WarCraft: War of The Ancients Book Two. Richard A. Knaak
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other than his host, that is. Desdel Stareye knew the importance of attaching himself to the House of Ravencrest.
“We must move swiftly, surely, yes,” Stareye added uselessly. “Strike at the heart, yes. The demons will cower at our blades, grovel for our mercy, which we shall not give.” Reaching into a pouch on his belt, he took a white powder and sniffed it.
“May the heavens help us if that popinjay ever becomes leader,” murmured Rhonin. “His armor gleams as if newlyforged. Has he ever fought a war?”
Malfurion grimaced. “Few of our kind have. Most prefer that ‘distasteful’ duty to Lord Ravencrest, the Moon Guard, or the local forces. Unfortunately, bloodline dictates who is granted a high rank in troubled times.”
“Not unlike humans,” Krasus said before Rhonin could respond.
“Strike at the heart and quickly,” Lord Ravencrest agreed. “And we must do so before the Highborne succeed in reopening the way for more of the monsters—”
To the surprise of Malfurion and the others, Krasus stepped forward and dared interrupt. “I fear it is already too late for that, my lord.”
Several of the night elves took affront at this interruption by one not of their own kind. Ignoring them, Krasus strode toward the dais. Malfurion noted that the mage still showed subtle signs of strain. Whatever he had done to enable him to walk free of the dragon had not completely rid him of his mysterious malady.
“What’s that? What do you mean, wizard?”
Krasus stood before Ravencrest. “I mean that the portal is already open.”
His words reverberated through the assembly. Several night elves lost a shade or two of their purple color. Malfurion could not blame them. This was hardly welcome news. He wondered how they would react when they discovered that they had also lost the one dragon who had been aiding them.
Desdel Stareye looked down at the outsider. “And you know this how?”
“I felt the emanations. I know what they mean. The portal is open.”
The haughty noble sniffed, his way of indicating his distrust of such questionable evidence. Lord Ravencrest, on the other hand, accepted Krasus’s dire pronouncement with grave faith. “How long?”
“But a few minutes before I entered here. I verified it twice before I dared come.”
The master of Black Rook Hold sat back in his chair, brooding. “Ill tidings, indeed! Still, you said it was but a short time ago …”
“There is some hope yet,” the mage said, nodding. “It is weak. I can sense that. They will not be able to bring through too many at once. More important, their master will be unable to physically enter yet. Should he attempt to do so, he will destroy the portal …”
“What does it matter if he stays where he is and simply directs them?” asked Stareye with another sniff.
“The Burning Legion is but a shadow of his terrible darkness. Trust in me when I say that we have hope even if every demon who serves him comes through, but no hope if we destroy all only to have him step into the world.”
His words left silence in their wake. Malfurion glanced at Rhonin and Brox; their expressions verified Krasus’s warning.
“This changes nothing,” Ravencrest abruptly declared. He faced the audience again, expression resolute. “Zin-Azshari remains the focus, now more than ever! Both the portal and our beloved Azshara await us there, so there is where we march!”
The night elves rallied almost immediately, so trusted was the elder commander when it came to war. Few night elves had the reputation that Lord Ravencrest held. He could draw people to his banner almost as well as the queen could to hers.
“The warriors are already set to march! They have but been awaiting our decision! I give you all leave to depart after this gathering and prepare each of your commands! By the fall of day tomorrow, we push on toward the capital!” Ravencrest raised his mailed fist high. “For Azshara! For Azshara!”
“For Azshara!” shouted the other night elves, Illidan included. Malfurion knew that his brother added his voice because of his position as Black Rook Hold’s sorcerer. Whatever Illidan believed concerning Queen Azshara, he would not jeopardize his recently-gained status.
The night elven officers nearly stormed out of the chamber in their eagerness to return to their soldiers. As they poured into the hall, Malfurion thought to himself how mercurial his people could be. A moment before, they had been lamenting the news of the portal’s resurrection. Now they acted as if they had never even heard the terrible report.
But if they had forgotten it, Rhonin and Brox had not. They shook their heads and the red-haired wizard muttered, “This bodes ill. Your people don’t realize what they’re marching into.”
“What other choice do they have?”
“You must reconsider sending messengers as I suggested,” Krasus suddenly insisted.
The wizard still stood before Lord Ravencrest, who now was accompanied only by a pair of dour guards and Desdel Stareye. Krasus had one foot on the dais and his expression was as animated as Malfurion had ever seen it.
“Send out messengers?” scoffed Stareye. “You jest!”
“I accept your anxiety,” their host replied, “but we’ve hardly sunk so low. Fear not, Master Krasus, we will take Zin-Azshari and cut off the portal! I promise you that!” He adjusted his helmet. “Now, I think we both have plans to make before the march, eh?”
With Lord Stareye and the guards in tow, the noble marched out of the room as if already the victor. Illidan joined his patron just before the party vanished. Krasus watched Ravencrest depart, his countenance anything but pleasant to behold.
“What was that you tried to convince him of?” asked Rhonin. “Messengers to whom?”
“I have been trying—in vain, it appears—to persuade him to ask for assistance from the dwarves and other races—”
“Ask the other races?” blurted Malfurion. Had Krasus asked him beforehand the odds of success, the young night elf would have immediately tried to dissuade him from even suggesting such to the master of Black Rook Hold. Even with Kalimdor under siege and hundreds or more already dead, no lord would ever demean himself by even thinking of contacting outsiders. To most night elves, dwarves and such were barely one step above vermin.
“Yes … and I see from your expression that attempting to speak later with him about it will be just as futile.”
“You know how hard it was to convince the dwarves, orcs, elves, and humans to work together in our—where we came from,” Rhonin remarked. “Not to mention the complexity of getting each of the factions and kingdoms within those groups to trust one another.”
Krasus nodded wearily. “Even my own kind have their prejudices …”
It was as close as he had ever come to identifying what he truly was, but Malfurion did not press. His curiosity concerning his ally’s identity was a slight thing compared to the potential holocaust they all faced.
“You didn’t tell them about the dragon leaving,” he said to Krasus.
“Lord Ravencrest knows of it. I sent word of it to him as soon as Korialstrasz declared his decision.”
Rhonin frowned. “You shouldn’t have let Korialstrasz go.”
“He shares a concern with me about the dragons. As should you.” Some wordless communication passed between the two wizards, and Rhonin finally nodded.
“What do we do?” asked Brox. “We fight with the night elves?”
“We have no choice,” Rhonin answered before Krasus could. “We’re trapped here. Things’ve become too tangled not to take an active part.”