a part of you with me, so you, in turn, carry a part of me with you. I pray the synergistic magics involved will give us some of the benefit we receive when actually with each other.”
Korialstrasz spread his wings. “There is only one way to find out.”
Krasus agreed; to discover whether the spell had worked, they would have to separate. “I bid you farewell, then, good Korialstrasz.”
The huge beast dipped his head low. “And I, you.”
“Alexstrasza—”
“I will tell her of you and your wishes, Krasus.” The dragon eyed the tiny figure carefully. “I have suspicions about our links, but I respect the need you have to keep your secrets from me. One thing I discovered quickly, though, is that you love her as much as I. Exactly as I.”
Krasus said nothing.
“As soon as I can, I will tell you how she fares.” Moving to the edge of the battlements. the dragon looked to the sky. “Until we meet again, my blood …”
And with that, the crimson titan leapt into the air.
My blood … Krasus frowned at the choice of words. To dragons, such a term meant close ties. Not mere comrade or clan, but closer yet, such as brothers from the same clutch of eggs or offspring and parent …
Or … the same being in two bodies …
Krasus knew himself better than anyone. He had no doubt as to his younger self’s intelligence. Korialstrasz almost had the truth in his grasp and the mage had no idea what that might mean for both of them.
Weakness suddenly overtook him. Through quickly watering eyes, Krasus sought out Korialstrasz’s scale. The moment he seized it, some of the pain and weariness left him. But touching it was not enough; he had to keep it closer to him for the effect to be worthwhile.
Exposing his chest to the cool night wind, the dragon mage planted the large scale against his flesh. Again he muttered the ancient words, stirring up forces no night elf could understand, much less wield.
The same golden aura flared around the scale. Krasus shook, fighting to keep his balance.
As quickly as it had appeared, the aura faded. He stared down at his chest, now covered in the center by his younger self’s parting gift.
A slight hint of weariness still pervaded his being, though both it and the tinge of pain also present were nothing Krasus could not readily suffer. Now at last he could walk among the others and not feel their pity. Now he could stand beside them against the demons. The mage wondered why he had not thought of this plan much earlier—then recalled that he had, but only bothered to put it into action once Korialstrasz had declared his intention to seek out the other dragons.
It is hard to part with one’s self, apparently. How Rhonin would have laughed at his conceit. The irony made even Krasus chuckle. How Alexstrasza would have enjoyed the jest as well. She had more than once suggested that his continuous intrusion into the matters of the lesser races had a touch of vanity involved, but this act now more than topped that in every—
A sudden wave of vertigo struck him.
It was all he could do to keep himself from slipping over the battlements. The attack ended swiftly, but the repercussions kept Krasus leaning against the stone wall and breathing heavily for more than a minute.
When he could at last stand straight, the dragon mage immediately looked far beyond Black Rook Hold, far beyond Suramar.
To distant, dark Zin-Azshari.
Krasus continually had many secretive spells in play, several designed to keep track of what other sorcerers might be casting. He was, without conceit, perhaps more attuned to the shifts in the intensity of the world’s magical forces than anyone—but even he had not been prepared for a change of such magnitude.
“They have done it …” he breathed, staring at the unseen city. “The portal is again open to the Burning Legion.”
THREE
The pain of his death had been unbearable. He had been destroyed in more than a dozen horrific manners simultaneously, each one sending through him such torture that he had embraced oblivion as a long-yearned-for lover.
But the agony of his death could not even compare to that which followed.
He had no body, no substance, whatsoever. Even spirit was not the right word for what was left of him. He knew that he existed by the sufferance of another, and understood that the anguish he constantly felt was that other’s punishment for him. He had failed the other and failure was the ultimate sin.
His prison was a nothingness without end. He heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing other than the pain. How long had it been—days, weeks, months, years, centuries … or only a few horrible minutes? If the last, then his torture was truly monstrous, indeed.
Then, without warning—the pain ceased. Had he a mouth, he would have shouted his relief, his joy. Never had he felt so grateful.
But then he began to wonder if this respite only signaled some new, more horrendous terror.
I have decided to redeem you …
The voice of his god filled him with both hope and fear. He wanted to bow, to grovel, but lacked the form with which to do either … or anything else, for that matter.
I have decided that there is a place for you. I have looked into the darkness within you and found that which once pleased me. I make it the core of what you are to become and in doing so make you a far superior servant than you were …
His gratitude for this greatest of gifts was boundless, but again he could do nothing.
You must be reshaped, but so that others will mark in you the glory I give and the punishment I mete out, I return that by which they will know you best …
A crackle of energy shook him. Tiny specks of matter suddenly flew into the center of the energy storm, gathering and condensing, creating of him substance once again. Many had been bits of him when he had been destroyed and, like his soul, had been taken by his god at the moment of death.
Slowly, vaguely, a body formed around him. He could not move, could not breathe. Darkness covered him, and he realized that the darkness was actually his vision returning to him.
And as he truly began to see for the first time since dying, he noted that he had arms and legs different from those which he had formerly worn. The legs bent back at the knee and ended in cloven hooves. Like the legs, his arms and hands were covered in a thick fur, and his fingers were long and clawed.
He felt his face mold differently and sensed the bent horns sprouting from his forehead. Nothing about him reminded him at all of his previous incarnation and he wondered how he could still be known to others.
Then, with hesitation, he reached up and touched his eyes … and knew that they were the mark. He felt the innate forces within them growing more powerful, more precise with each passing second. He could now make out the very strands of magical energy recreating him, and saw how the invisible hand of his god restructured
