The Sundering

Five

Soft hands touched Illidan’s face as they washed his burnt, wasted flesh. The scent of lilies and other flowers wafted over his nostrils. He began to stir at last, rising up from the self-induced coma he had used to escape his pain. The latter had finally subsided to something tolerable, but Malfurion’s brother doubted that it would ever completely fade.

But as full consciousness returned, his world was suddenly filled with a maddening display of colors and violent energies. The sorcerer gasped and put his arms across where his eyes had been, for there were now barely even lids to cover them. Even that, though, did nothing to keep the swirling energies and constantly-shifting colors from almost driving him mad. This was Sargeras’s gift to him, a demonic, magical view of the world.

Then, Illidan Stormrage recalled the words of Rhonin, the human wizard. Focus, the powerful spellcaster had so often insisted to him. Focus and it all comes together. That’s the key…

Forcing back his initial shock, Illidan tried to follow through. It was nigh impossible, at first, for there seemed an endless chaos, much too much for a mere mortal like him to control.

But, with the same resolution that had propelled him up so quickly among the Moon Guard, Illidan forced order upon matters. The colors began to organize, the energy to flow with regularity and purpose. Shapes began to form from the natural energies inherent in all things, alive or inanimate.

He realized at last that he lay upon a stuffed couch, its fabric so smooth and soft it was almost sensual. There were three figures standing nearby — all female, Illidan belatedly realized. The more the twin focused, the more he could detail features. Night elves all, they were young, exquisite, and clad in rich but alluring gowns.

More distinctions appeared as he fixed on the one who had been washing his injuries. Illidan sensed the silver coloring of her hair — silver that was not natural — and the feline appearance of her eyes. In truth, his perceptions were more acute than ever. The sorcerer could read minute variations in strands of hair. He could sense the level of power each of these Highborne wielded — and knew that, of all three, the one cleaning his wounds was by far the strongest. Even then, though, her skills were nothing in comparison to his.

The lead handmaiden recovered first. Putting aside the damp cloth, she brought forth what, through the energies surrounding it, Illidan knew was a silken scarf the color of amber.

The color of his lost eyes.

“This is for you, lord sorcerer…”

He understood exactly what it was for. This new, sharper sense of sight had momentarily made him forget how he must look to others. With the sort of bow he would have given Lord Ravencrest, Illidan accepted the scarf and wrapped it over where his eyes had been. Not at all to his surprise, the scarf in no manner inhibited his new abilities.

“So much better,” murmured the female. “You should look your best for the queen — ”

“Thank you, Vashj…” came Azshara’s voice suddenly. “You and the rest may retire for now.”

Vashj clamped her mouth shut, then bowed as she and the other two retreated from the chamber.

Illidan caught his breath as he turned his senses to the queen. A brilliant radiance surrounded Azshara, a silver glow he finally recognized as indication of the power she wielded. Illidan would have blinked if he could. Although Azshara had been beloved by all her people, some, such as him, had assumed that her skills in the arts were negligible. He had always believed that she had required the might of the Highborne for the casting of spells. Illidan wondered if even the late Lord Xavius or the erstwhile Captain Varo’then had ever understood just how accomplished their monarch was.

“Your majesty.” Moving from the couch, the sorcerer went down on one knee.

“Please… rise up. There is no need for such formality in private.” Somehow she moved right up to him without Illidan noticing her do so. The queen guided him back to the couch. “Let us be more comfortable, my darling sorcerer.”

As they sat, Azshara leaned toward Malfurion’s twin. Her touch set his soul on fire. Her very presence felt almost hypnotic.

Hypnotic? Illidan studied her.

The glow around Azshara had intensified, so much so that it even overlapped him. How Illidan had missed it revealed much about the queen’s control.

Even with that knowledge, it was all he could do from being overwhelmed by her.

“I’ve been most impressed by you, Illidan Stormrage! So very clever, so very powerful! Even our Lord Sargeras sees that or else why would he grant you such a precious gift?” Long, tapering fingers caressed the scarf. “Such a shame to lose the beautiful amber eyes, though… I know it hurts much…”

Her face was enticingly close to his and, at the moment, it was impossible not to want it closer. “I — I endured it, your majesty.”

“Please! For you, I’m merely Azshara…” Her fingers ran from his eye sockets to the rest of his face. “Such a handsome face!” She touched his shoulder, pushing aside part of his clothing. “So strong, too… and with the mark of the Great One there as well!”

Frowning, Illidan glanced down to where her hand lay.

An intricate pattern of dark tattoos enshrouded his shoulder. Beneath them and well-shielded, the night elf sensed an unearthly magic — the magic of Sargeras — that permeated his flesh. That he had not felt any of it until now stunned Illidan. With a quick glance to his other side, the sorcerer saw that a similar pattern marked his body there. Sargeras had truly claimed Illidan as a creature of the Legion.

Ignoring the queen for a moment, Malfurion’s brother gingerly touched one. Immediately he felt a surge of power. It coursed through him. His body radiated primal energy that he knew took as its source that which fed the Well. He realized that the demon lord had amplified his abilities by marking him so.

“Truly you are favored by him… and, thus, favored by me,” Queen Azshara whispered, drawing close again. “And there are many favors I can grant you, which even he cannot — ”

“Forgive this untimely intrusion, Light of Lights,” a figure at the door almost growled.

Illidan tensed, but Azshara coolly straightened, brushing back her luxurious hair and eyeing the newcomer with misleading, languid eyes. “What is it, dear captain?”

In contrast to the seductive brilliance surrounding the queen, Captain Varo’then emitted a darkness that reminded Illidan of the demons. He had only a hint of ability in the sorcerous arts, but Illidan already understood that the soldier was possibly as deadly in his own way as Mannoroth.

Perhaps deadlier at times, at least where it concerned his jealousy against real and imagined rivals for his queen. Varo’then all but seethed as he took in the sight of Azshara and Illidan on the couch. She did not help matters by reaching out and caressing the sorcerer’s cheek as she rose.

“I’ve come for him, your majesty. This one’s made promises and our lord expects those promises fulfilled.”

“And I will,” Illidan returned strongly, staring back at the officer despite the scarf. Varo’then’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but he nodded.

“Then, by all means,” Azshara interjected, coming between the pair and glancing at both coyly. “I’m certain between the two of you that no dragon stands a chance! I very much look forward to hearing of your exploits — ” She ran a hand across the captain’s breast plate, causing his eyes to light up in lust. “ — both of your exploits, that is!” the queen added, doing the same over Illidan’s bare chest.

Despite knowing that she played games with the pair of them, the sorcerer could not help reacting slightly. Steeling himself against her wiles, he replied, “I will not disappoint you… Azshara.”

His use of her name without any title before or after it — and the close familiarity such use hinted at — did not sit well with the soldier. Varo’then’s hand slipped to the hilt of his sword, but he wisely let it pass without actually gripping the blade.

“We must first find the beast — which you claim you can do.”

Illidan took hold of the dragon scale. “I make no claim; I speak the truth.”

“Then, there is no need to wait. It is nearly nightfall.”

Turning to the queen, Illidan executed the sort of bow he had witnessed in Black Rook Hold. “With your permission…”

She gave him a regal smile. “And you may go, too, dear captain.”

“Most gracious, Light of Lights, Flower of the Moon…” Varo’then also bowed, his action crisp and military. He then indicated the doorway to Illidan. “After you, master sorcerer.”

Without a word to the armored figure, Illidan marched out. He sensed Varo’then follow right behind him. It would not have surprised Malfurion’s twin if the captain tried to knife him in the back, but Varo’then evidently had more control than that.

“Where do we go?” he asked his escort.

“You can do your casting once we’re away from Zin-Azshari. Our Lord Sargeras wishes this mission to be finished as soon as possible. He itches to set his feet upon Azeroth’s soil and give our world his blessing.”

“Fortunate is Azeroth.”

Varo’then eyed him for a moment, trying to find fault with his answer. Unable to do so, he finally nodded, “Aye, fortunate is Azeroth.”

The captain led him through the palace, eventually descending. As they neared the stables, Illidan asked, “So you’re to be my companion throughout all this?”

“You should have someone to watch your back.”

“I’m gratified.”

“Our great lord puts much stock into this notion of the disk fulfilling his needs. He will have it.”

“I welcome your company,” the sorcerer remarked. At that moment, however, they entered the stables. What Illidan saw there made him stop dead. “And what’s this?”

A dozen Fel Guard stood waiting near the night sabers, their monstrous faces eager for bloodshed. Two Doomguard flanked them, clearly there to keep order on their wingless brethren. Another pair of Fel Guard kept tight rein over a slavering felbeast.

“As I’ve said,” Captain Varo’then answered with possibly a hint of sarcasm. “You should have someone to watch your back. These…” He indicated the fiendish warriors. “…will watch you very carefully. Of that, I make my utmost promise, sorcerer.”

Illidan nodded and said nothing.

“We will make haste, I promise you, Rhonin.”

“Promise me nothing, Krasus,” the human returned. “Just be careful. And don’t worry about Stareye. I’ll deal with him.”

“He is the least of our worries. I trust you and the good Captain Shadowsong to keep the host together.”

“Me?” Jarod shook his head. “Master Krasus, you’ve got much too much confidence in me! I’m a Guard officer, nothing more! It’s as Maiev said, fortune smiled on me! I’m no more a commander than — than — ”

“Than Stareye?” smirked Rhonin.

“I am afraid we must count on you, Jarod Shadowsong. The tauren and the others, they see the respect you give them and give it back in turn. There may come another time when, as you did earlier, you must make a decision to act. For the sake of your people, I might add.”

The night elf’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I’ll do what I can, Master Krasus. That’s all I can say.”

The mage nodded. “And that is all we ask of you, good captain.”

“Now that we have that little matter settled,” the human commented. “How do you plan to reach the lair?”

“The gryphons are no longer available to us. We shall have to take night sabers and urge them to their swiftest.”

“But that’ll take too long! Worse, it’ll leave you more vulnerable to the Burning Legion’s assassins!”

Archimonde had demons constantly shadowing the host, seeking to slay Krasus and his band. Malfurion had been especially marked by Archimonde after the druid’s astounding reversal of certain Legion victory, but the dragon mage had no doubt that he was also high on the demon’s list.

“A spell would be too risky a manner by which to travel to where Deathwing awaits,” Krasus returned. “I have no doubt that he is on guard for such things. We must journey by physical means.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Nor do I, but it must be so.” He looked to his companions for the trek. “Are you prepared to depart?”

Malfurion nodded. Brox replied with an impatient grunt. While it was true that between the druid and the mage they had exceptional abilities at their disposal, Krasus understood the need for the company of a skilled warrior such as the orc. Spellcasters could be incapacitated in many ways. Brox had also proven himself a trustworthy ally.

“Give us an hour before alerting Lord Stareye,” Krasus reminded the human as he mounted.

“I’ll give you two.”

Seeing that the druid and the orc had also mounted, Krasus urged his beast forward. The graceful cat quickly picked up speed, the mounts of the mage’s companions right behind. It did not take long for the animals to leave the night elven host far, far behind.

No one spoke as they rode, all three riders intent not only on the path ahead, but any sign of threat lurking around them. However, the night passed without any danger and they made good distance. When the sun began to rise, Krasus finally called for a halt.

“We rest here for a time,” he decided, eyeing the sparsely-wooded hills ahead. “I would prefer to enter those when we are more recuperated.”

“You think we might be in danger there?” asked Malfurion.

“Perhaps. While the woods are thin, the hills themselves offer many crevices and such for possible ambushes.”

Brox nodded his agreement. “Would use hill to north for that. Best view of path. We should avoid that one when riding.”

“And with that expert opinion, I agree.” The mage looked around. “This area here by these two tall rocks is best-suited for our camp, I think. We shall have a good view of the surroundings while giving ourselves some protection.”

They tethered the night sabers to a crooked tree nearby. Bred for generations, the cats obeyed every command immediately and without argument. Brox volunteered to feed the animals from the supplies they had brought with them. There would be enough for three days, but after that they would have to let the cats hunt. Krasus hoped that by then the party would be in a better location, wildlife clearly sparse here.

The trio ate from their own rations. To a dragon like Krasus, eating salted, dried meat was hardly satisfying, but he had long ago steeled himself to such necessities. Malfurion ate some fruit — also dried — and nuts, while Brox ate the same as Krasus, albeit with more gusto. Orcs were not discriminating when it came to food.

“The cats are already at rest,” Krasus declared after their meal. “I suggest we do the same.”

“I take first watch,” Brox offered.

With Malfurion volunteering for the second, the matter of security was quickly settled. Krasus and the druid found places to rest near the taller of the two stones. Brox, proving more agile than his frame suggested, easily climbed up to the top of the steeper rock and sat. Ax resting in his lap, he surveyed the landscape like a hungry carrion bird.

Despite intending to only allow himself to doze, the dragon mage fell deep asleep. He had pushed himself far beyond his limits. What little rest he had gotten earlier was not enough to make up for so much strain.

Dragons dream and Krasus was no exception. For him, it was the everpresent desire to fly free again, to spread the wings he did not have and take to the air. Here, he was once more Korialstrasz. A creature of the sky, he chafed at being bound to the earth. The dragon had always been comfortable in his mortal form, but that had been when he had understood that with a single thought he could transform to his true self. With that taken from him, he often found himself frustrated with the frailty of his present shape.

And in his dream, that curse suddenly took hold, the weaker mortal flesh binding to his body, squeezing him into a smaller and smaller shape. His wings were crushed into his back and his tail severed. His long, toothy maw was shoved into his skull, replaced by the insignificant little nub of a nose he wore in the guise of a spellcaster. Korialstrasz became again Krasus, who plunged earthward —

And who woke up bathed in sweat.

Krasus half expected to discover that the party was under some attack, but the day was silent save for Malfurion’s rhythmic breathing. He rose and saw that Brox continued vigilant watch. The mage gazed at the sun, estimating the time. Brox had gone long past his appointed watch. It was nearly Krasus’s turn.

Leaving the druid to sleep, the slim, robed figure grabbed hold of the rock and quickly scurried up in the fashion of a lizard. As he reached the top, Brox leapt to his feet and, with reflexes worthy of the dragon, readied his ax.

“You,” the orc grunted, helping him up. Both sat atop the rock, watching while they talked. “Thought you asleep, Master Krasus.”

“As you should be, Brox. You need rest as much as either of us.”

The green-skinned warrior shrugged. “An orc warrior can sleep with eyes open and weapon ready. No need to wake the night elf. He must sleep more. Against the dragon, he’ll be more use than this old fighter.”

Krasus eyed the orc. “An old fighter worth twenty young ones.”

The veteran warrior looked pleased with the compliment, but said, “The day of glory is past for this one. There will be no more tales of Broxigar the Red Ax.”

“I have lived longer than you, Brox; I know, therefore, of what I speak. There is much glory left in you, much heroic battle. New tales of Broxigar the Red Ax are still to come, even if I must tell them myself.”

The orc’s cheek’s darkened and he suddenly bowed his head low. “Honored by your words I am, venerable one.”

Like Malfurion, Brox had learned the truth concerning Krasus’s identity. To the dragon’s own surprise, the tusked warrior had already long known. As an orc who had learned some of the shamanistic traditions, Brox had sensed the incredible power and age of his companion and, watching Krasus deal with dragons, had come to the logical conclusion that so escaped most others. That Krasus and the red dragon Korialstrasz were one and the same had been beyond him, but even that the orc had accepted with but a mild furrowing of his brow.

“And speaking as a ‘venerable one’,” Krasus returned. “I will insist that you go and take your turn in slumber. I will watch for the rest of Malfurion’s time — however little left there is — and then my own.”

“Would be better if you — ”

Krasus stared into the orc’s eyes. “I assure you, my stamina is far greater than yours. I need no more sleep.”

Seeing that he would lose any further argument, Brox grunted and rose. But as he did, Krasus, glancing past the hulking warrior, stiffened.

“Doomguard…” he whispered.

Brox immediately dropped flat. They watched as three fiery-winged demons slowly headed toward the hills. The demons were armed with long, wicked blades. The Doomguard watched the vicinity with equal wariness, but clearly had not noticed the party so far.

“They’re heading toward where we must pass,” Krasus realized.

“Should stop them now.”

The mage nodded agreement, but added, “We need to know if there are more. We dare not take these three if it means giving warning to others in the area. Let me try to discover the truth, first.”

Shutting his eyes, Krasus let his senses spread out toward the demons. Immediately he felt the darkness radiating from each, a darkness so repulsive that even the dragon was affected. Nonetheless, Krasus did not hesitate to delve deeper. The truth had to be known.

He saw within each the savageness and chaos that he had felt during previous incursions. That such evil could exist in any creature the mage still found hard to believe. It was a madness of sorts on par with that which had taken the once noble Neltharion and had created of him the foul Deathwing.

In the monstrous thoughts of the creatures he finally found what he needed to know. The three were scouts out on their own, seeking places of weakness of which the Legion might make use. They intended to not just confine the war to the battlefield, but also create fear behind the defenders.

Such tactics did not at all surprise Krasus. He was certain that Archimonde already had other plans in motion, which was why the quest to seize the Demon Soul was so important.

He scanned the area for other warriors, but found no trace. Satisfied Krasus ceased his probing.

“They are alone,” he announced to Brox. “We will deal with them, but I think it best done with magic, this time.”

The orc grunted in satisfaction. Krasus slipped down to wake Malfurion.

“What — ” the night elf began. Krasus signaled him to silence.

“Three of the Doomguard,” the elder mage whispered. “They are alone. I intend to take them, with your help.”

Malfurion nodded. He followed Krasus around the stones to where they could see the hovering demons inspecting the hills.

“What should we do?” the druid asked.

“It would be best if I struck down all three simultaneously. However, their constant maneuvering means I might miscalculate. I leave it to you to deal with any who escapes me.”

“All right.” Taking a deep breath, Malfurion prepared. Krasus watched the Doomguard, waiting for the moment when they were nearest to one another.

Two of the demons paused to relate information to one another, but the third continued his observations. The mage silently swore, aware that he now had the best opportunity to destroy the pair. Yet, the third was so far away, Krasus feared that his attack would enable that one to flee.

Malfurion must have sensed his hesitation. “I won’t let him escape, Master Krasus.”

His words brought the mage much relief. Krasus nodded, concentrating.

Unlike Illidan — and even Rhonin at times — he had lived too long to waste effort creating elaborate displays out of his spellwork. The Doomguard were a threat and had to be dealt with. That was all. Thus it was that first one, then the other winged demon just exploded, their remnants quickly raining down on the landscape.

But as he had feared, the third escaped his trap. However, the demon’s reprieve proved short-lived. As what was left of the first two creatures plummeted, Malfurion held up a single leaf and muttered to the wind. An intense breeze suddenly arose near the druid, a breeze that quickly took up the single leaf and carried it unerringly toward the remaining Doomguard.

The leaf suddenly became many leaves, hundreds of them. They whirled around in the wind, spinning faster and faster. They closed on the already-fleeing demon.

As each touched the Doomguard, they adhered to him. Scores and scores soon clung tightly to the demon, yet the numbers still swirling about looked no less. The horned warrior fought against the wind, but the ever-increasing weight upon him made his efforts falter.

In but seconds, the demon became a mummy wrapped in green. The wings slowed, unable to battle against that which so weighed them down.

Finally, the last of the Doomguard dropped like a rock.

Malfurion did not watch the demon strike the hard ground. He had done what had needed to be done, but never savored it.

“The way is clear,” proclaimed Krasus. “But we must hurry, for it will take long to traverse the hills — ”

From atop the rock, Brox suddenly called, “Something else in the sky! Above us!”

And mere seconds later, a shadow briefly covered them… a shadow sweeping over the entire area. The winged form moved so fast that it was lost among the clouds before any could identify it. The orc held his ax ready, while Krasus and Malfurion prepared spells.

Then the gargantuan form burst into the open again, diving directly for the trio. Its huge, leathery wings beat easily as it descended.

Krasus exhaled, his generally-somber expression breaking into a brief grin. “I should have known! I should have felt it!”

Korialstrasz had returned.

The mage’s younger self landed just before the trio. The red dragon was magnificent to behold. His crest ran all the way to his tail. He was large enough to have swallowed the trio in one gulp, yet, despite his toothy maw, one had only to look into his eyes to see his intelligence and compassion.

Perhaps it was a bit narcissistic of Krasus to admire his earlier incarnation, but he could not help it. Korialstrasz had proven himself much more adept than the elder version ever remembered being. It was as if that they were two distinct creatures despite being one and the same.

Letting the dust settle, Korialstrasz greeted the three with a nod of his huge head. His eyes focused most on Krasus.

“A stroke of luck that I sensed some spellwork as I passed near,” he rumbled. “My thoughts have been so caught up in other matters, I otherwise would not have noted your presence.” To the mage, he added, “Not even yours.”

That did not bode well. “You speak of your search for the others?”

“Yes… and I found them. They are seeking some manner by which to evade or deal with the Earth Warder’s foul disk, but have not come up with any answer as of yet. Even my queen dares not face Neltharion unless they have some defense. You saw what happened to the blues! Slaughtered to extinction!”

Krasus thought of the eggs he had salvaged, but decided that this was not the time to deal with that matter. “Alexstrasza’s concern has merit. There is no honor or purpose in flying out to simply be destroyed.”

“But if we dragons do not aid the mortal races, there will be no hope for any of us!”

“There may be hope, though. You have not asked why we are to be found here.” Krasus indicated the druid. “Young Malfurion has located the Earth Warder’s hidden lair and knows where the Demon Soul is.”

The crimson giant’s reptilian eyes widened. “This is true? Perhaps an all-out assault while he slumbers — ”

“Nay! This must be done with secrecy, cunning. We hope to slip in and steal the disk. Otherwise, Neltharion may take it first and then we are all dead.”

Korialstrasz saw the wisdom of this, despite the perils inherent in the plan. “Where must you go?”

Malfurion described what he had seen in the Emerald Dream. Krasus had vaguely recognized the region and so it came as no surprise that his younger self did, also.

“I know it! A foul place! There is an evil there older than dragons, although what it might be I cannot say!”

“That is of no consequence at the moment. Only the Demon Soul is.” The tall, pale figure eyed the hills. “And if we hope to even have an opportunity to steal it, we had best begin our journey. It will take the night sabers some time to traverse those hills.”

“The night sabers?” Korialstrasz looked bewildered. “Why should you need them now that you have me?”

“You face the greatest risk of all,” Krasus pointed out to the dragon. “You cannot change shape; therefore you remain a very visible target. More to the point, you are very susceptible to the Demon Soul. With one whim, the black could make you his slave.”

“Nevertheless, I will do what I can. You need to reach his lair in a timely manner. The cats are not swift enough and you dare not attempt it by spell.”

Arguing with oneself was pointless, Krasus saw. Korialstrasz would indeed enable them to reach their goal much sooner. However, once there, Krasus would insist that his younger version leave and leave quickly.

“Very well. Brox, prepare to turn the night sabers out. I will prepare a short missive for mine to carry. They will return to the host on their own and, hopefully, Rhonin will receive my word of our progress. Take what we can carry. No more.”

It did not take them long to shift their belongings to the massive red. After the mage had secured the message to his cat, they sent the animals away. Krasus and his companions then mounted near the dragon’s shoulders. Once they were all aboard, Korialstrasz shifted back and forth to make certain that his passengers were secure, then spread his wings.

“I will make haste… but with care,” he promised them.

As they rose into the sky, Krasus grimly eyed the landscape ahead. Korialstrasz was a boon to them, but the success of their quest was in no manner assured now. Neltharion — Deathwing — would be on the watch for enemies, imagined or otherwise. The party would have to watch their every step once they reached his domain. Still, at least there was one thing in their favor.

So close to the dread one’s lair, they certainly would not have to worry about any more demons.