The Demon Soul (41 page)

“You killed me,” Xavius continued, once more leering menacingly, “and condemned me to a worse fate! I had failed the exalted one, the great Sargeras…and as was his right as a god, he punished me most severely…”

Having seen the horrors perpetrated by the Burning Legion, Malfurion could well imagine that Xavius’s punishment had been “severe.” Mercy was a concept utterly foreign to the demons.

The monstrous artificial orbs flared as the satyr continued. “I had no mouth, yet I screamed. I had no body, yet I felt pain beyond comparison. I did not blame my lord and master, however, for he only did what had to be done.” Despite saying that, the horned figure shivered briefly. “No, even throughout my ordeal, I kept in my mind one thing; I remembered over and over who it was that had led me to such terror.”

“Hundreds died because of you,” the druid argued, trying to draw the satyr even closer. If he wanted to attempt any spell at all against this more horrific Xavius, then he needed Tyrande at a safer distance. “Slaughtered innocents.”

“The imperfect! The tainted! The world must be made pure for those who will worship Sargeras!”

“Sargeras will destroy Kalimdor! The Burning Legion will destroy everything!”

Xavius grinned. “Yes…he will.”

His sudden declaration caught Malfurion off-guard. “But you just said—”

“What fools like to hear! What those like the good Captain Varo’then or the Highborne assume…what I once assumed! Sargeras will make the world pure for his worshippers…and then he will destroy it for the crime of having life. See how simple it all is?”

“How bloodthirsty, how insane it is, you mean!”

The satyr shrugged. “It all depends on your perspective…”

Malfurion had heard enough. His hand went to one of his pouches.

Without warning, strong arms wrapped around his, holding him tight. The druid struggled, but his captors were too powerful.

The other satyrs dragged him toward Xavius. The lead creature leered more, his terrible eyes mocking the night elf.

“When the great lord Sargeras cast me back onto this plane, he did so in order that I would bring to him the one who had caused the first portal to cease, and therefore delayed his glorious arrival.”

Malfurion said nothing, but continued to fight against the two satyrs holding him.

Xavius leaned close, his breath washing over the night elf ’s face in stench-ridden waves. “But he left it to me as to how I would bring you back to him for punishment. I thought to myself, will it suffice simply to turn you over to the Great One?” He chuckled. “ 'No,’ I told myself! My Lord Sargeras wishes Malfurion Stormrage to suffer as much as possible, and it is my cherished duty to see that you do…”

To Malfurion’s horror, the grotesque figure turned back to Tyrande, whose rest seemed oddly deep. The satyr bent low, his mouth coming so near to hers.

“Keep away from her!” the druid roared.

Xavius turned his head just enough to look at Malfurion. “Yes, I thought. He must suffer…but how? A resolute young male, no doubt willing to sacrifice himself…but what about others? What about those dearest to him?”

With one clawed hand, the satyr stroked the priestess’s hair. Malfurion strained to reach him, wanting to throttle Xavius. He had never hated another creature—the demons not included—but right there and then, the druid would have happily crushed in the former advisor’s throat.

His fury only amused Xavius. Still leaning close to Tyrande, the satyr added, “I discovered quickly that Malfurion Stormrage had two for whom he cared. One was like a brother to him—wait!—he was a brother, a twin! Close as youths, they now had grown separated by interests and yearnings. But, of course, Illidan was still beloved by his dear sibling, Malfurion…even if Illidan himself began to harbor envy for the one to whom she looked with favor…”

“You have me! Leave them be!”

“But where would be the punishment in that?” asked Xavius, rising. His aspect became cruel. “Where would the vengeance be? How greater your pain when you lose not just one, but both.” He laughed. “Your brother is already lost to you, even if he doesn’t know it, Malfurion Stormrage! This delectable one, on the other hand, was more trouble to seek out. I thank you for your assistance in drawing her to us…”

As the satyrs pinning his arms laughed with their master, Malfurion cursed himself for having asked Tyrande to help Krasus and him. By doing so, he had given her to these monstrosities.

“No! By Elune, I’ll not let you!”

“Elune…” Xavius spoke the name with contempt. “There is only one god…and his name is Sargeras.”

He snapped his fingers, and the others pushed the druid to his knees. Xavius walked toward him again, hooves clattering. Each step echoed in Malfurion’s pounding head.

Then, a voice suddenly cut through the fog of his mind, a voice so much like and unlike his own. Brother?

“Illidan?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

“Yes,” replied Xavius, taking the question for his captive’s desperate need for more explanation as to what the satyr had done to the twin. “He was quite easy. He loves her as much as you, Malfurion Stormrage…and that she has chosen you over him he cannot accept…”

Illidan loves Tyrande? The druid was aware that his brother had cared for her, but not to that extent. But she loves—me?

Too late did he recall that his brother now sensed his thoughts. Illidan’s fury and shame at this revelation suddenly enveloped Malfurion. He rocked backward from the force of his twin’s emotions.

Again, Xavius misread what was happening. “Such surprise? How wonderful to hear that you’ve gained her love, and how terrible to know that because of it she will suffer as no one but you shall!”

Illidan! Malfurion called to his brother. Illidan! Tyrande is in danger!

Instead of concern, however, he felt only contempt from the sorcerer. Then will she not turn to you, brother—the powerful, the magnificent master of nature? What help can she desire from a cursed buffoon, a misfit condemned by the color of his eyes to have false dreams, false hopes?

Illidan! She will be tortured! She’ll die a horrible death!

From his twin he received only silence. Illidan seemed to have receded from him. The link was still there, but just barely.

Illidan!

Malfurion was jarred from the inner conversation by the visage of Xavius filling his gaze. The unnatural eyes appeared to be boring through his own, as if wondering what was going on inside the druid.

“This is what condemned me to more than death?” the satyr hissed. “If you are my nemesis, then I see even more that I deserved everything the Great One did to me…”

He snapped his fingers, and from Malfurion’s right came a half dozen more of the foul creatures. Xavius pointed at Tyrande’s prone body, at the same time glancing in the direction of the battle. “They will soon be upon this place. Let us leave before it becomes…unruly.”

Xavius returned to Tyrande while three of the satyrs—clearly also once Highborne—held high their hands and began casting. Malfurion recognized immediately what they planned. The creatures could not hope to escape by any other methods save a portal. Having created one that stretched beyond time and space, they could surely devise one for travel to Zin-Azshari.

And, once there, all hope for either Malfurion or Tyrande would be gone.

Illidan! Yet, even with the urgency he tried to convey, the druid felt no response from his twin. He was alone.

The raucous sounds of fighting crept closer. A blackness formed in the empty air among the three casting satyrs.

Xavius himself reached for Tyrande, his grin wider and more malicious than ever. “She will enjoy the Great One’s company,” he taunted, “before she dies…”

The portal stretched wide and tall, large enough to admit the demonic creatures and their captives. Xavius picked up the priestess as if she weighed nothing to him—

And a feathered bolt suddenly buried itself in the satyr’s shoulder.

B
lack thoughts overwhelmed Illidan. He had done as Rhonin had asked and sought out his brother, only to be reminded again of his inadequacies and failures. Never mind that both his brother and the female that they loved had been caught in some terrible predicament; all that mattered was that Malfurion had lorded it over him that he had gained Tyrande’s favor without even realizing there had ever been a contest. His innocuous brother had blundered into the greatest prize of all while Illidan, who had fought for her, had nothing to show for his efforts but an empty heart.

A small part of him nagged at the sorcerer to overlook that and help them. At the very least, he should have done something for Tyrande. Some dire force serving the Burning Legion had her in their clutches.

The Burning Legion. At times Illidan wondered how much better he might have fared if he had been one of those serving Queen Azshara and the Highborne. They now looked destined to reap the benefits of their alliance with the demons. Krasus and Rhonin claimed that the Legion would destroy all life, including the queen’s people, but surely that was not the case. Why, then, would Azshara join with them? All the Highborne had to do was close the portal and the threat was past. If they kept it open, it was because they knew better.

Illidan snarled. His head pounded from contradictory thoughts and notions that but a few days ago would have revolted him. He looked to the side, where Rhonin commanded the Moon Guard in their efforts. The wizard did not look like the type to give up such a position once he had gained it. Illidan swore. Now, in addition to his brother, both Rhonin and Lord Ravencrest had betrayed him…

Illidan! came Malfurion’s voice again, this time more despairing.

The sorcerer shut his mind to the cry.

Tyrande slipped from the satyr’s grip, but landed safely against the earth. She hardly stirred, which convinced Malfurion again that the priestess had at some point been bespelled by Xavius.

The former advisor clutched his shoulder where the shaft had buried itself deep. Blood poured from the wound, but Xavius was more angry than injured. He tugged at the shaft, but when it would not come out, he snapped off the end in frustration.

Even as the attack registered with the other satyrs, one of those holding Malfurion shook violently, then fell forward. An arrow identical to the first stuck out from between his shoulder blades.

Using his now free hand to grab from one of his pouches, the druid threw the contents in the face of his other guard. With a cry, the satyr clutched at his eyes, where one of the ground herbs that Malfurion had gathered under the guidance of Cenarius burned the soft tissue there. He stumbled to the side, no longer at all concerned about his captive.

Malfurion did not look back for his rescuer, instead drawing a dagger and slashing at the neck of the blinded creature. As the satyr slumped, the druid used the wind to guide his blade as he tossed it at Xavius.

Although wounded, the former Highborne dodged it with ease. Gaze shifting briefly to where the three others sought to solidify the portal, Xavius leered and grabbed for Tyrande again.

A third shaft sank into the ground inches from his hoof. Eyes blazing, Xavius waved at the satyrs not occupied by the spellcasting.

Two charged at Malfurion, the other after the unknown archer. The druid reached into his pouches again, then tossed a small, spherical seed toward one of the oncoming creatures.

The satyr drew back, letting the seed drop before him. However, as the grin started to stretch over his face, the pod opened and a burst of what appeared to be white dust engulfed him. The satyr began hacking and sneezing to such a degree that he finally fell to his knees. Even then, his suffering did not ease.

Malfurion threw another seed at the second, but the toss went wide. The abomination leapt upon him, clawed hands grasping for his throat. Behind his attacker, Malfurion saw Xavius try to lift Tyrande, but the wound had finally begun to tell; the satyr at last had to use only his good arm to start dragging her to the portal.

Fearful that Xavius would succeed despite his handicap, the night elf searched his mind quickly for some spell with which to remove his immediate threat. The satyr laughed mockingly as his nails scraped the skin under Malfurion’s chin. Words spilled from the horned creature and the druid sensed a horrible heat rising around his neck, as if a suffocating collar had formed there.

And at that moment, the battle swept over the hill.

Night elves and demons locked in combat pushed up and into the area. Soldiers backing up collided with Xavius and his burden. The satyr growled, and with only his nails, beheaded one unfortunate fighter from behind.