The Well of Eternity (15 page)

“It came from out behind the nearest trees, m-my lord…and went directly for…for Hargo’then! S-slew his mount with one swipe of the c-claws and th-then…”

The sorcerer had no chance. Before the startled night elves could react, two horrific tentacles on the creature’s back had thrust out, adhering themselves like leeches to Hargo’then’s chest and forehead. The Moon Guard leader screamed as no night elf had ever heard one of their own scream and before their eyes he had suddenly shriveled into a dry, limp husk quickly discarded by the slavering, four-legged monstrosity.

Finally recovering from their shock, the other night elves belatedly charged the beast, seeking at least to avenge Hargo’then’s death.

Too late they realized that they were also being hunted from behind by a third beast. The attackers had become the attacked, caught between twin demonic forces.

The resulting carnage had been clear for the newcomers to see. The Moon Guard had perished swiftly, their weakened magical abilities actually making them much more attractive prey. The soldiers had fared little better, but at least their blades had some effect on the demons.

As the survivor finished his tale, he grew less coherent. By the time he reached the conclusion, where he and three others had banded together at this spot, it was all Lord Ravencrest and Illidan could do to understand his ramblings.

Rol’tharak looked up. “He’s passed out again, my lord. I fear he may not be waking up again.”

“See what you can do for him to ease his pain. Check that other one, too.” The noble frowned. “I want another look at that first carcass. Sorcerer, attend me.”

Illidan followed Ravencrest back along the trail. Two guards broke off from their duties to follow the pair. The other soldiers continued to survey the area, trying unsuccessfully to find any more survivors.

“What do you make of the story?” the veteran commander asked of Illidan. “Have you heard of such things?”

“Never, my lord…but I am not part of the Moon Guard and so not privy to all their arcane knowledge.”

“For all the good their knowledge did them! Hargo’then was always too confident! Most of the Moon Guard are!”

Illidan gave a noncommittal noise.

“Here it is…”

The macabre beast looked as if it still sought to remove the wedge from its throat. Despite the open wounds it bore, the creature was bereft of any eager scavengers, even flies. Even the forest life seemed repelled by the dead intruder.

To the two soldiers, Ravencrest commanded, “Check the path we took. See if the trail the first party and ours followed continues on. I still want that green-skinned brute…more than ever now!”

As the other two rode on, both Illidan and the noble dismounted, the latter also unsheathing his blade. The night sabers were not at all keen on remaining so near the carcass, so their riders led them to a thick tree a short distance away and tied the reins to it.

Once back at the corpse, Lord Ravencrest knelt down. “Simply horrid! In all my years, I’ve never faced such a thing so well designed for carnage…” He lifted a leathery tentacle. “Curious appendage. So this is what the other used to suck Hargo’then dry! What do you make of it?”

Trying not to back away from the foul limb thrust in his face, Illidan managed, “V-vampiric in nature, my lord. Some animals drink blood, but this one seeks magical energy.” He looked around. “The other’s been torn off.”

“Yes, so it has. Likely by an animal…”

While the noble continued his gruesome examination, Illidan considered the monstrosity’s death. The soldier reported that this first one had been dead already. To the young night elf’s quick mind, that meant the only ones who could have slain it were Malfurion and Brox…and judging by the physical struggle that had taken place, Illidan would have placed his bet more on the powerful orc.

Off to the side, the cats grew increasingly virulent in their protests at being so near the creature. Illidan tried to shut out the sounds of their hissing, still concerned about his brother. They had sighted no other corpses save those of the first party and the second of the three beasts mentioned, but—

Head snapping up straight, Illidan said, “My Lord Ravencrest! We never found any sign of the—”

The snarls of the night sabers reached a new crescendo.

Illidan sensed something behind him.

He threw himself to the side, accidentally colliding with the unsuspecting noble. Both fell flat to the ground, the younger night elf sprawled haphazardly over the commander. Ravencrest’s sword flew wildly, landing far beyond either’s reach.

The huge, clawed form that had just leapt at Illidan went sailing over the carcass of its twin.

“What in the name of—” Ravencrest managed. The night sabers struggled to attack, but their reins held, keeping the cats from being any aid.

Recovering first, Illidan looked up to see the hellish creature turning to attempt a second strike. He had thought the dead one terrifying enough, but to see one alive and bearing down on him nearly made Illidan flee in utter panic.

But instead of leaping again, the canine horror suddenly lashed at Illidan with the two tentacles atop its back. Memories of the husks that had once been powerful members of the Moon Guard filled the night elf’s mind.

Yet, as the gaping appendages sought his magic, sought his very body, self-preservation took over. Recalling how one tentacle on the dead beast had been ripped free, Illidan quickly devised a plan of attack.

He did not try to strike the monster directly, knowing how little that would probably help. It would simply suck up Illidan’s spell and perhaps continue draining him directly. Instead, Illidan chose to cast his spell on Lord Ravencrest’s lost blade, which lay out of his hellish foe’s sight.

The animated sword rose swiftly in the air and began to spin, whirling faster and faster. Illidan directed it at the creature’s back, aiming for the parasitic appendages.

With pinpoint accuracy, the whirling blade shot across the shoulders of the toothy behemoth, severing both tentacles as simply as it could have shaved a blade of grass.

With a maddened howl, the houndlike beast shook, thick, greenish fluids spilling over its shoulders and down its backside. It snarled, its unsettling gaze narrowing on the one who had hurt it so.

Emboldened by his success and less fearful now that the danger to his sorcery had been eliminated, Illidan directed Ravencrest’s sword back again. As the monster leapt at him, the young night elf smiled darkly at it.

With a force magnified by his intense will, he buried the weapon in the creature’s hard skull.

The monster’s leap faltered. It stumbled awkwardly. A glazed look filled the horrific orbs. The massive beast took two hesitant steps toward Illidan…then crumpled in a limp heap.

An incredible exhaustion overcame the young night elf, but one mixed with a sense of extreme satisfaction and triumph. He had done with little hesitation what three of the Moon Guard had failed to do. That he had learned from their mistakes, Illidan did not care. He only knew that by himself he had taken on a demon and won handily.

“Well done!” A heavy slap on his back nearly sent him stumbling into his monstrous foe. As Illidan fought to maintain his balance, Lord Ravencrest stepped past him to admire his companion’s work. “A splendid counterattack! Remove the greatest danger, then strike the death blow while the enemy tries to recoup! Splendid!”

The noble put one boot on a forelimb of the demon and struggled to remove his blade. From the trail rode the two guards and further behind Illidan, others shouted as realization of the threat finally sank in among the rest of the party.

“My lord!” shouted one of the two guards. “We heard—”

Rol’tharak rushed up. “Lord Ravencrest! You slew one of the beasts! Are you injured?”

Illidan expected Ravencrest to take credit—after all, the noble’s weapon still pierced the monster’s head—but instead the elder night elf stretched forth his hand and indicated Malfurion’s brother. “Nay! Here stands the one who, after risking himself to throw me from the creature’s path, readily disposed of the danger with scarcely a concern for his own life! I saw right about you from the first, Illidan Stormrage! More capable than a dozen Moon Guard you are!”

Cheeks darkening, the young night elf accepted the accolades of the powerful commander. Years of hearing how he was expected to be a hero, a champion of his people, had set a heavy load on his shoulders. Yet, now, Illidan felt as if his destiny had finally revealed itself…and it had done so with the innate sorcery he had almost rejected for the slower, more subtle druidic spells Cenarius had been teaching.

I was a fool to reject my heritage,
Illidan realized.
Malfurion’s path was never meant to be mine. Even in daytime, night elven sorcery is mine to command…

It heartened him, actually, for he had felt strange taking up the ways of his brother. What hero of legend had been recorded following the footsteps of another? Illidan had been meant to
lead.

The soldiers—Lord Ravencrest’s capable, veteran soldiers—eyed him with a new and healthy respect.

“Rol’tharak!” the noble called. “I feel luck is with me this day! I want you to lead half the warriors on after the trail! We may still find the prisoner and whoever released him! Go now!”

“Aye, my lord!” Rol’tharak summoned several soldiers, then, after all had mounted, led them in the direction Malfurion and Brox had likely gone.

Illidan scarcely thought of his brother, already assuming that the delay here had given Malfurion all the time he needed to lose his pursuers. He did think of Tyrande, however, who would not only be quite pleased by what she would see as his having delayed the hunters but also would be rightly impressed by the high praise Lord Ravencrest had bestowed upon him.

And it seemed that the noble had more to bestow upon the one he thought had saved his life. Striding up to Illidan, Ravencrest put one gauntleted hand on the other night elf’s shoulder, then declared, “Illidan Stormrage, the Moon Guard may be ignorant of your prowess, but I am not. You are hereby marked as one of Black Rook Hold’s own…and my personal sorcerer! As such, you’ll be of a rank outside of the Moon Guard, equal to any of their own and unable to be commanded by any of their order! You will answer only to me and to your queen, the Light of Lights, Azshara!”

The rest of the night elves put their left hands to their chests and dipped their heads in homage at the mention of the queen.

“I am—honored—my lord…”

“Come! We ride back immediately! I want to gather a larger force to bring these carcasses to Black Rook Hold! This must be investigated thoroughly! If we’re to be invaded by some hellish horde, we must learn everything we can, then alert her majesty!”

Caught up in his euphoria, Illidan paid scant attention to any mention of Azshara. Had he done so, he might have had at least some slight concern, for it was because of her that Malfurion had dared the wrath of his brother’s new patron. She it was who Malfurion insisted was involved in madness that might prove catastrophic to the entire night elf race.

But for the moment, all Illidan could think was,
I have found my destiny at last
…

H
e’s strong of mind, strong of soul, strong of body…
said a powerful, aggressive voice in Rhonin’s head.

An admirable quality…at other times…
replied a second, calmer voice otherwise identical to the first.

The truth will be known,
the first insisted.
I’ve never failed to make it so…

Rhonin seemed to float outside his body, but where he floated, the wizard could not say. He felt as if he hung between life and death, sleep and waking, darkness and light…nothing seemed quite right or absolutely wrong.

No more!
interjected a third voice somehow familiar to him.
He has been through enough! Return him to me…for now…

And suddenly Rhonin awoke in the glade of Cenarius.

The sun hung high overhead, although whether that meant it was noon or merely a trick of the enchanted area, the human could not say. Rhonin tried to rise, but, as before, his body would not obey him.

He heard movement and suddenly the sky filled with the antlered aspect of the forest lord.

“You’re resilient, Rhonin wizard,” Cenarius rumbled.

“You surprised one who is usually little surprised…and, more to the point, you held your secrets, however foolish that may be in the long run.”

“Th-there’s nothing…I can…tell you.” It amazed Rhonin that his mouth even worked.

“That remains to be seen. We will know what happened to your companion and why you—who should not be here—are.” The demigod’s visage softened. “But for now, I would have you rest. That much you deserve.”

He waved his hand over Rhonin’s face…and the wizard slept.

Krasus himself would have liked to know the answer of exactly where he was. The cavern in which he now awakened stirred no memories. He could not sense the presence of any other creature, especially not one of his own kind, and that worried him. Had the watcher simply brought him here to be rid of him? Did he expect Krasus to die here?

The last was a very real danger. Pain and exhaustion continued to wrack the dragon mage’s lanky frame. Krasus felt as if someone had ripped half of him away. His memory continued to fail him and he feared that all his maladies would only grow worse with time…time he did not have.

No! I will not give in to despair! Not me!
Forcing himself to his feet, he peered around. For a human or orc, the cavern would have been all but black, yet Krasus could make out its interior almost as well as if the light of the sun shone within. He could see the huge, toothy stalactites and stalagmites, identify each crack and fissure along the walls, and note even the tiny, blind lizards darting in and around the smallest crevices.

Unfortunately, he could not make out any exit.

“I do not have time for these games!” he snapped at the empty air. His words echoed, seeming to grow more self-mocking with each repetition.

He was missing something. Surely he had been put in this place for a reason…but what?

Then Krasus recalled the ways of his kind, ways that could, for those not dragons, be very cruel, indeed. A grim smile played across his face.

Straightening, the cowled mage slowly turned in a circle, eyes never blinking once. At the same time, he began reciting a ritual greeting, speaking in a language older than the world. He repeated the greeting three times, emphasizing the nuances of it as only one who had learned it from the very source of that language could.

If this did not garner the attention of his captors, nothing would.

“It speaks the tongue of those who set the heavens and earth in place…” thundered someone. “Those who brought us into being.”

“It must be one of us,” said another. “For it can surely not be one of them…”

“More must be known.”

And suddenly from the empty air they materialized around the tiny figure…four gargantuan red dragons seated around Krasus, their world-spanning wings folded in dignified fashion behind them. They eyed the mage as if he were a small but tasty morsel of food.

If they thought to shock his supposedly primitive senses, then once again they had failed.

“Definitely one of us,” murmured a heavier male, so noted by his larger crest. He snorted, sending puffs of smoke Krasus’s way.

“And that isss why I brought him,” a smaller male bitterly remarked. “That…and hisss incessant whining…”

Perfectly at ease surrounded by the smoke, Krasus turned to the second male. “If you had the sense the creators gave you, you would have known me for what I am and the urgency of my warning immediately! We could have been spared the chaotic retreat from the realm of the forest lord.”

“I am ssstill not certain that I did not make a missstake in bringing you here!”

“And where is here?”

All four dragons leaned their heads back in slight astonishment. One of the two females now spoke. “If you are one of us, little dragon, then you should know it as well as you know your nest…”

Krasus cursed his addled memory. This could be only one location. “Then I am in the home caverns? I am in the realm of beloved Alexstrasza, Queen of Life?”

“You did want to come here,” reminded the smaller male.

“The question remains,” interjected the second female, younger, sleeker than the rest. “Do you come any farther?”

“He comes as far as he desires,” intruded a new voice. “If he can but answer me a simple question.”

The four leviathans and Krasus turned to where a fifth and obviously much more mature dragon suddenly sat. In contrast to the two other males, this one had an impressive crest running from the top of his head to down past his shoulders. He outweighed the second-largest dragon by several tons and his claws alone were longer than the tiny figure standing in the midst of the behemoths.

But despite his immense form and clear dominance, his eyes were sharp and full of wisdom. He more than any of the others would decide the success of Krasus’s journey.

“If you are one of us despite that guise you wear, you must know who I am,” the dragon rumbled.

The mage struggled with his tattered memories. Of course he knew who this
was,
but the name would not come to him. His body tensed and his blood boiled as he fought the fog in his mind. Krasus knew that if he did not speak to this giant by name, he would forever be rejected, forever be unable to warn his kind of the possible danger his presence in this time represented.

And then, with titanic effort, the name he should have known almost as well as his own sprang from his lips. “You are
Tyranastrasz
…Tyran the Scholarly One…
consort
to Alexstrasza!”

His pride at recalling both the name and title of the crimson giant must have been noticeable, for Tyranastrasz let out a loud, almost human chuckle.

“You are indeed one of us, although I cannot place you yet! I have been given a name for you by the one who brought you, but clearly it is wrong, as, among us, a name is granted to one and one alone.”

“There is no mistake,” the dragon mage insisted. “And I can explain why.”

Alexstrasza’s consort shook his mighty head. A hint of smoke escaped his nostrils. “The explanation you have given, little one, has been relayed to us…and still it is found too astonishing to be true! What you say falls into the realm of the Timeless One, Nozdormu, but even he would not be so careless as to do as you have shown!”

“He is addled, plain and simple,” said the watcher from the forest. “One of our own, I will grant, but injured by accident or device.”

“Perhaps…” Tyranastrasz startled the other dragons then, lowering his head to the ground just before Krasus.

“But by knowing me you have answered my question! You are of the flight and thus have the right and privilege to enter the innermost recesses of this lair! Come! I will take you to the one who will settle this matter for us all, the one who knows all her flight as she knows all her children!
She
will recognize you and, therefore, recognize the truth…”

“You will take me to Alexstrasza?”

“None other. Climb atop my neck, if you are able.”

Even with his physical debilitation, Krasus readily managed to climb up. Not only did the thought of at last finding help spur him on…but so did the simple opportunity to see his beloved once more, even if it turned out she did not recognize him after all.

The huge dragon carried Krasus through long-worn tunnels and chambers that should have been easily recognizable but were not. Now and then, some hint of memory stirred, but never enough to satisfy the mage. Even when they came across other dragons, none looked at all familiar to Krasus, who once had known all those of the red flight.

He wished that he had been awake when the watcher had flown him here. The landscape surrounding the red flight’s domain might have sparked his memories. Besides, what more glorious sight could exist than to see the dragons at the peak of their rule? To witness once more the tall, towering mountains, the hundreds of great gaps in every cliff side, each of the latter an entrance into Alexstrasza’s realm. It had been countless centuries since that time and Krasus had always mourned its passing, mourned the passing of the Age of Dragons.

Perhaps once I have convinced her…she will let me see the land of dragons from without one last time…before she decides what to do with me.

Tyranastrasz’s huge form moved effortlessly through the high, smooth tunnels. Krasus felt a twinge of jealousy, for here he was, about to speak with his beloved, and forced to do so in this meager, mortal body. He greatly loved the lesser races, enjoyed his time among them, but now, when he might be putting his very existence on the line, Krasus would have preferred his true shape.

A bright yet comforting glow suddenly appeared ahead of them. The reddish glow warmed Krasus inside and out as they neared and made him think of childhood, of learning to grow up in the sky as well as the earth. Fleeting memories of his life danced in his head and for the first time since his arrival in this time period, the dragon mage almost felt himself.

They came to the source of the magnificent glow, the mouth of a vast cave. Kneeling at the entrance, Tyranastrasz lowered his head and rumbled, “With your permission, my love, my life.”

“Always,” returned a voice both delicate and all-powerful.

“Always for you.”

Again Krasus felt a twinge of jealousy, but he knew that the one who spoke had loved him as much as she loved the leviathan on which he rode. The Queen of Life had so much love not only for her consorts, but for all her flight. In truth, she loved all creatures of the world, although that love would not stop her from destroying those that in some way threatened the rest.

And that was one thing he had purposely failed to mention to Rhonin. It had occurred early on to Krasus that one way to avoid any further damage to the timeline might be to remove those objects that were not where they were supposed to be.

To save history from going further awry, Alexstrasza might have to slay both him and the human wizard.

As he and Tyranastrasz entered, all thought of what might happen to him vanished as Krasus beheld the one who would forever command his heart and soul.

The wondrous glow which permeated every corner and crevice of the huge chamber radiated from the shimmering red dragon herself. Alexstrasza was the most monumental of her kind, twice the size of the titan upon which Krasus rode. Yet, despite that, an inherent gentleness could be sensed within the massive frame, and even as the mage watched, the Queen of Life delicately moved a fragile egg from the warmth of her body to a smoking vent, where she secured it safely.

She was surrounded by eggs, eggs and more. The eggs were her latest clutch, a bountiful one. Each stood only a foot in height—large by most standards, tiny when compared to the one who had laid them. Krasus counted three dozen. Only about half would hatch and only half of those would survive to adulthood, but that was the way of dragons—a harsh beginning heralding a life of glory and wonder.

Framing the image was an array of flowering plants that should not have been able to exist under such conditions and especially underground. There were wall-crawling creepers and sprawling carpets of purple phlox. Golden daylilies decorated the area of the nest and roses and orchids lined the area where Alexstrasza herself rested. Every plant bloomed strong, all fed by the glorious presence of the Queen of Life.

A crystal-clear stream flowed through the cavern, passing within reach of the female dragon’s maw should she desire a sip at any time. The calm gurgle of the underground added to the tranquillity of the scene.

Krasus’s mount lowered his head so that his tiny rider could dismount. Eyes never leaving Alexstrasza, the dragon mage stepped to the cavern floor, then went down on one knee.

“My queen…”

But she looked instead to the huge male who had brought Krasus here. “Tyranastrasz…would you leave us alone for a time?”

Wordlessly the other behemoth backed out of the chamber. The Queen of Life shifted her gaze to Krasus, but said nothing. He knelt there before her, waiting for some sign of recognition yet receiving none.

Unable to hold his silence any longer, Krasus gasped, “My queen, my world, can it be that you of all beings do not know me?”

She studied him through slitted lids before answering, “I know what I sense, and I know what I feel, and because of both I have taken the story you have told the others under serious consideration. I have already decided what must be done, but first, there is another who must be involved in this situation, for his august opinion is as dear to me as my own—ahh! He comes now!”

From another passage emerged an adult male only slightly smaller than Tyranastrasz. The newcomer moved ponderously, as if each step was a heavy labor. Long, with faded crimson scales and weary eyes, he at first appeared much older than Alexstrasza’s consort—until the mage realized that it was not age that afflicted this dragon, but some unknown malady.

“You…summoned me, my Alexstrasza?”