WarCraft: War of The Ancients Book Two. Richard A. KnaakЧитать онлайн книгу.
his amber-eyed twin, “but we’ll make due.” He raised his hand for Malfurion to see; a red aura surrounded it. “We’re not without strength of our own.” Illidan caused the aura to cease. “Even if you seem a little reluctant to make full use of what Cenarius taught you.” By full use, Malfurion’s sibling meant unleashing spells that wreaked havoc not only on the enemy, but the landscape and anything else caught in the path. Illidan still did not understand that druidism required working with the peaceful balance of nature, not against it.
“I do what I can in the way I must. If you—”
But Malfurion got no further, for, at that moment, a figure out of nightmare dropped down before them.
The Fel Guard opened his grisly maw and roared at the pair. His flaming armor did not make Malfurion in the least hot, but rather chilled the night elf to the very core of his soul. Sword raised, the horned demon swung at the nearest foe—Illidan.
“No!” Malfurion shoved his brother aside, at the same time calling upon the forest and heavens to come to his aid.
A sudden, intense wind slammed into the demon, flinging him like a leaf several yards back. He fell against a tree—cracking the trunk—then slid to the ground.
As if the tentacles of some huge squid, the roots of every tree within reach squirmed over the stunned attacker. The demon tried to rise, but his arms, legs, torso, and head were suddenly pinned to the earth. He struggled, but only succeeded in losing what remained of his grip on his weapon.
Their victim secure, the roots then immediately sank back into the ground—and, in the process, through the demon.
A hissing gasp was all that escaped the monstrous assassin before the roots severed his head from his body. Green ichor poured out of the horrific wounds. Like a puzzle someone had just spilled, the parts of the demon tumbled back toward his would-be targets.
Yet, even as Malfurion dealt with the first, two more Fel Guard dropped from the trees. Cursing, Illidan rose to his knees and pointed at the nearest.
A demon in the midst of lunging at him abruptly turned his mace on his comrade, caving in the unsuspecting victim’s skull with one terrible blow.
Malfurion suddenly detected something amiss. The hair on his neck rising, he started to look over his shoulder.
A humongous, four-legged beast leapt upon him. Two wriggling tentacles with toothy suckers at the end drove into his chest. Row upon row of yellowed, fanged teeth filled his gaze. A stench like rotting flesh assailed him.
Somewhere beyond his own ghastly predicament, he heard Illidan cry out, the shout cut off by a sound vaguely reminiscent of a hound’s howl.
They had been deceived, put purposely off-guard by the frontal attack so that an even worse foe could come at them from behind. The felbeasts had been set to spring the moment the opportunity arose.
Malfurion screamed as the vampiric suckers literally tore the magic from his body much as the teeth would soon tear his flesh. To any spellcaster, felbeasts were an especially insidious foe, for they hunted those with the gift for magic and drank from them until nothing but husks remained. Worse, given enough energy to devour, the demonic hounds could multiply themselves several times over, creating an epidemic of evil.
He tried to tear the tentacles free, but they had clamped tight. The night elf felt his strength waning …
… And then what sounded like the patter of rain filled his ears.
The felbeast shook. The tentacles released their hold and flailed about until, with a ponderous groan, the demon fell to the side, almost collapsing on Malfurion’s arm.
Blinking away his tears, the night elf discovered more than a dozen sharp bolts sticking out of the felbeast’s thick hide. Each shaft had been expertly aimed to strike the most vulnerable areas. The demon had been dead before it had even dropped.
From the forest above came more than twoscore riders clad in gray-green armor and sitting atop huge, black sabertoothed panthers called night sabers. The massive cats darted between the trees with an agility and swiftness unmatchable by almost any other creature.
“Spread out!” called a young officer whose voice sounded familiar to Malfurion. “Make certain there are no more!”
The soldiers moved out quickly, but with caution. Malfurion could appreciate their care, for he knew that, this being daylight, they were not at their best. Still, the druid could not deny that their skills were admirable, not after they had saved his life.
Riding up to Malfurion, the officer reined the hissing cat to a halt. The night sabers, too, did not like this switch from dark to light, but they were gradually growing to tolerate it.
“Is this to be my fate, then?” asked the somewhat roundfeatured night elf. He seemed to be studying Malfurion very intently, though the latter knew part of that was simply due to the sharper slant of the officer’s silver eyes. “Trying to keep from getting yourselves slaughtered? I should’ve begged his lordship to let me keep my posting in the Suramar Guard.”
“But then this might’ve turned out different, Captain
Shadowsong,” Malfurion replied.
The soldier exhaled in frustration. “No … it wouldn’t have, because Lord Ravencrest would’ve never let me go back to the Guard! He seems to think I was anointed by the Mother Moon herself to protect the backs of his special servants!”
“You came back to Suramar in the company of myself, a novice priestess of Elune, a mysterious wizard … and a dragon, captain. I’m afraid we marked you in the eyes of Lord Ravencrest and the other commanders. They’ll never see you as a simple Guard officer again.”
Shadowsong grimaced. “I’m no hero, Master Malfurion. You and the others slay demons with barely the wave of a hand. I just try to preserve your heads so that you can continue to do it.”
Jarod Shadowsong had had the misfortune to capture Krasus while the latter had tried to enter Suramar. The mage had used the captain to gain aid for himself, which in turn had resulted in bringing Malfurion and the others, including Korialstrasz, together at last. Unfortunately for the good officer, his dedication to duty meant that he had accompanied his prisoner through the entire incident; that, most of all, had stuck in Lord Ravencrest’s mind when he determined that his spellcasters needed someone to watch over them. Jarod Shadowsong soon found himself “volunteered” to command a contingent of hardened soldiers, most of whom had far more military experience than himself.
“There was no need for all this charging about,” Illidan snapped as he joined his brother. “I had this situation in hand.”
“My orders, Master Illidan. As it is, I barely caught sight of you leaving on your own, against his lordship’s commands.” Shadowsong swung his gaze back to Malfurion. “And when I discovered how long you had been missing …”
“Hmmph,” was all Illidan responded. For one of the few times in recent days, the twins were in agreement—neither cared for Lord Ravencrest’s demand that they be constantly watched. Doing so only made them more eager to escape. In Malfurion’s case, it was due to the nature of his calling; in Illidan’s it was because he had no patience for the endless councils. Illidan did not care for battle plans; he just wanted to go out and destroy demons.
Only … this time it had almost been the demons who destroyed him. Neither he nor Malfurion had sensed their nearness, a new and frightening aspect. The Burning Legion had learned how to better cloak its assassins. Even the forest had been blithefuly ignorant of the taint in its midst. That did not bode well for the future of the struggle.
One of the other soldiers rode up to Shadowsong. Saluting, he said, “The area’s clear, captain. Not a sign of any more—”
A bone-shivering cry echoed through the forest.
Malfurion and Illidan turned and ran in the direction of the source. Jarod Shadowsong opened his mouth to call them back, then clamped