Richard Knaak: The Sundering

“Brox and I helped, but it was mostly Krasus.”

Malfurion looked among the throng of creatures, but did not see Rhonin’s mentor. Taken at a glance, the tall figure in the cowled, gray robes looked the most like a night elf of any of the outsiders. Certainly much more than Brox, the hulking, green-skinned warrior who called himself an orc. Yes, Krasus could have passed for a night elf — but one long dead, for his skin was very, very pale and much of his hair was a brilliant silver. The mage’s features were also more hawklike than any of Malfurion’s kind. In addition, his eyes somewhat resembled Rhonin’s, but were long and narrowed and held in their dark pupils a fire borne of ancient wisdom.

The ancient wisdom of a being who was in truth a dragon.

A figure stalked toward them. Not Krasus, but Brox. The orc looked weary but defiant, as he always did. Brox was a warrior who had battled all his life. The tusked orc had scars everywhere. He vied with the tauren in musculature. Lord Stareye dismissed Brox as a beast no better than Huln or the furbolg. Yet, everyone respected the orc’s arm, especially when he wielded the enchanted wooden ax Cenarius and Malfurion had created just for him.

The druid continued to seek out Krasus, but the latter was nowhere to be found. Malfurion did not like that. “Where is he?”

Pursing his lips, Rhonin sourly answered, “He said he had something else that had to be done quickly, regardless of the consequences.”

“And that means?”

“I’ve no idea, Malfurion. In many matters, Krasus trusts only himself.”

“We need him… I need him…”

Rhonin put a hand on the night elf’s shoulder. “I promise you… we’ll rescue her.”

Malfurion was not so convinced, just as he was still not convinced that Lord Stareye would accept such allies as these. The mission that Rhonin and his companions had undertaken had not been sanctioned by the host’s commander, but Krasus had been convinced that once the noble was confronted with such aid, he would see reason. But convincing Desdel Stareye would be a much more difficult quest than talking sense to furbolgs.

The druid finally surrendered to the fact that there would be no new and immediate attempt to rescue Tyrande. In truth, they had already tried everything they could, at least for now. Still, even as he turned again to the matter of the new arrivals, Malfurion’s thoughts ever worked to devise some manner by which to save his childhood friend… and, at the same time, discover the truth concerning Illidan’s fate.

The dwarf puffed stolidly on his pipe, while Huln waited with a patience belying his brutish form. Unng Ak sniffed the air, taking in the different scents and clutching the club tight.

Rhonin, eyeing their potential allies, remarked, “Of course, damned if I wouldn’t prefer Krasus here right now myself. I can hardly wait to see Stareye’s face when this bunch stands before him…”

The noble’s jaw dropped. His eyes bulged as much as was possible for his kind. The pinch of snuff almost to his nostril crumbled to the floor of the tent like ash as his fingers twitched.

“You have brought what into our midst?”

Rhonin’s expression remained calm. “The one chance we have left of staving the losses and perhaps even winning.”

Lord Stareye angrily flung aside his richly embroidered cloak. A flurry of intertwining green, orange, and purple lines marked its passage. In contrast, his armor was the more subdued gray-green common among the night elves, although its breast plate was decorated in the center by his House symbol, a multitude of tiny, gem-encrusted stars in the center of each of which a golden orb had been set. Lying on a table used for mapping out strategy was his similarly-decorated helm.

The haughty night elf stared down his lengthy, pointed nose. “You have disobeyed a direct order, yes! I shall have you clapped in irons and — ”

“And I’ll dissolve them before they lock. Then, I’ll leave the host, as, I suspect, will some of my friends.”

It was simply stated, but all there understood the threat. Stareye stared at the three other nobles who had been with him when Rhonin and Malfurion had come to announce the arrival of allies. They returned his stare blankly. None wanted to take the responsibility of urging the commander to rid his force of its most prominent fighters.

The senior night elf suddenly smiled. Malfurion resisted shuddering at that smile.

“Forgive me, Master Rhonin! I speak in haste, yes, in haste! Certainly I would not wish to offend you and yours…” He reached into the pouch, removed some more of the white powder, and inhaled it in one nostril. “We are all reasonable. We shall deal with this in a reasonable manner, however unjustly it was thrust upon some of us.” He gave a negligent gesture toward the tent’s flap. “By all means, show the — them in.”

Rhonin went to the entrance and called out. Two soldiers stepped through, followed by an officer very familiar to Malfurion. Jarod Shadowsong had been a captain in the Suramar Guard when he had had the misfortune to take as a prisoner Krasus. In the ensuing events, he had become a reluctant part of their band and had even been placed in charge of keeping watch over them by the late Ravencrest. Stareye had left Jarod in such a role even though it had long become clear that no one could keep the band in one place, especially the elder mage.

In Jarod’s wake came Huln, the furbolg, and Dungard. Behind the trio rushed in a full dozen more soldiers, who quickly took up strategic positions in order to protect their commander.

Stareye’s nose wrinkled. He did little to hide his contempt. Huln stood as if a rock. Unng Ak grinned, showing many sharp teeth.

Dungard smoked his pipe.

“I would prefer that you douse that instrument,” the noble commented.

In response, the dwarf took another puff.

“Insolent! You see what beasts and refuse you expect us to ally ourselves with?” Stareye growled, already forgetting his words to Rhonin. “Our people will never stand for it!”

“As commander, you must make them understand,” the wizard calmly returned. “Just as these three and those representing the others had to do so with their own kind.”

“You prissy night elves need some folks who know how to fight.” Dungard abruptly muttered, the pipe still in the corner of his mouth. “Someone to teach you real livin’…”

Unng Ak let out with a loud bark. It took Malfurion a moment to realize that the furbolg had laughed.

“At least we understand the intricacies of civilization,” another noble snapped back. “Such as bathing and grooming.”

“Maybe the demons’ll let you live to be their handmaidens.”

The night elf drew his sword, his companions following suit. Dungard had his ax out so swiftly that the movement was but a blur. Huln gripped his spear and snorted. Unng Ak swung his club once in challenge.

A flash of blue light abruptly burst to life in the center of the tent. Both sides forgot their argument as they attempted to shield their eyes. Malfurion turned away to protect himself, noticing only then that Rhonin was unaffected by it all.

The human stepped between the parties. “Enough of this! The fate of Kalimdor, of your loved ones — ” He hesitated a moment, his eyes looking into the distance. “Of your loved ones… depends on overcoming your petty prejudices!”

Rhonin glanced at at Huln and his companions, then at Stareye’s nobles. Neither side seemed inclined to have him repeat his blinding display of power.

He vehemently nodded. “Good, then! Now that we understand, I think it’s time to talk…”

Krasus struck the floor of the icy cavern with a painful thud.

He lay there gasping. The spell to transport him here had been a chancy one, especially considering his condition. The cavern was far, far away from where the elven host lay — almost half a world away. Yet, he had dared risk the spell, knowing not only what it might do to him but also that it might already be too late to do what he desired.