The Demon Soul (15 page)

“No…Ara-Hinam.”

Tyrande tried to hide her concern. Shandris was one of the refugees that the demons had been pursuing when they had set their trap. Based on what the priestess had gathered from other survivors, many people had perished before the Burning Legion had allowed the rest to escape. The child’s family might still live…but then again might not.

“When did you last see them?”

Shandris’s eyes grew huge. “I was with a friend…when the monsters came. I tried to run home, but someone grabbed me…told me I had to run the other way. I did.” She put her hands to her face, the tears spilling over them. “I should have gone home! I should have gone home!”

The tragic tale was not what Tyrande had wanted to hear. The priestess would make inquiries wherever she could, but she was near-certain that no one in Shandris’s immediate family had survived and that the girl was now all by herself in the world.

“Has anyone taken care of you since your flight?”

“No.”

The refugees from Ara-Hinam, a smaller settlement, had been on the run for two days prior to meeting up with the host. It was remarkable to think that Shandris had survived on her own even for that period. Many older night elves had fallen to the side; the priestess’s people were not, in general, up to such strife. Night elves, while hardly weak, were very ill-prepared for life outside their cushioned world—a failing only now becoming evident. Tyrande gave thanks to Elune that she, Malfurion, and Illidan had been raised differently, but they were in the minority.

There were so many in the same situation Shandris suffered, but something about the child especially touched the priestess. Perhaps it was that she somewhat resembled Tyrande in face and form at that age. Whatever the case, the sister bade the child to rise.

“I want you to climb atop the night saber. You’re going to come with me.” It went against her orders, but the priestess did not care. Though she could not save everyone, she would do what she could for Shandris.

Her face drawn but her eyes for the first time clear, Shandris mounted the cat. Tyrande made certain that she was secure, then led the night saber on.

“Where are we going?” the child asked.

“I’ve more work to do. You’ll find some dried fruit in the pouch hanging on the left side.”

Shandris eagerly twisted to the pouch, rummaging through it until she discovered the simple fare. Tyrande made no mention of the fact that the girl was also devouring her ration. The sisterhood trained its members to learn to survive at times with minimal sustenance. There were even four periods of ritual fasting each year, done in general as a sign of dedication to the goddess. Now, it paid off in time of war.

Moving on to the next refugees, Tyrande continued her ministrations. Most were simply exhausted beyond belief, but some had injuries. The latter she always tried to help as much as possible, praying to the Mother Moon for the strength and guidance necessary. To her joy, the goddess saw fit this day to grant success in all her efforts.

But then she came upon one infected injury that shocked her. Whether an intentional wound or an accident, it was at first difficult to say. Tyrande studied the unsettling greenish pus around it and wondered at the peculiar cuts. The victim, an older male, lay pale and unconscious, his breath coming in rapid gasps. His mate, her hair bound back with what remained of a ruby- and emerald-encrusted broach, cradled his head.

“How did he do this?” asked Tyrande, not certain if she could even slow the course of the infection. There was something disquieting about it.

“He did not. It was done to him.”

“I don’t understand.”

The elder female’s expression tightened as she fought to maintain her calm long enough to explain. “This thing…he said it looked like…like a wolf or hound…but twisted, as if out of a horrible dream…”

Tyrande shivered. She knew that the other female spoke of a felbeast. The four-legged demons had nearly slain Malfurion more than once. They especially desired those who wielded any sort of magic, draining it from the bodies and leaving only a dry husk.

“And he made it all the way from Ara-Hinam like this?” The priestess marveled that anyone could survive so long with so hideous a wound.

“No…from there we escaped whole.” Bitterness tinged her words. “This he got but two days ago, while sneaking off to find us food.”

Two days? That would have put them with the mass of bodies flowing toward Mount Hyjal. But none of the demons had managed to break ahead of the horde, of that Tyrande was certain.

“You swear that it was only two days? It happened near here?”

“Back in the wooded lands now again to our south, I swear it.”

The priestess bit her lip; woods that were behind the night elven lines.

Leaning over the wound, Tyrande said, “Let me see what can be done.”

She forced herself to touch it, hoping that she could at least prevent it from spreading. From behind her she heard Shandris gasp. The girl feared for her, and rightly so. One never knew what a demon-caused wound might do. The Burning Legion would not be averse to spreading plague.

The moon was not present in the sky, but that did not concern Tyrande. While the priestesses were strongest when it was visible, they were fully aware that it was never far away. Their link to Elune was powerful no matter what time of day or night or even cycle.

“Mother Moon, hear my entreaties,” she whispered. “Grant this humble one the cool, soothing powers of your touch. Guide my hands to the source of this abomination, and let me remove the taint so that this innocent might recover…”

Tyrande began humming under her breath, a way of focusing her will into her work. The injuries that she had healed for Broxigar paled in comparison to what she attempted now. It took all her control just to keep from feeling that she would fail.

Without warning, a pale, silvery light shone around her fingers. The victim’s mate stared wide-eyed, and again Shandris gasped. Tyrande’s hopes rose; once again, Elune was responding to her. Truly the goddess was with her this day!

The healer traced her fingers around the wound, taking special care where the foulness was worst. Tyrande could not help but grimace as she touched the pus-ridden areas. What sort of evil were the demons that their very bite or scratch left such horror in its wake?

As her fingertips went past the ravaged areas, the injury grew less horrific in appearance. The pustules shriveled, finally disappearing. The bloody crevice narrowed at each end, as if slowly sealing itself.

Encouraged, Tyrande continued praying to Elune. The infection shrank to a small, oval patch, while the wound itself became a scar, first fresh, then nearly gone.

The male suddenly groaned, as if awaking from a deep sleep, but Tyrande did not stop. She could not presume that the disappearance of outer signs meant that the wound had completely healed inside. There would be poisons from the infection in the victim’s blood.

Several tense seconds later, when the male’s chest finally rose and sank at a more sedate rate and his eyes fluttered open, the priestess knew that she had defeated the demon’s work. With a long exhalation, Tyrande leaned back and gave thanks to Elune. The goddess had granted her a miracle.

The female reached forward and took one of Tyrande’s hands. “Thank you, sister! Thank you!”

“I am merely the vessel for the work of the Mother Moon. If there is one to thank, it is Elune.”

Nevertheless, both the stricken male—Karius—and his mate continued to express their gratitude for what they saw as the priestess’s heroic effort. Tyrande nearly had to fend them off, so thankful were they.

“You can repay me by telling me in more detail what occurred,” she finally told the former victim.

Nodding, Karius related the story as much as he could recall. In the midst of their troubles, the two had realized that they needed food. However, the chaos at the time prevented them from finding anyone among the refugees who had enough to share. Most had fled with only as much as they could carry in their arms.

Spotting an area of forest he thought might contain berries and fresh water, Karius had left his mate with the promise that he would return shortly. Desperation made him attempt the foolhardy hunt at all, for surely others had stripped the forest of anything edible long before.

Karius had been forced to go deeper into the woods than he had intended. He began to worry that he might never find his mate again, although she had told him that she would stay behind if he was gone too long. When at last he discovered a bush with ripe, purple berries, Karius had quickly tried to fill the pouch on his belt, allowing himself an occasional berry to eat immediately so as to preserve his strength.

But just as he had filled the pouch, he heard something huge rummaging through the forest. His first thought was that it might be a tauren or bear. He had started back, his gaze constantly over his shoulder so that whatever emerged would not catch him by surprise.

And so it was that he was looking in the wrong direction when the beast charged him from the front.

Having once served Black Rook Hold, Karius still had some swiftness left to him despite the debilitating journey. He twisted around just as the monster—some sort of demonic hound with two horrific tentacles sprouting from its upper back—had tried to fall upon him. The beast did not seize his throat as it had intended, but instead clamped down on the leg.

Somehow, Karius had managed not to scream, although every fiber of his being had demanded it. Instead, the night elf grabbed for something, anything, with which to defend himself. His groping hand found a thick, pointed rock, and he swung it with all his might against the creature’s nose.

He had heard something crack. A harsh whine filled his ears and the beast released his leg. Even then, Karius doubted that he would have escaped the demon, but from somewhere in the distance, a sharp sound had suddenly echoed.

The hideous hound’s reaction to it had been both instantaneous and astonishing. It cringed first, then immediately leapt toward the source of the noise. Self-preservation urged Karius to immediately drag himself in the opposite direction. He had not even paused to bind the wound, which at that time had only been bloody. The mauled night elf had struggled all the way back to his waiting mate, each harsh step of the journey expecting the creature to return to finish him.

Tyrande digested his tale with a great sense of foreboding. Karius had indeed been very fortunate to survive an encounter with a felbeast. What that abomination had been doing behind the lines, however, worried her. Of course, one such beast, while dangerous, could be readily dealt with by Malfurion or the wizards. But what if there were more?

That in mind, she asked, “You mentioned a sound that drew it away. What sort of sound?”

Karius thought for a moment before responding, “It was a sharp, cracking sound.”

“Like thunder?”

“Nay…it reminded me of…of the crack of a whip, I’d say.”

The priestess rose to her feet. “I thank you for your patience. If you’ll forgive me, I must be on my way.”

“Nay!” protested the female. “ ’Tis we who thank you again, sister! I thought to lose him!”

Tyrande did not have time to argue any more. She gave both the blessing of the temple, then quickly went to where Shandris watched her with eyes as wide as plates.

“You healed him completely! I-I thought he would be dead before you could start!”

“As did I,” Tyrande returned, mounting behind the child. “The Mother Moon was generous to me.”

“I’ve never seen a priestess heal a wound so horrible…and that monster that made it—”

“Hush, Shandris. I must think.” The priestess took command of the night saber, turning the cat toward where last she recalled seeing the spellcasters. In her role as cleric, Tyrande often obtained information that even Lord Ravencrest’s strategists never picked up. Now, once again, she had heard something that Malfurion and Krasus needed to know.

The Legion’s assassins were closing in on them.

The black dragons returned under cover of night to their vast lair. Neltharion had been eager to come home, for there was much to be done. His plan was so near to fruition that he could taste it.

A smaller male atop a peak resembling an upraised talon dipped his head in homage. The Earth Warder paid him no mind, his thoughts too caught up in the moment. He landed in the mouth of the flight’s main cavern and immediately turned to his consorts, who dropped behind him. Deeper within the cavern, the roars of other dragons could be heard.

“I go below. I must not be disturbed.”