The Well of Eternity

18

Mannoroth was pleased…and that pleased Lord Xavius.

“It is good, then?” the night elf asked the celestial commander. So much hinged on everything going as planned.

Mannoroth nodded his heavy, tusked head. His wings stretched and folded in satisfaction. “Yes…very good. Sargeras will be pleased.”

Sargeras. Again the celestial commander had uttered the true name of the great one. Xavius’s magical eyes burned bright as he savored it. Sargeras.

“We will work the portal the moment that the spell is set in place. First will come the host, then, when all is made ready, my lord himself…”

Hakkar approached, the much subdued Houndmaster falling on one knee before Mannoroth. “Forgive thisss interruption, but one of my huntersss hasss returned.”

“Only one?”

“Ssso it ssseems.”

“And what have you learned from it?” Mannoroth loomed over his counterpart, making the Houndmaster seem smaller and smaller.

“They found two with the ssscent of othernessss that the lord night elf ssspoke of, plusss one of hisss own kind with them! But in the hunt they alssso fell afoul of a being of power…great power.”

For the first time, Mannoroth displayed a slight hint of uncertainty. Xavius noted carefully the reaction, wondering what could disturb so wondrous a being. “Not—”

Hakkar quickly shook his head. “I think not. Perhapsss with a touch of their power. Perhapsss a guardian left behind.”

The pair spoke of something significant, but what, the counselor could not say. Taking a risk, he interrupted. “Is there a description of this last creature?”

“Aye.” Hakkar held out one hand, palm up.

Above his palm there suddenly burst to life a tiny image. It moved violently and often lost focus, but revealed by bits and pieces an almost full view of the one in question.

“Ssseen through the eyesss of the felbeassst. An antlered entity asss tall asss one of the Fel Guard.”

Lord Xavius frowned. “The legend is true, then…the forest lord is real…”

“You know this creature?” Mannoroth demanded.

“Ancient myth speaks of the forest lord, the demigod Cenarius. He is said to be the child of the Mother Moon…”

“Nothing more, then.” The tusked mouth twisted into a grim smile. “He will be dealt with.” To Hakkar, he commanded, “Show the others.”

The Houndmaster quickly obeyed, revealing a green-skinned brute of warrior, a young night elf, and an odd, fire-haired figure clad in hooded garments.

“A curious trio,” Xavius remarked.

Mannoroth nodded. “The warrior shows much promise…I would see more of his kind, learn their potential…”

“Such a beast? Surely not! He’s more grotesque than a dwarf!”

The winged figure did not argue, instead recalling the last of the threesome. “A spindly creature but with wary eyes. A creature of magic, I think. Almost like a night elf—” He cut off Xavius’s new protest. “—but not.” Dismissing Hakkar’s images, the huge, reptilian limbs maneuvered through the chamber as Mannoroth contemplated what he had learned.

“More felbeastsss could be sssent to find them,” suggested the Houndmaster.

“But with Fel Guard behind. This time, the objective will be capture.”

“Capture?” echoed both the counselor and the Houndmaster.

The deep-set eyes narrowed more. “They must be studied, their weaknesses and strengths assessed in case there are others…”

“Can the Fel Guard be ssspared?”

“There will soon be many, many more. Lord night elf, are your Highborne prepared?”

Studying the sorcerers, Xavius bowed his head. “They are ready to do what they must to see the glorious fulfillment of our dream, the cleansing of the world of all that is—”

“The world will be cleansed, lord night elf, you may trust to that.” Mannoroth glanced at Hakkar. “I leave the hunt to you, Houndmaster. Do not fail again.”

Keeping low, Hakkar backed away.

“And now, lord night elf…” the towering being continued, gaze turning to the place of casting. “Let us begin the molding of your people’s future…” Mannoroth’s wings flexed as they always seemed to do when he contemplated something agreeable to him. “A future I promise you that they cannot possibly even imagine…”

Deathwing soared over the landscape, breathing fire everywhere. Screams came from every direction around Krasus, but he could not find any of those who pleaded for his aid. Trapped in his tiny mortal form, he scampered over the burning earth like a field rat, trying to keep from being engulfed while in vain he sought to help the dying.

Suddenly a dark shadow covered the area over which he ran and a thundering voice mocked, “Well, well! And what little morsel is this?”

Huge claws twice the size of the dragon mage encircled Krasus, trapping him. With no effort whatsoever, they dragged him into the sky…and turned him to face the malevolent visage of Deathwing.

“Why, it’s only a bit of old dragon meat! Korialstrasz! You’ve been around the lesser races much too long! Their weakness has rubbed off on you!”

Krasus tried to cast a spell, but from his mouth emerged not words but tiny bats. Deathwing inhaled, drawing the bats mercilessly into the hot, gaping maw.

The black behemoth swallowed. “Not much of a treat! I doubt you’ll be any better, but you’re already going to waste so I might as well finish you off!” He raised the flailing figure above his gullet. “Besides, you’re of no use to anyone, anyway!”

The claws released Krasus, but as he plummeted into Deathwing’s mouth, things changed. Deathwing and the burning landscape vanished. Krasus suddenly floated in the midst of a horrendous sandstorm, spun around and around by its ever more turbulent forces.

A dragon’s head formed in the midst of the storm. At first Krasus thought that the black beast had followed him, determined not to let his snack escape. Then another head identical to the first appeared, followed by another and another until an endless horde filled Krasus’s view.

“Korialstraaaasz…” they moaned simultaneously over and over. “Korialstraaasz…”

It occurred to Krasus then that the heads had a different shape to them from Deathwing’s and that each had formed from the sandstorm itself.

Nozdormu?

“We…are ssstretched through all!” the Timeless One managed. “We…ssseee all!…”

Krasus waited, knowing that Nozdormu spoke as his efforts permitted him.

“All endsss lead to nothing! All endsss…”

Nothing? What did he mean? Did he indicate that all the mage had feared had come to pass, that the future had been eradicated?

“…but one…”

One! Krasus seized hold of the tiny ray of hope. “Tell me! What path? What do I do?”

In answer, the dragon heads changed. The snouts shrank and the heads elongated, becoming more human—no! Not human—elven…

A night elf?

Was this someone he should fear or someone he should seek? He tried to ask Nozdormu, but then the storm grew wild, mad. The winds tore apart the faces, scattering the grains of sand everywhere. Krasus tried to protect his body as sand ripped at his flesh even through his garments.

He screamed.

And sat up a moment later, his mouth still open in a silent scream.

“My queen, he is with us again.”

Gradually Krasus’s mind returned to reality. The nightmare involving Deathwing and the subsequent vision of Nozdormu still wreaked havoc with his thoughts, but he was at last able to focus enough to realize that he lay in the egg chamber where he and Alexstrasza had first spoken. The Queen of Life herself looked down in grave concern at him. To his right, his younger self also watched with worry.

“Your spell has passed?” Alexstrasza quietly inquired.

This time, he was determined that she would know regardless of the consequences. Nozdormu’s frightening words indicated that the path to the future already had all but shut. What more trouble, then, would it be if he told her of Neltharion’s madness and the horror the black dragon would cause?

But once more, when Krasus tried to speak of the fiend, the vertigo nearly did him in. It was all he could do to keep conscious.

“Too soon,” cautioned Alexstrasza. “You need more rest.”

He needed much more than that. He needed the sinister and subtle spell which the Earth Warder had evidently cast upon him removed, but clearly none of the Aspects had even recognized his condition as one caused by sorcery. In all his incarnations, Deathwing had always been the most cunning of evils.

Unable to do anything about the black dragon, Krasus’s mind drifted to the night elf whose features Nozdormu had attempted to show him. He recalled the ones who had attacked Rhonin and him, but none had looked at all like this new figure.

“How far are we from the land of the night elves?” Krasus asked…then touched his mouth in surprise when he realized that the words had come out with no trouble. Apparently Neltharion’s handiwork only involved the dragon himself, not any other matter of importance.

“We can take you there soon enough,” his mate replied.

“But what of the matter of which you spoke?”

“This…this still concerns that matter, but my course has changed. I believe…I believe I have just been contacted by the Timeless One, who tried to tell me something.”

His younger self found this too much. “You had nightmares, delusions! We heard you moan several times. It is doubtful that the Aspect of Time would reach out to you. Alexstrasza, perhaps, but not you.”

“No,” corrected the red queen. “I believe he may have the truth of it, Korialstrasz. If he says that Nozdormu touched his thoughts, I suspect he states fact.”

“I bow to your wisdom, my love.”

“I must go to the night elves,” Krasus insisted. With Korialstrasz nearby and no intention of mentioning Neltharion’s duplicity, his condition had improved much. “There is one I seek. I hope I am not already too late.”

The female leviathan tilted her head to the side, her eyes seeking within Krasus’s own. “Is all you told me before still truth? All of it?”

“It is…but I fear there is much more. The dragons—all dragons—will be needed for a struggle.”

“But with Nozdormu absent, a consensus cannot be reached. The others will not agree to anything!”

“You must convince them to go against tradition!” He forced himself to his feet. “They could very well be all that stands between the world and oblivion!”

And with that, he told both all he could recall of the horror of the Burning Legion.

They listened to his tales of blood, of decimation, of soulless evil. Even the two dragons shook as he regaled them with the atrocities. By the time he had finished, Krasus had told more than enough for them to see his fear.

But even then, Alexstrasza said, “They may still not decide. We have watched the world, but we leave its progress in the hands of the younger races. Even Neltharion, who is warder of the earth itself, prefers to leave it that way.”

He so much desired to tell her of Neltharion, but even thinking that made his head swim. With a reluctant nod, Krasus said, “I know you will do what you must.”

“And you must do what you will. Go to the night elves and seek your answer if you think it will help this situation.” She looked up at her consort. After a moment’s consideration, the queen added, “I ask that you go with him, Korialstrasz. Will you do it?”

The male lowered his head in respect. “If you ask, I am only too glad to oblige.”

“I also ask that you follow his lead, my consort. Trust me when I say that he has wisdom which will be of value to you.”

It was not entirely clear from his reptilian visage whether or not Korialstrasz believed the last, but he nodded to that, too.

“Night has fallen,” Alexstrasza informed Krasus. “Will you wait until light?”

The dragon mage shook his head. “I have already waited far too long as it is.”

The first to bear the clan designation of Ravencrest had looked upon the huge, granite formation atop the high and treacherous mount. He had remarked to his companion how its stocky formation resembled a piece from a chessboard, a rook colored black. That huge, dark birds constantly circled about the formation and even nested atop it was taken as a sign that this was a special place, a place of power.

For more than a generation—and the generations of night elves were longer than those of most races—servants of the Ravencrest line had continually carved out the clan stronghold, gradually building from solid rock a fortress like none seen among their kind. Black Rook Hold, as it quickly became known, was an ominous, uncolored place which spread its influence over much of the night elf realm, becoming second only to the palace. When conflict arose between the night elves and the dwarves, it was the power of Black Rook Hold that tipped the balance. Those of the clan of Ravencrest became the honored of the throne and the blood of both sides intermingled. If the Highborne who served Azshara were jealous of any others of their race, it had to be those of the ebony fortress.

Windows had been carved out on the top floors of the hold, but the only way to enter was by the twin iron gates located not at the base of the structure, but at the very bottom of the hill. The solid gates were sealed shut and well guarded. Only fools would have thought to enter there without permission.

But for the present Lord Ravencrest, those gates had opened readily. They had also opened for his three prisoners, one of whom knew the stories of Black Rook Hold and grew worried.

Malfurion had never thought that he would enter the dark hold, especially under such dire conditions. Worse, he could never have imagined his twin being the main reason for his having to do so. In the course of their journey he had learned that it was Illidan, somehow suddenly associated with Lord Ravencrest, who had detected Rhonin’s spell. With Malfurion’s brother to aid him, the night elven commander had ridden out with a full force, determined this time to capture any invaders.

He had been most pleased to see Brox…and quite puzzled to see Illidan’s twin.

In a chamber lit by glittering emerald crystals positioned high in each of the five corners, Lord Ravencrest inspected his catch. The commander sat upon a chair carved from the same stone as his hold. The chair stood upon a dais, also stone, giving Ravencrest the ability to look down on the trio even while seated.

Armed soldiers lined the walls of the chamber while others surrounded Malfurion and his comrades. Ravencrest himself was flanked by his senior officers, each of whom stood with his helm in the crook of one arm. At the noble’s immediate right waited Illidan.

Present also were two high-ranking members of the Moon Guard. They were a late addition to the proceedings, having arrived at Black Rook Hold just as the commander had brought his prisoners to the gates. The Moon Guard, too, had detected Rhonin’s spell, but their spies had informed them of Ravencrest’s party before there had been any chance to send out searchers of their own. The sorcerers were not at all pleased by the noble’s actions nor were they pleased with Illidan’s presence, he being an unsanctioned spellcaster in their eyes.

“Once again, my Lord Ravencrest,” began the thinner, elder of the two Moon Guard, an officious figure by the name of Latosius. “I must request that these outsiders be turned over to us for proper questioning.”

“You’ve already had the beastman and lost him. He was to come to me, anyway. This simply shortens the procedure.” The noble eyed the three again. “There’s more here than what we see on the surface. Illidan, I would hear from you.”

Malfurion’s brother looked slightly ill at ease, but he answered strongly, “Yes, my lord, he is my brother.”

“That much is as obvious as night and day.” He studied the captive twin. “I know something of you, lad, just as I know something of your brother. Your name is Malfurion, yes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You rescued this creature?”

“I did.”

The commander leaned forward. “And you’ve an excellent reason why? One that would excuse this heinous act?”

“I doubt you would believe me, my lord.”

“Oh, I can come to believe many things, young one,” Lord Ravencrest replied calmly, tugging lightly on his beard.

“If they’re spoken in honesty. Can you do that?”

“I—” What other choice did Malfurion have? Sooner or later, through one method or another, they would pluck the truth from him. “I’ll try.”

And so he told them of his studies under Cenarius, which immediately raised doubtful brows. He explained his reoccurring dreams and how the demigod had taught him to walk in the world of the subconscious. Most of all, Malfurion described the disconcerting forces that had drawn him to, of all places, Zin-Azshari, and the palace of the night elves’ beloved queen.

They listened as he told of the Well itself and the turbulence that the sorcerers within the palace had stirred up. He painted for Ravencrest, the Moon Guard, and the others the vision of the tower and what he sensed went on inside.

The one thing he did not mention, assuming that from his story it would be obvious, was his fear that Queen Azshara sanctioned everything.

Ravencrest did not comment on his story, instead looking to the Moon Guard. “Has your order noticed any such trouble?”

The elder sorcerer answered. “The Well is more turbulent than usual and that could be from misuse. We have not monitored any such activity from Zin-Azshari, but then, such an incredible fiction as this—”

“Yes, it is incredible.” The bearded commander glanced up at Illidan. “What say you concerning your brother?”

“He’s never been one for delusions, my lord.” Illidan would not look at Malfurion. “As to whether it’s the truth…”

“Indeed. Still, I wouldn’t put it past Lord Xavius and the Highborne to instigate some devilment without her knowledge. They act as if the queen is their prized possession and no one else has a right to her.”

Even by the Moon Guard, this was greeted with nods. The arrogance of the lord counselor and those surrounding Azshara in the palace was well known.

“If I may,” Latosius interjected. “Once we’ve settled matters here, I will pass on word to the heads of our order. They will put into motion surveillance of the Highborne and their activities.”

“I should be most interested in that. Young Malfurion, your story—on the assumption that it is for the most part truth—explains some of your actions, but how does that fit into the freeing of a prisoner of your people, a most serious crime?”

“I can perhaps answer that better,” Rhonin suddenly said.

Malfurion was not so sure it was a good thing that the other outsider spoke. Night elves were not so tolerant of other races and although Rhonin had some vague resemblance to his kind, he still might as well have been a troll for all the good it would do him.

But Ravencrest appeared willing to listen, if nothing else. He waved a negligent hand toward the hooded wizard.

“In my land…a land not far from where he’s from,” explained Rhonin, nodding toward Brox. “A strange magical anomaly opened up. My people sent me and Brox’s sent him. We both discovered it separately…and were drawn unwilling through it. He ended one place, I another.”

“And how does this pertain to young Malfurion?”

“He believes…as I do…that this anomaly was caused by the spellwork mentioned.”

“That would be some cause for alarm,” commented the senior Moon Guard dubiously. “The green-skinned creature hardly seems what one would send to study a creation of sorcery or magic.”

“My Warchief commanded I go,” retorted Brox with a defiant snarl. “I went.”

“I cannot speak for the orcs,” Rhonin answered. “But I am certainly adept at such a study.” His eyes, so different from those of the night elves, dared the Moon Guard to deny him.

After a pause, both sorcerers nodded their agreement. Malfurion realized that they did not know what exactly Rhonin was, but they recognized one versed in the arts. Indeed, it was likely for that reason that the wizard had been allowed to speak at all.

“Perhaps I’m growing old, but I’m inclined to believe much of all this.” This admission from Lord Ravencrest drew some looks from his officers and sent a wave of relief through Malfurion. If the commander took their story to heart—

“We remain undecided,” Latosius declared. “Such information cannot be taken on faith alone. There must still be an inner interrogation.”

The noble’s brow rose. “Did I say otherwise?”

He snapped his fingers and the guards seized Malfurion tightly by the arms, dragging him toward the dais.

“Now I would like to test the faith I’ve placed in my new sorcerer. Illidan, we must ascertain the absolute truth, however distasteful that might seem to you. I trust I can rely on you to prove to us that all your brother says is true?”

The pony-tailed night elf swallowed, then looked beyond Malfurion. “My brother’s word I trust, but I can’t say the same for the robed creature, my lord.”

Illidan was trying to keep from having to use his powers on his brother by instead focusing on an outsider. While Malfurion appreciated that concern, he did not like the idea of Rhonin or Brox suffering in his place.

“Lord commander, this is absurd!” The senior sorcerer marched up to the dais, eyeing Illidan with contempt. “An un-sanctioned spellcaster who is the brother of one of the prisoners? Any questioning will be suspect!” He turned on Malfurion, silver eyes narrowed menacingly at the younger night elf. “In accordance with the laws set down at the very dawn of our civilization, in matters magical it is the responsibility and right of the Moon Guard to oversee all such interrogations!”

He advanced, coming within arm’s reach of the prisoner. Malfurion tried not to show his anxiety. Against the physical threats of Black Rook Hold, he hoped his druidic training would allow him to survive, but the delving of a sorcerer into his mind threatened him much more. Such a questioning could leave his body whole, but his brain so shattered that he might never recover.

Illidan leapt down from the dais. “My lord, I’ll interrogate my brother.”

Whatever his twin would do to him, Malfurion suspected that Illidan would be much more careful in his approach than the Moon Guard, who only wanted answers. Malfurion looked at Lord Ravencrest, hoping that the noble would accept Illidan’s offer.

But the master of Black Rook Hold only leaned back against his chair, stating, “The laws shall be followed. He is yours, Moon Guard…but only if you do the questioning here and now.”

“That is agreed.”

“Consider, in your work, that he may be telling the truth.”

It was the closest Malfurion guessed Ravencrest would come to trying to preserve Illidan’s twin from harm. First and foremost the bearded commander was protector of the realm. If that cost the life or mind of one night elf, then the sacrifice had to be made.

“The truth will be known,” was all the sorcerer would answer. To the guards, he commanded, “Hold his head straight.”

One of the armored figures positioned Malfurion for the Moon Guard. The robed figure reached up and touched the struggling prisoner’s temples with his index fingers.

A shock ran through Malfurion and he was certain that he screamed. His thoughts swirled around, old memories rising to the surface unbidden. Yet, each one was swiftly thrust back down as what felt like a clawed hand dug into his mind, seeking ever deeper…

Struggle not! commanded a harsh voice that had to be that of Latosius. Release your secrets and it will go the better for you!

Malfurion wanted to, but did not know how. He thought of what he had already told the gathering and tried to project that forward. Of Azshara’s possible duplicity, Malfurion still resisted revealing. It would lessen his chances of ever being believed if that suspicion leaked free—

Then, just as suddenly as the intrusive probe had bur rowed into his thoughts…it ceased. It did not withdraw, did not gradually fade away. It simply ceased.

Malfurion’s legs buckled. He would have fallen if not for the guards holding him.

Gradually he became aware of shouts, some in disbelief, others in consternation. One of the voices most strident sounded like that of the elder Moon Guard.

“It’s outrageous!” someone else cried out. “Surely not the queen!”

“Never!”

He had let slip his ultimate fear. Malfurion cursed his feeble mind. Barely had the questioning begun and he had already failed himself, failed Cenarius’s teaching…

“ ’Tis the Highborne! It has to be! This is Xavius’s doing!” another voice insisted “He has committed evil against his own kind!” agreed the First.

What were they talking about? Although Malfurion’s head refused to clear, he still felt certain that something was not right about the shouted conversation. The speakers were too excited, reacting too adamantly to his beliefs. He was only one night elf and not even of high rank. Why would his vague suspicions throw them into growing panic?

“Let me see to him,” a voice said. Malfurion felt the guards hand him over to a single person, who lowered him gently to the floor.

Hands touched the sides of his face, lifting it up. Through bleary eyes, Malfurion met the gaze of his brother.

“Why didn’t you give in immediately?” Illidan muttered.

“Two hours! Do you still have a mind left?”

“Two—hours?”

Noting the response, Illidan breathed easier. “Praise Elune! After you spouted that nonsense about the queen, that old fool was determined to rip everything out of your head regardless of the cost! If not for his spell failing suddenly, he probably would have left you an empty husk! They haven’t forgiven the loss of their brethren and blame you for it!”

“H-his spell failed?” That hardly made sense. Malfurion’s interrogator had been a most senior sorcerer.

“All of their spells have failed!” Illidan persisted. “After he lost control of the first, he tried another and when that didn’t work, his companion attempted a third…with no success!”

Malfurion still did not understand. What his twin hinted at sounded as if both of the Moon Guard had lost their powers. “They can’t cast?”

“No…and my own powers feel muted…” He leaned next to Malfurion’s ear. “I think I have some control…but barely. It’s as if we’ve been cut off from the Well!”

The commotion continued to grow. He heard Lord Ravencrest demand if the Moon Guard still maintained contact with their brethren, to which one of the sorcerers admitted that the ever-present link had been severed. The noble then asked of his own followers if any still retained their own skills, however slight.

No one answered in the affirmative.

“It’s begun…” Malfurion whispered without thinking.

“Hmm?” His twin frowned. “What’s that? What has?”

He looked past Illidan, recalling the violent forces carelessly summoned by those in the tower. He saw again the lack of regard for what such spellwork might do to those beyond the palace walls.

“I don’t know…” Malfurion finally told his brother. “I wish by the Mother Moon I did…but I just don’t.” Beyond Illidan he saw the concerned countenances of Brox and Rhonin. Whether or not they understood as he did, both looked as if they shared his growing fear. “I only know that, whatever it may be…it’s begun.”

All over the realm of the night elves, all over the continent of Kalimdor, thousands of others sensed the loss. The Well had been cut off from them. The power that they had so blithely wielded…was all but gone. A sense of alarm swiftly grew, for it was as if someone had reached up and just stolen the moon.

Those living nearest to the palace naturally turned to their queen, calling upon Azshara for guidance. They waited before the bolted gates, gathering in greater and greater numbers. Above, the sentries watched blank-faced, neither moving to open the gates nor calling down to calm the growing crowd.

Only after more than half the night had passed and most of the city had emptied out into the areas before the palace did the gates finally open. The people poured forward, relieved. They were certain that Azshara had finally come out in response to their pleas.

But what emerged from within the palace walls was not the queen, nor was it anything ever imagined in the night elf world.

And so fell the first victims of the Burning Legion.