Besides, I find I will not abide waiting for assassins to come targeting me. I will defend myself.”
Rhonin nodded. “So it’s settled.”
Malfurion did not understand all that they said, but he recognized the end of what had been a long, stressful argument. Evidently, despite all he had done for the night elves, Krasus still had reservations about aiding them. An irony, so the druid saw it, after how much effort Krasus had spent pushing for Lord Ravencrest to approach the dwarves and tauren.
It occurred to him then that they had all decided to join the host marching on Zin-Azshari. With those last doubts erased, Malfurion realized there was one other person with whom he needed to speak before that happened. He could not leave Suramar without seeing her.
“I must go,” he informed them. “There—there is something I need to do.”
His cheeks must have flushed, for Krasus kindly nodded, adding, “Please give her my greetings, will you?”
“I—of course.”
But as he started past the elder mage, Krasus took hold of his forearm. “Do not steel yourself against your emotions too much, young one. They are a part of your calling, your destiny. You will need them greatly in the days ahead, especially as he is no doubt here now.”
“Here?” Rhonin’s brow furrowed. “Who? What else haven’t you told us?”
“I am only using logic, Rhonin. You saw the beast Mannoroth guiding the Legion when it first swept out from the city. You know that, despite him, we were able to not only cut off the portal, but also inflict serious damage to the demon army.”
“We beat Mannoroth. I know. We did it in the—back home, too.”
Krasus’s eyes had a veiled look to them that stirred Malfurion’s anxiety anew. “Then you should also recall what happened after his defeat.”
The night elf saw Rhonin blanch. Brox, too, seemed disturbed, but his reaction was more like Malfurion’s. The orc understood that something dire was about to be revealed, but did not know just what.
“Archimonde.” The human whispered the name so quietly that he almost appeared worried that its bearer might hear it even in Ravencrest’s sanctum.
“Archimonde,” repeated Brox, now understanding. He gripped the hilt of his dagger and his eyes darted back and forth.
“Who—who is this Archimonde?” asked Malfurion. Even saying the name brought a distaste to his mouth.
It was Rhonin who answered him, Rhonin with his eyes unblinking and his mouth set in utter hatred. “He who sits at the right hand of the lord of the Burning Legion …”
Captain Varo’then brought the news to his queen as he always did. With Lord Xavius dead, he had become her favored … in more ways than one. His new uniform—a resplendent, glittering emerald green with golden sunbursts across the chest—was the latest gift bestowed upon him by Azshara. His title remained that of captain, but in truth, he commanded more than some generals, especially as even demons followed his orders.
Varo’then swept aside his glittering golden cape as he entered the queen’s sanctum. Her attendants immediately curtsied, then stepped away.
Azshara herself lay draped across a silver couch, her head resting perfectly on a small cushion. Her hair, more silver than the couch, cascaded gracefully down her back and shoulders. The queen had long, almond-shaped eyes of pure gold and features of perfection. The gown she wore—a wondrous, translucent blue and green—displayed her curved form magnificently.
In her hand, Azshara held a view globe, a magical artpiece that displayed for its user a thousand different exotic images of night elven creation. The image that faded away as the soldier knelt appeared to be that of Azshara herself, but Varo’then could not be certain.
“Yes, my dear captain?”
Varo’then forced his cheeks not to flush from desire. “Radiance of the Moon, Flower of Life, I bring important tidings. The Great One, Sargeras—”
She immediately sat up. Eyes wide, full lips parted, the queen asked, “He is here?”
A pang of jealousy struck the officer. “Nay, Light of Lights, it is not yet possible for the portal to hold the magnificence of the Great One … but he has sent his most trusted to finally make the way ready.”
“Then I must greet him!” Azshara declared, rising. Attendants immediately darted out of hiding to take her train. The long, silken gown trailed for some distance. The skirt was cut so that the queen’s long, smooth legs briefly revealed themselves as she walked. Everything about Azshara spoke of seduction and although he knew that she toyed with him as she did others, Varo’then did not care.
The instant that she started forward, several new figures lurched out of the shadows. Despite their huge forms, the Fel Guard who acted as her personal bodyguard had remained unseen until now. Two stepped in front of the pair while the rest lined up behind. The demons waited patiently, emotionlessly, for the queen to move again.
He raised his armored forearm so that she might place her perfect, tapering fingers upon it. The captain led her through the gaily-painted marble halls of the palace to the tower where the surviving Highborne sorcerers had restarted their efforts. Sentries both night elf and demon stood at attention as they passed. Varo’then had studied the Legion enough to understand that while Mannoroth and Hakkar seemed astoundingly oblivious to the queen’s beauty, the lesser demons appeared not so immune. Her bodyguard had become especially protective of her, even keeping a wary eye on their own brethren at times.
It did not do for even demon lords to underestimate the ruler of the night elves.
A pair of felbeasts guarded the outside door. The tentacles on each houndlike demon twitched toward the pair.
Immediately the Fel Guard created a protective wall between Azshara and the hounds. Felbeasts drained magic the way some insects drank blood, and Azshara had, contrary to appearances, a great aptitude for sorcery. To the creatures, she would seem a feast.
Varo’then had his own weapon out and ready, but Azshara touched his cheek gently and said, “No, dear captain.”
With a wave of her hand, she parted the Fel Guard, then walked up to the felbeasts. Ignoring the menace of the tentacles, the queen knelt before the pair and smiled.
One monster immediately planted his fearsome head under her outstretched hand. The other opened a mouthful of rows of jagged teeth and let his thick, brutish tongue loll out the side. Both acted as Varo’then had seen three-day-old night saber kits do around Azshara.
After petting both on their coarse heads, the queen urged the monsters aside. The felbeasts readily obeyed, sitting down near the wall and looking as if hoping for some tiny treat.
The captain sheathed his weapon. No, it would not be good for anyone to underestimate his beloved monarch.
The way opened for Azshara as she stepped past the felbeasts. Following close behind, Varo’then saw immense Mannoroth look over his shoulder at the new arrivals. As much as he could read the demon’s expression, the captain noted some distress. Mannoroth, at least, was not so pleased with the coming of the Great One’s second.
And as the night elves entered, they could not help but notice that Archimonde had already arrived.
For the first time, Azshara momentarily lost a bit of her cool composure. The brief, open-mouthed gasp vanished swiftly, but it still startled Varo’then … almost as much as the demon himself did.
Archimonde stood as tall as Mannoroth, but that was where the likenesses ended. By any standard, he was far more handsome and in some ways resembled the night elves over whom he towered. His skin was a black-blue, and it took Varo’then a moment to realize that Archimonde surely had to be related to the Eredar warlocks. His build was similar and he even sported a fearsome tail like theirs. No hair covered any part of his body. His skull was huge