The Sundering Read Free Page B

features were also more hawklike than any of Malfurion’s kind. In addition, his eyes somewhat resembled Rhonin’s, but were long and narrowed and held in their dark pupils a fire borne of ancient wisdom.
    The ancient wisdom of a being who was in truth a dragon.
    A figure stalked toward them. Not Krasus, but Brox. The orc looked weary but defiant, as he always did. Brox was a warrior who had battled all his life. The tusked orc had scars everywhere. He vied with the tauren in musculature. Lord Stareye dismissed Brox as a beast no better than Huln or the furbolg. Yet, everyone respected the orc’s arm, especially when he wielded the enchanted wooden ax Cenarius and Malfurion had created just for him.
    The druid continued to seek out Krasus, but the latter was nowhere to be found. Malfurion did not like that. “Where is he?”
    Pursing his lips, Rhonin sourly answered, “He said he had something else that had to be done quickly, regardless of the consequences.”
    “And that means?”
    “I’ve no idea, Malfurion. In many matters, Krasus trusts only himself.”
    “We need him…I need him…”
    Rhonin put a hand on the night elf’s shoulder. “I promise you…we’ll rescue her.”
    Malfurion was not so convinced, just as he was still not convinced that Lord Stareye would accept such allies as these. The mission that Rhonin and his companions had undertaken had not been sanctioned by the host’s commander, but Krasus had been convinced that once the noble was confronted with such aid, he would see reason. But convincing Desdel Stareye would be a much more difficult quest than talking sense to furbolgs.
    The druid finally surrendered to the fact that there would be no new and immediate attempt to rescue Tyrande. In truth, they had already tried everything they could, at least for now. Still, even as he turned again to the matter of the new arrivals, Malfurion’s thoughts ever worked to devise some manner by which to save his childhood friend…and, at the same time, discover the truth concerning Illidan’s fate.
    The dwarf puffed stolidly on his pipe, while Huln waited with a patience belying his brutish form. Unng Ak sniffed the air, taking in the different scents and clutching the club tight.
    Rhonin, eyeing their potential allies, remarked, “Of course, damned if I wouldn’t prefer Krasus here right now myself. I can hardly wait to see Stareye’s face when this bunch stands before him…”
     
    The noble’s jaw dropped. His eyes bulged as much as was possible for his kind. The pinch of snuff almost to his nostril crumbled to the floor of the tent like ash as his fingers twitched.
    “You have brought what into our midst?”
    Rhonin’s expression remained calm. “The one chance we have left of staving the losses and perhaps even winning.”
    Lord Stareye angrily flung aside his richly embroidered cloak. A flurry of intertwining green, orange, and purple lines marked its passage. In contrast, his armor was the more subdued gray-green common among the night elves, although its breast plate was decorated in the center by his House symbol, a multitude of tiny, gem-encrusted stars in the center of each of which a golden orb had been set. Lying on a table used for mapping out strategy was his similarly-decorated helm.
    The haughty night elf stared down his lengthy, pointed nose. “You have disobeyed a direct order, yes! I shall have you clapped in irons and—”
    “And I’ll dissolve them before they lock. Then, I’ll leave the host, as, I suspect, will some of my friends.”
    It was simply stated, but all there understood the threat. Stareye stared at the three other nobles who had been with him when Rhonin and Malfurion had come to announce the arrival of allies. They returned his stare blankly. None wanted to take the responsibility of urging the commander to rid his force of its most prominent fighters.
    The senior night elf suddenly smiled. Malfurion resisted shuddering at that smile.
    “Forgive me,