The Well of Eternity (25 page)

And more and more poured out of the gates of the palace even as he approached.

He was not surprised to see that the vast, beautiful structure was not touched in the slightest. As the messenger had said, sentries still lined the walls. Malfurion passed near a few and saw in their eyes a terrible pleasure at the horrific panorama below. Their silver orbs were tinted with red and some looked as if they desired to join the demons.

Revulsed, Malfurion quickly pulled away from them. He looked to the side of the palace and noted that the homes of the Highborne had also been left whole. Some of the queen’s servants even journeyed from one building to another as if nothing of consequence was taking place around them.

His revulsion growing, the night elf pushed on toward the tower. As before, Malfurion sensed the incredible forces being drawn up haphazardly from the dark Well. If anything, the Highborne had more than doubled their efforts. Savage storms raged over the Well, touching even within the embattled city.

Last time, he had tried to enter the tower at the point where he had sensed the spellwork. For this attempt, however, Malfurion dove lower, finding a balcony near the bottom. Moving much the way he would have if he had been entering by physical means, the night elf hovered just above the balcony, then moved through the open entrance there.

To his surprise, his attempt worked. He almost laughed. None had thought to protect this interior entrance from such as him. The hubris of the Highborne had enabled him to penetrate the palace with ease.

Slowly Malfurion floated along the corridor, seeking the path up. Near the rear, he found the main stairway—and with it, more than a dozen of the huge, horned warriors he had seen outside.

Malfurion’s first instinct was to pull back in the hopes that they would not see him. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to hide. He braced for their attack…then cursed himself for his stupidity when the first of the demonic band lumbered past him.

They could not see his dream form. He breathed a sigh of relief, watching as the last vanished down the hall. When it became clear that no more followed, Malfurion steeled himself and ascended the stairway.

He passed several chambers on the way up but did not pause for any of them. What Malfurion sought lay at the very top of the looming tower and the sooner he reached it, the sooner he could devise some plan.

Just what he intended, the night elf did not know. Despite having turned to druidism, Malfurion was almost as adept at sorcery as his brother and even in his present condition he believed that he could cast some sort of spell.

Some distance up, Malfurion suddenly encountered a barrier. He reached out, feeling the air. An invisible force blocked his way, perhaps the same force that had prevented him from entering on his previous attempt. Perhaps the Highborne had not been so negligent after all.

Still determined, the night elf thrust himself forward with all his might. He felt the barrier squeeze against him, almost as if Malfurion attempted to walk through a true wall. Yet, the more he pushed, the more it seemed the wall softened some, almost as if about to—

Malfurion fell through.

His entrance was so abrupt that he floated there, unsure that he had actually succeeded. Turning, he tried to touch the barrier, but felt only a vague, very weak force. Either his presence had disrupted the barrier or it had been designed only to prevent intrusion, not departure.

A short distance up, he found himself confronting two guards and a thick door that had to lead to where the Highborne worked. Once satisfied that the guards did not see him, Malfurion put a hand to the door, testing it.

His fingers slipped through the door as if it were nothing. Bracing himself, the young night elf entered.

His first sensation was one of absolute disorientation, for the chamber where the Highborne performed their foul work was far more massive than the outside implied. Malfurion’s own home was dwarfed by the vast room.

And the Highborne needed all that space, for what they did not fill themselves swarmed with ranks of grotesque warriors, all heading toward the very door through which Malfurion had passed. Up close their monstrous faces shook him more. There was no compassion, no mercy…

Forcing away such thoughts, he drifted toward where the Highborne worked, watching their efforts with a combination of fascination and disgust. The Highborne appeared driven beyond sanity. Most had a hungry look to them. Their once-elaborate garments hung from their bony bodies and a few strained to stand, but all stared intently, eagerly, at the product of their toil, a fierce, pulsating gap in reality.

Malfurion started to gaze into the center of that gap, but suddenly had to look away. His brief study had been enough to let him sense the monstrous evil deep within. It amazed him that the Highborne could not see what it was with which they dealt.

Trying to forget the fear that had almost now gripped him, Malfurion turned—and came face-to-face with who could only be the queen’s counselor, Lord Xavius.

Malfurion floated only inches from the elder night elf’s unsettling eyes. He had heard of the advisor’s artificial orbs, the magical eyes with which Xavius had purposely replaced his own. Streaks of ruby darted across the ebony lenses, lenses almost as black as the dark force Malfurion had sensed in the magical gap.

The counselor stood there with such an intense expression on his harsh visage that at first the younger night elf thought that he had been seen, but that, of course, was only his own fanciful notion. After a moment, Xavius stepped forward, walking through Malfurion and heading to where the Highborne relentlessly continued their efforts.

It took Malfurion a moment more to recover from the unexpected encounter. Lord Xavius more than anyone else was the one the Moon Guard and Ravencrest had blamed for the horror outside. Seeing him now, Malfurion could believe it. He still felt that the queen also knew what happened, but that was a fact that could be verified later.

With determination, Malfurion headed toward what had to be the array that controlled the shield. Three Highborne sorcerers stood around it, but they seemed to be monitoring its actions, not actively shaping it. He drifted past them, moving up to study the details.

It was a masterfully crafted display, some of it on a level far beyond that which Malfurion himself could cast. Still, it did not take him long to see how he could affect it, even cancel it.

Of course, that assumed that Malfurion could do
anything
in his dream form.

To test the possibility, he whispered to the air, asking of it a simple jest. Even as the request left his lips, a breeze tousled ever so slightly the hairs on the back of one sorcerer’s head.

His success thrilled Malfurion. If he could do this much, he could do enough to disrupt the shield spell. That would be all the Moon Guard would need.

He stared at the heart of the magical matrix, focusing on its weakest link—

“A foolish, foolish thing to attempt,” commented a cold voice.

Malfurion instinctively glanced over his shoulder.

Lord Xavius stared back at him.

At him.

The counselor held up a narrow white crystal. His eyes—eyes with which he could evidently see even a dream form—flared.

A tremendous force sucked Malfurion toward the crystal. He tried to pull back, but his efforts went for naught. The crystal filled his view…then became his world.

From within the tiny, impossible prison, he looked out at the huge, mocking visage of the elder night elf.

“An interesting thought occurs to me,” Lord Xavius commented almost clinically. “How long do you think it will take your body to die without your spirit within?” When Malfurion did not answer, the counselor simply shrugged.

“We shall just have to see, shall we?”

And with that, he pocketed the crystal and plunged Malfurion into darkness.

They had reached the outskirts of the area where Krasus hoped to find the elf in question. He did not comprehend how he knew that the one he sought lived near here, but suspected that Nozdormu had left that information in the back of his mind during the vision. Krasus silently thanked the Aspect for considering the difficulty of such a search. It also gave him hope that soon this catastrophe would be corrected, and that he and Rhonin would return home.

That assumed, of course, that he could
find
Rhonin.

His guilt at not immediately hunting for his former pupil was only partially assuaged by the fact that the one he pursued now had been identified by one of the five elemental powers as essential to both the past and the future. The moment he located this mysterious night elf, the dragon mage intended to look for Rhonin, to whom he owed much more than the human knew.

Korialstrasz suddenly slowed, dipping down toward the trees in the process. “I can bring you no nearer.”

“I understand.” Any closer to the night elven settlement and the inhabitants would notice the leviathan.

The red dragon alighted, then lowered his head to the ground so that Krasus could dismount. That done, Korialstrasz inspected the vicinity.

“We are not far. No more than an hour or two.”

Krasus did not mention how much of a struggle those two hours would be once he left the company of his younger self. “You have done more than I could ask.”

“I do not intend to abandon you now.” Korialstrasz replied, folding his wings together. “Despite the form you wear, you may have forgotten that our kind can shift shape. I will transform into something more akin to those among whom we must mingle.”

The dragon’s huge frame suddenly shimmered. Korialstrasz started to shrink and his form took on a more humanoid appearance.

But a second later, he reverted to his natural shape, his eyes momentarily glassy and his breath ragged.

“What is it?” Krasus eyed his younger self helplessly.

“I—I cannot transform! To even attempt it fills me with agony!”

The mage recalled his own reaction when he had first attempted to resume his dragon form after arriving in this time. It did not surprise him that Korialstrasz suffered a similar difficulty. “Do not try again. I will have to go on my own.”

“Are you certain? I note that when we are together, we both suffer less from whatever maladies afflict us…”

A mixture of anxiety and pride touched Krasus. Trust the younger version of himself to see the truth. Did Korialstrasz know
why,
though?

If he did, the dragon did not say so. Instead, Korialstrasz added, “No…I know you must go on.”

“Will you remain here?”

“So long as I can. It does not appear that the night elves journey much to this region and the trees are tall and will hide me well. If you need me, though, I will come at your call.”

“I know you will,” responded Krasus because he knew himself well.

The mage bid the dragon farewell and started the arduous journey toward the night elven settlement. However, just before he would have been out of sight of Korialstrasz, the latter called quietly to him.

“Do you think you can find the one for which you search?”

“I can only hope…” He did not add that if he failed, then
everyone
would suffer because of it.

Korialstrasz nodded.

The closer he journeyed to the city—and the farther he moved from the dragon—the more ill and weary Krasus felt. Yet, despite his growing infirmity, the lanky figure continued on. Somewhere in there was the night elf in question. What he would do when he found him, Krasus did not yet know. He only hoped that Nozdormu had perhaps left that information locked away in his subconscious, to be released only when needed.

If not, it would be up to Krasus’s own judgment.

It seemed to take forever, but at last he noticed the first signs of civilization. The distant torches likely marked a surrounding wall or even an entrance to the city itself.

Now would come the most difficult part. Although in this form he somewhat resembled a night elf, they would still recognize him as other than that. Perhaps if he pulled his cowl over his head and leaned forward—

Krasus suddenly realized that he was no longer alone in the forest.

They came from all sides, night elves clad in much the same armor as those who had captured him prior. Weapons resembling lances and swords pointed menacingly at the intruder.

A young, serious officer dismounted from a night saber, then approached him. “I am Captain Jarod Shadowsong! You are a prisoner of the Guard of Suramar! Surrender and you will be treated fairly.”

With no other option, Krasus held out his hands so that they could be bound. Yet, deep inside, he felt some satisfaction about his capture. Now he had his way into the city.

And once there, all he had to do was try to escape…

T
he night saber hissed as Rhonin tried to mount it. He held the reins tightly, hoping that the beast would understand he was supposed to be where he was.

“Are you settled?” Illidan asked him.

Malfurion’s brother had become the wizard’s unofficial warder, a task which Illidan seemed not to mind at all. He constantly watched Rhonin as if trying to learn from his every movement. Whenever the human did anything at all remotely magical, the night elf paid the utmost intention.

It had not taken Rhonin long to understand why. Of all those present, he represented the most potent source of magic available. For all their arrogance, the night elves apparently had limited understanding of the forces they wielded. True, Rhonin found it more difficult to draw the power for his spells, but not so much that he was helpless as most of them were. Only young Illidan came anywhere near having Rhonin’s ability.

I can help him,
the wizard decided.
If he wants to learn, I’ll help him learn.
Whatever his personal opinion of Malfurion’s twin, Rhonin saw in Illidan much potential.

He only hoped that some of that potential would be available by the time they confronted the Burning Legion.

* * *

They rode out of Suramar, heading at the swiftest pace the panthers could set for Zin-Azshari. Rhonin felt some trepidation at leaving, for now he put more distance between himself and Krasus. More and more the wizard was certain that he was destined never to return to his own future. He could only hope that, whatever time had in store for Vereesa and their children, it would be a life worthy of them.

That assumed, of course, that there would be any future at all.

Lord Ravencrest kept his force riding for the rest of the night and into the day. Only when it was clear that many of the animals could go no farther did he reluctantly call for a stop.

Their ranks had grown, others joining them along the way thanks to advance riders sent out. They now numbered more than a thousand strong, with more arriving constantly. Lord Ravencrest wanted as huge an army as possible before they encountered the enemy, a desire matched by Rhonin, who knew well the terrible might of the demons.

Having settled on his own course of action, the wizard finally approached Lord Ravencrest, offering whatever information he could recall of their potential foes. As a way of explanation, he indicated that the Burning Legion had once invaded his “far-away land,” ravaging everything—the last, at least, certainly the truth. Rhonin also described to the noble the course of the terrible war and how much devastation had been caused before the defenders were able to beat the demons back.

While it was not clear how much Lord Ravencrest believed, he at least took Rhonin’s descriptions of the demons to heart, ordering his soldiers to adjust their tactics as necessary based on what he saw as their weaknesses. Latosius and the Moon Guard looked askance at the prospect of confronting the felbeasts in particular, but Ravencrest assured them that a contingent of his finest would surround them at all times. He also made certain that the fighters in question would know to strike first at the tentacles if they could, removing further the danger to the spellcasters.

The night elven commander obviously recognized that Rhonin had left much out, but did not press the latter further because of the valuable knowledge already gleaned. He also rightly assumed that Rhonin held his own life in enough regard to do what he could to see that defeat was out of the question.

Despite the massive growth of their force, they never slowed. One night became two, then three. Casting a minor spell that enabled him to see in the dark as well as his companions, Rhonin quickly adjusted to the nocturnal activity. However, he remained well aware that the demons cared not in the least whether the sun or the moon shone down and impressed this upon the noble. The monstrous warriors of the Burning Legion would fight until they could fight no more. The defenders had to be ready to face them even during the day.

As the night elves neared Zin-Azshari, they noticed an eerie green light illuminating the area ahead, a light that seemed to emanate not from the murky heavens, but from the city itself.

“By Elune!” muttered one soldier.

“Steady,” commanded Lord Ravencrest. He stretched up, peering ahead. “Something is coming…and fast.”

Rhonin did not have to ask what. “It’s them. They already knew we were coming and plan to meet us as quickly as possible. They never waste time. The Legion lives only to fight.”

The commander nodded. “I would’ve preferred a chance to scout the area and make judgments on the enemy. But if they wish to fight immediately, then by all means, we shall not disappoint them. Sound the call!”

Horns blared and the lines of the night elves spread out, moving into battle formation. Now an army of several thousand, the armored riders and foot soldiers were a tremendous sight to behold. Rhonin recalled the might of the Alliance and how it had similarly awed him the first time he had seen it prepare to battle the demon’s allies, the Scourge.

He also recalled how the lines that day had been shattered by the monstrous fury of the invaders.

It won’t happen again!
He looked to Illidan, who seemed far less confident now that he faced reality.

“Don’t lose yourself in fear,” the wizard remarked, having seen where it could lead. “You have a gift, Illidan. I’ve taught you some on how better to draw power. The Well may be cut off from us, but its essence permeates the land, the sky, and everything else. If you know how to sense it, you can do anything you did before the shield appeared.”

“I follow your wisdom, shan’do,” returned the young night elf somberly.

Rhonin had heard the word before, especially when Malfurion had referred to his teacher, the demigod, Cenarius. He wondered where the forest lord was now. Such an elemental being was needed at a time like this.

Then the first horrific figures marched into sight and Rhonin’s thoughts turned only to survival.

Survival…and Vereesa.

The Burning Legion had laid waste to everything up to this point and yet they hungered for more destruction, more mayhem. The felbeasts bayed and the demon troops behind them roared in pleasure and anticipation upon seeing the row upon row of figures before them. Here were more lambs to the slaughter, more blood to be spilled.

With a single horrific battle cry, they charged.

Lord Ravencrest nodded.

“Archers stand ready!” shouted an officer.

More than a thousand curved bows aimed skyward.

The noble held his hand high, watching. The demon horde drew nearer…nearer…

He dropped his hand.

Like a flight of screaming banshees, the rain of arrows flew toward the enemy. Even knowing that death fell toward them, the Burning Legion did not slow. All they saw were those who must die.

The shafts descended.

Demons they might be, but they were demons with flesh. The first rank fell almost to the warrior, some with so many arrows in them that they could not lie flat on the ground. Felbeasts collapsed everywhere. One or two Doomguard dropped from the sky.

But the Burning Legion trampled over their own as if not even seeing them. Felbeasts ignored their dead brethren, howling and slavering as they neared the night elves’ lines.

“Damn!” muttered Ravencrest. “One more volley! Quickly!”

With smooth precision, the archers readied. The bearded noble lost no time in signaling them to fire.

Again death rained down upon the horde, but this time with far less effect. Now the Legion raised shields, formed better ranks.

“These are not mere beasts,” uttered an officer near Rhonin. “They learn too fast!”

Lord Ravencrest ignored him. “All archers to the rear! Position and be ready to fire on the inner ranks! Lancers! Prepare to charge!”

“My lord!” Rhonin called. “May I?”

“At this point, wizard, anything you wish to do is granted! Just do it!”

Rhonin stared at the area before the front ranks of the oncoming demons. He concentrated, drawing in the power. It took more effort than usual, but not enough to keep him from success.

His eyes narrowed.

The ground erupted before the Burning Legion, an explosion of dirt and rock that assaulted the monstrous warriors like a line of heavy catapults. Many Fel Guard flew in the air while others were buried under tons of earth. A huge boulder landed atop one felbeast, cracking its spine in two like a twig. The rushing mass halted, many colliding.

The archers took advantage, sending another volley into the packed horde. Scores more fell, adding to the chaos.

Cheers rose among the soldiers. The Moon Guard, on the other hand, looked somewhat jealously at Rhonin. Latosius snarled at his fellow sorcerers, urging them to action.

The efforts of the night elven spellcasters proved to be far less spectacular than Rhonin’s. Rings of energy that fell upon warriors of the Burning Legion often faded without any effect. A handful of demons dropped, but even some of those recovered.

“They’re useless!” Illidan snapped.

“They’re trying,” the wizard corrected.

Instead of arguing, the young night elf suddenly pointed at the horde, muttering.

Serpentine tentacles of black energy snaked around the throats of several dozen of those in the Legion’s forefront. The demons dropped their weapons and shields and tried to tear the tentacles free, but before they could do that, the tentacles burned through their necks, going through flesh and bone with little trouble…and eventually decapitating every one of Illidan’s targets.

It was all Rhonin could do to hide his distaste. Something about the night elf’s choice of attack did not sit well with him, but when Illidan looked for approval, the wizard still managed to nod. He could not discourage the only other person who had any ability. If they survived, Rhonin would teach Illidan other, better ways to deal with a foe.

And if they did not survive…

Once again, the Burning Legion surged on. Under their feet they crushed the corpses of their comrades. They roared as they approached, their maces and other horrific weapons held high and ready.

“We have to close with them now,” Ravencrest decided.

“You two stay in the back and continue doing whatever you can! You’re our best weapons for now…possibly forever!”

Illidan bowed his head to the noble. “Thank you, my lord.”

“ ’Tis the truth, young one…the terrible truth.”

With that, the night elven commander urged his mount ahead of them, joining his warriors. Lord Ravencrest drew his weapon, raising it high.

The lancers tensed. Behind them, the foot soldiers stood poised to follow. At the rear, the archers prepared for another shot.

Ravencrest slashed downward with his sword.

Horns blared. The archers fired.

The night elven force charged to meet the enemy, their night sabers snarling challenge to the demons.

Just as the lancers neared, the arrows struck. Distracted by the charge, those demons in front were whittled down by the bolts. Disarray momentarily took hold of the foremost line, exactly as Lord Ravencrest had intended.

The swiftness of the night sabers enabled the lances to drive in deep. Despite their immense size, several Fel Guard were thrust into the air as the night elves’ spears penetrated not only the armor but everything within.

The sheer force of the charge actually pushed back the Burning Legion for a moment. Night sabers did more damage, biting and tearing at those packed tight before them. Foot soldiers joined in from behind, filling in gaps and thrusting at anything that was not one of them.

Their lances all but useless now, the riders drew their own weapons and did battle. Far back, the archers continued to unleash volleys at the ranks beyond the fighting.

Another row of riders, Lord Ravencrest among them, still waited. The noble’s gaze flicked back and forth, studying each individual struggle, seeking the weak areas.

Rhonin and Illidan were not idle, either. The wizard cast a spell that solidified air above one section of the horde, literally dropping the sky on them. Illidan, in the meantime, repeated his serpentine spell, throttling and beheading several demons at a time.

The Moon Guard did what they could, their efforts slight but still of some aid. They could not, despite their best efforts, overcome the lack of direct contact with the Well of Eternity and it showed in their increasingly frustrated expressions.

Then, one of the night elven sorcerers screamed and pitched backward, his skin sloughing off like water. By the time he hit the ground, he was little more than a skeleton in a pool of what had once been his flesh. The other Moon Guard stared at the corpse in consternation, only Latosius’s berating voice driving them back to their task.

Rhonin quickly surveyed the Legion, seeking the spell’s source. It did not take him long to spot the culprit, a sinister figure further back in the lines. The spellcaster resembled one of the Fel Guard, but with a long, reptilian tail and far more ornate armor. It also wore a black and bloodred robe over the armor and the eyes that watched over the battlefield revealed an intelligence far superior to those on the front line.

He had never faced one himself, but the wizard recognized from descriptions an Eredar warlock. Not only were they the sorcerers of the Burning Legion, but they also acted as its officers and strategists.

But the warlock had made the mistake in assuming that the Moon Guard were the ones responsible for the most devastating spells. That gave Rhonin the opportunity he needed.

He watched the warlock cast again, but as the latter let loose with his dark spell, Rhonin usurped it, turned it back on its creator.

The demon gaped as his skin slipped free of his body. His fanged mouth stretched in an inhuman cry and his gaze turned toward the wizard.

It was the last act by the warlock. The demon’s mouth continued to stretch, but only because nothing now held the jaw bone tight. For the briefest of moments, the fleshless figure stood there…then the skeletal remains collapsed in a pile that disappeared beneath the endless wave of Fel Guard.