellcasters could act, the edges touched where the soldiers stood.
Several of the fighters screamed as their faces suddenly swelled with dozens of red, burning pustules. One after another, the pustules burst, regrew, and burst again, spreading rapidly over any unprotected part of the victim’s body.
“Jekar iryn!” Krasus hissed, gesturing at the cloud.
A blast of rich, blue light ate away at the foul mushroom with such swiftness that scores more were saved from the horrendous plague. Unfortunately, there was no saving those already affected. They dropped one after another, their ravaged flesh reminiscent of a field of erupting volcanoes.
Rhonin stared in disgust. “Horrible! Damn them!”
“Would that we could! We can wait no longer! If the Moon Guard will not follow our lead, then we must hope we can do something by ourselves!”
But as the wizards prepared to do just that, Rhonin spotted a pair of riders approaching. “Illidan comes—and he’s got Malfurion with him!”
“Praise the Aspects!” Krasus turned to meet the duo. As they rode up, he set himself before Malfurion’s brother. “You are late! Gather the Moon Guard! You must be ready to follow my lead!”
From most others, Illidan likely would have not taken such a brusque command, but he had a healthy respect for both wizards, especially Rhonin. Peering over Krasus and seeing Rhonin’s dark expression, the sorcerer nodded, then hurried to obey.
“What do you hope to do?” asked Malfurion, dismounting.
“The demons must be stopped here,” Krasus answered. “It is vital that we not be pushed back beyond Mount Hyjal and that we turn this rout into an aggressive attack on our part!”
The druid nodded, then said, “Archimonde is out there. I barely escaped him.”
“I had suspected that he was.” Krasus considered the night elf. “And the fact that you lived through a confrontation with him says I was correct in desiring your presence at this moment.”
“But—what can I do?”
“What you have been trained to do, naturally.”
With that, Krasus turned back to Rhonin, who had already set himself to face the distant demons. The elder mage stood next to his former pupil, with Malfurion imitating him a moment later.
Krasus glanced at the human. “Rhonin, in matters of magic, Illidan looks to you more than anyone. I leave it to you to establish a link with him.”
“As you wish.” The fiery-tressed figure blinked once. “It’s done.”
The mage returned his attention to the druid. “Malfurion, imagine the most powerful spell you think you can cast. But by all means, do not tell me what it is! Use whatever method, whatever contact with the powers of the world you require, but do not complete your casting until I say so. We must be relentless against our foes.”