The Sundering by Richard A. Knaak Read Free Book Online Page B

found their adversaries refreshed. Now, instead of merely the night elf host, there were others who fought. Almost doubling the host’s strength, the tauren, dwarves, and other races added a new and desperately-needed edge to the defenders’ strength. For the first time in days, it was the Legion that failed, pushed back within a night’s ride of ruined Suramar.
    Yet, despite this success, Malfurion felt little renewed hope. It was not just that he had come to see his devastated home as the constant barometer of victory and defeat, the battle continuously ebbing and flowing within sight of the once-beautiful settlement. Rather, it was the very core of the host’s new power that bothered him. True, Rhonin had managed to force upon Lord Stareye the new allies, but the prejudiced noble had made what should have been a common cause a reluctant truce. The night elves did not truly fight alongside the others. Stareye kept his people to the left and middle flanks, the others to the right. There was little communication and almost no interaction between the various groups. Night elves dealt only with night elves, dwarves with dwarves, and so on.
    Such an alliance, if it could laughingly be called that, was surely doomed to defeat. The demons would compensate for the new numbers and attack harder than ever.
    What coordination there had to be had been foisted upon the unfortunate Jarod Shadowsong. The druid wondered that the guard captain did not hate the outsiders, for they had brought him nothing but calamity. Yet, Jarod took on his new tasks with the dour dedication that he had the previous ones, for which Malfurion had to admire him. In truth, whatever the benefit of Rhonin’s, Brox’s, or Malfurion’s presence, Jarod’s work matched it. He coordinated all matters between the factions—by necessity filtering out dangerous arguments and slurs—and creating something cohesive. In truth, the captain now had at least as much to do with the host’s strategy as the pompous Stareye.
    Malfurion only prayed that the noble would never realize all this. Ironically, it appeared Captain Shadowsong certainly didn’t. In his mind, he was merely obeying orders.
    Rhonin, who had been resting atop a rock overseeing the battlefield, abruptly straightened. “They’re coming again!”
    Brox leapt to his feet with a grace his hulking form belied. The graying orc swung his ax once, twice, then started for the front line. Malfurion leapt atop his night saber, one of the huge, tusked panthers used by his people for travel and war.
    Horns sounded. The weary host stiffened in readiness. Different notes echoed along the ranks as the various factions prepared.
    And moments later, the battle was again joined.
    The defenders and the demons collided with an audible crash. Instantly, grunts and cries filled the air. Roaring a challenge, Brox severed the head of a Fel Guard, then shoved the quivering torso into the demon behind. The orc cut a bloody swathe, quickly leaving more than half a dozen demons dead or dying.
    Atop another night saber, Rhonin also battled. He did not merely cast spells, although, like Malfurion, he constantly kept watch for the Eredar, the Legion’s warlocks. The Eredar had suffered badly during past campaigns, but they were ever a threat, striking when least expected.
    For now, however, Rhonin utilized his magic in conjunction with his combat skills. Astride the night saber, the human wielded twin blades created solely from magic. The blue streams of energy stretched more than a yard each and when the wizard brought them into play, they wreaked havoc on a scale with the orc. Demon armor made for no resistance; Fel Guard weapons broke as if fragile glass against them. Rhonin fought with a passion that Malfurion could well understand, for the red-haired figure had let slip of a mate and coming children whose fate also rested in defeating the legion. As Malfurion was with Tyrande and Illidan, so, too, was Rhonin with his faraway