The Demon Soul (32 page)

And Sister Marinda explained. All the priestesses spent part of their rest period doing anything but resting, with so many in need, none of the sisters felt right not helping. But desiring to help and actually doing so were two different things. Yes, they succeeded in healing many, but countless others their skills could not touch.

Tyrande, on the other hand, had left behind her an unbroken string of successes. Anyone and everyone she attempted to heal had recovered. Without realizing it, Tyrande had even aided several whom other sisters had failed to heal. If that had not surprised the rest of the priestesses enough, she had then gone on without rest to aid others.

“You shouldn’t even be able to stand, yet you fight, too, Sister Tyrande.”

It had never occurred to the young priestess that she had done anything other than fulfill her duty. She would pray to Elune and Elune would answer. Tyrande would feel grateful, then move on in the hopes of healing someone else.

But according to the others, she had done much, much more.

“I—this can’t be right.”

“It is. You must accept it.” Marinda took a deep breath. “You know that, normally, there would be a ceremony, a long entailed one that as many worshippers as possible would be invited to see.”

Lost in thought, Tyrande vaguely replied, “Yes…”

“We’ll do our best to prepare something, obviously. With your permission, I’ll pull the other sisters from the battle and have them—”

“What?” In addition to all else, they planned to do that—and because of her? Drawing herself together, Tyrande declared, “No! I’ll not have that!”

“Sister—”

Using her newfound, if undesired authority, she gave Marinda a look that would brook no argument, then added, “It seems that I’ve no choice in accepting this, but I can’t do it if it means setting up a ceremony that distracts us from the danger! I’ll become high priestess—at least until this war is over—but I will keep my present garments—”

“But the robes of state—”

“I will keep my present garments and there will be no ceremony! We can’t afford to take such a risk with our people. Let them see us continuing to heal and fight in the name of the Mother Moon. Is that understood?”

“I—” Marinda went down on her knees, bending her head forward. “I obey, mistress.”

“Rise up! I want none of that, either! We are all sisters, equal in heart! All of us give homage to Elune! I want no one doing so for me.”

“As you wish.” But the elder sister did not rise and, in fact, seemed to expect something of Tyrande. After a moment’s confusion, she finally understood just what.

Forcing her hand not to shake, Tyrande reached out and touched the top of Marinda’s head. “In the name of the Mother Moon, great Elune who watches over all, I give the blessing.”

She heard the other priestess sigh in relief. Marinda rose, her expression now akin to those that had been worn by the other sisters—Tyrande included—when in the presence of their venerable mistress. “I’ll convey your will to the others. If I may be permitted?”

“Yes…thank you.”

As Marinda departed, Tyrande nearly collapsed. This could not be possible! In some ways, it was almost as terrible a nightmare as facing the Burning Legion. She the head of the order! Truly, Kalimdor faced destruction.

“How wonderful!” Shandris exclaimed, clapping again. She ran up to Tyrande, nearly hugged her, then tried instead to look very serious. As Marinda had done, the orphan knelt before the new high priestess and awaited a blessing.

Defeated, Tyrande gave her one. Shandris’s expression changed to awe. “I’ll follow you for the rest of my life, my lady!”

“Don’t call me that. I’m still Tyrande.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Unleashing an exasperated sigh, the new head of the temple considered what she had to do next. There were probably endless details and rituals that the high priestess had to perform. Tyrande recalled her predecessor leading this chant and that. The temple also held a blessing each evening for the rising of the moon and the good will of the gods. In addition, the leading nobles always had to have some sort of recognition ceremony for various anniversaries and other events…

She stared bleakly at her future, feeling trapped, not honored.

Her contemplations were jarred by a sudden moan from somewhere among the refugees. Tyrande recognized that sound, having heard it so often before. Someone was in terrible agony.

The ceremonies could wait. The rituals could wait. Tyrande had joined the order for one thing most of all—to help others through the gifts of Elune.

Following the sound of the moan, the new high priestess continued her work.

T
he queen had decided to go riding, and when Azshara set her mind on something, not all the demons in the world could convince her otherwise…which meant that Captain Varo’then had no chance whatsoever.

It had been quite some time since she had left the confines of the palace. Surrounded on foot by her hulking bodyguards and an additional unit of the captain’s crack troop, Azshara and her retinue of handmaidens rode serenely through the gates and out into Zin-Azshari.

The ruins of Zin-Azshari.

It was the first time since its destruction that the ruler of the night elves had seen it up close. Her lidded eyes studied the crushed domiciles, the littered streets, and the occasional corpse still left untouched due to a lack of enough carrion eaters. Azshara’s lips pursed, and on occasion she sniffed at something not to her liking.

Varo’then glowered at the outside world. He wanted nothing to disturb his queen. Had he been able to take a sword to the destruction as he would a foe, the officer would have done it.

A felbeast rose from behind a crumpled tower, its savage jaws filled with something. It chewed loudly as the queen’s column passed, then darted back into hiding.

They rode for some distance, Azshara not speaking once and so no one else daring to do so. Her Fel Guard kept close despite a lack of threat, the demons now as adamant in their loyalty to her as any of the soldiers. Had she demanded of them to attack their own kind, they likely would have obeyed without hesitation. Of course, Azshara would have never done that, for there was only one other than herself whom she did not wish to displease and that was the lord of the Burning Legion, Sargeras.

“Will it be soon, do you think, my dear captain?” she asked.

The officer was confused. “Light of Lights?”

“His coming, captain. His coming.”

Varo’then nodded immediately. “Oh, yes, my queen, very soon! Mannoroth claims that each night sees the portal stronger than the previous.”

“He must truly be a god among gods for it needing to be so powerful simply to allow him entrance.”

“As you say, my queen.”

“He must be…glorious,” Azshara uttered in a tone she generally reserved only for herself.

The scarred night elf nodded again, trying to hide his envy. No one could compete with a god.

The same green mist that now covered so much of Kalimdor continued to drape over the city. To Azshara, it added a wonderfully mysterious look to her capital, while at the same time keeping from her eyes many things which might have offended her sensibilities. When the world was rebuilt, she would ask Sargeras to remove the haze; until then, it suited her well.

As they came to what had once been an open square, Azshara looked around. She reined her night saber to a halt, patting its head afterward to keep it calm. Like all else in the palace, even the animals had been touched by the presence of Sargeras. The huge cats of the party had eyes that were crimson and fierce. They would have attacked any of their own kind who was not a part of the royal stables, lustily tearing and biting their foes to bloody shreds.

“The captain and I will continue on alone for a few minutes.”

Neither the night elves nor the demons looked pleased with this…save Varo’then, of course. He looked back at his men and growled, “By the order of the queen!”

Unable to argue with such a fact, the retinue held its place while the pair slowly rode on.

Azshara did not speak until they were far out of earshot from the rest. Smiling at Varo’then, she said, “Does it all go well?”

“All what?”

The queen glanced to the horizon. “The cleansing of my realm. I thought it would be done by now.”

“Archimonde will see to it that it comes to pass, my queen.”

“But I would like it done before Sargeras comes! Wouldn’t that make for a tremendous gift…for my intended?”

It was all Varo’then could do to hold back. Swallowing his jealousy, he managed to say, “A tremendous gift, yes. It’ll all come to pass.”

“Then what delays it?”

“There are many things. Logistics, chance—”

She leaned toward him, granting the veteran fighter with a striking view of her form. “My dear, dear Varo’then! Do I, in any manner of the imagination, look like a hardy, muscular soldier such as yourself?”

His cheeks darkened. “Nay! Nay, Vision of Perfection!”

“Then please…do not use such military terms. I would prefer you simply show me.” Azshara raised her hand palm up; in it appeared a small crystal sphere the size of a pea. However, as Varo’then watched, it grew to the dimensions of a large piece of fruit. Even despite the dimness, it glowed as he recalled the full moon once had.

“Will you do me the pleasure, dear captain?”

Taking the globe, the scarred soldier concentrated. While hardly at the level of a Highborne sorcerer, he had his skills with the arts. The view globe immediately reacted to him, turning his thoughts into visions.

“You ask me what delays matters, my queen? I would say that these are some of the reasons.”

From his memory, he first dredged up the image of a redhaired creature like nothing Azshara had ever seen. She peered closely, eyes glittering.

“Handsome in his…foreign ways. Definitely male.”

“A wizard. Powerful.” The face twisted like putty, altering in shading and shape. An older, wise figure appeared.

“Gracious! Is this a corpse you show me?”

“Nay. Despite his coloring—or lack of it—this creature lives. He was little danger to us when we encountered him, but I suspected then that he suffered some malady…and since that time, my spies have reported that he was seen in the company of a dragon—”

Now this impressed the queen. “A dragon?”

“Aye, and between him and the beast, they caused no end of trouble for Archimonde’s warriors. Both’ve vanished, though I suspect this one’ll be back.”

“Perhaps not so ghastly after all,” Azshara commented, eyeing the pale figure so akin to a night elf. “And it’s only these who keep my world from perfection?”

Captain Varo’then scowled. “There are some of our own, of course, my lady. Misbegotten or misguided. I’ve learned of two Your Glory might find of interest. You will forgive me if the images are indistinct, but they are from the minds of others passed on to me.”

Azshara gazed at the new figures. One had his hair tied back and wore black, the other let it hang loose and seemed to be in drab-colored garments. Both faces were so akin to each other that she at first thought them one and the same.

“Twins, my queen,” he clarified. “Brothers.”

“Twins…how delectable.” She ran her fingers over the shifting images. “But so young…surely not leaders.”

“Powerful of magic, it seems, but, nay, neither they nor the others lead the resistance. That falls, of course, to the esteemed Lord Ravencrest.”

“Dear Kur’talos…I always thought him my most cherished servant, and this is how he rewards me.”

Captain Varo’then dismissed the queen’s globe. Eyes overshadowed by his dark brow, he said to her, “Black Rook Hold has ever envied the palace, Light of Lights.”

She pouted briefly. “I’ve decided that Lord Ravencrest has displeased me, Varo’then,” Azshara finally declared. “Can you remedy that?”

He showed no sign of surprise. “The cost will be great…but it can be done, if that is your wish.”

“My fondest one, darling captain.”

Azshara stroked his cheek ever so slightly, then abruptly turned her mount around and headed back to the waiting guards. Her long, translucent gown fluttered behind her.

Pulling himself together, the officer contemplated the desires of his mistress. Kur’talos Ravencrest had displeased her, and there was no greater crime in all Kalimdor.