then stepped back and looked around. Unfortunately, that one was not near.
The orc snorted. Rhonin might not know of the dragons yet, but surely it would not be long before everyone became aware of their presence.
The struggle, Brox decided, had just grown a lot more interesting.
Rhonin had never reached Lord Ravencrest. The noble stood within sight of him, but the sudden shift in the fight had forced the wizard to concentrate instead on keeping the front line from collapsing before him. Several quick spells of short duration had helped stabilize it, but he could not save the situation all by himself. Unfortunately, the Moon Guard was already stretched thin in some places and in others Illidan had them focusing on him so that he could cast his grand spells.
Malfurion's brother had grown more and more reckless, and not simply because of the circumstances. He flung spells left and right as if they were pebbles, not caring that he came precariously close to hitting his own people.
Another area threatened to buckle. Prodded on by the Doomguard, three Infernals collided with the soldiers there, tossing them everywhere. Fel Guard poured through, chopping and thrusting at anything that still showed life.
The red-haired wizard gestured, but just as he finished the last bit of his spell, an explosion rocked the region in question. The Infernals shattered and the monstrous warriors behind them fell, their armor and most of their flesh torn away.
Had that been the only result, Rhonin would have cheered. However, among the demon dead were many night elves who had suffered the same horrible fate. Survivors cried out for aid. Blood splattered everything.
Rhonin cursed, but not because the fault had been his. His spell remained uncast.
His furious gaze fell upon Illidan. The sorcerer had finally done it. He had killed his own, and the most horrific part was that he had either not noticed or not cared.
The Burning Legion forgotten, Rhonin began shoving his way toward Malfurion's twin. Illidan had to be taken to account; this could not happen again.
The subject of his righteous ire turned and saw him approaching. Illidan gave him a smile of triumph, which did nothing to alleviate the wizard's anger.
But then Illidan looked up past Rhonin. Both his eyes and his smile widened as he pointed.
Despite wanting nothing to distract him, Rhonin had to look.
His eyes, too, widened…and a curse escaped his lips.
There were dragons in a suddenly-clearing sky. Hundreds of dragons.
'No…' Rhonin growled at the high-flying figures. He made out one at the forefront, a black so large that he could be only one dragon. That, in turn, meant that this could be only one particular event in history…the very worst of events, as far as the defenders could be concerned. 'No…not now…not now…'
Twenty
There was little that could dismay Archimonde. He attacked every situation with an analytical mind-night elves, magic, even dragons.
But now his composure had been shaken. He had not expected the dragons to come in such numbers. All he had learned of them indicated that they remained out of worldly matters, so aloof that they could not see the end of their world coming. A few, of course, had been expected to act as mavericks, rogues. Archimonde had planned for those, countless Doomguard hiding in the mists and ready to take them on.
But not only had he been outmaneuvered by the beasts…they had all come.
The demon commander quickly composed himself. Sargeras permitted no failure at this point. Archimonde reached out with his thoughts, touched the minds of every Eredar and Dreadlord, and ordered them to turn their magics on the approaching flights.
Confident that the sorcerous might of the Burning Legion would deal with these interlopers, Archimonde returned his attention to the battle. The Nathrezim and warlocks would eliminate the dragons. The latter were only creatures of this world, after all, their power limited to its laws. The Legion was so, so much more.
Yes, there was definitely nothing even the dragons could do to prevent his glorious victory.
Tyrande's sisters had been pushed toward a hilly region upon which stood a few gnarled and dead oaks. The surprise swarming of the demons had left all night elves stunned, and regardless of the sisterhood's attempts to rally those around them, even they had a hard time keeping hopeful under such a crushing blow.
The new high priestess now fought on foot, her night saber having sacrificed itself against blades meant for its mistress. Tyrande had slain the demons who had killed it, and now went to help another sister wounded badly in the same assault. Tyrande pulled the bloody figure up to the trees, where she hoped that the priestess could be left without being noticed by the attackers.
From her higher vantage point, the struggle took on an even more ominous tone. Everywhere Tyrande looked, she saw a sea of fiery figures pressing her people. Night elves fell left and right, mercilessly slaughtered.
'Elune, Mother Moon,' she suddenly muttered. 'Is there nothing more you can do for your children? The world will end here if something cannot be done!'
But it seemed the goddess had given all that she could, for death continued to come to the night elves. Tyrande leaned down, hoping to at least aid her fellow sister, while at the same time wondering if she should even bother.
Then, the odd sensation that someone watched her made the high priestess pause in her healing. She looked over her shoulder, certain that she had glimpsed a shadow. However, when she peered close, Tyrande saw only the dead trees.
She almost returned to her work, but then something else caught her attention. Tyrande looked up to the sky and her crestfallen expression changed to one of hope.
Dragons filled the air, dragons of every flight.
'Praise Elune!' she gasped.
Her determination renewed, Tyrande focused on healing the other priestess. The Mother Moon had answered her prayers again. She had sent a force with which even the Burning Legion could not reckon.
Surely now there was nothing more to fear…
The dragons spread through the sky as Neltharion had dictated, alternating by their various colors so as to spread the particular talents and traits of each flight as evenly as possible. Near the Earth Warder, Alexstrasza, Ysera, Malygos, and the bronze female poised. Had Neltharion glanced at the red dragon, he might have noticed that Alexstrasza's eyes darted here and there, as if seeking someone. In his madness, the black had not even registered the absence of her youngest consort.
Far below, the tiny figures had begun to notice the dragons' overwhelming presence. A great, toothy smile spread across Neltharion's reptilian features. His audience was ready.
'Now,' he rumbled, 'let the Dragon Soul be revealed to our enemies below!'
The tiny disk flared so bright that every behemoth save the Earth Warder had to turn their eyes from it. Neltharion ignored the burning sensation in his orbs, so captivated was he.
The Dragon Soul struck.
Its attack came as a flash of the purest golden light, purer than the sun and stars, purer than the moon. It swept down across the demon horde and utterly vaporized the Burning Legion wherever it touched.
The demons howled. The demons shrieked. They spilled away from the killing light, fleeing as they had done before no foe, not even the night elves. Fear was a thing little known to their kind, but they felt it now.
The defenders at first watched in abject awe, so silent that one might have mistaken them for stone. Even the haughtiest among the nobles could not but gape at such power unleashed, power that made their command of the Well's energy laughable at best.
