Richard Knaak - The Demon Soul

“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.”

“I…I understand.”

“Good! Then, we begin. Follow my lead. Rhonin?”

“I’m ready,” the younger wizard replied. “I know just what I want to do.”

Krasus’s eyes widened. “Ah! One other detail, Malfurion; be prepared to randomly shift the focus of your attack. Move your spell to wherever it seems there is a gap in our effort. Do you understand?”

“I believe so.”

“May the powers of light be with us, then.”

That said, Krasus abruptly froze. His eyes stared unblinking across the gap separating the night elves from the demons.

Rhonin quickly leaned toward Malfurion. “Use everything. Leave no defenses. This is all or nothing.”

“They are approaching the point.” Krasus informed his companions. “Would that Archimonde be among the first ranks.”

They could all sense the approaching horde. The evil permeated the very air, sending a foul radiation their way. Even Krasus shuddered, but from disgust, not fear.

“Rhonin, I have Jarod Shadowsong prepared. Are the Moon Guard ready?”

“Yes.”

“Almost…“ The pale visage tightened. Krasus’s eyelids flickered. “Now.”

They had no knowledge of one another’s attack, exactly how Krasus intended it. He desired true random effort, the better to foul up whatever defense Archimonde and the others might devise. His plan had as much potential for disaster—if not more even—than success, but that very fact was what the dragon mage counted on.

From the clouds suddenly dropped glittering spears of ice that fixed on the enemy horde. To the north, the ground shook, and demons suddenly scattered as the earth swelled. Elsewhere, huge, black birds appeared from nowhere, heading toward the airborne elements of the Legion.

All along the front, one spell after another assaulted the enemy. Some were concentrated in specific areas while others seemed to act everywhere. No two were alike and although a few appeared to be in conflict with one another, they did far worse damage to the oncoming horde.

Demons died pierced by ice, burned by crimson flame, or buried by molten earth. Those in the sky fell beaten and torn by hundreds of claws or tumbled to their deaths after winds tossed them against one another.

The Eredar attempted to counter, but Krasus suddenly commanded, “Shift your focus!”

Immediately, Malfurion, Rhonin, and—to the north—the Moon Guard and Illidan altered the direction in which they focused their spells. Krasus sensed the warlocks grow confused, uncertain as to where to first apply their counter-assaults. On the ground, the Fel Guard and other demon warriors tried in vain to defend against something that their weapons could not cut in two or impale.