The Demon Soul (31 page)

But before he could ask of them anything, he also needed to see if he could truly link with the dragon, Korialstrasz. Eyes shut, the druid let himself flow into the scale, seek of it the bond to its original wearer.

At first there was some confusion, Krasus and Korialstrasz so bound together that he almost mistook the former for the latter. Finally realizing his mistake, Malfurion steered his thoughts toward the red dragon, hoping that a tenuous link remained between the scale and Korialstrasz.

To his surprise, that part proved quite easy. Immediately his senses threw him across miles, across lands, to a harsher, mountainous region. Both the landscape and the journey reminded him of his attempt to reach the dragons hidden behind the barrier, only this time he did not travel quite so far, nor had he, thankfully, had to make use of the Emerald Dream.

Then, a horrible sense of loss hit Malfurion. He nearly blacked out. Fearful, however, of accidentally joining Krasus’s and Korialstrasz’s death experience, the night elf steeled himself. His senses stabilized, and he discovered that he now felt the dragon’s dying emotions.

There had been a battle, a terrible battle. Malfurion thought at first that the Burning Legion had attacked, but then he sensed from the red’s splintered thoughts that the foe had been other dragons—black ones.

Recalling the sinister pair who had pursued Krasus and him, Malfurion suspected that he knew which beasts had attacked. He gathered that they were dead, which made him marvel that Korialstrasz had even survived to this point. Truly a powerful, magnificent creature this dragon had been…

No! He was thinking of Korialstrasz as already dead. That condemned not only the dragon, but Krasus as well. Malfurion had to stop such speculation if he hoped to save them.

One of the first true lessons that Cenarius had taught him had been the health and healing of woodland creatures. In the past, Malfurion had saved the lives of foxes, rabbits, birds, and more. He could apply that work now, just amplifying the effect.

Or so the druid hoped.

Malfurion called to his surroundings. He needed their sacrifice; only life could give life. The earth, the flora, they had the capability of regenerating in a manner no animal could. The night elf still asked much from them, however, for now he sought to save a dragon. If his plea was rejected, he could lay no blame.

Trying to relay the importance of saving Korialstrasz—and by doing so, Krasus—Malfurion reached out to the grass, the trees, anything that would give to him. In the back of his mind, he noted the dragon’s life force ebbing. There was barely any time left.

Then, to his relief, Malfurion felt the land give of itself for his efforts. The life force flowed into him, exhilarating the night elf so much that he almost forgot for what purpose he had requested it. Recalling himself, he positioned his fingertips on the scale, then fed the energy through.

Krasus’s body shook once, then calmed. Through the link, Malfurion sensed the life force pouring into the dragon. The night elf ’s heart raced, sweat dripping down his face, as he struggled to maintain the bond.

So much flowed through, and yet, Malfurion felt no change in Korialstrasz. The dragon continued to hang on the edge of death. Gritting his teeth, the druid drew more and more, sending it to the stricken giant as quickly as he could.

At last, he noted a slight change. Korialstrasz’s soul pulled back from the abyss. The tenuous link to life solidified.

“Please…” the harried night elf gasped. “More…”

And more came. The land around him gave as he needed, understanding that the dire situation affected not just the two ill figures, but also so many others.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the tide turned in life’s favor. Korialstrasz grew stronger. The druid felt the leviathan’s consciousness return and knew that the dragon wondered at this miracle.

Krasus’s body again shook. The elder mage moaned. His eyes slowly opened.

At that point, Malfurion finally knew that he had done enough. Pulling his fingertips from the scale, the night elf leaned back and exhaled.

Only then did he see that the grass for yards around him was black.

All life had been drained from the tendrils. Peering around, Malfurion saw that the field for as far as he could see was dry and black. A pair of trees stood leafless in the distance.

Fear at what he had done made the druid shiver until he felt the stirring of life beneath the earth. The roots of the grass still lived and, with the earth’s help, they would soon grow new, mighty stalks. The trees had also survived and, if given the opportunity, would create for themselves healthy new leaves.

The night elf sighed in relief. For a few desperate seconds, he had imagined himself no better than the Burning Legion.

“What…what have you done?” managed Krasus.

“I had to save you. I did the only thing I could think of.”

The mage shook his head as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. “That is not what I meant. Malfurion…do you have even the slightest concept of what you have accomplished? Do you understand all that your effort entailed?”

“It was needed,” Malfurion explained. “I regret that I had to ask so much of the land, but it was willing to give it.”

For the first time, Krasus noted the blackened grass. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the evidence of the night elf ’s tremendous work. “Malfurion, this is not possible.”

“It was based off of my shan’do’s teachings. I merely modified it to suit the situation.”

“And managed a result that should have been beyond you—beyond almost any spellcaster.” With some doing, the dragon mage rose. He frowned as he discovered the true extent of the blackened grass. “Astounding.”

Still not understanding just what so disturbed Krasus about his spell, Malfurion asked, “Can you sense Korialstrasz? Is he well?”

Krasus concentrated. “The link is fading to what it was before your spell, but I can still sense him for the moment. He is…fit…but his mind is confused. He recalls the battle some and that he was supposed to find me, but there are gaps.” This, for some reason, caused Krasus to let loose with a very uncustomary chuckle. “Now we are more alike than ever, he and I. Truly, the fates mock me.”

“Do we wait for him?”

“We do, but not for the reason for which I suspect he wanted to find me. Knowing him as I do, he likely planned to bring me back to Alexstrasza, but there is no more time. I have this terrible feeling that we need to return to the host now. You may call it a hunch or perhaps much too much experience. Whichever, when Korialstrasz reaches us, we head back there.”

Malfurion immediately thought of Tyrande…and then, belatedly, his brother. “How long will it take him to do that?”

“He is a dragon…and now a very healthy one,” Krasus remarked with a brief but satisfied smile. “Not too long at all if I know him…”

Tyrande had become very unique among the Sisters of Elune. She was the only one of them who had two shadows, the second even named.

It was called Shandris Feathermoon.

Wherever the priestess went, the orphan followed. Shandris watched everything that her savior did with the eyes of one who wanted desperately to learn. When Tyrande prayed over an injured or wounded night elf, the young female repeated those words, trying at the same time to match the former’s gestures.

Tyrande felt conflicted about Shandris. With no parents, Shandris had no one to turn to. True, there were others in similar straits, but something about this one orphan still struck her. Her dedication to Tyrande’s work marked her as a possible novice, and the temple always welcomed new sisters. How would it look, then, to fling her back among the refugees and forget her? The priestess had to keep her nearby; she could not live with herself otherwise.

Unfortunately, not every situation was one where an untried, unblooded female was safe. The sisterhood continued to take their turn fighting on the front line, each group switching off as the high priestess commanded. Tyrande did not want Shandris wandering up near the demons, who would have no compunction about cutting up an innocent. Shandris, however, had already once almost frightened her to death by sneaking along behind the sisters when they had ridden out to warn Malfurion and Krasus. Only belatedly had the priestess discovered that, when the orphan let slip a comment about the event that could have only been spoken by one who had witnessed it.

“No more!” Tyrande commanded her. “Please stay behind when we go to battle! I can’t worry about you and fight!”

Looking crestfallen, Shandris nodded, but Tyrande doubted that this was the end of the discussion. She could only pray to Elune that the young one would see sense.

But as she contemplated her predicament, Tyrande noticed one of the sisters in charge of a neighboring group approach her. The other priestess, taller and senior by several years, wore an expression of deep thought as she joined Tyrande.

“Hail, Sister Marinda! What brings you to this humble one?”

“Hail, Sister Tyrande,” Marinda returned dourly. “I come from the high priestess.”

“Oh? Has she news for us?”

“She…she is dead, sister.”

Tyrande felt as if her entire world had just been shattered at its foundations. The venerable mother of the temple—dead? She had grown up watching and listening to the woman, as had nearly all other worshippers. It was because of her that Tyrande had taken up the robes of the novice.

“H-how?”

Tears streaked down Marinda’s cheeks. “It was kept secret from us. She insisted that only her attendants would know. During the push back toward Suramar, a demon lanced her in the stomach. She might have survived that, her skills for healing strong, but a felbeast caught her first. She was apparently almost dead when some of the others slew it. They brought her back to her tent, where she’s been since…until she died but an hour ago.”

“Horrible!” Tyrande fell to her knees and started praying to the Mother Moon. Marinda joined her and, without coaxing, Shandris imitated them.

When the two priestesses had finished their farewell to their superior, Marinda rose. “There is more, sister.”

“More! What could there be?”

“Before her death, she named a successor.”

Tyrande nodded. This was to be expected. The new high priestess had, of course, immediately sent out messengers like Marinda to spread the word of her ascension.

“Who is it?” There were several worthy candidates.

“She named you, Tyrande.”

Tyrande could not believe her own ears. “She—Mother Moon! You jest!”

Shandris squealed and clapped. Tyrande turned and gave her a severe look. The orphan quieted, but her eyes gleamed with pride.

Marinda did not appear to be at all jesting, and that put fear into Tyrande. How could she, barely into the role of priestess, take over the entire sisterhood—and in time of war yet?

“Forgive me for saying so, Sister Marinda, but she…she must have been stressed of mind because of her injuries! How could she with all sincerity choose me?”

“She was of clear mind, sister. And you should understand, she had made mention of you before this. The senior sisters all understood that you were the one…and no one among them argued the decision.”

“It’s…it’s impossible! How could I lead? How could I, with so little experience, take on the mantle? There are so many more who know the temple better!”

“But none so attuned to Elune herself. We’ve all seen it, all felt it. There are already tales of you spreading among the refugees and soldiers. Miracles. People healed by you when others have failed them utterly—”

This was something that Tyrande had not heard. “What do you mean?”