The Demon Soul (16 page)

The females nodded, having heard this command from him oft before. They did not ask what the Aspect did down there. Like all in the black flight, they existed to obey. Every creature in the mountain was touched to some degree by the same madness that affected Neltharion most of all.

The huge black maneuvered through tunnels that barely allowed his immense form passage. As he descended deeper, the sounds of dragon life vanished and a new, odd noise echoed over and over. To any who listened, it most resembled what one might note in a blacksmith’s shop, for there could be heard repeated hammering on metal. The hammering went on without end, and as it increased in tempo, Neltharion’s savage smile grew wider, more satisfied. Yes, everything was coming to pass.

But the dragon did not head to the source of the hammering. Instead he turned at a side passage and continued his descent. After a time, the hammering faded away, leaving only Neltharion’s heavy breathing to echo in the dark corridors. No one but he was allowed to walk these lower chambers.

At last, the Earth Warder reached the vast chamber where he had cast his spell upon the Eredar. Yet, as he entered, the dragon’s head picked up, for he sensed that, despite appearances, he was not alone.

And the voices in his mind, the voices that had remained but steady murmurs while he had been among the other dragons, suddenly rose in a frenzy of excitement.

Soon…

Soon…

The world will be set to right…

All those who have betrayed you will know their place…

Order will be restored…

You will take your rightful rule…

This and more they repeated over and over to the Earth Warder. His chest swelled with pride and his eyes glittered with anticipation. Soon his world would be as he desired it!

“They have all given of themselves,” he told the empty air. “Even absent Nozdormu.”

The voices did not reply, but the dragon seemed to accept that they were pleased. He nodded to himself, then closed his eyes and concentrated.

And at his summoning, the Dragon Soul materialized.

“Behold its beauty,” he rumbled as it floated level with his admiring gaze. “Behold its perfection, its power.”

The golden aura surrounded his creation, glowing with an intensity never before achieved. As Neltharion fixed his will upon it, the Dragon Soul began to quietly vibrate. Throughout the chamber, the stalactites and stalagmites began to shake as if stirring to life.

The disk’s vibration increased with each eager breath by the Earth Warder. The entire chamber now trembled. Fragments of rock broke free from the ceiling, and several huge stalactites quivered ominously.

“Yes…” the dragon hissed eagerly. Neltharion’s eyes burned with anticipation. “Yes…”

Now the very mountain rumbled as if some huge volcanic eruption or great tremor took place. The ceiling began to break in earnest. Huge stones dropped everywhere, striking the floor with ear-shattering booms. Many bounded off the massive dragon’s hard hide, but he cared not at all.

Then, from the Dragon Soul ethereal shapes arose. They were shadows of light, vague images that darted around. Most had wings and their outlines were akin to that of Neltharion. Some were black, some bronze, others blue or red. They began to swarm above the disk, rapidly growing in number.

There were other shapes as well, smaller but more grotesque ones. They glowed a sickly green and many had horns and deep pits for eyes. Their numbers were far smaller, but there was an intensity, an evil, that made them as arresting as the intermingling ghosts above them.

They were the essences of all those who had contributed to the Dragon Soul’s creation, willingly or not. Tied to the disk, they represented, together, power that dwarfed even that of an Aspect such as Neltharion. Their simple appearance was enough to cause cracks and fissures in the solid mountain as the entire region now shook with vehemence.

A gargantuan stalactite suddenly broke free. Caught up in his reverie, the Earth Warder did not notice it until it was too late.

Only a formation of this magnitude could have injured the black dragon. It struck Neltharion on the left side of his jaw, ripping away even the hard, scaled flesh. One piece of bloody scale went flying, its hard edge hitting the Dragon Soul at the center.

Neltharion roared with horror, not for himself but rather at what had happened to his precious creation. The scale gouged the disk deep, ruining its perfection. The shapes above and below spun in an uncontrolled frenzy.

The dragon acted quickly, ending the spell. The ghostly figures sank back into the disk, but slower, more hesitantly than he desired. As they vanished, the tremor ceased, leaving only drifting dust to mark its brief but terrible passage.

When it was safe to do so, Neltharion seized the Dragon Soul and held it close. The gouge was not as deep as he had thought, but that it existed at all nearly threw him into a new fit. He had not expected anything, much less himself, to be a danger to the disk.

“You will be healed,” he whispered, cradling the tiny piece in his paw as a mother might cradle her child in her arms. “You will be my perfection again…”

Clutching the disk tightly, he departed the chamber as quickly as he could on three limbs, heading back up in a swift, half-hopping motion. Neltharion radiated a pensiveness that would have unnerved even his consorts. The Earth Warder’s breathing turned ragged, as if he feared that all he had wrought would now be for nothing.

Rather than return to where his own kind dwelled, however, the dragon veered to another series of tunnels. The hammering echoed louder as Neltharion moved his tremendous bulk through the narrow corridors, soon becoming distinct sounds of hard work. Peculiar voices chit-tered away, but their exact words were drowned out by the hammers.

Neltharion thrust himself into the new chamber. The fiery illumination forced him to let his eyes adjust for a moment. When they had, they revealed scores of tiny, limber goblins busy in various stages of metalwork. There were huge ovens everywhere, all fueled by the raging, molten earth far below. Half a dozen of the green-skinned creatures struggled to remove from one huge casing what seemed an oval shield fit for a giant. The metal inside blazed a bright orange. The goblins quickly turned the casing over, letting its contents drop into a vat of water. Steam rose in a tremendous burst, nearly boiling one slow worker.

Other goblins hammered away at various pieces. A few wearing smocks wandered among the rest, making certain that everyone did his task properly.

Not finding what he searched for around the chamber, Neltharion roared, “Meklo! Meklo, attend me!”

The leviathan’s cry overwhelmed all other sounds. Startled, the goblins halted in their work. Two almost poured molten iron on a comrade.

“To work, to work!” snapped a high-pitched, irritated voice. “Want to ruin all?”

The laborers immediately obeyed. From a walkway above, a spindly goblin of elder years, with a tuft of gray fur atop his otherwise bald head, scampered down to the impatient dragon. The chief goblin muttered to himself all the way, but his words held no anger against his master. Instead, he appeared to be constantly calculating things.

“Density of eight inches with a surface area of a hundred twenty square feet, which means approximately adding forty-two more pounds to the mix and—” His foot bounced against the center toe of the remaining forepaw. The goblin glanced up, acting almost surprised to see the leviathan. “My Lord Neltharion?”

“Meklo! See this!”

The Earth Warder brought his huge paw close so that the goblin could study the disk. Meklo squinted, making a tsking sound.

“Such craftwork, and now marred! The design was flawless!”

“A scale of mine fell upon it, goblin! Explain why that should damage the invulnerable!”

“Blood, too, I see.” Meklo looked up, surveying Neltharion’s injury for a moment before tsking again. “Of course, this makes perfect sense! My Lord Neltharion, you were integral in the formation of the disk itself, yes?”

“You were there, goblin. You know.”

“Yes. You created the matrix of its construction.” The head goblin thought a moment more, than asked, “The others, they’ve given their essences? They’re tied into the disk’s matrix?”

“Of course.”

“Aaah, but you are not. You created the Dragon Soul matrix, formed it with your power and blood, but you are the only dragon not directly bound to it.” The goblin grinned, showing pointed yellow teeth. “That makes you its only weakness, my lord. The scale, your blood…any part of you has the capability of destroying the Dragon Soul. You could crush the disk with ease, I imagine.” Meklo made a squashing gesture with his index finger and thumb.

The Earth Warder’s eyes grew monstrous to behold, even for the goblin. “I would never do such a thing!”

“Of course not, of course not!” babbled Meklo, groveling for Neltharion. “Which means that nothing can ever destroy it, eh?”

The fury smoldering within the dragon lessened. Neltharion’s lip stretched back, revealing teeth larger than the goblin. “Yes, nothing. So, my Dragon Soul is…is invulnerable!”

“So long as you take no part in its destruction,” the spindly figure dared remind him.

“Which shall never happen!” Neltharion gazed down at the damage wrought on the Dragon Soul. “But this must be repaired! The disk must be perfect again!”

“It’ll require what it did last time.”

The dragon scoffed. “You will have all of my blood that you need! It will be whole!”

“Naturally, naturally.” Meklo peered back at the other goblins. “It will slow completion of your other plans. We need your blood and magic for those, as well.”

“All else can wait! The disk cannot!”

“Then we shall begin now, my lord. Permit me a moment to shut down work. I will return with the necessary assistance, then.”

As the goblin retreated, Neltharion breathed easier. His precious creation would be healed. Like him, it would be perfect once more.

And together, they would rule all…

“T
his is insufferable!” Lord Stareye said, removing a pinch of powder from his pouch and sniffing into one nostril. “A perfect opportunity wasted, Kur’talos!”

“Perhaps, Desdel. Perhaps not. Still, it’s done and must be looked past now.”

The two nobles stood in Lord Ravencrest’s tent with several other aristocratic officers, discussing a plan of action now that the rout had been stopped. Desdel Stareye, however, was convinced that Krasus had been premature in deciding that the host had to come to a halt just when they had their enemy on the run. Stareye felt certain that the night elves could have advanced all the way to Suramar unhindered if they had just listened to him—an opinion he had voiced more than once since Krasus and the others had joined the group.

“The soldiers have fought valiantly,” the mage replied politely, “but they are of flesh and blood and are flagging. They must have this rest.”

“Food, too,” grunted Brox, who had accompanied the spellcasters. The night elves had clearly not desired the orc’s company, but as Ravencrest had not commanded him to be put out, no one, not even Stareye, would make an objection to his presence.

“Yes, there is that,” the master of Black Rook Hold agreed. “The soldiers and refugees are eating and bedding down and that’s the end of it. Now, then, we move on to what must happen next.”

“Zin-Azshari, certainly!” piped up Lord Stareye. “Queen Azshara must be saved!”

The other nobles echoed his sentiments. Krasus frowned, but said nothing. He and the others had discussed the matter before their arrival, and all had agreed that the night elves would cling to the belief that their monarch was a prisoner of the demons. Since Zin-Azshari was also the access point by which the Burning Legion entered Kalimdor, it seemed futile to argue for any other course of action. For one reason or another, the capital had to be taken.

Krasus did not think, however, that Malfurion’s people could do it alone.

Ignoring protocol, he stepped up and demanded, “My Lord Ravencrest! I must speak again on a subject I know you wish not to hear, but that cannot be avoided!”

Ravencrest accepted a goblet of wine poured by Lord Stareye. Even in the midst of crisis, the hierarchy of the night elves insisted on some benefits. “You’d be referring to communications with dwarves and such.”

Next to him, Stareye scoffed. Similar expressions graced the features of most of the other nobles.

Despite that it was clear that this would be a repeat of all his previous defeats, the mage persisted. “At this moment, the dwarves, tauren, and other races are surely fighting their own struggles against the Burning Legion. Separately, there is some small chance that you will survive, but a concerted effort by all could see Zin-Azshari taken with a loss of far fewer lives!”