the butchery? How had he survived all that in addition to the mental attack? The very notion of the terrible spectacle that had taken place unnoticed around him made him shiver.
Malfurion had no answers to his questions, but he did understand one thing. He had survived what had been thrown at him by one of the archdemons. On the one hand, he could be grateful for the miracle; on the other, he was aware that he had now been marked by Archimonde. They would meet again, that was almost assured.
And when they did, Malfurion knew the demon lord would do his best to make certain that next time, there would be no escape.
Seven
Peroth'arn struggled wearily into his personal chamber, finally free to recuperate a little of the strength that his constant work on the portal had drained from him. Before leaving to take personal command of the demonic horde, Archimonde had laid in place a concise plan by which the portal would gradually be adapted to withstand the entrance of the great Sargeras. Unlike Mannoroth, who flung the Highborne sorcerers into their work with no regard for their flagging power, Archimonde recognized that the night elves would not survive long enough to fulfill their duty if they did not have a chance to sleep or eat. He worked them hard, yes, but the respites he gave them actually had enabled the work to advance as never before, even under the guidance of Lord Xavius.
Thinking of his former master, Peroth'arn could not help but look over his shoulder. The room-a small chamber with but a wooden bed, a table, and a brass oil lamp-was filled with shadows, each of them reminding the sorcerer of the thing that had emerged after the glorious Archimonde. That the beast who walked on two legs had once been Xavius unnerved most of the Highborne. They had all lived in fear of the queen's advisor when he had been one of them, but now he radiated an unsettling presence that of late even haunted Peroth'arn's dreams.
Trying to shake off such concerns, the night elf distastefully inspected the bed. He was as dedicated to the work as they all were, but as one of the Highborne he was used to far better accommodations. He longed for his villa and his mate, neither of whom he had seen in days. Mannoroth had permitted no one to leave the palace, and in that, he and Archimonde were in full agreement. Therefore, the sorcerers had to sleep wherever they could-in this case, chambers once used by the officers of the guard. Captain Varo'then had willingly offered them up to the spellcasters, but Peroth'arn could have sworn that the scarred soldier had done so with a slight wry smile. Varo'then and his underlings were used to a more spartan existence and Peroth'arn suspected that they enjoyed the discomfort the sorcerers now had to endure for the sake of the cause.
But all would be worth it when the lord of the Legion made his entrance. The world would be expunged of the unclean, the undeserving. Only the Highborne, the most perfect of Azshara's subjects, would survive. Peroth'arn and others like him would populate a fresh, remade land, creating a paradise as none had ever before dreamed.
There would be much work after, of course. As had been explained to them by the queen, the Burning Legion had to raze what already existed out of necessity. The world would have to begin from scratch. Much would be expected from the Highborne, but boundless were the rewards their efforts would reap.
With a martyr's sigh, Peroth'arn sat down on the hard bed. Once paradise was created, a softer, more lush place to sleep would be among his first requests.
He had barely put his head to the gray lump that acted as his pillow when a voice whispered in his ear.
'So much sacrifice…so much hardship undeserved…'
Peroth'arn bolted to a sitting position. Again he peered around the chamber, but saw nothing save the horribly-unadorned walls and meager, undecorated furniture.
'Forced to take such squalor…you are to be admired, dear Peroth'arn…'
A sharp intake of breath was the Highborne's only response as a piece of shadow detached itself from a corner. Onyx eyes with streaks of ruby coursing across them fixed upon the startled sorcerer.
'Xavius…'
The satyr's hooves clattered ever so slightly as he moved closer to Peroth'arn. 'I lived that name once,' he murmured. 'It doesn't mean as much to me as it did then.'
'What are you doing here?'
Xavius chuckled, a sound much like the bleat of the creature he resembled. 'I know your ambition, Peroth'arn. I know your dreams and how hard you've struggled for them.'
Despite his distrust of the horned figure, the night elf felt a sense of appreciation. No one else seemed to understand all that he contributed. Not even the queen or Archimonde.
'I pushed you hard, you know, because I expected much from you, my friend.'
Peroth'arn had not known and hearing it now from his former master made his chest swell with pride. Lord Xavius had been the bar by which the other Highborne had measured their skills. He had been the unparalleled master of his craft. Who else would willingly forfeit their own eyes to better understand the powers that they wielded? There was no sacrifice asked of the others that the advisor himself had not first suffered.
'I…I am honored.'
Tilting his head, the horned satyr grinned. For some reason, Peroth'arn did not find that grin as frightening as he had earlier.
'No…'tis I who am honored, good Peroth'arn…and I come now in the hope that I may be honored even more.'
'I don't understand, my-I don't understand.'
'A little wine?' The hooved figure produced a flask from the air and offered it to the night elf. Peroth'arn opened the flask and sniffed. The heady bouquet thrilled his senses. Surely this was rainbow flower wine, his personal favorite.
Xavius leaned near. 'From her own cellar…' he said, leering. 'But we can keep that secret between us, eh?'
The thought of so bold a transgression against Azshara initially stunned the sorcerer, but then thrilled him. Xavius had performed this act of betrayal against the queen just for Peroth'arn's sake. Azshara had executed loyal subjects for far less.
'Captain Varo'then would be aghast,' Peroth'arn suggested.
'He is not one of us…and therefore not a concern.'
'True.' To the rest of the Highborne, the captain and his soldiers were a necessary evil. They were servants of the queen, to be certain, but they lacked the noble blood and flamboyant airs of the others. Most of the Highborne considered them no better than those who had once lived beyond the walls of the palace, but never let such notions show in their expressions. Captain Varo'then had ways of quietly dealing with those who showed him contempt.
'Drink,' Xavius urged, pushing the flask up.
With the mouth of the bottle already near his lips, Peroth'arn saw no reason to hesitate anymore. He let the gentle liquid flow over his tongue and down his throat. His entire body tingled as he swallowed the rare vintage.
'A long-overdue reward,' Xavius said. 'One of many.'
'Delicious.'
His hooved companion nodded. The more he sat with the satyr, the less Peroth'arn feared Xavius. The former advisor gave him the respect he so richly deserved. That was truly an honor for the night elf, for was not Xavius now a much respected servant of the great Sargeras? Was he not now more to the lord of the Legion than all the Highborne combined?
'He watches you, too,' the satyr commented quietly, as if passing a secret to a trusted comrade.
' ‘He'? You mean-'
'All are under his wise gaze, even from so far away.' A tapering finger thrust at the sorcerer. 'But some are observed more than others…in the hopes that they may be groomed for further greatness.'
Peroth'arn was speechless. Sargeras had marked him so? He quickly downed another huge gulp of wine, his eyes wide and calculating. How the others would have envied him.
