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Richard Knaak: The Sundering

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Richard Knaak The Sundering

The Sundering: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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The hour of wrath draws near... The valiant night elves have been shattered by the loss of their beloved general. The black dragon, Neltharion, has claimed the Demon Soul and scattered the mighty dragonflights to the winds. Above all, the demonlord, Archimonde, has led the Burning Legion to the very brink of victory over Kalimdor. As the land and its denizens reel from this unstoppable evil, a terror beyond all reckoning draws ever nearer from the Well of Eternity's depths... In the final, apocalyptic chapter of this epic trilogy, the dragon-mage Krasus and the young druid Malfurion must risk everything to save Azeroth from utter destruction. Banding together the dwarves, tauren and furbolg races, the heroes hope to spark an alliance to stand against the might of the Burning Legion. For if the Demon Soul should fall into the Legion's hands, all hope for the world will be lost. This then, is the hour... where past and future collide!

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Although still creatures of the dark despite having been forced to adapt to daylight battles, Jarod had agreed with the dragons to assemble at noontime. Alexstrasza explained that the sun’s zenith would be essential to what they planned and the night elf was not about to argue with the giants.

Despite the island’s reasonable size, only tall grass covered it. At its center, the group positioned itself as requested by Alexstrasza. The dragons took up a prime location near what they said was the exact middle, leaving a small place open between them.

The Aspect of Life began the ceremony. “Kalimdor has suffered greatly,” she rumbled. As those in the group nodded, Alexstrasza continued, “And the night elves most of all. Your race was not completely innocent in all of this, but the trials and tribulations through which you have passed forgive that.”

There were a few uneasy glances toward the Highborne, but no one argued.

The red dragon lowered her palm. In it, nestled like an infant, a single seed similar in appearance to an acorn rested. Malfurion felt a tingle as he stared at it.

“Taken from G’Hanir, the Mother Tree,” she explained. The druid recognized the home of the dead demigoddess, Aviana.

“G’Hanir is no more, having perished with its mistress, but this seed survives. From it, we shall raise a new tree.”

Nozdormu dropped one paw to the ground and, with a single swipe, created a hole perfect for planting the seed, Alexstrasza gently placed the seed in it, then Ysera pushed the dirt over the hole.

The Aspect of Life gazed up at the sun. Then, she and the other two dragons bent their heads low over the buried seed.

“I give Strength and Healthy Life to the night elves, for so long as the tree stands,” Alexstrasza proclaimed.

From her, a soft, red glow flowed to the mound. At the same time, the sunlight over the mound intensified, spreading all the way across the lake in every direction. Some of the night elves stirred, but all remained silent.

A wonderful warmth spread over Malfurion and he instinctively took Tyrande’s hand. She did not pull away, but rather tightened her grip.

And from the mound, there came movement. As if a tiny creature burrowed to the surface, the dirt pushed up and away.

From the seed had sprouted a tiny sapling.

It rose until a yard high, small branches sprouting. Lush, green leaves burst from the branches, creating a delicate canopy.

As Alexstrasza pulled back slightly, Nozdormu spoke, a slight hiss in his voice. “Time will be on the night elvesss’ side once again, for I grant them continued Immortality, forever a chance to learn, for asss long asss the tree stands…”

From him issued forth a golden bronze aura that joined with the sunlight as the red had. Flowing through the sapling, it sank into the mound.

The tree grew again. As the onlookers gaped, it rose to more than twice the height of a night elf. Its foliage grew dense, green, and full of promise. Branches thickened, showing the health and strength of the tree. The roots began to come up above ground like many legs. A space almost large enough for several seated night elves formed underneath.

Nozdormu nodded, then, like his counterpart, withdrew. There remained only Ysera.

Eyes lidded, the green leviathan studied the tree. Despite its swift growth, it was still dwarfed by the dragons.

“To the night elves, who have lost their hopes, I give forth the ability to Dream again. To Dream, to Imagine, for in that is the best hope of rebuilding, of recovering, of growing…” She looked ready to do as the other Aspects had, then paused. Her head swung toward Malfurion. “And to those who follow the path of one held special by me — and mine — I grant him and the other druids to come the path into the Emerald Dream, where, even in their deepest sleep, they may cross the world, learn from it, and draw upon its own strength… the better to guide Kalimdor’s health and safety throughout the future.”

Malfurion swallowed, unable to otherwise respond. He felt the eyes of everyone upon him, but, most of all, felt Tyrande’s proud touch.

Ysera looked again to the tree… and from her issued a green mist. Like the two before, her offering bound with the sunlight, then settled over the tree.

As the last of it vanished into the soil, the assembled onlookers felt the ground shake. Malfurion led Tyrande back a few steps and, as if this was a cue, the rest followed suit. Even the dragons moved back, albeit not near as much as the tinier creatures.

And the tree grew. It grew twice its previous height, then twice that. It rose higher and higher into the heavens, until the druid felt certain that even those well below the peak could at least see the huge, burgeoning canopy. So massive was the canopy that the entire region should have been bathed in shadow, but somehow the sunlight continued to focus on the area, even the lake.

The roots also expanded, stretching taller and bending to best support the gigantic tree. They spread so high that now it seemed all of Lord Ravencrest’s lost Black Rook Hold could have fit underneath… and still the roots — the entire tree — grew.

When at last it ceased, even the dragons looked like no more than birds who could perch upon one of the branches and hide in the foliage.

“Here stands before you Nordrassil. The World Tree is brought into existence!” intoned the Aspect of Life. “For as long as it stands, for as long as it is honored, the night elves will thrive! You may alter, you may follow different paths, but you will ever be an integral part of Kalimdor…”

Krasus suddenly stood behind Malfurion. In a whisper to the druid, he added, “And the tree, whose roots go deep, will keep this lake as it is. The sun will always be a part of this well. The black waters will not run here.”

Malfurion took this in with much relief. He glanced down at Tyrande, who met his gaze with an expression that left his cheeks darkening. Before Malfurion realized what was happening, she kissed him.

“Whatever this long future our people have been promised holds,” his childhood friend murmured. “I wish to see it with you.”

He felt more blood rush to his cheeks. “As I do with you, Tyrande.”

Malfurion kissed her back, but as he did, another’s face intruded into his thoughts. There would be a period of rejoicing, of spreading the word concerning the Aspects’ gifts to their people, but for Malfurion, those events suddenly mattered little. There was still Illidan to deal with.

Tyrande pulled away, her mouth twisted into a frown. “I know what it is that suddenly fills you with sorrow. What must be done must be done, Malfurion, but don’t let his crimes steal your heart away.”

He took strength from her words. “I won’t. I promise you, I won’t.”

Over her shoulder, Malfurion noticed Krasus and Rhonin quietly retreating from the gathering. He glanced at the dragons and saw that Nozdormu was also missing. Just like that. Somehow, the Aspect had simply vanished without anyone noticing.

There had to be a connection. “Malfurion, what is it now?”

“Come with me, Tyrande, while no one’s looking.”

She did not argue. The two night elves followed after Krasus and the wizard.

The voice echoed in Krasus’s head. It hasss been delayed far too long. It mussst be done now.

Nozdormu. “Rhonin — ”

The human nodded. “I heard him.”

They slipped out while the night elves were still babbling over the tree. Krasus would have liked to have spoken with Malfurion a little more, but the mage was eager to return home.

Before the ceremony, Nozdormu had come to him. The Aspect of Time had caught Krasus alone. “We owe you a debt, Korialstrasz.”

By “we,” Nozdormu did not just mean the other Aspects and him. He referred also to his various selves spread through Time itself. Such was his unique nature.

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