The Demon Soul (18 page)

To his surprise, though, the demon did not immediately strike again. Instead, he hissed to Malfurion, “Sssurrender, creature, and you will be ssspared! I promissse thisss in the name of my mossst honored massster, Sssargerasss! It isss your only hope of sssurvival…”

Krasus coughed, trying to clear his throat. “S-surrendering to the Burning Legion i-is a fate far worse than the most terrible death! We must fight even if we are destined to lose, Malfurion!”

Grim memories of his brief encounter with Archimonde made the night elf think the very same thing. He could just imagine what the demons would do with prisoners, especially those who had been instrumental in foiling their plans so far. “We’ll never surrender!”

His fiery orbs flickered angrily, and the demon snapped his whip four times. Lightning flashed as the lash struck the earth. Huge shapes suddenly formed before the demon. With each snap, a fiendish hound materialized.

“Then my petsss will feed well upon you, ssspellcastersss!”

Krasus steadied himself, then turned to gaze at the lead demon. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

But the skeletal knight was prepared for his attack. He swung the whip around and around, creating a haze. The haze sparkled suddenly, as if something exploded against it.

The night elf bit back an epithet. Their adversary had easily dealt with what should have been a powerful spell.

“It is as I feared,” Krasus muttered. “It is the Houndmaster. Hakkar!”

Malfurion would have liked to ask him what he knew of the demon, but at that moment the other monsters resumed their charge. The spikes provided some defense, but the demons now began tearing, clawing, and chopping them apart. In the background, their leader laughed, a sound like a hundred angry serpents.

Yet, just as the first of the Fel Guard tore through and started for the pair, warriors astride night sabers charged into the battle from all sides, their beasts mauling some of the demons before the latter realized they were under assault. As the newcomers attacked, they sang.

Malfurion gaped at them, only belatedly realizing that they were not the soldiers of Jarod Shadowsong. Their armor was more silver and—he looked twice—shaped for more feminine figures. The song he heard was in praise of the Night Warrior, the fearsome battle incarnation of the Mother Moon.

The Sisterhood of Elune had come to their rescue.

For the first time, Malfurion saw the quiet, gentle priestesses in their wartime roles. Many carried long, curved swords, while others wielded short lances with points on both ends. A few even had bows no longer than their forearms, from which they swiftly shot dart after dart.

The effect on the demons was immediate. Felbeasts dropped, riddled. A priestess swung her blade with the ease of a soldier, decapitating a horned warrior. Two night sabers dropped upon another hound, slashing it repeatedly from both sides until all that remained was a bloody carcass.

And among the fearsome figures now wreaking havoc on the Burning Legion, he saw Tyrande.

Before he could call to her, a demon thrust at him. The towering Fel Guard would have cut through the druid if not for his swift reflexes. The night elf rolled out of range, then cast a spell.

The ground beneath his adversary’s feet turned into a wet, sandy mixture. The Fel Guard sank in up to his waist, but managed to keep from dropping any farther. He clawed at the edge with his free hand, trying to pull himself free.

Malfurion gave him no such opportunity. He kicked the blade out of the demon’s hand, then ran after it. The monstrous warrior twisted about, trying to snare his legs. Malfurion slipped, one foot caught by his foe. He seized the hilt of the sword just as the demon dragged him to the quicksand.

Swinging with all his might, the druid buried the blade in the Fel Guard’s head.

As the demon sank slowly into the mire, Malfurion saw that not all was going well. The sisterhood had the upper hand, but more than one of them faced imminent threat. Even as he straightened, one priestess was torn from the saddle by a felbeast, who bit through her neck as easily as through silk. Another sister tumbled to the ground as a demon drove his weapon through the open jaws of a night saber, the other end of the blade bursting out between the cat’s shoulder blades. A second warrior dispatched the priestess a moment later.

But what terrified Malfurion most was when his gaze fixed upon Tyrande once more. Locked in combat with one of the Fel Guard, she failed to notice the Houndmaster and his whip.

The lash should have wrapped around her throat, but a chance shift by her mount instead had it bind her arms to the sides. The skeletal knight tugged hard, pulling Tyrande off her panther as if her armored form weighed nothing.

“No!” cried Malfurion, starting after her.

Krasus, in the midst of casting a spell, tried to grab his arm. “Druid, you are safer here—”

But the night elf cared only about Tyrande. His training all but forgotten, he angled his way through the battle. When he got near enough, he leapt—but not for his childhood friend.

The immense form of the Houndmaster resisted Malfurion’s weight as he struck the demon, but it did cause the hideous figure to lose his concentration. The whip loosened its grip on the priestess, letting her land softly on the earth.

“Fool!” spat the Houndmaster, grabbing the druid by his shoulder. “I am Hakkar…and you are nothing.”

He did not see the dagger that Malfurion pulled from his belt. The small blade sank into the demon’s arm at the place where the elbow joint offered some vulnerability.

With a howl, Hakkar dropped his quarry. He pulled the dagger free, the sharp blade covered in the thick ooze that was the demon’s blood. However, instead of using the dagger on Malfurion, the Houndmaster tossed it aside and retrieved his fallen whip. He stalked toward the rising druid, arm already raised.

“Hisss ordersss are to keep you alive if posssible…I think it will not be posssible, though…”

Hakkar struck. Malfurion clamored in pain as lightning flared all over his body. He felt as if he were being burned alive.

However, a part of him remained calm throughout his agony. It drew upon Cenarius’s teachings, pulling Malfurion away from his pain. The anguish of the whip faded into nothing. The Houndmaster struck him a second and third time, but it might as well have been a slight breeze for all the druid felt it.

Malfurion understood that the punishment would eventually ravage his body regardless of the lack of pain. His shan’do’s teachings but gave him the chance to do what he could to defend himself…if at all possible.

“I will keep you jussst barely alive, perhapsss,” mocked Hakkar, hitting him again. “All he ssseeksss isss enough life to torture! There will be jussst that…“

The fearsome giant raised his whip again.

Malfurion’s gaze twisted up to the heavens. The cloud cover offered him his best hope, and the Houndmaster, ironically, had aided in that choice.

The wind assisted him first, stirring the clouds to motion. They disliked being so disturbed and in their anger quickly grew black. Although it went against his nature, Malfurion fed their rage, then played on their vanity. There was one here who commanded lightning of his own and flaunted it.

Hakkar took his stillness for surrender. Eyes blazing, the Houndmaster pulled his arm back. “One more ssstroke, I think! One more ssstroke…”

The clouds rumbled, shook.

Lightning shot down, not one but two bolts that hit the huge demon dead on.

Hakkar let out a roar of pain that made every bone in Malfurion’s body shiver. The Houndmaster stood bathed in brilliant light, his arms outstretched as if he sought to embrace that which destroyed him. The whip, already burnt black, fell from his trembling grasp.

All around the scene of the battle, the felbeasts abruptly paused in their struggles and howled mournfully.

At last, the heavenly illumination faded away…and the ashy corpse of the demon lord dropped limply to the grass.

The monstrous hounds howled once more, then their bodies glowed as they had when first summoned. As one, the felbeasts vanished, their cries still resounding.

Bereft of both Hakkar and his pets, the few remaining demons put up little resistance against the priestesses and Krasus. As the last fell slain, Malfurion staggered over to Tyrande.

She sat on the ground, still half-stunned. When she saw him, however, Tyrande’s face broke out into a wonderful smile that made Malfurion forget his own pain.

“Tyrande! This miracle is yours…”

“No miracle, Malfurion. One who I healed told me of a felbeast behind our lines. He also described hearing what I believed was the demon commanding them.” She gazed briefly at what remained of Hakkar. “I went to warn you and the others, only to find that Krasus and you had departed for here. Perhaps it was Elune speaking to me, but I felt certain that you were at risk.”

“So you turned to the sisterhood. I’ve seen few soldiers who fight better.”

She gave him another smile, this one tired but pleased. “There is much about the temple that outsiders do not understand.” Her expression grew more serious. “Are you all right?”

“I am…but I fear that Krasus and I came here for no good reason. I’d hoped to contact Cenarius so that the wizard might be able to gain some sort of mount that could carry him to the land of the dragons.”

“Rhonin and Brox hinted as much, but I could scarcely believe—does he truly dream that he can meet with them?”

The druid glanced over at Krasus, who had been aided in rising by two of the sisters. Like so many others, they treated him with reverence even though they were not quite certain why. The mage strode toward where the Houndmaster lay, his expression perturbed. “You see him. You sense something within him, Tyrande. I think he can do it, if somehow he reaches their realm.”

“But unless a dragon itself carries him there, how else can he make the journey in good time?”

“I don’t know. I—” A sudden shadow covered the pair. Malfurion looked up, and his hopeless expression changed to one of wonder.

They circled the party thrice before finally ascending in an area away from the nearest night saber. The cats hissed, but did not otherwise attempt to attack the new arrivals, perhaps because they themselves were not sure what to make of them.

With their vast, feathered wings and ravenlike heads, they resembled jet-black gryphons at first sight. Even the fore-limbs were scaled and taloned like those of the aforementioned creature. Beyond that, however, they were entirely different animals. Instead of leonine torsos and hindquarters, these two had equine forms, even down to the thick tails.

“Hippogriffs,” declared the knowledgeable Krasus, his disturbed expression shifting to one of intense satisfaction. “Swift and certain fliers. He could not have chosen better, your Cenarius.”

Tyrande did not look so thrilled. “But there are two of them.”

The mage and Malfurion studied each other, both recognizing why Cenarius would send more than one mount.

“I’m to go with Krasus, it seems,” answered the druid.

Seizing him by the arm, Tyrande snapped, “No, Malfurion! Not there!”

“I see the sense of the forest lord’s decision,” Krasus interjected. “The druid will be better able to guide the hippogriffs, and his link to Cenarius will give him good standing with the queen of the reds, Alexstrasza…She Who Is Life.”

The priestess’s eyes pleaded with him, but Malfurion had to agree. “He’s right. I have to go with him. Forgive me, Tyrande.” On impulse, the druid hugged her. Tyrande hesitated, then returned the brief hug. Malfurion gazed down at her and added, “I fear you might have to help Rhonin and Brox explain our absence. Will you do that for me?”

She finally surrendered to the inevitable. “Of course I will. You should know me that well.”

The hippogriffs squawked, as if impatient to be on their way. Krasus obliged them by quickly mounting. Malfurion climbed aboard the second one, eyes still on Tyrande.

Seizing his wrist, she suddenly started whispering. It took a moment for the two riders to realize that Tyrande was giving Malfurion a blessing from Elune.

“Go safely,” she finished quietly. “And return the same way…for me.”

The druid swallowed, unable to say anything. Krasus ended the awkwardness of the situation by gently prodding his hippogriff in the ribs with his heels. The beast squawked again, then turned in preparation for flight. Malfurion’s mount instinctively followed suit.

“Farewell and thank you, Tyrande,” he called. “I’ll be back soon enough.”