The Demon Soul (23 page)

“My lady…”

“You will speak no more about this situation, night elf, or I will cast you out of my domain forever.”

Shutting his mouth tight, Malfurion acquiesced. Whatever her relationship with the forest lord, it had been very, very deep and long in term.

“I will guide your spirit to where we now meet, and you will wait until I indicate that your time to converse with my sister has come. Then and only then will I transmit your words to her—your words and his.”

The acidic tone by which she said the last word spoke of her fury toward Krasus. Praying that his companion’s rash suggestion would not get them both killed, the druid voice-lessly agreed.

She stretched forth her hand. “Take it.”

With the utmost respect, Malfurion obeyed. He had never touched another spirit in the Emerald Dream, and had no idea what to expect. To his surprise, though, Ysera’s hand felt like a mortal one. It had no ethereal quality. He might have been holding his mother’s hand.

“Remember my warning,” the Aspect said.

Before he could respond, they entered the mortal plane. The transition was so immediate, yet so smooth, that the night elf had to adjust to his change in surroundings. Then he had to adjust to Ysera’s sudden disappearance.

No, she had not disappeared. She stood but a few yards from where he floated, the mistress of the Emerald Dream now revealed in her full glory. A massive dragon with glittering green scales, she dwarfed Korialstrasz, the only other dragon that the druid had ever met.

And she was not the only one. As his surroundings registered on him, the night elf discovered the two of them were far from alone. Three other gargantuan dragons stood near the center of the huge chamber. The red one surely had to be Alexstrasza, the one Krasus sought. She had a beauty and dignity akin to Ysera, but more animation, more life. Next to her was a male nearly as large whose scales constantly shifted—from silver to blue to a combination of both—seemingly at whim. He had, for one of his kind, an almost bemused expression.

In utter contrast to blue, the huge black beast that Malfurion eyed next sent shivers through even his spirit form. Here was raw power, the strength of the earth…but something more. Malfurion had to look away from the ebony giant, for each time he attempted to study him, a sense of un-ease touched the night elf. It was not simply because two of the same color had pursued the druid and his companion. No, it was something more…something dread.

But if he thought to find more peace looking elsewhere, Malfurion had chosen the wrong direction, for now he stared at what so intrigued the giants.

It was tiny, tiny enough to fit into his own palm. In the paw of the huge black, it was almost a speck.

“You see?” rumbled its wielder. “All is in readiness. It is but the moment that we wait for.”

“And when will that moment come?” asked Alexstrasza. “Each passing day, the demons ravage the lands. If not for the fact that their commanders have drawn more of their forces to take on the night elves, the other directions would be all but lost by now.”

“I understand your concern…but the Dragon Soul will be best applied when the heavens are in alignment. It must be that way.”

The red Aspect gazed at the golden disk. “Let us pray then that when it is utilized, it is all you say, Neltharion. Let us pray it is the deliverance of our world.”

The black only nodded. Malfurion, still awaiting Ysera’s signal to talk with Alexstrasza, peered closely at the simple-looking creation, his hopes rising. The dragons were acting. They had come up with a solution, a talisman of some sort that would rid Kalimdor of the Burning Legion.

His curiosity got the better of him. He weakened his end of the link with Ysera so that with all else going on she might not notice what he attempted. With his mind, he probed the shining disk—so insignificant in appearance, and yet, apparently filled with such power that even dragons paid it homage. Truly, the demons would stand no chance against something like this…

Not at all to his surprise, a protective spell surrounded the Dragon Soul. The druid studied it and in its elements, he detected a peculiarity. Each of the great dragons had their own distinct auras—as all creatures did—and Malfurion sensed some of those auras now. He felt Ysera’s—most known to him—plus those of Alexstrasza and the blue. The black dragon’s was also present, but not in the same manner. His seemed entwined around the rest, as if it held them at bay. It almost seemed to the druid that the spell had been designed to keep the others from sensing something within.

More curious than ever, Malfurion used Cenarius’s teachings to infiltrate the spell. He slipped through with far more ease than he had expected, perhaps because the disk’s creator had never thought one such as he would even make an attempt. The druid pushed deeper, finally touching on the forces within.

What he discovered within made him reel. He pulled out, stunned. Even in his present form, he shivered, unable to come to grips with what he had sensed. Malfurion looked again at the black dragon, astounded by what the leviathan had wrought.

The Dragon Soul…that which was to save Kalimdor…held within it an evil as great as the Burning Legion itself.

T
he demons had a tendency to slaughter anything and anyone in their path. That made it difficult to gather prisoners for questioning, something Captain Varo’then felt a necessity. He had finally convinced Archimonde to send him a few, but the ones that arrived proved more a tangle of broken body parts than living creatures.

The scarred night elf spent a few minutes on the last of the lot, then did the ruined figure a favor by slicing open his throat. The interrogations had been a debacle, but not through any fault on his part. The Legion’s commanders did not seem to understand the basic need for questioning.

Varo’then would have preferred to be out in the field, but he did not want to leave the palace, especially not of late. The thing that had been Lord Xavius had not been seen for days, but in that time several of the Highborne had utterly vanished. Mannoroth took it in stride, and so the captain suspected that he knew the reason. The officer disliked being left out of the information loop in any way.

“Dispose of that rubbish,” he ordered the two guards. As they moved to obey, Captain Varo’then cleaned his dagger and replaced it. He gazed around the interrogation chamber, a blocky six-by-six room with only a single blue glow-crystal to illuminate it. Shadows filled the corner. An iron door three inches thick was the only exit.

Centuries of blood stained the floor. The queen never visited the lowest depths of her residence, and Varo’then did not encourage her. Such work was not for one of her acute sensibilities.

The soldiers dragged the unfortunate’s corpse out, leaving the captain to his thoughts. There had been no news from the Houndmaster. Mannoroth had not revealed any concern, but the night elf wondered if something had befallen the powerful demon. If so, then it behooved someone to take the lead in hunting down the spellcasters. The demons had failed so far, and Varo’then itched for a chance to redeem himself in that regard after having lost two of them to an enchanted and hostile forest.

But that would mean leaving the palace…

He reached down with both hands to adjust the sword at his side—and suddenly brought the blade out, thrusting it into the shadows to his left.

The keen edge came within an inch of a figure unseen in those shadows until now. Rather than be startled, however, the other simply leered at the captain.

“A sharp sword, a sharp wit, Captain Varo’then…”

At first the soldier thought that he was dealing with Xavius again, but a closer study showed differences in the face. Varo’then ran through his analytical mind the faces of all the Highborne and matched this hooved creature’s visage with one.

“Master Paroth’arn…we’d wondered where you’d gone.”

The former sorcerer edged out of the shadows as Varo’then sheathed his weapon. “I have been…relearning.”

With barely-concealed distaste, the night elf eyed the transformation. To him, the satyrs were an abomination. “And have others been ‘relearning’ also?”

“A select few.”

At last the captain had an explanation as to where the missing Highborne had gone. They were still here, merely changed into these grotesque parodies. Xavius’s new form had been one of the few decisions by Sargeras that Varo’then questioned. More powerful he supposedly might be, but the former advisor’s mind had clearly been altered, too. There was something animalistic about him that went beyond his outer appearance, something animalistic and devious.

And from what little he had seen of Peroth’arn so far, the rest of the missing Highborne were likely as unstable as their leader.

“Where is Xavius?” he asked of the satyr.

“Wherever he must be, good captain,” replied the horned figure. “Performing that which will make sooner come true our glorious god’s desire…”

“He’s no longer in the palace?”

Peroth’arn chuckled. “A sharp sword, a sharp wit…”

Captain Varo’then felt tempted to draw that sword again and impale the mocking creature, perhaps even mount Peroth’arn’s head over a fireplace afterward. The satyr grinned back, as if daring the soldier to react.

Restraining himself, the scarred night elf asked, “And what, then, are you doing down here? You’ve some interest in the interrogations?”

“Amusement, you might say.”

“I’ve no time to waste on your antics and silly wordplay.” Varo’then pushed past Peroth’arn, reaching for the door handle. “Nor, for that matter, those of the one who leads you.”

“You served him once. You’ll serve him again.”

“I serve the great Sargeras and my queen and no other!” retorted the officer. “And if he thinks—”

As he spoke, the captain glanced back to where the satyr had stood. However, when he sought Peroth’arn, he found only shadow.

With a snarl, the night elf barged out of the chamber. The queen would have to be told more about these accursed satyrs. He did not trust them. He certainly did not trust Lord Xavius anymore.

If only he knew where the former advisor had gone…

Malfurion could not believe the utter evil he sensed within the Dragon Soul. How could a thing created to be the savior of the world radiate such malevolence? What had the dragon Neltharion wrought?

Bracing himself, the druid cautiously probed the disk again. So simple, so innocent in appearance. Only by seeking within could anyone understand the awful truth.

It amazed him that Ysera could not sense it. Surely the mistress of the Emerald Dream would have understood. Yet, like the others, the disk was shielded from her in such a subtle fashion that even if she held it, he doubted the Aspect would have noted a thing.

Perhaps…perhaps if Malfurion dismantled the protective spell, then the others would realize the truth before it was too late.

Putting aside his disgust, he pushed deeper into the disk. Through his highly-trained senses, he located the spell’s nexus. The druid began trying to unravel it—

A jolt like a thousand bolts of lightning instantly ravaged his ethereal form, almost tearing it to insubstantial shreds. Malfurion silently screamed. He looked for aid from Ysera, but to his horror she did not seem to note his agony.

But another did.

He did not look directly at the night elf, but his thoughts practically barreled over the stricken druid. In an instant, the madness of the Dragon Soul’s creator became all too clear.

So! Neltharion roared even though on the mortal plane he continued speaking so politely and amiably with the others. You try to steal my glorious Dragon Soul!

A monstrous, invisible force compressed Malfurion from all sides. At first he stared in fear as his body contorted. Then he realized that the image he had of himself in his present state was just that—an image. Neltharion could have stretched him into a thin string and it would not have much affected the druid’s health. That was not what the Earth Warder intended; he sought to crush Malfurion into a magical prison, preventing the intruder from giving any warning or touching the disk again.

Stirred on by dread memories of his confinement at the hands of Lord Xavius, Malfurion managed to break free of the spell before it sealed. He immediately turned his focus to Ysera, hoping she would yet sense his danger.

No! They will not interfere! Neltharion’s mental presence was staggering. You will not betray all I have done! None of you will!

With Ysera still ignorant of his danger, the druid did the only thing he could think of—he abandoned the chamber and the mortal plane, retreating into the solitude of the Emerald Dream.