Immediately the demon charged, intent on trampling the orc to death. But as he neared, Brox, who had managed to keep his weapon, positioned it against the ground like a pike.

The Infernal impaled himself. He struggled to reach Brox, but the veteran warrior kept his position. In his fury, the Infernal only worsened matters. The ax sank deeper, causing a new gush of fire that came within an inch or two of the orc.

With a shudder, the huge demon finally stilled.

But despite such personal victories, the Burning Legion relentlessly pushed forward. Malfurion tried to summon up some of the emotion that had enabled him to push back the horde in the past, but could not. Tyrande’s kidnapping had left that part of him drained.

He saw Lord Stareye far to the left, the noble berating the struggling soldiers there. Stareye was a far contrast to his predecessor. Ravencrest would have been as blood- and grime-soaked as his troops, but Stareye looked immaculate. He was surrounded by his personal guard, who let nothing unseemly near him even at such a critical moment.

Then, to the druid’s surprise, a shaggy figure charged past him, heading for the near-breach. Another and another followed, gargantuan tauren moving up to the weakened line and adding their astounding strength. With a gusto worthy of Brox, they attacked the demons, cutting down several of the tusked warriors in the first strike. Among them, Malfurion made out Huln at the head, his eagle spear impaling one Fel Guard with such force the tip broke through the back. Huln shook off the dead demon with ease, then parried a wild swing by another. The lead tauren grinned wide.

And with the tauren came an unlikely figure. Jarod Shadowsong, blade already blooded, shouted to the huge beastmen with him. To Malfurion’s surprise, the group shifted as if obeying some command. They spread out, enabling the night elves to rebuild their own lines and come to the aid of their rescuers.

Priestesses of Elune also materialized, the warrior maidens a striking group, especially in contrast to their peaceful ways before the coming of the Legion. Their appearance stung Malfurion, though, for it increased again his guilt that he had not managed to keep Tyrande out of the demons’ clutches.

Astride their animals, the priestesses used sword and bow against the enemy. However, among those most proficient was one not truly a priestess. Shorter than the rest, young Shandris Feathermoon lacked a summer or two before she should have been officially able to become a novice. But drastic times demanded drastic measures. Marinda, the sister acting in Tyrande’s absence, had granted Shandris a place in their depleted ranks. Now, clad in slightly-oversize armor taken from a fallen compatriot, the newest of the Mother Moon’s daughters fired off three bolts, all of which scored perfect strikes in the throats of demons.

The Legion’s progress halted. The defenders began to push back. Malfurion and Rhonin added their powers to the task and the night elves retook ground.

In the midst of the sisterhood, there was a sudden shriek. Two of the armored priestesses fell, their bodies contorted and crushed by their very armor. Even dead, their expressions revealed the agony that the compressing metal had put them through.

Malfurion’s eyes narrowed and he gasped. One of them was Marinda.

“Eredar!” snarled Rhonin. He raised a hand toward the northwest.

But before the wizard could strike back, a fount of flame erupted from that very direction. Malfurion sensed the distant warlock’s own agony as the flames engulfed him.

“My sincere regrets for so delayed a return,” muttered Krasus, the source of that retribution. The dragon mage stood a short distance behind the pair. “I was forced to make the return in stages,” he added with bitterness.

No one condemned him, not after all he had done. Still, it was clear that Krasus would not so easily forgive himself.

“We’ve pushed them back again,” declared Rhonin. There was no enthusiasm in his words. “Just like we did the time before and the time before…”

The battle retreated from them. Now that matters were once more in the hands of the defenders, the sisters of Elune turned to their true vocation — dealing with the wounded. They moved among the soldiers and a few even went to tend the tauren, albeit with some clear reservations.

Battle horns made the trio look to where Lord Stareye rode. The noble waved his sword around, then pointed at the Burning Legion. It was clear that he was taking full credit for the host’s latest advance.

Krasus shook his head. “Would that Brox had reached Ravencrest in time.”

“He did his best, I’m sure,” Malfurion responded.

“I have no quarrel with the orc concerning his effort, young one. It is fate with whom I ever battle. Come, let us take this reprieve to see if we can aid the sisterhood. There are plenty of wounded to go around.”

There were, indeed. Malfurion put to good use another aspect of his training. Cenarius had taught him much concerning those plants and other life that could ease pain and heal wounds. His talents were not so proficient as that of most of the priestesses, but he left his charges in much better condition than he found them.

Among the wounded, they located Jarod. The captain sat near his resting night saber as a sister looked to a long gash in the officer’s arm.

“I’ve tried to convince her it’s nothing,” he remarked sourly as they approached. “The armor protected me fairly well.”

“The Burning Legion’s weapons are often poisoned,” Krasus explained. “Even a slight wound might prove treacherous.” The pale mage dipped his head toward the officer. “Quick thinking out there. You saved the situation.”

“I only pleaded with the tauren, Huln, to give me a few of his people to save mine, then asked the dwarves to make sure I hadn’t weakened the tauren lines.”

“As I said, quick thinking. The night elves and the bull-men fought well together, when it came to it. Would that our erstwhile commander saw that. The moment I arrived, I perceived that there was no true cohesion among the allies.”

Rhonin smirked. “Could you expect any better from Lord Stareye?”

“Alas, no.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of a senior priestess. She was tall and moved like a night saber herself. Her face was not unattractive, but her expression was severe. The sister’s skin was a shade paler than most of her people. For some reason, despite that, she reminded Malfurion of someone.

“They said they saw you,” she commented blandly to Jarod.

He looked at her blankly, as if not certain she actually stood there. “Maiev…”

“It’s been long since we saw one another, little brother.”

Now the physical resemblance became more apparent. The captain disengaged himself from the other priestess’s efforts and stood to face his sibling. Even though he stood taller than her, somehow Jarod seemed to look up at Maiev.

“Since you entered the moon goddess’s service and chose the temple in Hajiri as the place for your studies.”

“It’s where Kalo’thera ascended to the stars,” Maiev countered, referring to a celebrated high priestess from centuries past. Many in the sisterhood considered Kalo’thera almost a demigoddess.

“It was far from home.” Jarod suddenly seemed to recall the others. He looked to them, saying, “This is my older sister, Maiev. Maiev, these are — ”

The senior priestess all but ignored Malfurion and Rhonin, her gaze strictly on Krasus. Like the rest of the sisterhood, she evidently saw that he was special, even if she did not understand why. Maiev went down on one knee before Jarod could continue, declaring, “I am honored in your presence, elder one.”

Expressionless, Krasus answered, “There is no need to kneel before me. Rise, sister, and be welcome among us. You and yours were timely in your appearance today.”