the birds … everything.
In the city, he felt only the stunted, almost insane emanations from what his own people had wrought. The trees that were now houses, the earth and rock that had been shifted and carved to make the area habitable for night elves … they were no longer as they had been in nature. Their thoughts were confused, turned inward. They did not even understand themselves, so transformed had they been by the builders. Whenever Malfurion walked the city, he sensed its wrongness, yet he also knew that his people—and, in fact, the dwarves and other races, too—had the right to create their civilizations. They committed no crime by building homes or making the land usable for them. After all, animals did the same thing …
And yet the discomfort he felt worsened each time.
“Shall we return to our mounts?” Malfurion asked, pointedly forgoing any reply to his brother’s question.
Illidan smirked, then nodded. The twins walked side-by-side in silence up the wooded rise. Often of late they had little to say to each other, save when matters concerned the struggle. Two who had previously acted as one now had less in common with each other than they sometimes did with strangers.
“The dragon intends to leave us, likely by the time the sun sets,” Illidan abruptly remarked.
Malfurion had not heard that. He paused to gape at his brother. “When did he say that?”
Among the night elves’ few powerful allies was the huge red dragon, Korialstrasz. The young but mighty leviathan, said to be a mate of the Dragon Queen, Alexstrasza, had come to them along with one of a pair of mysterious travelers, the silver-haired mage known as Krasus. Korialstrasz and Krasus were somehow linked deeply to each other, but Malfurion had not yet discovered in what way. He only knew that wherever the gaunt, pale figure in gray went, the winged behemoth could be found. Together, they proved an unstoppable force that sent demons running in panic and paved the way for the defenders’ advances.
Separated, however, they both seemed at death’s door …
Malfurion had decided not to pry into either’s affairs, in part due to their choice to aid the night elves, but also because he respected and liked both. Now, though, Korialstrasz intended to leave, and such a loss would be disaster for the night elves.
“Is Master Krasus going with him?”
“No, he’s staying with Master Rhonin.” Illidan spoke the last name with as much respect as his brother did Krasus. Flame-haired Rhonin had come with the elder mage from the same unnamed land, a place they sometimes briefly spoke of when relating facts about their own experiences against the Burning Legion. Like Krasus, Rhonin was a wizard of high learning, although much younger in appearance. The bearded spellcaster wore dour blue travel clothes almost as conservative as Malfurion’s, but that alone was not what offset him from those around. Krasus could pass for a night elf—albeit a very sickly, pasty one—but Rhonin, equally pale, was of a race no one recognized. He called himself a human, but some of the Moon Guard had divulged that their studies indicated he was some variation of a dwarf who had simply grown much taller than his fellows.
Whatever his background, Rhonin had become as invaluable as Krasus and the dragon. He wielded the Well’s magic with an intensity and skill even the Moon Guard could not match. More important, he had taken Illidan under his wing, teaching him much. Illidan believed it was because Rhonin saw his potential, but Malfurion understood that the cloaked stranger had also done it to rein in his twin’s impetuousness. Left to his own devices, Illidan had a tendency to risk not only his own life, but those of his comrades.
“This isn’t good, Illidan.”
“Obviously not,” retorted his amber-eyed twin, “but we’ll make due.” He raised his hand for Malfurion to see; a red aura surrounded it. “We’re not without strength of our own.” Illidan caused the aura to cease. “Even if you seem a little reluctant to make full use of what Cenarius taught you.” By full use, Malfurion’s sibling meant unleashing spells that wreaked havoc not only on the enemy, but the landscape and anything else caught in the path. Illidan still did not understand that druidism required working with the peaceful balance of nature, not against it.
“I do what I can in the way I must. If you—”
But Malfurion got no further, for, at that moment, a figure out of nightmare dropped down before them.
The Fel Guard opened his grisly maw and roared at the pair. His flaming armor did not make Malfurion in the least hot, but rather chilled the night elf to the very core of his soul. Sword raised, the horned demon swung at the nearest foe—Illidan.
“No!” Malfurion shoved his brother aside, at the same time calling upon the forest and heavens to come to his aid.
A sudden, intense wind slammed into the demon, flinging him like a leaf several yards back. He fell against a tree—cracking the trunk—then slid to the ground.
As if the tentacles of some huge squid, the roots of every tree within reach squirmed over the stunned attacker. The demon tried to rise, but his arms, legs, torso, and head were suddenly pinned to the earth. He struggled, but only succeeded in losing what remained of his grip on his weapon.
Their victim secure, the roots then immediately sank back into the ground—and, in the process, through the demon.
A hissing gasp was all that escaped the monstrous assassin before the roots severed his head from his body. Green ichor poured out of the horrific wounds. Like a puzzle someone had just spilled, the parts of the demon tumbled back toward his would-be targets.
Yet, even as Malfurion dealt with the first, two more Fel Guard dropped from the trees. Cursing, Illidan rose to his knees and pointed at the nearest.
A demon in the midst of lunging at him abruptly turned his mace on his comrade, caving in the unsuspecting victim’s skull with one terrible blow.
Malfurion suddenly detected something amiss. The hair on his neck rising, he started to look over his shoulder.
A humongous, four-legged beast leapt upon him. Two wriggling tentacles with toothy suckers at the end drove into his chest. Row upon row of yellowed, fanged teeth filled his gaze. A stench like rotting flesh assailed him.
Somewhere beyond his own ghastly predicament, he heard Illidan cry out, the shout cut off by a sound vaguely reminiscent of a hound’s howl.
They had been deceived, put purposely off-guard by the frontal attack so that an even worse foe could come at them from behind. The felbeasts had been set to spring the moment the opportunity arose.
Malfurion screamed as the vampiric suckers literally tore the magic from his body much as the teeth would soon tear his flesh. To any spellcaster, felbeasts were an especially insidious foe, for they hunted those with the gift for magic and drank from them until nothing but husks remained. Worse, given enough energy to devour, the demonic hounds could multiply themselves several times over, creating an epidemic of evil.
He tried to tear the tentacles free, but they had clamped tight. The night elf felt his strength waning …
… And then what sounded like the patter of rain filled his ears.
The felbeast shook. The tentacles released their hold and flailed about until, with a ponderous groan, the demon fell to the side, almost collapsing on Malfurion’s arm.
Blinking away his tears, the night elf discovered
