still loomed behind them, but now it receded slightly.
Then, another welcome surprise-chanting came from the center of the advance. The Sisterhood of Elune, resplendent in their battle armor, strengthened the fighters further. Day might have held precedence at the moment, but the priestesses' rhythmic singing literally fed the nocturnal warriors. It was as if the moon herself suddenly hung over the host.
Yard by yard they struggled, demons falling with each step. Krasus looked to the shrouded sky and said, 'Now! Strike the Eredar at will!'
Every spellcaster focused his efforts on the airborne warlocks. Thunder ravaged the sky. Lightning flashed in a jarring display of colors. Winds howled.
They could not see the results of their attacks, but they could sense them in other ways. The Eredar tried to regroup, but they had to also protect their bearers. That left them strained, weaker. Whenever a spell slew one of the demon mages, the defenders felt a sudden lessening of the evil forces arrayed against them. And the more that happened, the harder Krasus's group attacked the survivors.
At last, the warlocks pulled completely back. Their retreat left the monstrous warriors on the ground bereft of any shield against the wizards and the Moon Guard.
'They're fleeing!' Malfurion whispered, awed by the success of his party.
'They are too valuable. Archimonde will need them again,' Krasus replied more dourly. 'And he will need them again. The war is not won, but the battle is saved.'
'Should we not keep after them until we push them through the portal and back into their hellish domain?'
Krasus chuckled, so unusual a sound from him that even Rhonin started. 'You sound more like your brother than you, Malfurion. Let not the euphoria of the moment take you too far. This host will never survive a pitched battle all the way back to Zin-Azshari. They are running on will alone right now.'
'Then…what is the point?'
'Look around you, young night elf. Your people survive. That is more than they thought they could do only an hour before.'
'Will Ravencrest follow your instructions, though?' asked Rhonin, peering back to look for the noble's banner.
'I believe he will. Look there, to the north.'
The advance had slowed there and now the soldiers seemed more interested in securing the ground that they had gained rather than taking more. Mounted officers went about waving other soldiers back to the main group. Some seemed a bit disappointed, but others looked more than happy to rest, even if they still had to stand to do it.
Within minutes, the entire front line had completely halted. Night elves soon began clearing the carnage and creating a strong front line, with solemn but determined warriors positioning themselves to repel anyone who might seek to undo the miracle that they had accomplished.
And only then did Krasus exhale. 'He listened. Praise the Aspects. He listened.'
Ahead of them they could see only the vague shapes of the horde. The Burning Legion had moved far beyond the range of the arrows, even beyond the efforts of the weary spellcasters at the moment.
'We've done it,' Rhonin uttered, his voice almost a croak. 'We kept them from pushing us back beyond Mount Hyjal.'
'Yes,' murmured Krasus, eyes not on the demons, but rather the haggard defenders. 'Yes, we did. Now the most difficult part begins.'
Nine
Mannoroth bent before the black portal, his stocky front legs in a kneeling position and his wide, leathery wings folded tight behind him. The tusked demon tried to make himself as small as possible, for he now communed with Sargeras, who seemed not at all in a pleasant mood.
The way is not yet open to me…I had expected better…
'We struggle,' Mannoroth admitted, 'but the task…it's almost as if the world itself seeks to prevent your coming, Great One.'
I will not be denied…
'N-no, Great One.'
There was silence for a time, then the voice in Mannoroth's head said, There is a disruption, a wrongness… there are those who should not be but are, and those who seek to awake what should not be awoken.
The massive demon did not pretend to understand, but he still replied, 'Yes, Sargeras.'
They are the key. They must be hunted.
'Archimonde is in the field and the Houndmaster is long on the trail. The transgressors will be brought to ground.'
The sinister-looking gap fluctuated, squirming as if alive. Mannoroth could feel the lord of the Legion's desire to make his way into this rich world. The frustration Sargeras radiated chilled even his hardened lieutenant.
One must be brought whole…so that I may have the pleasure of tearing him asunder slowly and delicately.
An image materialized full-blown in Mannoroth's mind. An insignificant creature of the same race as the Highborne. He was younger, though, and wore, in comparison to his fellows, rather drab garments of green and brown. The vision the demon had of him showed the night elf in the palace itself. Mannoroth recognized the chamber where the original portal had been created…a place now only a windswept ruin.
Mark him well.
'I have already, Great One. Archimonde, Hakkar, and I all watch for his presence. One of us will snare him.'
Alive, commanded the presence from beyond, now beginning to recede from Mannoroth's head. Alive…so that I might have my pleasure with his torture…
And as Sargeras vanished, Mannoroth shuddered, knowing full well what fate this Malfurion would face once the Great One had him in his grasp.
The monumental task of reorganizing the host was made more so by the countless refugees accompanying them, but to his credit, Lord Ravencrest did as best as possible. He took an accounting of all supplies, especially food and water, and distributed accordingly. Some of the high-ranking among the refugees protested at not receiving what they thought their rightful-and more bountiful-shares, but one black glare from the bearded commander silenced all.
Tyrande and the sisters also did what they could for the soldiers and civilians. Her helmet pushed back, the priestess of Elune led along a night saber she had borrowed earlier as she stopped to speak with one person after another. All, whether old or young, of high caste or low, welcomed her presence. Perhaps it was just the moment, but they appeared to her especially comforted after she was through. Tyrande did not mark this as the result of any special gift she had, merely assuming that her gentle demeanor was an extreme relief in contrast to all else the others had faced of late.
A small figure crouched by herself seized the priestess's attention. A young female, two or three years away from being able to enter into the service of Elune, sat in miserable silence, staring at nothing.
Kneeling at her side, Tyrande touched her shoulder. The girl started, turning to glare at her like a wild beast.
'Be at peace…' Tyrande said soothingly, handing her a water sack. She waited until the girl had finished, then added, 'I am from the temple. What's your name?'
After a moment's hesitation, the child answered, 'ShShandris Feathermoon.'
'Where is your family?'
'I–I don't know.'
'Are you from Suramar?' The priestess could not recall her, but that did not mean that Shandris was not
