The Well of Eternity (23 page)

And so fell the first victims of the Burning Legion.

A
wave of vertigo struck Krasus, the attack so unexpected that it nearly cost him his life. Only moments before, he had felt much his old self, that due in great part to his immediate proximity to Korialstrasz. The dragon now carried him swiftly toward the general direction of Cenarius’s glade, although not near enough that the demigod might notice. A determination to find this one night elf Nozdormu had revealed to him had further fueled the mage—and that was why the sudden vertigo had caught him so off guard that he had nearly fallen from the dragon’s neck.

Korialstrasz adjusted for him at the last moment, but Krasus’s younger self also seemed oddly disoriented.

“Do you fare better?” the dragon roared to him.

“I am…recouping.” Krasus peered into the night sky, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He searched his ragged memories, finally coming up with a possible answer. “My friend, do you know of the night elves’ capital city?”

“Zin-Azshari? I am vaguely familiar with it.”

“Veer toward there.”

“But your quest—”

Krasus was adamant. “Do it now. I believe it is of the utmost importance that we go there.”

His younger self grumbled something, but arced toward the direction of Zin-Azshari. Leaning forward, Krasus peered ahead, awaiting the first signs of the legendary city. If memory served him—and he could not be certain that it did—Zin-Azshari had been the culmination of the night elf civilization, a grand, sprawling metropolis the likes of which would never be seen again. However, the opulence of the ancient city was not what interested him. What concerned Krasus was his recollection of Zin-Azshari’s nearness to the fabled Well of Eternity.

And it was the Well that now drew him. Although the origins of the Burning Legion’s first entrance into the world was lost to him, Krasus still retained a sharp enough mind to make some fairly accurate assumptions. In this time period, the Well
was
power, and power was not only what the demons sought, but also what enabled them to reach the very realms that they destroyed.

Where more likely to find the portal through which the Burning Legion would
have
to arrive than in the immediate proximity of the greatest fount of sorcerous energy ever known?

They soared across the night sky, Korialstrasz flying mile after mile in the space of only minutes. Even still, hours passed, precious hours that Krasus suspected the world could not afford.

At last, the dragon called, “We will soon be in sight of Zin-Azshari! What do you hope to see?”

It was more what he hoped not to see, but Krasus could not explain that to his companion. “I do not know.”

Ahead appeared lights, countless lights. He frowned. Of course the night elves would have illumination for some of their activities, but there seemed too many for a realm of nocturnal beings. Even a city as great in size as Zin-Azshari would not be so bright.

But as the duo neared, they saw that the illumination came not from torchlight or crystals—but from raging fires coursing throughout the night elven capital.

“The city is ablaze!” roared Korialstrasz. “What could have started such an inferno?”

“We need to descend,” was all Krasus replied.

The red dragon dipped, dropping hundreds of feet. Now details became visible. Elaborate, colorful buildings burned, some of them already collapsing. Sculptured gardens and massive tree homes had become pyres.

And scattered throughout the streets lay the bodies of the dead.

They had been brutally slaughtered, with no compassion given for the elderly, the infirm, or the young. Many had died in clusters while others had clearly been hunted down one by one. In addition to the populace of Zin-Azshari, a variety of animals, especially the great night sabers, lay dead as well, their demises no less foul.

“There has been war here!” snarled the winged leviathan.

“No—not war! This is genocide!”

“This is the work of the Burning Legion,” Krasus muttered to himself.

Korialstrasz veered toward the city center. Curiously, the damage lessened as they neared what looked to be the palace. In fact, certain walled sections of the center appeared completely untouched.

“What do you know of these sections?” Krasus asked his mount.

“Little, but I believe that those linked by walls to the queen’s palace belong to what are referred to as the ‘Highborne.’ They are considered the most esteemed of the night elves, all somehow involved directly in service to her majesty, Azshara.”

“Circle once around them.”

Korialstrasz did. Studying the vicinity, Krasus had his suspicions verified. None of the quarter that housed the regal Highborne had been touched in the slightest by the monstrous disaster.

“There is movement to the northwest, Krasus!”

“Fly there! Quickly!”

He need not have encouraged his companion, for Korialstrasz clearly sought the answers as much as he. Not at all surprising, considering that they were one and the same.

Krasus now saw what the dragon’s superior vision had already noted. A wave of movement, almost like locusts, pouring through the city. Korialstrasz descended further, enabling the pair to identify individuals.

And for Krasus, it was the return of evil.

The Burning Legion marched relentlessly through Zin-Azshari, leaving nothing untouched in their wake. Buildings fell before their might. There were the tall, brutal Fel Guard with their maces and shields. Mindless Infernals battering their way through stone walls or any other physical opposition. Near them hovered huge, winged figures with blazing green swords, molten armor, and cloven feet…the Doomguard.

As the dragon moved toward the front of the horde, Krasus identified the houndlike felbeasts, ever the precursors of the Legion. They seemed especially active; not only were their noses raised high to smell the air, but the sinister tentacles with which they absorbed magic darted forward eagerly.

And then the mage saw what the Legion hunted.

Refugees swarmed from the city’s center, families and individuals creating a desperate flow through the narrow avenues. At their rear, trying to keep the demons at bay, were a small contingent of armored soldiers and a few robed figures that Krasus believed to be the legendary Moon Guard.

Even as the two neared, one of the Moon Guard in the forefront attempted to cast a spell. But by placing himself in the open, he only served to add to the list of victims. One of the felbeasts leapt forward, landing just before the sorcerer. Its tentacles shot forth with astonishing speed.

They adhered to the spellcaster’s chest, physically lifting him into the air. Before anyone—even Krasus and Korialstrasz—could come to his aid, the thrashing Moon Guard sorcerer was drained of his magical forces…leaving a dead, dry husk in his place.

The red dragon roared. Had he even wanted to, Krasus could not have stopped his younger self from taking reprisals. In truth, his own memories of such horror kept the mage quiet. Too many had perished because of the Legion and even though by Krasus’s interference Korialstrasz had come here, the former no longer cared. He had tried to keep from wreaking any more havoc on the time line, but enough was enough.

It was time for retribution.

As Korialstrasz swept past the front ranks of the demonic host, he let loose with a great blast of flame. The stream of fire engulfed not only the felbeast that had slain the sorcerer, but many of the pack following. Whining, the few survivors retreated, some singed badly.

Korialstrasz did not pause. He turned now to face the main horde, a second wave of fire enveloping the foremost demons.

Most perished instantly. A few of the more hardy Fel Guard struggled through the flames, only to collapse shortly after from their fiery wounds. One blazing Infernal sought to bat out the dragonfire and, when that did not work, ran headlong into a building, possibly in some vague hope that doing so would smother the flames. Seconds later, it, too, collapsed.

Even the Burning Legion could not stand the pure might of a dragon, but that did not make them defenseless. Up from their ranks suddenly flew a score of Doomguard. Krasus noticed them first and, though well aware of the risk, cast a quick spell.

Winds buffeted the foremost demons, throwing them back into the rest. The Doomguard became entangled with one another.

Korialstrasz let loose another breath.

Five of the winged terrors plummeted to the ground, fiery missiles that further inflicted damage on the horde below.

The rest of the Doomguard regrouped. Others shot up into the sky, doubling the numbers.

Korialstrasz clearly desired to face them, but Krasus abruptly felt the telltale warning signs of weakness. As Alexstrasza had said, together the two were nearly complete—but not quite. The added use of their strength depleted both quicker than normal. Already the dragon flew more slowly, less smoothly, even if he did not recognize that fact.

“We must leave!” Krasus insisted.

“Abandon the fight? Never!”

“The refugees have made good their escape thanks to us!” The delay had been just enough for the night elves to scatter into the lands beyond. Krasus had every confidence that they could keep ahead of the Legion at this point. “We must get word to those who can do more! We must continue on our original path!”

It pained Krasus to speak so, for in his heart he would have wanted to burn to ash every demon in sight, but even now, more and more flew up to deal with the lone dragon.

With a roar of frustration, Korialstrasz unleashed one final blast that destroyed three of the Doomguard and sent the others fluttering back. The red behemoth then turned and flew off, easily outpacing the Legion despite his growing exhaustion.

As they soared past the palace again, Krasus saw with horror that more demons poured from its gates. Most disconcerting, however, were the night elven sentries that still stood guard on the battlements, warriors who seemed to have no regard at all for the desperate straits in which their fellow citizens found themselves.

Krasus had seen such blatant disregard in the face of horror before. There had been those during the second war who had acted in the same horrifyingly indifferent manner.
They are mesmerized by the demons’ growing influence! If the lords of the Legion have not set foot on the mortal plane already, it cannot be long at all before they do!

And when that happened, he feared that there would be no future for the world…nor, in this case, even a past.

There were dreadful noises disturbing her relaxation. Azshara had ordered music played for her in the hopes that it would drown out the objectionable noises, but the lyres and flutes had failed miserably. Finally, she rose and, with her new bodyguards surrounding her, gracefully wended her way through the palace.

It was not Lord Xavius but rather Captain Varo’then whom first she met. The captain fell down on one knee and clasped a fist against his heart.

“Your wondrous majesty…”

“My darling captain, what is the cause of such awful clamor?”

The scarred night elf looked up at her with a veiled expression. “Perhaps it’d be easier to show it to you.”

“Very well.”

He led her to a balcony overlooking the main area of the city. Azshara rarely came to this balcony save for public displays, much preferring the view of her extravagant gardens from her chambers or the glimpses of the Well of Eternity that her visits to the tower offered her.

But the sight before the queen was not the one to which she had grown so accustomed. Azshara’s golden eyes drank in the images of her city, the ruined structures, the endless fires, and the bodies littering the streets. She glanced to her right, where the walled quarter of the Highborne still stood peacefully.

“Explain this to me, Captain Varo’then.”

“It’s been told to me by the counselor that these have proven unworthy. To fully prepare for a world of perfection, all the imperfect must be swept away.”

“And those below were considered lacking in the judgment of Lord Xavius?”

“With the recommendation of the great one’s most trusted servant, the celestial commander, Mannoroth.”

Azshara had briefly met the imposing Mannoroth and, as with her counselor, she had been overwhelmed by the great one’s high servant.

The queen nodded. “If Mannoroth says it must be so, it must be so. Sacrifices are always required in the name of glorious pursuits, I always think.”

Varo’then bowed his head. “Your wisdom is boundless.”

The queen accepted his compliment with the regal aplomb with which she took the
many
compliments she received on a daily basis. Still gazing at the carnage below, Azshara asked, “Will it be long, then? Will the great one soon come, too?”

“He will, my queen…and it’s said that Mannoroth has called him
Sargeras.”

“Sargeras…” Queen Azshara tasted the name, ran it across her lips. “Sargeras…truly a fit name for a god!” She put a hand to her breast. “I trust I will be given advance warning when he makes his entrance. I would be deeply disappointed if I could not be there to greet him myself.”

“I shall see to it personally that all is done to give you fair warning,” Varo’then said, then bowed. “Forgive me, my queen, duty demands my attention now.”

She waved a negligent hand, still fascinated by both the scene below and the true name of the god. The captain left her alone with her bodyguards.

In her mind, Azshara began picturing the world that would replace what had been decimated. A more magnificent city, a true monument to her glory. It would no longer be called Zin-Azshari, as gracious as the people had been to name it that. No, next time it would simply be called
Azshara.
How much more appropriate a title that was for the home of the queen.
Azshara.
She said it twice, admiring the way it sounded. She should have requested the change long ago, but that did not matter now.

Then another, more intriguing thought entered her mind. True, she was the most perfect of her race, the icon of her people, but there was one who was even more glorious, more magnificent…and soon he would come.