The Well of Eternity (18 page)

Everything Krasus had said urged Rhonin to deal quickly with Brox and worry about the consequences later, but the more he watched the orc battle beside the night elf—another allied race in the future—the more Rhonin regretted his moment of insanity. What he had contemplated seemed to him as horrible as the atrocities perpetrated in his time by the Burning Legion.

But Rhonin could no longer stand and do nothing…

“I’m sorry, Krasus,” he muttered, calling up a new spell. “I’m truly sorry.”

Taking a deep breath, the hooded mage stared from under his brow at one of the felbeasts in combat with the orc. He recalled the incantations that had helped him against the Scourge and other inhuman servants of the Legion. It would have to be done in such a way that the felbeasts would have no time to draw away the power of his spell.

Far, far to his right, Cenarius had finally managed to peel off his remaining foe. With one forelimb dangling, the demon could not maintain its hold. Muscles straining, the demigod bent back, held the beast over his head, and, with a roar of triumph, threw it high over the tops of the trees and deep into the waiting forest.

Rhonin cast his spell.

He had hoped to send a withering blast at the felbeast in focus, at least wounding it enough for Brox to finish the task. What Rhonin achieved instead, however, was far beyond his hopes.

An invisible, thundering wall of power that caused the very air to ripple madly materialized before him, then raced like the wind toward his objective. It spread as it moved, covering in the blink of an eye the entire expanse of the glade.

Through Brox and the night elf it passed without even the slightest hint of acknowledgment, but for the three savage demons in its path the fury that Rhonin had unleashed gave no quarter. The felbeasts had no time to react, no time to bring their hungry tentacles into play. They were as gnats in a raging fire.

As the wall of force passed through them, the demons burned to ash. The spell ate away at them from nose on back, a cloud of dust particles scattering from each decimated felbeast as it crumbled. One managed to unleash a short-lived howl, but then the only sound after was the rush of the wind as it sent to the heavens what had once been the rampaging monsters.

Silence filled the glade.

Brox dropped his ax, his wide, tusked mouth open in sheer disbelief. Malfurion stared at his own hands, as if somehow they had been responsible, then turned in the direction of Cenarius, thinking the answer lay with the demigod.

Rhonin had to blink several times to convince himself that what he witnessed had not only been real, but of his own creation. Belatedly the wizard recalled the brief struggle against the armored night elves, a struggle in which Krasus had proven disturbingly weak and Rhonin had excelled in a manner he could never have thought possible of him.

But any pleasure at his astonishing victory vanished immediately as agony tore into him from his back. He felt himself being ripped apart from inside, as if his very soul was being drained away—

Drained away?
Even despite his horrific ordeal, Rhonin understood all too well what had just happened. Another felbeast had come around unnoticed from the rear and, as was its way, sought a source of magic to attack.

Rhonin recalled what had happened to spellcasters caught by the demons. He recalled the terrifying husks that had been brought back to Dalaran for investigation.

And he was about to become yet another…

But although now down on one knee, Rhonin rebelled. With all the power at his command, surely he could escape this parasitic beast!

Escape…it became the driving thought in his pain- wracked mind. Escape…all Rhonin sought was to flee the agony, to go somewhere where he would be safe.

Through the haze of his distress, he vaguely heard the voices of the orc and the night elf. His fear for himself overlapped them. With what it had sucked from him, the felbeast would be more than a match for either.

Escape…that was all Rhonin sought.
Anywhere…

Then the pain vanished, replaced by a heavy but comforting numbness that spread throughout his body like fire. Rhonin gratefully accepted the startling change, letting the numbness take hold and envelop him completely…

Swallow him whole.

Not for the first time, Tyrande slipped through the silent corridors of the huge temple—past the countless chambers of sleeping acolytes, the meditation rooms, and places of public worship—and headed to a window near the main entrance. The bright sun nearly blinded her, but she forced herself to search the empty square beyond, seeking what she would likely still miss.

No sooner had she peered out than a clank of metal warned her of an approaching guard. The stern visage of the other night elf softened a touch upon recognition.

“You again! Sister Tyrande…you should really stay in your quarters and get some sleep. You’ve hardly had any rest for days and now you put yourself at risk. Your friend will be all right. I’m certain of it.”

The guard meant Illidan, for whom Tyrande also worried, but what the novice priestess really feared was that when Illidan did return, it would be with his brother and the hapless orc in tow. She did not think that Malfurion’s twin would ever betray him, but if Lord Ravencrest captured the pair, what could Illidan do but go along with matters?

“I cannot help it. I’m just so restless, sister. Please forgive me.”

The sentry smiled sympathetically. “I hope he realizes how much you care for him. The time for your choosing is fast approaching, isn’t it?”

The other’s words bothered Tyrande more than she revealed. Her thoughts and reactions since the three had freed Broxigar had more than hinted to her of her preference, but she could not yet come to believe it herself. No, her concern was just that of one childhood friend for another.

It had to be…

There came the harsh clank of metal upon metal and the hiss of night sabers. Tyrande immediately darted past the bemused guard, heading to the outer steps of Elune’s temple.

Somewhat dust-laden, Lord Ravencrest’s party rode into the square. The cloaked noble himself seemed quite at ease, even very pleased about something, but many of his soldiers wore darker expressions and constantly looked at one another as if sharing some terrible secret.

Of either Malfurion or Broxigar, there was no sign.

All but hidden on the far side of Lord Ravencrest, Illidan rode tall and proud. He appeared the most satisfied of the group and if that pleasure had to do with keeping his twin from capture, then Tyrande could certainly not blame him.

Without realizing what she did, the young priestess stepped down to the street. Her presence caught the attention of Lord Ravencrest, who smiled graciously and pointed her out to Illidan. The bearded commander whispered something to Malfurion’s brother, then raised his hand.

The soldiers came to a halt. Illidan and Ravencrest steered their mounts toward her.

“Well, if it isn’t the most lovely of the Mother Moon’s dedicated servants!” the commander declared. “How interesting to find you awaiting our return despite the late hour!” He glanced at Illidan, whose expression bordered on embarrassment. “Very interesting, don’t you think?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“We must make for Black Rook Hold, sister, but I think I can spare a precious moment for you two, eh?”

Tyrande felt her cheeks darken slightly as Ravencrest guided his panther back to the rest of the party. Illidan dismounted quickly, stepping up to her and taking her hands in his own.

“They’re safe, Tyrande…and Lord Ravencrest has taken me under his wing! We fought a fearsome beast and I kept it from harming him! Destroyed it with my own power!”

“Malfurion escaped? You’re certain of it?”

“Of course, of course,” he returned excitedly, waving away any further questions about his brother. “I’ve found my destiny at last, don’t you understand? The Moon Guard’s all but ignored me, but I slew a monster that killed three of theirs, including one of their senior sorcerers!”

She wanted to hear what he knew about Malfurion and the orc, but it was clear that Illidan was caught up in his own good fortune. Tyrande could appreciate that, having watched him work hard and fruitlessly to achieve the glorious future so many had predicted for him. “I’m so glad for you. I feared that you were frustrated some with the pace of Cenarius’s teaching, but if you were able to protect Lord Ravencrest with it where his own soldiers could not, then—”

“You don’t understand! I didn’t use those slow, cumbersome spells that Malfurion’s adored shan’do tried to show us time and again! I used good, traditional night elf sorcery…and in the daytime, yet! It was exhilarating!”

His quick renunciation of the druidic ways did not entirely surprise Tyrande. On the one hand, she was grateful that he had successfully come into his own at such a drastic moment. On the other, it was yet another sign of the growing differences between the twins.

And another consideration for her already-overwrought mind.

Behind Illidan, Lord Ravencrest politely cleared his throat.

Malfurion’s brother grew more animated. “I have to go, Tyrande! I’m to be shown my place at the Hold and then help organize a larger party to retrieve the dead beasts and all the bodies!”

“Bodies?” It had registered on her that some of the Moon Guard had perished because of a monster, but now she realized that
only
Ravencrest’s band would be returning. The one that preceded them out after Malfurion had been completely slaughtered.

The horror of it all made Tyrande shiver…especially the fact that Malfurion had also been out there.

“The other creatures wiped out the pursuit almost to a soldier, Tyrande, didn’t you understand?” Illidan’s voice grew almost gleeful. He paid no mind to the increasing dismay on her face. “The sorcerers perished immediately, no help at all to the rest. It took the fighters all but two lives to stop them and
I
killed one creature with just two quick spells!” His chest swelled. “And these were monsters that devoured magic, too!”

Again, the noble coughed. Illidan quickly pulled her hands to his lips, kissing them ever so lightly. Releasing Tyrande, he leapt back atop the night saber.

“I wanted to be worthy of you,” Illidan suddenly murmured. “And soon, I will be.”

That said, he turned the cat about and headed to the waiting commander. Ravencrest gave Illidan a companionable slap on the back, then looked over his shoulder at Tyrande. The noble nodded his head toward Malfurion’s twin and winked.

As Tyrande watched, still dazed by all she had heard, the armed party rode off in the direction of Black Rook Hold. Illidan peered back one last time before he vanished from the square, his golden eyes intent upon his childhood friend. Tyrande had no trouble reading in them his desires.

Drawing her robe around her, she rushed back up into the temple. The same sentry who had spoken to her earlier met her just within.

“Forgive me, sister! I couldn’t help hearing much of what was said. I grieve for the lives lost on the futile hunt, but I also wish to give my congratulations on the fine future for your friend! Lord Ravencrest surely must have the highest respect for him to so readily take him under his guidance! Truly it would be hard to find a better match, eh?”

“No…no, I suppose not.” When she realized how she sounded, Tyrande quickly added, “Forgive me, sister, I believe my exhaustion is catching up with me. I think I should return to bed.”

“Understandable, sister. At least you know that you’ll be in store for some pleasant dreams…”

But as Tyrande hurried to her room, she suspected that her dreams would be anything but pleasant. True, she was happy with the news that Malfurion and Broxigar had made good their escape and that no one apparently had linked Malfurion to the matter. Tyrande was also glad that Illidan had finally found himself, something she had begun to fear would never come about. What bothered her now, though, was that Illidan appeared to have made a decision regarding the two of them while Tyrande herself had not yet done so. There was still Malfurion to consider in the equation, and still his emotions to define.

Of course, that all depended upon whether or not Malfurion continued to evade the wary eye of the Moon Guard and Lord Ravencrest. If either discovered the truth, it would very likely mean Black Rook Hold for him.

And from there, not even Illidan would be able to save his brother.

The trees, the foliage, nothing had stopped the felbeast’s plummet earthward. Cast into the sky by the demigod, the demonic hound could not save itself.

But the capricious nature of chance did what nothing else could. Cenarius had tossed his evil foe as far as he could, assuming logically that the fall would finish his task. Had the felbeast landed on rock or earth or hard against the trunk of one of the mightier oaks, it would have been killed in an instant.

Where the forest lord had thrown it, however, proved to be a body of water, so deep that even at the velocity with which the felbeast dropped, it did not strike the bottom.

The journey to the surface almost did what the fall failed to do, but still the demon managed to haul itself ashore. One foreleg hanging useless, the felbeast moved to a shaded depression where it paused for several minutes to recover.

Once it had recuperated as best as its wounds would allow, the demon sniffed the air, searching for a particular scent. The moment the felbeast located what it sought, it grew alert. Pulling itself forward, the injured horror slowly but steadily began to wend its way toward the source. Even from this distance, it could smell the power emanating from the Well of Eternity. There it would find the magic it needed to heal, the magic with which it could even restore the limb that had been ruined.

The felbeasts were not exactly the simple creatures that even Brox and Rhonin, who knew of them from their own war, assumed them to be. No creature that served the lord of the Burning Legion was without some wit, save perhaps the rampaging goliaths called Infernals. The demon hounds were a part of their handler and what they learned, Hakkar learned.