The Well of Eternity

10

At last, Rhonin awoke.

He did so with reluctance, for throughout his magical slumber, his mind had been filled with dreams. Most of those dreams had revolved around Vereesa and the coming twins, but, unlike the sinister keep, these were happy visions of a life he once thought to have.

Waking up only served to remind him that he might not live to see his family.

Rhonin opened his eyes to one familiar, if not so welcome, sight. Krasus leaned over him, mild concern in his expression. That only aggravated the human, for, in his mind, it was the dragon mage’s fault that he was here.

At first, Rhonin wondered why his eyesight seemed a bit dim, but then he realized that he looked at Krasus not in the light of the sun, but rather by a very full moon. The moon illuminated the glade with an intensity that was not at all natural.

Curiosity growing, he started to rise…only to have his body scream from stiffness.

“Slowly, Rhonin. You have slept more than a day. Your body needs a minute or two to join you in waking.”

“Where—?” The young wizard peered around. “I remember this glade…being carried toward it…”

“We have been the guests of its master since our arrival. We are not in any danger, Rhonin, but I must tell you immediately that we are also unable to depart.”

Sitting up, Rhonin gazed at the area. He sensed some presence around them, but nothing that hinted they were trapped here. Still, he had never known Krasus to invent stories.

“What happens if we try to leave?”

His companion pointed at the rows of flowers. “They will stop us.”

“They? The plants?”

“You may trust me on this, Rhonin.”

While a part of him was tempted to see exactly what the flowers would do, Rhonin chose not to take any chances. Krasus said that they were not in any danger so long as they stayed where they were. However, now that both of them were conscious, perhaps they could devise some manner of escape.

His stomach rumbled. Rhonin recalled that he had slept a day and more without eating.

Before he could comment, Krasus handed him a bowl of fruit and a jug of water. The human devoured the fruit quickly and, although it did not satiate his hunger completely, at least his stomach no longer disturbed him.

“Our host has not delivered any sustenance since early in the day. I expect him shortly…especially as he likely already knows that you are awake.”

“He does?” Not something Rhonin liked hearing. Their captor sounded too much in control. “Who is he?”

Krasus suddenly looked uncomfortable. “His name is Cenarius. Do you recall it?”

Cenarius…it struck a chord, albeit barely. Cenarius. Something from his studies, but not directly tied to magic. The name made him think of stories, myths, of a—

A woodland god?

Rhonin’s gaze narrowed. “We’re the guests of a forest deity?”

“A demigod, to be exact…which still makes him a force that even my kind respect.”

“Cenarius…”

“You speak of me and I am here!” chortled a voice from everywhere. “I bid you welcome, one called Rhonin!”

Coalescing from the moonlight itself, a huge, inhuman figure half elf, half stag stepped forward. He towered even over the tall, lanky Krasus. Rhonin stared openly in awe at the antlers, the bearded visage, and the unsettling body.

“You slept long, young one, so I doubt that the food brought earlier was sufficient for your hunger.” He gestured behind them. “There is more for the two of you now.”

Rhonin glanced over his shoulder. Where the emptied bowl of fruit had sat there now stood another, this one filled high. In addition, a thick piece of meat, cooked just to the wizard’s liking if the aroma indicated anything, lay on a wooden platter next to the bowl. Rhonin had no doubt that the jug had also been refilled.

“I thank you,” he began, trying not to be distracted by the nearby meal. “But what I really wanted to do was ask—”

“The time for questions will be coming. For now, I’d be remiss if you did not eat.”

Krasus took Rhonin by the arm. With a nod of his head, the wizard joined his former mentor and the pair ate their fill. Rhonin hesitated at first when it came to the meat, not because he did not want it, but because it surprised him that a forest dweller such as Cenarius would sacrifice a creature under his care for two strangers.

The demigod read his curiosity. “Each animal, each being, serves many purposes. They are all part of the cycle of the forest. That includes the necessity of food. You are like the bear or wolf, both of whom hunt freely in my domain. Nothing is wasted here. Everything returns to feed new growth. The deer upon which you now feed will be reborn to serve its role again, its sacrifice forgotten to it.”

Rhonin frowned, not quite following Cenarius’s explanation, but knowing better than to ask him to clarify it. The demigod saw both intruders as predators and had fed them accordingly. That was that.

When they were finished, the wizard felt much improved. He opened his mouth with the intention of pressing on the matter of their captivity, but Cenarius spoke first.

“You should not be here.”

Neither Rhonin nor Krasus knew how to answer.

Cenarius paced the glade. “I’ve conversed with the others, discussed you at length, learned what they know…and we all agree that you are not meant to be here. You are out of place, but in what way, we’ve yet to determine.”

“Perhaps I can explain,” Krasus interjected. He still looked weak to Rhonin, but not so much as when they had first materialized in this time.

“Perhaps you can,” agreed the young wizard.

The dragon mage glanced at his companion. Rhonin saw no reason to hold back the truth. Cenarius appeared to be the first being that they had come across who might be of assistance to them.

But the story that Krasus passed on to their host was not the one the human expected.

“We come from a land across the sea…far across, but that is unimportant. What is of significance is the reason why we ended here…”

In Krasus’s revised tale, it was he, not Nozdormu, who had uncovered the rift. The dragon mage described it not as a tear in time, but as an anomaly that had upset the fabric of reality, potentially creating greater and greater catastrophe. He had summoned the one other spellcaster he trusted—Rhonin—and the pair had traveled to where Krasus had sensed the trouble.

“We journeyed to a chain of stark peaks in the bitter north of our land, there being where I sensed it strongest. We came across it and the monstrous things it spewed out at random. The wrongness of it struck us both hard, but when we sought to investigate closer…it moved, enveloping us. We were cast out of our land—”

“And into the domain of the night elves,” the demigod completed.

“Yes,” Krasus said with a nod. Rhonin added nothing and hoped his expression did not betray his companion. In addition to Krasus’s omissions concerning their true origins, the wizard’s former mentor left out one other item of possible interest to Cenarius.

He had made no mention of being a dragon.

Backing up a step, the woodland deity eyed both figures. Rhonin could not read his expression. Did he believe Krasus’s altered story or did he suspect that his “guest” had not been completely forthcoming with him?

“This bears immediate discussion with the others,” Cenarius finally declared, staring off into the distance. His gaze shifted back down to Rhonin and Krasus. “Your needs will be dealt with during my absence…and then we shall speak again.”

Before either could say anything, the lord of the forest melted into moonlight, leaving them once more alone.

“That was futile,” Rhonin growled.

“Perhaps. But I would like to know who these others are.”

“More demigods like himself? Seems the most likely. Why didn’t you tell him about your—”

The dragon mage gave him such a sharp glare that Rhonin faltered. In a much quieter tone, Krasus replied, “I am a dragon without strength, my young friend. You have no idea what that feels like. No matter who Cenarius is, I wish that to remain secret until I understand why I cannot recover.”

“And the…rest of the story?”

Krasus looked away. “Rhonin…I mentioned to you that we might be in the past.”

“I understand that.”

“My memories are…are as scattered as my strength is depleted. I do not know why. However, one thing I have been able to recall based on what was told me during your induced slumber. I know now when we are.”

Spirits rising, Rhonin blurted, “But that’s good! It gives us an anchor of sorts! Now we can determine who best—”

“Please let me finish.” Krasus’s dour expression did not bode well. “There is a very good reason why I altered our story as much as I could. I suspected that Cenarius knew some of what was going on, especially about the anomaly. What I could not tell him are my suspicions as to what it might presage.”

The quieter and darker the elder mage’s voice dropped, the more Rhonin grew concerned. “What?”

“I fear we have arrived just prior to the first coming of the Burning Legion.”

He could have said nothing more horrifying to Rhonin. Having lived—and nearly died more than once—battling the demonic horde and its allies, the young wizard still suffered monstrous nightmares. Only Vereesa understood the extent of those nightmares, she having fought through more than a few herself. It had taken both their growing love and the coming children to heal their hearts and souls and that after several months.

And now Rhonin had been thrust back into the nightmares.

Jumping to his feet, he said, “Then we’ve got to tell Cenarius, tell everyone we can! They’ll—”

“They must not know…I fear it may already be too late to preserve matters as they once were.” Also rising, Krasus stared down his long nose at his former pupil. “Rhonin…as it originally happened, the Legion was defeated after a terrible, bloody war, the precursor of things to come in our own time.”

“Yes, of course, but—”

Evidently forgetting his own concerns about the possibility of Cenarius listening in, Krasus seized Rhonin by the shoulders. Despite the elder mage’s weakness, his long fingers dug painfully into the human’s flesh. “You still do not understand! Rhonin, by coming here, by simply being here…we may have altered that history! We may now be responsible for the Burning Legion this time becoming the victor in this first struggle…and that would mean not only the death of many innocents here, but the erasing of our own time.”

It had taken some convincing to make Illidan a part of Malfurion’s sudden and very rash plan. Malfurion had little doubt that the deciding factor was not anything he had said…but rather Tyrande’s own impassioned plea. Under her gaze, even Illidan had melted, readily agreeing to assist even though he clearly did not care for the prisoner one bit. Malfurion knew that something had happened between his brother and the orc, something that Tyrande had also been involved in, and she used that shared experience to bring Illidan to their side.

Now they had to succeed.

The four guards stood alert, each facing a different point on the compass. The sun was only minutes from rising and the square was empty of all save the soldiers and their charge. With most of the other night elves asleep, it was the perfect time to strike.

“I’ll deal with the sentries,” Illidan suggested, his left hand already balled into a fist.

Malfurion quickly took over. He did not question his brother’s abilities, but he also wished no harm to come to the guards, who were only performing their duties. “No. I said I would take care of them. Give me a moment.”

Shutting his eyes, he relaxed himself as Cenarius had shown him. Malfurion receded from the world, but at the same time, he saw it more clearly, more sharply. He knew exactly what he had to do.

At his suggestion to them, the necessary elements of nature joined to assist his needs. A cool, tender wind caressed the face of each guard with the gentleness of a loved one. With the wind came the tranquil scents of the flowers surrounding Suramar and the soothing call of a nearby night bird. The calmingly seductive combination enveloped each sentry, drawing them without their noticing into a peaceful, pleasant, and very deep lethargy that left them oblivious to the waking world.

Satisfied that all four were under his spell, Malfurion blinked, then whispered, “Come…”

Illidan hesitated, only following when Tyrande stepped out into the open after his brother. The three of them slowly made their way toward the cage and the soldiers. Despite the certainty that his spell held, Malfurion still half expected the four sentries to look their way at any moment. Yet even when he and his companions stood only a few yards away, the soldiers remained ignorant of their presence.

“It worked…” murmured Tyrande in wonder.

Stopping in front of the foremost guard, Illidan waved his hand before the watchful eyes—all to no effect. “A nice trick, brother, but for how long?”

“I don’t know. That’s why we must hurry.”

Tyrande knelt down by the cage, peering inside. “I think Broxigar is also caught by your spell, Malfurion.”

Sure enough, the huge orc lay slumped against the back of his prison, his disinterested gaze looking past Tyrande. He made no move even when she quietly called out his name.

After a moment’s consideration, Malfurion suggested, “Touch him softly on the arm and try his name again. Make certain that he sees you immediately so that you can signal for silence.”

Illidan frowned. “He’s sure to yell.”

“The spell will hold, Illidan, but you must be ready to do your part when the time comes.”

“I’m not the one who’ll risk us,” Malfurion’s brother said with a sniff.

“Be still, both of you…” Reaching in, Tyrande cautiously touched the orc on his upper arm, at the same time calling out his name again.

Brox started. His eyes widened and his mouth opened in what would certainly be a very deafening cry.

But just as quickly he clamped his mouth shut, the only sound managing to escape being a slight grunt. The orc blinked several times, as if uncertain that the sight before him could possibly be real. Tyrande touched his hand, then, with a nod to the orc, looked into Brox’s eyes again.

Looking to his brother, Malfurion muttered, “Now! Hurry!”

Illidan reached down, at the same time whispering under his breath. As he grasped the bars, his hands flared a bright yellow and the cage itself suddenly became framed in red energy. A slight hum arose.

Malfurion glanced anxiously at the sentries, but even this wondrous display passed unnoticed by them. He exhaled in relief, then watched as Illidan worked.

There were advantages to night elven sorcery and his brother had learned well how to wield it. The astonishing yellow glow surrounding his hands spread to the cage, rapidly enveloping the red. Sweat dripped from Illidan’s forehead as he pressed his spell, but he did not falter in the least.

At last, Illidan released his hold and fell back. Malfurion caught his brother before the latter could stumble into one of the sentries. Illidan’s hand continued to glow for a few seconds more. “You can open the cell now, Tyrande…”

Releasing Brox, she touched the door of the cage—which then immediately swung open almost of its own accord.

“The chains,” Malfurion reminded Illidan.

“Of course, brother. I’ve not forgotten.”

Squatting, Illidan reached for the orc’s manacles. Brox, however, did not respond at first, eyes narrowing warily at the sight of the male night elf. Tyrande had to take his hands and guide them to her companion.

With more muttered words, Malfurion’s brother touched each of the bonds at the lock. The manacles snapped open like small mouths eagerly waiting to be fed.

“No trouble whatsoever,” Illidan remarked with an extremely pleased smile.

The orc emerged slowly, his body stiff due to the cramped conditions of his cell. He curtly nodded his gratitude to Illidan, but looked to Tyrande for guidance.

“Broxigar, listen carefully. I want you to go with Malfurion. He’ll take you to a safe place. I’ll see you there later.”

This had been some cause of argument between Tyrande and Malfurion, the former wanting to see the orc to safety herself. Malfurion—with Illidan’s more-than-willing assistance—had finally convinced her that there would be trouble enough when Brox was discovered missing without Tyrande, who had been seen caring for him, also vanishing. It would not be hard for the Moon Guard to add the facts together.

“They’ll make the connection quickly,” Malfurion had insisted. “You were the only one to give him aid. That’s why you need to stay here. They’re less likely to think of me and even if they do, it’s doubtful that they’ll blame you, then. You are an initiate of Elune. That you know me is no crime with which they can label you.”

Although Tyrande had given in, she still did not like Malfurion taking on all the responsibility himself. True, he had been the one who had come up with this startling course of action, but it was she who had instigated everything in the first place simply by introducing Malfurion to the imprisoned orc.

Now the young priestess also asked the orc to have faith in one he did not know well. Brox studied Malfurion, then glared again at Illidan. “That one be with?”

Illidan curled his lip. “I just saved your hide, beast—”

“Enough, Illidan! He’s grateful!” To Brox, Tyrande answered, “Only Malfurion. He’ll take you to a place where no one will be able to find you! Please! You can trust me!”

Taking her hand in his huge fists, the brutish figure fell to one knee. “I trust in you, shaman.”

At that moment, Malfurion noticed one of the guards beginning to fidget.

“It’s starting to wear away!” he hissed. “Illidan! Take Tyrande and leave! Brox! Come!”

With astonishing speed and grace, the massive orc leapt to his feet and followed after the night elf. Malfurion did not look behind him, praying that his druidic spell would hold long enough. For Tyrande and his brother he had little fear. Their destination was Illidan’s quarters, only a short distance away. No one would suspect either of any duplicity.

For Malfurion and Brox, however, the matter was different. No one would mistake the orc for anything but what he was. The two had to escape the city as fast as possible.

But as they left the square and entered the winding streets of Suramar, the sound that Malfurion had feared most arose.

One of the guards had finally awakened. His shouts were quickly multiplied by those of his companions and, mere seconds later, the blare of a horn filled the air.

“This way!” he urged the orc. “I’ve mounts awaiting us!”

In truth, Malfurion need not have said anything, for the orc, despite his sturdy build, ran with at least as much swiftness as his rescuer. Had they been out in the wilderness, the night elf suspected Brox would have even outrun him.

Everywhere, horns sounded and voices cried out. Suramar had sprung to life…much too soon for Malfurion’s taste.

At last, the night elf spotted the corner for which he had been waiting. “Here! They’re just around here!”

But as they turned into the side street, Brox suddenly stumbled to a halt, the fearsome orc staring wide-eyed at the mounts Malfurion had secured.

The huge panthers were black, sinewy shadows. They snarled and hissed upon first sighting the newcomers, then calmed as Malfurion approached them. He patted each on the flank.

Brox shook his head. “We ride these?”

“Of course! Now hurry!”

The orc hesitated, but then nearby shouts urged him forward. Brox took the reins given to him and watched as Malfurion showed how to mount up.

It took the former captive three tries to climb atop the huge cat, then another minute to learn how to sit. Malfurion kept glancing behind them, fearful that at any moment the soldiers—or, worse, the Moon Guard—would arrive. He had not given any consideration to the fact that Brox might not know how to ride a night saber. What other beast could the orc have expected?

Adjusting his position one last time, Brox reluctantly nodded. Taking a deep breath, Malfurion urged his mount onward, Brox following as best he could.

In the space of but a few minutes, the night elf had forever changed his future. Such an audacious act might only serve to condemn him to Black Rook Hold, but Malfurion knew that he could not let this chance slip away. Somehow, Brox was linked to the disturbing work of the Highborne…and come what may, Malfurion had to find out how.

He had the horrible feeling that the fate of all Kalimdor hinged upon it.

Varo’then had little desire to face Lord Xavius, but that choice was not his. He had been commanded to appear before the counselor the moment his party arrived and commands given by Lord Xavius were to be obeyed with as much urgency as if they had been made by Queen Azshara herself…perhaps even more so.

The counselor would not like the captain’s report. How to explain that they had somehow been led astray, then attacked by a forest? Varo’then hoped to use the late, unlamented Koltharius as a scapegoat, but doubted that his lord would accept such a pathetic offering. Varo’then had been in charge and to Lord Xavius that would be all that mattered.

He did not have to ask where the counselor could be found, for when was his master anywhere but the chamber where the spellwork took place? In truth, Captain Varo’then preferred blades to sorcery and the chamber was not his favorite place. True, he also wielded a bit of power himself, but what Lord Xavius and the queen had in mind overwhelmed even him.

The guards came to attention as he approached, but although they reacted with the respect he was due, something in their manner seemed different…almost unsettling.

Almost as if they knew exactly what awaited him better than he did.

The door swung open before him. Eyes down in respect, Captain Varo’then entered the Highborne sanctum—and a nightmarish beast filled his view.

“By Elune!” Acting instinctively, he drew his curved blade. The hellish creature howled, two menacing tentacles above its muscled form groping eagerly toward him. The captain doubted his chances against such a monstrosity, but he would fight it as best he could.

But then a hissing voice that chilled Varo’then’s bones to the marrow uttered something in a language unknown. A fearsome whip snapped at the beast’s hunched back.

Cringing, the demonic hound retreated, leaving Varo’then to gape at the one who had summoned it away.

“His name is Hakkar,” Lord Xavius remarked pleasantly, appearing from the side. “The felbeasts are entirely under his control. The great one has sent him to help open the way…”

“ ‘G-great one,’ my lord?”

To the captain’s dismay, the counselor placed an almost fatherly arm around his shoulder, guiding Varo’then to the fiery sphere over the pattern. Something about the sphere looked different, giving the night elf the horrible sensation that if he stood close enough, it would devour him body and soul.

“It’s all right, my good captain. Nothing to fear…”

He was going to be punished for his failure. If so, at least Varo’then would make a declaration of his mistakes beforehand, so that he would not lose more face. “My Lord Xavius, the captives were lost! The forest turned against us—”

But the counselor only smiled. “You will be given the opportunity to redeem yourself in good time, captain. First, you must understand the glorious truth…”

“My lord, I don’t—”

He got no further, his eyes snared.

“You understand now,” Xavius remarked, his false eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

Varo’then sensed the god, sensed how the wondrous presence peeled away every layer that was the captain. The god within the fiery sphere looked into the deepest depths of Varo’then…and radiated a pleasure with what he found there.

You, too, will serve me well…

And Varo’then fell to one knee, honoring the one who honored him so.

“He will be coming to us soon, captain,” Lord Xavius explained as the soldier rose. “But so magnificent is he that the way must be strengthened in order to accept his overwhelming presence! He has sent this noble guardian to open the path for others of his host, others who will in turn guide our efforts in strengthening the vortex…and bringing about the fruition of all of our dreams!”

Varo’then nodded, feeling both pleased and ashamed. “My lord, my failure to capture those strangers I found near the site of the disruption—”

He was interrupted by the hissing voice of Hakkar “Your failure isss moot. They will be taken…the great one isss mossst interested in what Lord Xavius hasss told him about this—disssruption—and their posssible connection to it!”

“But how will you find them? That forest is the realm of the demigod, Cenarius! I’m sure it was him!”

“Cenarius is only a woodland deity,” the counselor reminded him. “We have behind us now much, much more than that.”

Turning from the night elves, Hakkar snapped his whip at an open area before him. As the sinewy weapon cracked, a greenish flash of lightning struck the stone floor.

In the lightning’s wake, the area hit glowed brightly. The emerald flare increased rapidly in size and as it did, it began to coalesce.

The two felbeasts howled, their fearsome tentacles straining, but Hakkar kept them back.

A four-legged shape formed, growing larger and wider. It quickly took on an aspect already familiar to Captain Varo’then, which it verified with a bloodcurdling howl of its own.

The new hound shook itself once, then joined the others. As the mesmerized night elves watched, Hakkar repeated the step with his whip, summoning a fourth monstrous beast that lined up with the rest.

He then spun the lash around and around, creating a circular pattern that flared brighter and brighter until it created a hole in the air before him, a hole as tall as the fearsome figure and twice as wide.

Hakkar barked out a command in some dark tongue.

The hellish felbeasts leapt through the hole, vanishing. As the last disappeared, the hole itself dissipated.

“They know what they ssseek,” Hakkar informed his stunned companions. “And they will find what they ssseek…” The fiery being wound up the whip, his dark gaze turning to the night elves’ spellwork. “And now we shall begin our own tasssk…”