Читать книгу WarCraft: War of The Ancients Book Two - Richard A. Knaak - Страница 11

FOUR

The night elven host assembled by Lord Ravencrest was truly impressive to behold, but Malfurion found no comfort in their great numbers as he waited for the noble’s signal to begin the march. The young night elf looked to his right, where his brother and companions also awaited astride their mounts. Rhonin and Krasus constantly discussed some matter between themselves, while Brox stared ahead at the horizon with the clear patience of a seasoned warrior. Perhaps of all of them, the orc understood the overwhelming task they faced. Brox held the ax Malfurion and Cenarius had created for him as if already seeing the endless tide of enemy.

Despite Brox’s clear knowledge of combat, Ravencrest and the rest of those in command of the host had not once turned to the orc for his experience and knowledge. Here was a creature who had fought hand-to-hand with the demons, yet no one asked him of their weaknesses, their strengths, or anything else that might give those on the front line a further edge. True, Krasus and Rhonin had provided some such insight, but theirs was tempered by a more familiar use of magic. Brox … Malfurion suspected that Brox could have taught everyone far more when it came to true fighting.

We are a people whose downfall may yet come because of our own arrogance … Malfurion frowned at his own pessimism, then lost the frown as the only sight that could cheer his heart came riding up to him.

“Malfurion!” Tyrande called, her expression pensive and worried. “I thought never to find you in all this!”

Her face was as he always remembered it, for he had long ago burned it into his memory. Once a childhood friend, Tyrande had now become for him a desire. Her skin was a smooth, violet shade and her dusky blue hair was tinged with silver. She had a fuller face than many of their kind, which added to her beauty. Her features were somehow delicate yet determined, and she had veiled silver eyes that ever pulled Malfurion inside. Her lips were soft and often wore a hint of a smile.

In contrast to the previous times that they had met, the novice priestess of Elune—the Mother Moon—wore an outfit more befitting the way of war than the peace of the temple. Gone was her flowing, white robe. In its place was a form-fitting suit of armor with layered plates that allowed much mobility. The armor covered Tyrande from neck to foot, and over it, almost as an inconsistency, was a shimmering, gossamer cloak the color of moonlight. In the crook of her arm, the young priestess held a winged helmet that would protect the upper portion of her face as well.

To Malfurion, she looked more like the priestess of a war god and evidently Tyrande could read such in his expression. With a bit of defensiveness, she admonished him, “You may excel at your new calling, Malfurion, but you seem to have forgotten the elements of Mother Moon! Do you not recall her aspect as the Night Warrior, she who takes the courageous dead from the field and sets them riding across the evening sky as stars for their reward?”

“I meant no disrespect to Elune, Tyrande. It was more that I’ve never seen you dressed so. It makes me greater fear that this war will forever change us all … providing we survive it.”

Her expression softened again. “I’m sorry. Perhaps my own uneasiness makes my temper short. That, and the fact the high priestess has declared that I myself shall lead a group of novices into this conflict.”

“What do you mean?”

“We are not going to ride with the host simply to offer our healing powers. The high priestess has had a vision in which the sisterhood must actively fight alongside the soldiers and the Moon Guard. She says that all must be willing to take upon themselves new roles if we’re to keep the demons from victory.”

“That may be easier said than done,” Malfurion responded with a grimace. “I was just thinking how hard it is for our people to adjust to change of any kind. You should have been there when Krasus suggested that they call upon the dwarves, tauren, and other races to work with them.”

Her eyes widened. “It’s a wonder they work with him and Rhonin, much less tauren. Doesn’t he realize that?”

“Yes, but he’s as stubborn as one of us, possibly more.”

He quieted as his brother suddenly joined them. Illidan gave him a cursory glance, then focused his attention completely on Tyrande.

“You look like a warrior queen,” he told her. “Azshara herself could appear no finer.”

Tyrande flushed and Malfurion wished that he had made some compliment—any compliment—for which the priestess might remember him before the host set off.

“You are the Night Warrior herself, in fact,” Illidan continued smoothly. “I hear you’ve been put in charge of a band of your sisters.”

“The high priestess says that my skills have much increased of late. She says that in all her years of guidance, I’m one of the swiftest to attain such levels.”

“Not a surprise.”

Before Malfurion could say anything similar, a horn suddenly blared. It was followed by another, then another, and so on as each segment of the mighty army signaled its readiness for departure.

“I have to return to the sisters,” Tyrande told them. To Malfurion, she added, “I came to wish you well.” Instinctively, the priestess turned to Illidan. “And you, of course.”

“With your blessing, we’re certain to ride to victory,” Malfurion’s sibling returned.

Again Tyrande flushed. Another horn sounded, and she quickly donned the helmet, turned her panther around, and rode off.

“She looks more suited for battle than either of us,” Malfurion commented.

“Yes. What a mate she’ll make for someone, eh?”

Malfurion looked at his brother, but Illidan had already urged his night saber toward Lord Ravencrest. As the noble’s personal sorcerer, Illidan had to ride near the elder night elf. Malfurion and the others had been ordered to remain within shouting distance, but otherwise they did not have to stay with Ravencrest. The master of Black Rook Hold did not want all of his strongest weapons clustered together. The Eredar already knew to focus on the druid and the wizards whenever possible.

Jarod Shadowsong and three soldiers rode to him. “It’s time to go! I must ask you to come with us!”

Nodding, Malfurion followed the captain back to the rest. Rhonin and Krasus wore almost identical dour expressions. Brox’s had changed not one bit, but under his breath the orc appeared to be chanting.

“A march at night,” commented Krasus, turning to watch the last vestige of day vanish. “How very predictable. Archimonde will note it. Despite their best to adapt, your people are still inclined to fall back to comfortable tendencies.”

“With such numbers, we’ll still be able to push the demons back,” Captain Shadowsong insisted. “Lord Ravencrest will sweep the monsters from our fair land.”

“So we can only hope.”

A final horn sounded and the night elven host moved as one in the direction of Zin-Azshari. Regardless of his misgivings, Malfurion swelled as he watched the armed force cover the landscape. The banners of three dozen major clans highlighted a collection of alliances spanning the width and breadth of most of the realm. Foot soldiers marched in perfect unison like a swarm of dedicated ants heading to a feast. Night sabers leapt along in great prides a hundred strong and more, their helmed riders staring wearily ahead.

The bulk of the soldiers wielded swords, lances, and bows. Behind them came siege machines—ballistae, catapults, and the like—drawn by teams of the dark panthers. Most of those operating the machines were of Lord Ravencrest’s clan, for in general night elves did not work with such devices. Only Ravencrest seemed to have the foresight necessary to lead his people to victory. That he had not sought the aid of the dwarves and others was bothersome to the druid, but in the end it would not matter. Despite his misconception that Azshara was innocent, the noble would still see to it that the Burning Legion fell to bloody defeat.

After all, there was really no other choice.

• • •

Urged on by Ravencrest and their own belief in certain victory, the night elves made good distance that first eve. Their commander finally gave the order to halt two hours into daylight. Immediately the host set up camp, a long line of sentries marking the front to ensure the demons would not catch them by surprise.

Here the land had not yet been touched by the horror of the Burning Legion. To the south, forest still stood. To the north, high, green hills dotted the landscape. The elder night elf sent out patrols to investigate each direction, but no foes were found.

Malfurion was immediately drawn to the woods, almost as if they called his name. When chance came, he separated from his companions and turned his mount toward them.

Jarod Shadowsong immediately noted his act. The captain rode after him, calling out as he approached, “I must ask you to turn back! You cannot go out there by yourself! Remember what happened—”

“I’ll be all right, Jarod,” Malfurion replied quietly. In truth, he felt that this particular patch of wilderness was shielded even from the demonic assassins who had so often preyed on him and his companions. How this could be, Malfurion could not say, but he knew it with the utmost certainty.

“You cannot go alone—”

“I’m not. You’re with me.”

The soldier gritted his teeth, then, with a look of resignation, followed the druid into the forest. “Please … just not so long.”

Promising nothing, Malfurion continued on into the deeper part of the forest. A feeling of trust, of faith, overwhelmed him. The trees welcomed him, even seemed to recognize him—

And then he understood why he felt so at home in this place.

“Welcome back, my thero’shan … my honored student.”

Captain Shadowsong looked around for the source of the stirring voice, a voice reminiscent of both the wind and thunder. Malfurion, on the other hand, waited patiently, knowing that the speaker would reveal himself in his own fashion.

The wind abruptly picked up around the duo. The officer held tight to his helmet while the druid bent his head back to better feel the breeze. Loose leaves began rising up in the wind, which grew stronger, fiercer. Yet, only the captain appeared dismayed by this; even the night sabers raised their snouts up to inhale the fresh wind.

A miniature whirlwind arose before the riders. Leaves, brush, bits of stone and earth … more and more they gathered within, compacting together to form something solid.

“I have been waiting for you, Malfurion.”

“By the Mother Moon!” Jarod gasped.

The giant moved on four strong legs akin to those of a stag; the bottom half of his torso was indeed the body of one. Above that, a barrel-chested form similar in coloring and shape to a night elf peered down at the two intruders with orbs of pure golden sunlight. A hint of forest green tinged the otherwise violet flesh and the fingers ended in gnarled but deadly talons of aged wood.

The newcomer shook his head, sending his thick, mossgreen mane fluttering. Leaves and twigs appeared to be growing naturally within both the mane and the wide, matching beard, but they were not as astonishing as the huge, multilayered set of antlers rising high over the giant’s head.

Malfurion bowed his head in reverence. “My shan’do. My most honored teacher.” He looked up. “I am happy to see you, Cenarius.”

Although both night elves stood a good seven feet tall, Cenarius towered over them and their mounts. At least ten feet in height himself, his antlers gave him at least another four feet. He was so impressive, in fact, that the captain, who had conversed face-to-face with a dragon and had even seen Cenarius before, could only gape.

With a slight chuckle that seemed to make all the nearby birds decide to sing, Cenarius declared, “You are welcome here, Jarod Shadowsong! Your grandsire was a true friend of the forest!”

Jarod shut his mouth, opened it again, shut it once more, then merely nodded.

The forest lord gazed down at his pupil. “Your thoughts are in crisis. I felt it even in the Emerald Dream.”

The Emerald Dream. It had been some time since Malfurion had walked it. In the Emerald Dream, one saw the world as it might have been in its earliest creation—no animals, no people, no civilization. There was a tranquillity to it; a dangerous one, in fact. One could become so caught up in it that one forgot how to return to the mortal plane. The walker might instead wander forever while his body finally perished.

Taught to travel it by Cenarius, Malfurion had used the dreamscape to enter the palace prior to his struggle with Lord Xavius. Since that event, however, the young druid had been afraid to return, the vague memories of the aftermath still haunting him. He would have drifted through the Emerald Dream for eternity if not for his teacher just barely noticing him.

Cenarius saw his anxiety. “You must not be afraid to walk it again, my son, but now is not the time. However, there are other parts of your training that have lagged and that is why I chose this pause to come to you.”

“‘This pause’? What do you mean?”

“The others are still divided as to what to do about the demons. We will fight them, yes, but we are creatures of individual spheres of power. It is difficult for us to work in harmony, for we all feel we know what is best to do.”

The news did nothing to temper Malfurion’s uncertainties. First the dragons had failed to show any inclination to battle the Burning Legion, and now even the demigods, the guardians of the natural world, could not agree on the proper course of action. Truly, it was all up to the night elves … likely Malfurion and his comrades, in particular.

“Our time together will not be long. There are some things that I must quickly try to teach you. We will need use of the entire day—”

“Out of the question!” blurted Captain Shadowsong, surprising himself. “My orders are—”

With a benevolent smile, the woodland deity trotted toward the soldier. Jarod’s face paled as Cenarius loomed over him.

“He will be protected while he is with me and will be back when he is needed by your commander, Jarod Shadowsong. You will not be shirking your responsibility.”

The officer shut his mouth, already clearly dumbfounded that he had dared interrupt Cenarius in the first place.

“Return to your other charges. I will see to it that Malfurion comes back safe and sound.”

The druid felt as if the pair discussed a child, but the demigod’s words were evidently what Jarod had wanted precisely to hear. He nodded to Cenarius, turning the nod into a bow at the last moment. “As you say, my lord.”

“I am not your lord, night elf. I am Cenarius only! Go with my blessing!”

With one last awed glance at Malfurion and his teacher, the captain turned his night saber and rode off toward the night elven host.

Cenarius turned back to his student. “Now, my thero’shan, we must begin in earnest.”

All congeniality vanished from the deity’s expression. “For I fear we will need all the knowledge we have if we are to save our world from the demons …”

At that moment, another who feared they would need all that they could gather to defeat the Burning Legion flew over the realm of the dragons, seeking the lofty mountain peak where his kind made their homes.

Korialstrasz had spent his long flight considering many things. The silence of his brethren was one. Dragons were reclusive, but never had he encountered such utter quiet. No one responded to his summons, not even his beloved mate, Alexstrasza.

This caused him to think of the demons. He could not believe that they could have attacked and destroyed the dragons, but the lack of communication left that fear alive. He almost wished that Krasus had accompanied him, for at least then there would have been one other red dragon with whom to discuss the dire thoughts.

But Krasus himself was a subject on par with all else. More and more, Korialstrasz had begun eliminating the possible theories concerning this enigmatic dragon to whose words even Alexstrasza paid close attention. She did so as if Krasus were the equal to her consorts, even perhaps was one. Yet, this could not be … unless …

No … that is not possible, the soaring behemoth thought. It is too extraordinary …

Still, it would explain so very much.

He would confront Alexstrasza with his thoughts once he found her. Korialstrasz banked, turning toward the familiar, mist-enshrouded mountain. Unlike all times past, there were no sentinels keeping watch, yet another ominous sign.

The great red dragon descended toward the high cavern mouth used as one of the main entrances to the sanctum. As he alighted, he turned his massive head back and forth, seeking some sign of his fellows. The area was deathly silent.

But as he folded his wings and moved forward, he collided with a sudden, distinct force invisible to all his other senses. It felt as if the air had taken on a thickness akin to honey. With great determination, Korialstrasz threw himself forward, barreling into the unseen wall as he would against a rival dragon.

Slowly it gave way. He felt it press around his body as he advanced, almost enveloping him. The dragon had difficulty breathing, and his view became as if he saw the world from under water. Yet still Korialstrasz did not falter.

And suddenly, without warning, he was through.

Sounds instantly filled his ears. Bereft of any barrier, the leviathan fell forward. He would have landed headfirst, but huge paws caught him.

“It is good that you are back,” a deep voice rumbled. “We feared for you, young one.”

Tyranastrasz lifted him up, the reptilian countenance of Alexstrasza’s senior consort filled with concern. Behind him, other dragons moved about through the system of tunnels … and what surprised Korialstrasz most about the activity was the fact that there were dragons of other colors. He saw blue, green, bronze, and, of course, red. The dragons intermingled constantly, all seeming on some task and all obviously quite anxious.

“Alexstrasza! Is she—”

“She is well, Korialstrasz. She gave word that she would speak with you the moment that you returned …” The larger male glanced at the younger’s shoulder, seeking something. “… and Krasus, too, but I see that he is not with you.”

“He would not leave the others.”

“But your condition—”

Flexing his wings, Korialstrasz replied, “He has devised a manner by which we are both nearly whole. It is not perfect, but it is the best we could do.”

“Most interesting …”

“Tyran … what happens here? Why are the other flights among our own?”

The elder consort’s expression grew veiled. “She has commanded that she be the one to tell you all and I will not disobey her.”

“Of course not.”

With Tyranastrasz in the lead, the pair wended their way into the lair of the red flight. Korialstrasz could not help but eye the other dragons as they passed among them. The greens were mere flitting shadows, gone before one realized they were even there, and made more disconcerting by the fact that they ever kept their eyes closed, as if sleepwalking. The bronze figures of Nozdormu’s flight seemed not to move at all, but somehow were elsewhere whenever he blinked. As for the blues, they appeared here, there, everywhere in almost random fashion, darting about through the use of magic as much as physical movement. The more Korialstrasz saw of them, the more he welcomed the stable, solid presence of his own kind. When they moved, they moved. When they rushed to one destination, he could follow their every step, see their every breath.

Of course, in all fairness, he suspected that the newcomers felt the same way about their respective flights.

So many different dragons, and yet we all fit in here, he suddenly thought. Are we so few as all that, then? Had they tried to crowd the night elves or dwarves in this mountain, either lesser race would have filled it to overflowing, yet the dragons ever found room to maneuver.

Thinking of the endless horde that was the Burning Legion, Korialstrasz wondered if even the dragons had the strength to stop them.

But as he entered the next chamber, his fears melted away. She stood there as if waiting for him in particular. Her simple presence filled the male with calm, with peace. When she looked his way, Korialstrasz felt confidence. All would be well. The Queen of Life would see that it was so.

“Korialstrasz … my beloved.” Only her eyes gave indication of how much force that simple sentence had. The lesser creatures might often see dragons only as savage beasts, but even the best of them could not possibly match the intensity of emotions Korialstrasz’s kind wielded.

“My queen, my existence.” He bent his head low in homage.

“It is good that you are back. We feared for you.”

“As I feared in return. No one answered my summons, or explained the sudden silence.”

“It was necessary,” the huge female responded. Despite the sleekness of her form, Alexstrasza outweighed her consorts by half again as much. Like all of the great Aspects, she commanded forces that dwarfed those of even her mates. “The demand for secrecy is paramount.”

“Secrecy? For what?”

She studied him. “Krasus is not with you?”

He noted her tremendous concern. She worried about Krasus as she would have Korialstrasz. “He chose to stay behind. He managed a trick that enables us to spend our time apart from each other without suffering … much.”

A brief smile spread across her scaled visage. “Of course he would.”

Before Korialstrasz could pursue the line of conversation to what he desired to know about Krasus, another entered the high chamber from the right. Korialstrasz looked at the new arrival, and his eyes widened.

“It is necessary that all dragons take part in this ritual,” the black giant rumbled, his voice like a smoldering volcano. “Mine have already done so. The other flights must now do the same.”

Neltharion filled the other end of the chamber, the only one who could possibly match Alexstrasza in size and power. The Earth Warder radiated an intensity that made Korialstrasz a bit uncomfortable.

“My final consort is here,” Alexstrasza returned. “The bronze flight has come and although Nozdormu is not with them, they have brought that which is part of his essence so that he, too, will be joined with us in this struggle. That leaves only Krasus, a single entity. Is that so terrible a thing?”

The ebony dragon tilted his head. Never had Korialstrasz seen so many teeth. “One dragon only … no … I think not.”

“What is this about?” the younger male dared ask.

“The demons have reopened the way to our world,” Alexstrasza explained. “Once more, they flow through like water, doubling their strength with each passing day.”

Korialstrasz imagined the monstrous army and what its numbers had already accomplished. “Then we must act!”

“We are. Neltharion has devised a plan, possibly the only hope for our world’s survival.”

“What is it?”

“Neltharion must show you.”

The ebony behemoth nodded, then closed his eyes. The air shimmered before him. A sense of astounding power touched Korialstrasz’s magical senses. He felt as if the chamber had filled with a thousand dragons.

But instead, a tiny, almost insignificant little golden disk materialized in the air, hovering just below eye level for the gathered leviathans. Korialstrasz sensed nothing within it, yet somehow knew that very fact meant the disk was much, much more than it seemed.

The Earth Warder opened his eyes, an expression of exaltation spreading over his reptilian features. To Korialstrasz, it was as if Neltharion worshipped his creation.

“Behold that which will exorcise the demons from our world!” the black leviathan thundered. “Behold that which will cleanse the lands of all taint!”

The tiny disk flared bright, suddenly no longer insignificant to the eye. Now, the young red male felt the full extent of the powers within … and understood why even Alexstrasza believed it to be their best recourse.

“Behold,” Neltharion roared proudly. “The Dragon Soul.”