I feared in return. No one answered my summons, or explained the sudden silence.”
“It was necessary,” the huge female responded. Despite the sleekness of her form, Alexstrasza outweighed her consorts by half again as much. Like all of the great Aspects, she commanded forces that dwarfed those of even her mates. “The demand for secrecy is paramount.”
“Secrecy? For what?”
She studied him. “Krasus is not with you?”
He noted her tremendous concern. She worried about Krasus as she would have Korialstrasz. “He chose to stay behind. He managed a trick that enables us to spend our time apart from each other without suffering … much.”
A brief smile spread across her scaled visage. “Of course he would.”
Before Korialstrasz could pursue the line of conversation to what he desired to know about Krasus, another entered the high chamber from the right. Korialstrasz looked at the new arrival, and his eyes widened.
“It is necessary that all dragons take part in this ritual,” the black giant rumbled, his voice like a smoldering volcano. “Mine have already done so. The other flights must now do the same.”
Neltharion filled the other end of the chamber, the only one who could possibly match Alexstrasza in size and power. The Earth Warder radiated an intensity that made Korialstrasz a bit uncomfortable.
“My final consort is here,” Alexstrasza returned. “The bronze flight has come and although Nozdormu is not with them, they have brought that which is part of his essence so that he, too, will be joined with us in this struggle. That leaves only Krasus, a single entity. Is that so terrible a thing?”
The ebony dragon tilted his head. Never had Korialstrasz seen so many teeth. “One dragon only … no … I think not.”
“What is this about?” the younger male dared ask.
“The demons have reopened the way to our world,” Alexstrasza explained. “Once more, they flow through like water, doubling their strength with each passing day.”
Korialstrasz imagined the monstrous army and what its numbers had already accomplished. “Then we must act!”
“We are. Neltharion has devised a plan, possibly the only hope for our world’s survival.”
“What is it?”
“Neltharion must show you.”
The ebony behemoth nodded, then closed his eyes. The air shimmered before him. A sense of astounding power touched Korialstrasz’s magical senses. He felt as if the chamber had filled with a thousand dragons.
But instead, a tiny, almost insignificant little golden disk materialized in the air, hovering just below eye level for the gathered leviathans. Korialstrasz sensed nothing within it, yet somehow knew that very fact meant the disk was much, much more than it seemed.
The Earth Warder opened his eyes, an expression of exaltation spreading over his reptilian features. To Korialstrasz, it was as if Neltharion worshipped his creation.
“Behold that which will exorcise the demons from our world!” the black leviathan thundered. “Behold that which will cleanse the lands of all taint!”
The tiny disk flared bright, suddenly no longer insignificant to the eye. Now, the young red male felt the full extent of the powers within … and understood why even Alexstrasza believed it to be their best recourse.
“Behold,” Neltharion roared proudly. “The Dragon Soul.”
FIVE
Captain Varo’then was not one to be made ill at ease by shadows and noises. He confronted all such things with the same dour earthiness with which he did everything else in his life. The scarred soldier had been born to the role of warrior and, despite his inherent cunning, never saw himself in any other role. He had no desire to be king or consort save that it would then place him even closer to Azshara. He commanded his forces in her name and was satisfied with that. The political machinations he had always left to Lord Xavius, who understood and savored them far more than Varo’then ever could.
But of late, his mind had been forced to turn to paths other than those of battle. That had to do with the return of one he had assumed quite dead … Xavius himself. Now the queen’s advisor, brought back from the afterlife by the astounding power of the great Sargeras, again guided the will of the Highborne. That should have not bothered Varo’then, but Xavius had changed in ways even the queen did not see. The captain was certain that the advisor—or this thing that had once been the advisor—concerned himself not with the glory of Azshara, but with other matters. Varo’then, whatever his loyalty to the lord of the Legion, was ever first and foremost his queen’s servant.
“The ever-efficient captain. Of course I find you stalking the halls even when not on duty.”
The officer jumped, then silently cursed himself for reacting so.
As if pouring out of the shadows themselves, Xavius stepped out in front of the night elf. His hooves clattered on the marble floor and he breathed in snorts as he moved. Archimonde had called Xavius a satyr, one of Sargeras’s blessed servants. The unnatural eyes that the noble had himself put in place of his own stared out from under the deep brow ridge. They snared the captain’s own, drawing him inexorably into some unsettling place.
“Sargeras sees much promise in you, Captain Varo’then. He sees one whose status could be great among those who serve him. He sees you as a commander of his host, set up there along with Mannoroth—nay—Archimonde, even!”
Varo’then saw himself at the head of a horde of demons, his sword thrust out before him as they poured over their foes. He felt the pride and love of Sargeras as he rode down those who would defy the Great One.
“I am honored to serve,” the soldier murmured.
Xavius smiled. “As are we all … and we would serve in any way we could, if it would make the dream come true sooner, is that not so?”
“Of course.”
The hooved figure leaned close, his face nearly touching the soldier’s own. The eyes continued to pull Varo’then in, both tantalizing and unnerving him at the same time. “You could serve in a manner better suited for you, in a role that will lead you sooner to the command you desire …”
Excitement coursed through the officer. He again pictured himself leading armies in the name of his queen and Sargeras. He imagined his conquest of their enemies, the blood of the foe flowing so much it created rivers.
But when Captain Varo’then tried to imagine himself doing all this, he could not see his own form distinctly. He tried to draw forth an image of himself as a warrior, an armored and armed commander such as in the old epics … but another shape persistently pushed itself on him.
A shape much like that worn by Lord Xavius.
That, at last, enabled him to pull free of the advisor’s gaze. “Forgive me, my lord, but I must be about my duties.”
The artificial eyes flared briefly. Then Xavius nodded ever so politely and with a sweep of his hand bid the soldier to move on. “But of course, Captain Varo’then, but of course.”
At a quicker pace than he would have preferred to display before the horned figure, Varo’then marched away. He did not look back. His hand clutched the hilt of his sword as if about to draw it. The night elf did not slow until he was certain that Lord Xavius had been left far behind.
But even then he could still hear the beguiling words of the satyr … and Varo’then knew that where he had managed to deny them, others would not.
As night fell upon Lord Ravencrest’s forces, the Sisters of Elune spread out among the night elves to give their blessings. Even clad like warrior maidens, the priestesses brought peace and comfort to the soldiers. Elune offered the night elves strength