Authors: Richard A. Knaak
The entire shoreline vanished under a relentless, ripping tide that did not flow inward, but rather sideways. Ruined structures were washed away as if they were nothing. The horrific waves washed over the land again and again, more and more stripping it bare. Stone obelisks were torn from their foundations and paved pathways scattered in chunks. The dead, who had remained unburied, were taken to a deeper, darker place beyond Zin-Azshari where Illidan knew that they would find no better rest than before.
As he finished climbing the ridge, the sorcerer saw at last what was truly happening to the Well and even he stood stunned at the magicks wielded so easily by the distant Sargeras.
A vast whirlpool now engulfed the entire body of water.
He could not, of course, view its full extent, but the very fact that it stretched from the shore of the capital for as far as he could see in any direction gave ample evidence of its mammoth proportions. Illidan saw that, for once, the frenzied energies of the Well now moved in uniform purpose
…
and all were drawn toward the center.
Below and awash in the forces at the edge of the Well, Mannoroth laughed. Fearsome waves that continued to rip away chunks of stone and earth larger than the demon did not even bother the winged being in the least. Mannoroth drank in the glory of his lord’s power, urging Sargeras on with shouts.
Secure on shore, Illidan dared probe deeper into the spell. His higher senses brought him seemingly bodily over the water, moving him along so swiftly that he soon left all land behind. At the same time, the sorcerer’s mind also soared higher, taking in a better overall picture of what Sargeras had wrought.
He had guessed right when he had believed that the whirlpool encompassed the whole of the Well of Eternity. Even yet only able to see a portion of the entire panorama, it was already obvious to the night elf that no part of the Well had been left untouched.
Then, a shimmering light ahead caught his attention. Stretching his senses to their limits, Illidan took in the Demon Soul itself floating high above the surface. The simple-looking disk radiated a golden light that focused most on the waters below. Illidan already knew enough about the Demon Soul to understand that Sargeras wielded it as no one other than the black dragon could have, possibly more so. Even from the distant realm where he waited, the lord of the Legion manipulated the incredible power of the disk perfectly in conjunction with the primal forces of the Well.
But where was the portal? Try as he might, Illidan could not sense it around the Demon Soul. Where, then had Sargeras—
Cursing his ignorance, the sorcerer looked down into the center of the maelstrom.
Looked down
…
and stared into a pathway beyond reality, a pathway to the realm of the Burning Legion.
Illidan had thought that most of the demons had passed through already, but he saw now that what had come had been but a fraction. Endless ranks awaited in the beyond, savage, tusked warriors hungry for destruction. They spread on forever, as far as he could tell, and among them were fiends such as he knew Kalimdor had yet to experience. Some were winged, others crawled, but all were filled with the same intense lust for blood as those he had faced.
Then
…
Illidan sensed the demon lord himself. He felt only the least bit of Sargeras’s presence, but it was more than enough to make the night elf flee from his glimpse of the nether realm. What Illidan had previously experienced of Sargeras’s will had been, he realized belatedly, the tiniest mote of what there truly was. Here, where the lord of the Legion physically existed, no shield could possibly keep the demon from knowing all that Malfurion’s brother thought.
And if Sargeras knew what Illidan planned, the sorcerer’s fate would make that which had befallen the citizens of Zin-Azshari a pleasant and peaceful way to die
…
“What ails you, spellcaster?” grated Varo’then’s voice.
Illidan forced himself not to shake as his mind returned to his body.
“
It’s
…
overwhelming
…”
he said honestly.
“
Just overwhelming.
”
Even the captain did not argue with him there.
Mannoroth plodded up the ridge, his four trunklike legs making craters in the already much-damaged ground. His monstrous orbs held a fanatical look such as Illidan had never seen in the demon prior. Although he had been drenched in the Well, the fearsome figure was completely dry. Such was the truth of the Well, for although it resembled liquid, it was far more.
“Soon…” Mannoroth nearly cooed. “Soon, our lord will pass through into Kalimdor! Soon he will come…”
“And then he will remake Kalimdor into paradise!” Azshara breathed from atop her litter. “Paradise!
”
The demon commander’s eyes grew fiery with anticipation, anticipation
…
and something else that Illidan quickly focused upon.
“
Yes
…
Kalimdor will be remade.
”
“How soon?” the queen pressed, her lips parted and her breath quickening. “Very soon?”
“Yes…very soon…” Mannoroth answered. He trudged past her, heading back to the palace. “Very soon…”
“How wonderful!” Azshara clapped her hands together. Lady Vashj and the other attendants mirrored her glee.
“We’re done here, then,
”
snarled Captain Varo’then, who seemed caught between his desire for Sargeras to arrive and his jealousy against any being who would steal the queen’s emotions from him.
“
Back to the palace!
”
the officer commanded the soldiers and demon warriors.
“
Back to the palace!
”
The Highborne and the satyrs needed no such commands, most already following Mannoroth. Only Illidan lagged behind, his thoughts torn between what he thought he had read in the latter’s words and expression and the glimpse the sorcerer had managed of the demon lord’s realm.
Malfurion’s brother looked back at the roaring whirlpool that was now the Well of Eternity
…
looked back and, for the first time, felt his extreme confidence in himself slightly shaken.
Tyrande was aware that something was taking place, something of tremendous magnitude, but what it might be, she certainly could not tell from her cell. Elune still provided her with some defense against her captors, but little more. The priestess was blind to what happened in the outside world. For all she knew, her people had been crushed and the Burning Legion now marched unhindered across Kalimdor, razing to the ground what remained of the once-beautiful land.
They had taken the guard from her door, the insidious Captain Varo’then deciding that such were wasted on a prisoner clearly going nowhere. Tyrande could hardly blame the officer for his decision; she had certainly revealed herself to be of no threat to the palace.
The sound of sudden footsteps caught her attention. It was hardly the time to bring her food and water. Besides, since the one time she had accepted both from Dath’Remar, Tyrande had neither eaten nor drunk anything more. The Highborne had begged her on both his successive visits to do so, but she took only what she needed, not wanting to risk becoming accustomed to depending upon those who had imprisoned her.
The door slid open with a short-lived creak. To her surprise, it was Dath’Remar and another Highborne. The latter glanced inside only once, took stock of the prisoner, then slipped back into the corridor.
“Dath’Remar! What brings you—”
“Hush, mistress!” He surveyed the cell as if expecting to find it filled with Fel Guard. Seeing that they were alone, Dath’Remar approached the sphere.
From his robes, he removed the sinister artifact that Lady Vashj had used to briefly free her. Tyrande bit back an exclamation, at first wondering if perhaps the sorcerer intended the same fate for her as Azshara’s attendant had.
“Prepare yourself,” Dath’Remar whispered.
He repeated the same steps Vashj had. The sphere lowered and the invisible bonds vanished.
Stiff, Tyrande nearly fell. The Highborne caught her in one arm, the artifact held close to her throat.
“My death will avail you little,” she told him.
He looked startled, then glanced at the thing in his hand. With utter repugnance, the other night elf tossed it away.
“
I have not come to perform such a foul deed, mistress! Now, keep your voice low if you wish to have any hope of escaping this place!
”
“Escape?” Tyrande felt her pulse race. Was this some new, cruel jest?
Dath’Remar read her eyes.
“
No trickery! This was discussed long and hard by us! We cannot stand this obscenity any longer! The queen—” He almost choked, clearly caught between his devotion to Azshara and his repugnance for all that had occurred. “The queen…she is mad. There can be other explanation. She has turned her back on her people for a being of depravity and carnage! This Sargeras promises a perfect world where we, the Highborne, would rule, but all some of us see is the ruination of everything! What paradise can be built from blood-drenched stone and parched earth? None, we think!”
She was not entirely astounded by his confession. There had been hint of his concerns in their prior conversations. It had originally surprised her that there was any independent thought left in the palace—the demon lord surely desiring absolute devotion—but perhaps Sargeras had finally spread his will in too many directions.
Whatever the reasons, the high priestess gave thanks to the Mother Moon for this opportunity. She felt certain that she could entrust herself to Dath’Remar.
“This is our only chance,” the sorcerer emphasized. “The demon lord’s minions are out near the Well performing some spellwork. They’ll be occupied long enough. The others are waiting below, in the stables.
”
“The others?
”
“We can stay here no longer, especially if you are discovered missing. This was decided. I arranged so that most who would leave would not be included in the demons’ present task
…
and those who had to be will be honored for their sacrifice for the rest of us.
”
“May the Mother Moon watch over them,” Tyrande whispered. The fates of those others would not be pleasant ones when Mannoroth and his lord discovered the night elves’ duplicity.
“
But what about the guards?
”
“There are a few of them among us, but most are the dogs of Captain Varo’then! We will have to be cautious about them! Now come! No more questions!
”
He led her out into the corridor where the second Highborne waited. Tyrande hesitated at first, suddenly startled to actually be out of her cell. Dath’Remar, glaring impatiently, pulled her along.
Up a long flight of stairs they rushed, Dath’Remar’s companion taking the lead. There were no signs of sentries, which the priestess assumed had to mean that the sorcerers had done their best to clear the path ahead of time.
The stairway ended at an iron door upon whose center had been framed the beatific face of Azshara. Seeing her made Tyrande involuntarily shake, a reaction which stirred a sympathetic look from the two Highborne.
“Through here is the hall that will lead us directly to the stables. The others should have the mounts ready. When the gates open, we charge like the wind.”
“What about…what about the demons?”
He straightened in pride.
“
We are the Highborne, after all! We are the finest spellcasters in all the realm! They will fall before our might!
”
Then, with less hubris, Dath’Remar added,
“
And, likely, many of us will fall as well
…”
“I sense the way is clear,” interjected the second sorcerer, smiling arrogantly. “The distraction spell still holds Varo’then’s little curs.
”
“But not much longer, I suspect.” Dath’Remar gently pushed aside the door. Sure enough, the hallway beyond was devoid of the grim-faced soldiers.
“We are nearly at the stables,” the other Highborne remarked, his own confidence growing. “You see, Dath’Remar! So much worry about a worthless pack of—”
His words ended in a gurgle as a bolt pierced his neck, the end coming out the opposing side. Blood sprayed Tyrande and Dath’Remar.
As the dead sorcerer tumbled to the floor, several guards filled the corridor.
“Halt right there!” ordered a subofficer with a plumed helm.
In response, Dath’Remar angrily waved one hand to the side.
An invisible force bowled over the guards, sending them flying against the walls like leaves in the wind. The clatter of their striking echoed throughout the hall.