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Authors: Richard A. Knaak
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quickly donned the helmet, turned her panther around, and rode off.
“She looks more suited for battle than either of us,” Malfurion commented.
“Yes. What a mate she’ll make for someone, eh?”
Malfurion looked at his brother, but Illidan had already urged his night saber toward Lord Ravencrest. As the noble’s personal sorcerer, Illidan had to ride near the elder night elf. Malfurion and the others had been ordered to remain within shouting distance, but otherwise they did not have to stay with Ravencrest. The master of Black Rook Hold did not want all of his strongest weapons clustered together. The Eredar already knew to focus on the druid and the wizards whenever possible.
Jarod Shadowsong and three soldiers rode to him. “It’s time to go! I must ask you to come with us!”
Nodding, Malfurion followed the captain back to the rest. Rhonin and Krasus wore almost identical dour expressions. Brox’s had changed not one bit, but under his breath the orc appeared to be chanting.
“A march at night,” commented Krasus, turning to watch the last vestige of day vanish. “How very predictable. Archimonde will note it. Despite their best to adapt, your people are still inclined to fall back to comfortable tendencies.”
“With such numbers, we’ll still be able to push the demons back,” Captain Shadowsong insisted. “Lord Ravencrest will sweep the monsters from our fair land.”
“So we can only hope.”
A final horn sounded and the night elven host moved as one in the direction of Zin-Azshari. Regardless of his misgivings, Malfurion swelled as he watched the armed force cover the landscape. The banners of three dozen major clans highlighted a collection of alliances spanning the width and breadth of most of the realm. Foot soldiers marched in perfect unison like a swarm of dedicated ants heading to a feast. Night sabers leapt along in great prides a hundred strong and more, their helmed riders staring wearily ahead.
The bulk of the soldiers wielded swords, lances, and bows. Behind them came siege machines—ballistae, catapults, and the like—drawn by teams of the dark panthers. Most of those operating the machines were of Lord Ravencrest’s clan, for in general night elves did not work with such devices. Only Ravencrest seemed to have the foresight necessary to lead his people to victory. That he had not sought the aid of the dwarves and others was bothersome to the druid, but in the end it would not matter. Despite his misconception that Azshara was innocent, the noble would still see to it that the Burning Legion fell to bloody defeat.
After all, there was really no other choice.
Urged on by Ravencrest and their own belief in certain victory, the night elves made good distance that first eve. Their commander finally gave the order to halt two hours into daylight. Immediately the host set up camp, a long line of sentries marking the front to ensure the demons would not catch them by surprise.
Here the land had not yet been touched by the horror of the Burning Legion. To the south, forest still stood. To the north, high, green hills dotted the landscape. The elder night elf sent out patrols to investigate each direction, but no foes were found.
Malfurion was immediately drawn to the woods, almost as if they called his name. When chance came, he separated from his companions and turned his mount toward them.
Jarod Shadowsong immediately noted his act. The captain rode after him, calling out as he approached, “I must ask you to turn back! You cannot go out there by yourself! Remember what happened—”
“I’ll be all right, Jarod,” Malfurion replied quietly. In truth, he felt that this particular patch of wilderness was shielded even from the demonic assassins who had so often preyed on him and his companions. How this could be, Malfurion could not say, but he knew it with the utmost certainty.
“You cannot go alone—”
“I’m not. You’re with me.”
The soldier gritted his
“She looks more suited for battle than either of us,” Malfurion commented.
“Yes. What a mate she’ll make for someone, eh?”
Malfurion looked at his brother, but Illidan had already urged his night saber toward Lord Ravencrest. As the noble’s personal sorcerer, Illidan had to ride near the elder night elf. Malfurion and the others had been ordered to remain within shouting distance, but otherwise they did not have to stay with Ravencrest. The master of Black Rook Hold did not want all of his strongest weapons clustered together. The Eredar already knew to focus on the druid and the wizards whenever possible.
Jarod Shadowsong and three soldiers rode to him. “It’s time to go! I must ask you to come with us!”
Nodding, Malfurion followed the captain back to the rest. Rhonin and Krasus wore almost identical dour expressions. Brox’s had changed not one bit, but under his breath the orc appeared to be chanting.
“A march at night,” commented Krasus, turning to watch the last vestige of day vanish. “How very predictable. Archimonde will note it. Despite their best to adapt, your people are still inclined to fall back to comfortable tendencies.”
“With such numbers, we’ll still be able to push the demons back,” Captain Shadowsong insisted. “Lord Ravencrest will sweep the monsters from our fair land.”
“So we can only hope.”
A final horn sounded and the night elven host moved as one in the direction of Zin-Azshari. Regardless of his misgivings, Malfurion swelled as he watched the armed force cover the landscape. The banners of three dozen major clans highlighted a collection of alliances spanning the width and breadth of most of the realm. Foot soldiers marched in perfect unison like a swarm of dedicated ants heading to a feast. Night sabers leapt along in great prides a hundred strong and more, their helmed riders staring wearily ahead.
The bulk of the soldiers wielded swords, lances, and bows. Behind them came siege machines—ballistae, catapults, and the like—drawn by teams of the dark panthers. Most of those operating the machines were of Lord Ravencrest’s clan, for in general night elves did not work with such devices. Only Ravencrest seemed to have the foresight necessary to lead his people to victory. That he had not sought the aid of the dwarves and others was bothersome to the druid, but in the end it would not matter. Despite his misconception that Azshara was innocent, the noble would still see to it that the Burning Legion fell to bloody defeat.
After all, there was really no other choice.
Urged on by Ravencrest and their own belief in certain victory, the night elves made good distance that first eve. Their commander finally gave the order to halt two hours into daylight. Immediately the host set up camp, a long line of sentries marking the front to ensure the demons would not catch them by surprise.
Here the land had not yet been touched by the horror of the Burning Legion. To the south, forest still stood. To the north, high, green hills dotted the landscape. The elder night elf sent out patrols to investigate each direction, but no foes were found.
Malfurion was immediately drawn to the woods, almost as if they called his name. When chance came, he separated from his companions and turned his mount toward them.
Jarod Shadowsong immediately noted his act. The captain rode after him, calling out as he approached, “I must ask you to turn back! You cannot go out there by yourself! Remember what happened—”
“I’ll be all right, Jarod,” Malfurion replied quietly. In truth, he felt that this particular patch of wilderness was shielded even from the demonic assassins who had so often preyed on him and his companions. How this could be, Malfurion could not say, but he knew it with the utmost certainty.
“You cannot go alone—”
“I’m not. You’re with me.”
The soldier gritted his
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