Richard Knaak - The Demon Soul

And even less likely to receive such an invitation was the grotesque, brutish figure next to him, one almost as tall as Malfurion but built like a bear. Slung on his back was a huge, twin-edged battle ax that appeared made of wood, yet somehow gleamed like steel.

“Those who do not see the truth in battle march willingly to defeat,” grunted the tusked, green-skinned warrior, his philosophical words belying his savage form.

Broxigar—or Brox, as he preferred to be called—shook his head at the night elves’ unwavering devotion to their queen. Rhonin’s cynical smirk in response to the orc’s words only added to Malfurion’s discomfort at how his people appeared to the outsiders. They could readily see what few of his kind other than himself could—that Azshara had to know what happened in the palace.

“If you knew what she has been to us,” the night elf muttered, “you would understand why it is so difficult for them to accept her betrayal.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Illidan interjected from in front of him. “They’ll attack Zin-Azshari either way and the end result will be the same. No more demons.”

“And what if Azshara comes out and tells them that she’s seized control of the demons from the Highborne, and that everyone’s now safe?” Rhonin countered pointedly. “What if she tells her people to lay down their arms, that the battle’s over? And then what if the Burning Legion falls on Ravencrest and the rest while the queen laughs at their folly?”

Illidan had nothing to say to that, but Brox did. He gripped the hilt of his dagger and muttered under his breath, “We know her betrayal. We know. We make sure this queen plays no tricks…”

Rhonin tilted his hooded head to the side in consideration of this suggestion, while Illidan’s face masked whatever opinion he had on the dread subject. Malfurion frowned, caught between the remnants of his own devotion to Azshara and his realization that eventually someone would have to put an end to the queen if the world hoped to survive this monstrous invasion.

“If and when the time comes, we do what we have to,” he finally replied.

“And that time approaches swiftly.”

Krasus slipped into the back of the chamber to join them, an arrival that left all of them silent. The pale, enigmatic wizard moved with more assurance, more health, yet obviously the dragon from whom he seemed to draw strength could not be out in the hall.

Rhonin immediately went to him. “Krasus, how is this possible?”

“I have done what I have done,” the latter said, absently touching the three small scars on his face. “You should know that Korialstrasz has departed.”

While the news was unexpected, it still struck them hard. Without the dragon, the night elves would have to depend upon their small band even more.

At the other end of the room, Lord Ravencrest continued his speech. “Once there, the secondary force, under Lord Desdel Stareye, will then pull in from the south, squeezing them in from the two sides…”

Next to the dais, a very slim night elf—clad in the same armor as Ravencrest but wearing a cloak of intertwining green, orange, and purple lines—nodded to the speaker. Stareye’s helm had a long, shimmering crest of night saber fur. The helm itself was decorated with a multitude of tiny, gem-encrusted stars. In the center of each had been set a golden orb—an overall gaudy display to the outsiders, no doubt, but well-appreciated by Stareye’s compatriots. The night elf himself seemed to be constantly staring down his long, pointed nose at anyone he looked at—anyone other than his host, that is. Desdel Stareye knew the importance of attaching himself to the House of Ravencrest.

“We must move swiftly, surely, yes,” Stareye added uselessly. “Strike at the heart, yes. The demons will cower at our blades, grovel for our mercy, which we shall not give.” Reaching into a pouch on his belt, he took a white powder and sniffed it.

“May the heavens help us if that popinjay ever becomes leader,” murmured Rhonin. “His armor gleams as if newly-forged. Has he ever fought a war?”

Malfurion grimaced. “Few of our kind have. Most prefer that ‘distasteful’ duty to Lord Ravencrest, the Moon Guard, or the local forces. Unfortunately, bloodline dictates who is granted a high rank in troubled times.”

“Not unlike humans,” Krasus said before Rhonin could respond.

“Strike at the heart and quickly,” Lord Ravencrest agreed. “And we must do so before the Highborne succeed in reopening the way for more of the monsters—”

To the surprise of Malfurion and the others, Krasus stepped forward and dared interrupt. “I fear it is already too late for that, my lord.”

Several of the night elves took affront at this interruption by one not of their own kind. Ignoring them, Krasus strode toward the dais. Malfurion noted that the mage still showed subtle signs of strain. Whatever he had done to enable him to walk free of the dragon had not completely rid him of his mysterious malady.

“What’s that? What do you mean, wizard?”

Krasus stood before Ravencrest. “I mean that the portal is already open.”

His words reverberated through the assembly. Several night elves lost a shade or two of their purple color. Malfurion could not blame them. This was hardly welcome news. He wondered how they would react when they discovered that they had also lost the one dragon who had been aiding them.

Desdel Stareye looked down at the outsider. “And you know this how?”

“I felt the emanations. I know what they mean. The portal is open.”

The haughty noble sniffed, his way of indicating his distrust of such questionable evidence. Lord Ravencrest, on the other hand, accepted Krasus’s dire pronouncement with grave faith. “How long?”

“But a few minutes before I entered here. I verified it twice before I dared come.”

The master of Black Rook Hold sat back in his chair, brooding. “Ill tidings, indeed! Still, you said it was but a short time ago…”

“There is some hope yet,” the mage said, nodding. “It is weak. I can sense that. They will not be able to bring through too many at once. More important, their master will be unable to physically enter yet. Should he attempt to do so, he will destroy the portal…”

“What does it matter if he stays where he is and simply directs them?” asked Stareye with another sniff.

“The Burning Legion is but a shadow of his terrible darkness. Trust in me when I say that we have hope even if every demon who serves him comes through, but no hope if we destroy all only to have him step into the world.”

His words left silence in their wake. Malfurion glanced at Rhonin and Brox; their expressions verified Krasus’s warning.

“This changes nothing,” Ravencrest abruptly declared. He faced the audience again, expression resolute. “Zin-Azshari remains the focus, now more than ever! Both the portal and our beloved Azshara await us there, so there is where we march!”

The night elves rallied almost immediately, so trusted was the elder commander when it came to war. Few night elves had the reputation that Lord Ravencrest held. He could draw people to his banner almost as well as the queen could to hers.

“The warriors are already set to march! They have but been awaiting our decision! I give you all leave to depart after this gathering and prepare each of your commands! By the fall of day tomorrow, we push on toward the capital!” Ravencrest raised his mailed fist high. “For Azshara! For Azshara!”

“For Azshara!” shouted the other night elves, Illidan included. Malfurion knew that his brother added his voice because of his position as Black Rook Hold’s sorcerer. Whatever Illidan believed concerning Queen Azshara, he would not jeopardize his recently-gained status.