The Well of Eternity

2

An ominous portent, Rhonin decided, vivid green eyes gazing at the results of his divining. Any wizard would recognize it as so.

“Are you certain?” Vereesa called from the other room. “Have you checked your reading?”

The red-haired mage nodded, then grimaced when he realized that of course the elf could not see him. He would have to tell her face to face. She deserved that. I pray she is strong.

Clad in dark blue pants and jacket, both gold-trimmed, Rhonin looked more like a politician than a mage these days, but the past few years had demanded as much diplomacy from him as magic. Diplomacy had never been an easy thing for him, who preferred to go charging into a situation. With his thick mane of hair and his short beard, he had a distinct leonine appearance that so well matched his temper when forced to parlay with pampered, arrogant ambassadors. His nose, broken long ago and never—by his own choice—properly fixed, further added to his fiery reputation.

“Rhonin…is there something you have not told me?”

He could leave her waiting no longer. She had to know the truth, however terrible it might be. “I’m coming, Vereesa.”

Putting away his divining instruments, Rhonin took a deep breath, then rejoined the elf. Just within the entrance, though, he paused. All Rhonin could see was her face—a beautiful, perfect oval upon which had been artfully placed alluring, almond-shaped eyes of pure sky blue, a tiny, upturned nose, and an enticing mouth seemingly always halfway to a smile. Framing that face was a rich head of silver-white hair that, had she been standing, would have hung nearly to the small of her back. She could have passed yet for a human if not for the long, tapering ears jutting from the hair, pointed ears marking her race.

“Well?” she asked, patiently.

“It’s…it’s to be twins.”

Her face lit up, if anything becoming more perfect in his eyes. “Twins! How fortuitous! How wonderful! I was so certain!”

She adjusted her position on the wooden bed. The slim but curved elven ranger now lay several months pregnant. Gone were her breastplate and leather armor. Now she wore a silver gown that did not at all conceal the imminent birth.

They should have guessed from the quickness with which she had shown, but Rhonin had wanted to deny it. They had been wed only a few months when she had discovered her condition. Both were concerned then, for not only had their marriage been one so very rare in the annals of history, but no one had ever recorded a successful human-elven birth.

And now they expected not one child, but two.

“I don’t think you understand, Vereesa. Twins! Twins from a mage and an elf!”

But her face continued to radiate pleasure and wonder. “Elves seldom give birth and we very, very rarely give birth to twins, my love! They will be destined for great things!”

Rhonin could not hide his sour expression. “I know. That’s what worries me…”

He and Vereesa had lived through their own share of “great things.” Thrown together to penetrate the orc stronghold of Grim Batol during the last days of the war against the Horde, they had faced not just orcs, but dragons, goblins, trolls, and more. Afterward, they had journeyed from realm to realm, becoming ambassadors of sorts whose task it had been to remind the Alliance of the importance of remaining intact. That had not meant, however, that they had not risked their lives during that time, for the peace following that war had been unstable at best.

Then, without warning, had come the Burning Legion.

By that time, what had started as a partnership of two wary agents had become a binding of two unlikely souls. In the war against the murderous demons, the mage and the ranger had fought as much for each other as for their lands. More than once, they had thought one another dead and the pain felt had been unbearable to each.

Perhaps the pain of losing each other had seemed worse because of all those other loved ones who had already perished. Both Dalaran and Quel’Thalas had been razed by the Undead Scourge, thousands slaughtered by the decaying abominations serving the dread Lich King, who in turn served the cause of the Legion. Entire towns perished horribly and matters were made worse by the fact that many of the victims soon rose from the dead, their cursed mortal shells now added to the ranks of the Scourge.

What little that remained of Rhonin’s family had perished early in the war. His mother had been long dead, but his father, brother, and two cousins had all been slain in the fall of the city of Andorhal. Fortunately, the desperate defenders, seeing no hope of rescue, had set the city ablaze. Even the Scourge could not raise warriors from ash.

He had not seen any of them—not even his father—since entering the ranks of wizardry, but Rhonin had discovered an emptiness in his heart when the news had arrived. The rift between himself and his kin—caused in great part because of his chosen calling—had vanished in that instant. All that had mattered at the time was that he had become the last of his family. He was all alone.

Alone until he realized that the feelings he had developed for the brave elven ranger at his side were reciprocated.

When the terrible struggle had finally played out, there had been only one logical path for the two of them. Despite the horrified voices emanating from both Vereesa’s people and Rhonin’s wizardly masters, the two had chosen to never be parted again. They had sealed a pact of marriage and tried to begin as normal a life as two such as they could possibly have in a world torn asunder.

Naturally,thought the mage bitterly, peace for us wasn’t meant to be.

Vareesa pushed herself from the bed before he could help her. Even so near the time of birth, the elf moved with assured swiftness. The elf took hold of Rhonin by the shoulders.

“You wizards! Always seeing the dire! I thought my own people were so gloomy! My love, this will be a happy birth, a happy pair of children! We will make it so!”

He knew that she made sense. Neither would do anything that would risk the infants. When the two had realized her condition, they ceased their own efforts to help rebuild the shattered Alliance and settled in one of the most peaceful regions left, near enough to shattered Dalaran but not too near. They lived in a modest but not completely humble home and the people of the nearby town respected them.

Her confidence and hope still amazed him, considering her own losses. If Rhonin had felt a hole in his heart after losing family he had barely known anymore, Vereesa surely had felt a gaping chasm open in her own. Quel’Thalas, more legendary and surely more secure than even the magic-ruled Dalaran, had been utterly ravaged. Elven strongholds untouched by centuries had fallen in mere days, their once-proud people added to the Scourge as easily as the mere humans. Among the latter had been included several of Vereesa’s own close-knit clan…and a few from her very family.

From her grandfather she had heard of his desperate battle to slay the ghoulish corpse of his own son, her uncle. From him she had also heard how her younger brother had been ripped apart by a hungering mob of undead led by their own elder brother, who later had been set afire and destroyed along with the rest of the Scourge by the surviving defenders. What had happened to her parents, no one yet knew, but they, too, were presumed dead.

And what Rhonin had not told her…might never dare tell her…was of the monstrous rumors he had heard concerning one of Vereesa’s two sisters, Sylvanas.

Vereesa’s other sister, the great Alleria, had been a hero during the Second War. But Sylvanas, she whom Rhonin’s wife had sought to emulate her entire life, had, as Ranger General, led the battle against the betrayer—Arthas, prince of Lordaeron. Once the shining hope of his land, now the twisted servant of the Legion and the Scourge, he had ravaged his own kingdom, then led the undead horde against the elven capital of Silvermoon. Sylvanas had blocked his path at every juncture and for a time, it had seemed that she would actually defeat him. But where the shambling corpses, sinister gargoyles, and gruesome abominations had failed, the dark necromancy granted the traitorous noble had succeeded.

The official version had Sylvanas dying valiantly as she prevented Arthas’s minions from slaying Silvermoon’s people. The elven leaders, even Vereesa’s grandfather, claimed that the Ranger General’s body had burned in the same fire that had devastated half the capital. Certainly there had been no trace left.

But while the story ended there for Vereesa, Rhonin, through sources in both the Kirin Tor and Quel’Thalas, had discovered word of Sylvanas that left him chilled. A surviving ranger, his mind half gone, had babbled of his general being captured, not killed. She had been horribly mutilated, then finally slain for the pleasure of Arthas. Finally, taking her body up in the dark temple he had raised in his madness, the prince had corrupted her soul and corpse, transforming her from heroic elf into a harbinger of evil…a haunting, mournful phantom called a banshee that still supposedly roamed the ruins of Quel’Thalas.

Rhonin had so far been unable to verify the rumors, but he felt certain that they had more than a grain of truth. He prayed that Vereesa would never hear the story.

So many tragedies…small wonder that Rhonin could not shake his uncertainty when it came to his new family.

He sighed. “Perhaps when they’re born, I’ll be better. I’m likely just nervous.”

“Which should be the sign of a caring parent.” Vereesa returned to the bed. “Besides, we are not alone in this. Jalia aids much.”

Jalia was an elder, full-bodied woman who had given birth to six children and midwifed several times that number. Rhonin had been certain that a human would be leery of dealing with an elf—let alone an elf with a wizard for a husband—but Jalia had taken one look at Vereesa and her maternal instincts had taken over. Even though Rhonin did pay her well for her time, he very much suspected that the townswoman would have volunteered anyway, so much had she taken to his wife.

“I suppose you’re right,” he began. “I’ve just been—”

A voice…a very familiar voice…suddenly filled his head.

A voice that could not be bringing him good tidings.

Rhonin…I have need of you.

“Krasus?” the mage blurted.

Vereesa sat up, all cheer vanishing. “Krasus? What about him?”

They both knew the master wizard, a member of the Kirin Tor. Krasus had been the one instrumental in bringing them together. He had also been the one who had not told them the entire truth about matters at the time, especially where he himself had been concerned.

Only through dire circumstance had they discovered that he was also the dragon Korialstrasz.

“It’s…it’s Krasus,” was all Rhonin could say at the moment.

Rhonin…I have need of you…

I won’t help you! the mage instantly responded. I’ve done my share! You know I can’t leave her now…

“What does he want?” Vereesa demanded. Like the wizard, she knew that Krasus would only contact them if some terrible trouble had arisen.

“It doesn’t matter! He’ll have to find someone else!”

Before you reject me, let me show you…the voice declared. Let me show both of you…

Before Rhonin could protest, images filled his head. He relived Krasus’s astonishment at being contacted by the Lord of Time, experienced the dragon mage’s shock when the Aspect’s desperation became evident. Everything Krasus had experienced, the wizard and his wife now shared.

Last of all, Krasus overwhelmed them with an image of the place the other believed the source of Nozdormu’s distress, a chill and forbidding chain of jagged mountains.

Kalimdor.

The entire vision lasted only a few seconds, but it left Rhonin exhausted. He heard a gasp from the bed. Turning, the wizard found Vereesa slumped back on the down pillow.

He started toward her, but she waved off his concern. “I am all right! Just…breathless. Give me a moment…”

For her Rhonin would give eternity, but for another he had not even a second to grant. Summoning the image of Krasus into his head, the wizard replied, Take your quests to someone else! Those days are through for me! I’ve got far more important matters at stake!

Krasus said nothing and Rhonin wondered if his response had sent his former patron searching for another pawn. He respected Krasus, even liked him, but the Rhonin the dragon mage sought no longer existed. Only his family concerned him now.

But to his surprise, the one he expected most to stand by him instead suddenly muttered, “You will have to go immediately, of course.”

He stared at Vereesa. “I’m not going anywhere!”

She straightened again. “But you must. You saw what I saw. He does not summon you for some frivolous task! Krasus is extremely worried…and what worries him puts fear into me.”

“But I can’t leave you now!” Rhonin fell down on one knee next to her. “I will not leave you, or them!”

A hint of her ranger past spread across Vareesa’s face. Eyes narrowing dangerously at whatever mysterious force would separate them, she answered, “And the last thing I would wish would be for you to thrust yourself into danger! I do not desire to sacrifice my children’s father, but what we have seen hints at a terrible threat to the world they will be born in! For that reason alone, it makes sense to go. Were I not in this condition, I would be right at your side, you know that.”

“Of course I do.”

“I tell myself that he is strong, Krasus is. Even stronger as Korialstrasz! I tell myself that I let you go only because you and he will be together. You know he would not ask if he did not think you capable.”

That was true. Dragons respected few mortal creatures. That Krasus in either form looked to him for aid meant a great deal…and as an ally of the leviathan, Rhonin would be better protected than anyone.

What could go wrong?

Defeated, Rhonin nodded. “All right. I’ll go. Can you handle matters until Jalia arrives?”

“With my bow, I have shot orcs dead at a hundred yards. I have battled trolls, demons, and more. I have nearly traveled the length and breadth of Azeroth…yes, my love, I think I can handle the situation until Jalia arrives.”

He leaned down and kissed her. “Then I’d best let Krasus know I’ll be coming. For a dragon, he’s an impatient sort.”

“He has taken the burden of the world upon his shoulders, Rhonin.”

That still did not make the wizard overly sympathetic. An ageless dragon was far more capable of dealing with terrible crises than a mere mortal spellcaster about to become a father.

Fixing on an image of the dragon mage as he knew him best, Rhonin reached out to his former patron. All right, Krasus. I’ll help you. Where should we rendez—

Darkness enveloped the wizard. Off in the distance, he heard Vereesa’s faint voice call out his name. A sense of vertigo threatened Rhonin.

His boots suddenly clattered on hard rock. Every bone in his body shook from the impact and it was all he could do to keep his legs from collapsing.

Rhonin stood in a massive cave clearly hollowed out by more than simply the whims of nature. The roof was almost a perfect oval and the walls had been scorched smooth. A dim illumination with no discernible source enabled him to see the lone, robed figure awaiting him in the center.

“So…” Rhonin managed. “I guess we rendezvous here.”

Krasus stretched one long, gloved hand to the left. “There is a pack containing rations and water for you, just to your side. Take it and follow me.”

“I barely had a chance to say good-bye to my wife…” grumbled Rhonin as he retrieved the large leather pack and looped it over his shoulders.

“You have my sympathies,” the dragon mage responded, walking ahead already. “I have made arrangements to see to it that she is not without aid. She will be well while we are gone.”

Listening to Krasus for just a few seconds reminded Rhonin how often the ancient figure made assumptions about him without even waiting for the young wizard’s decisions. Krasus had already taken the matter of Rhonin’s agreement as settled.

He followed the tall, narrow figure to the mouth of the vast cave. That Krasus had moved his lair since the war with the orcs Rhonin had known, but exactly where he had moved was another question. Now the human saw that the cavern overlooked a familiar set of mountains, ones not at all that far off from his own home. Unlike their counterparts in Kalimdor, these mountains had a majestic beauty to them, not a sense of dread.

“We’re almost neighbors,” he remarked dryly.

“A coincidence, but it made bringing you here possible. Had I sought you from the lair of my queen, the spellwork would have been much more depleting and I have every wish of retaining as much of my power as possible.”

The tone with which he spoke drained Rhonin of all animosity. Never had he heard such concern from Krasus. “You spoke of Nozdormu, the Aspect of Time. Have you managed to contact him again?”

“No…and that is why we must take every precaution. In fact, we must not use magic to transport ourselves to the location. We will have to fly.”

“But if we don’t use magic, how can we possibly fly—”

Krasus spread his arms…and as he did, they transformed, becoming scaled and taloned. His body grew rapidly and wide, leathery wings formed. Krasus’s narrow visage stretched, twisted, becoming reptilian.

“Of course,” Rhonin muttered. “How silly of me.”

Korialstrasz the dragon peered down at his tiny companion.

“Climb atop, Rhonin. We must be off.”

The wizard reluctantly obeyed, recalling from times past the best manner with which to seat himself. He slipped his feet under crimson scale, then crouched low behind the dragon’s sinewy neck. His fingers clutched other scale. Although Rhonin understood that Korialstrasz would do his best to keep his charge from slipping off, the human did not want to take a chance. One never knew what even a dragon might encounter in the sky.

The great, webbed wings flapped once, twice, then suddenly dragon and rider rose high into the heavens. With each beat, miles fell away. Korialstrasz flew effortlessly along, and Rhonin could feel the giant’s blood race. Although he spent much of his time in the guise of Krasus, the dragon clearly felt at home in the air.

Cold air assailed Rhonin’s head, making the wizard wish he had at least been given the opportunity to change into his robes and travel cloak. He reached back, trying to draw his coat up—and discovered his garment now had a hood.

Glancing down, Rhonin found that he did indeed wear the dark blue travel cloak and robes over his shirt and pants. Without so much as a word, his companion had transformed his clothing to something more suitable.

The hood drawn over his head, Rhonin contemplated what lay ahead. What could distress the Lord of Time so much? The threat sounded both immediate and catastrophic…and surely much more than a mortal wizard could handle.

Yet, Korialstrasz had turned to him…

Rhonin hoped he would prove worthy, not only for the dragon’s sake…but for the lives of the wizard’s growing family.

Impossible as it seemed, somewhere along the way Rhonin fell asleep. Despite that, even then he did not tumble from his seat to certain death. Korialstrasz certainly had something to do with that, although to all appearances the dragon appeared to be flying blithely along.

The sun had nearly set. Rhonin was about to ask his companion if he intended to fly through the night when Korialstrasz began to descend. Peering down, the wizard at first sighted only water, surely the Great Sea. He did not recall red dragons being very aquatic. Did Korialstrasz intend to land like a duck upon the water?

A moment later, his question was answered as an ominous rock appeared in the distance. No…not a rock, but an island almost entirely bare of vegetation.

A feeling of dread swept over Rhonin, one he had felt before while crossing the sea toward the land of Khaz Modan. Then it had been with dwarven gryphon riders and the island they had flown over was Tol Barad, an accursed place overrun early on by the orcs. The island’s inhabitants had been slaughtered, their home ravaged, and the wizard’s highly attuned senses had felt their spirits crying out for vengeance.

Now he experienced the same kind of horrific, mournful cries again.

Rhonin shouted to the dragon, but either the wind swept away his voice or Korialstrasz chose not to hear him. The leathery wings adjusted, slowing their descent to a gentle decline.

They came to a halt atop a promontory overlooking a series of shadowed, ruined structures. Too small for a city, Rhonin assumed them to have once been a fort or perhaps even a walled estate. In either case, the buildings cast an ominous image that only reinforced the wizard’s concerns.

“How soon will we be moving along?” he asked Korialstrasz, still hoping that the dragon only intended to rest a moment before moving on to Kalimdor.

“Not until sunrise. We must pass near the Maelstrom to reach Kalimdor, and we will need our full wits and strength about us for that. This is the only island I have seen for some time.”

“What’s it called?”

“That knowledge is not mine.”

Korialstrasz settled down, allowing Rhonin to dismount. The wizard stepped just far enough from his companion to catch one last glimpse of the ruins before darkness enveloped them.

“Something tragic happened here,” Korialstrasz suddenly commented.

“You sense it, too?”

“Yes…but what it was I cannot say. Still, we should be secure up here and I have no intention of transforming.”

That comforted Rhonin some, but even still he chose to remain as near to the dragon as possible. Despite a reputation for recklessness, the wizard was no fool. Nothing would entice him down into those ruins.

His gargantuan comrade almost immediately went to sleep, leaving a much more wound-up Rhonin to stare at the night sky. Vereesa’s image filled his thoughts. The twins were due shortly and he hoped that he would not miss their coming because of this journey. Birth was a magic unto itself, one that Rhonin could never master.

Thinking of his family eased the mage’s tensions and before he knew it, he drifted off to slumber. There, Vereesa and the as-yet-unborn twins continued to keep him loving company even though the children were never quite defined as male or female.

Vereesa faded into the background, leaving Rhonin with the twins. They called to him, beseeched him to come to them. In his dreams, Rhonin began running over a countryside, the children ever more distant shapes on the horizon. What started as a game became a hunt. The once-happy calls turned fearful. Rhonin’s children needed him, but first he had to find them…and quickly.

“Papa! Papa!” came their voices.

“Where are you? Where are you?” The wizard pushed through a tangle of branches that only seemed to tangle more the harder he pushed. At last he broke through, only to find a towering castle.

And from above, the children called again. He saw their distant shapes reaching out to him. Rhonin cast a spell to make him rise up in the air, but as he did, the castle grew to match his efforts.

Frustrated, he willed himself up faster.

“Papa! Papa!” called the voices, now somewhat distorted by the wind.

At last he neared the tower window where the two waited. Their arms stretched, trying to cut the distance between Rhonin and them. His fingers came within a few scant inches of theirs…

And suddenly a huge form barreled into the castle, shaking it to its very base and sending both Rhonin and his children tumbling earthward. Rhonin sought desperately to save them, but a monstrous, leathery hand snatched him up and took him away.

“Wake up! Wake up!”

The wizard’s head pounded. Everything around him began swirling. The hand lost its hold and once more he plummeted.

“Rhonin! Wherever you are! Awaken!”

Below him, two shadowy forms hurried to catch him…his children now trying to save his life. Rhonin smiled at the pair and they smiled back.

Smiled back with sharp, vicious teeth.

And just in time, Rhonin did awaken.

Instead of falling, he lay on his back. The stars above revealed that surrounding him now was a roofless ruin of a building. The dank smell of decay assailed his nostrils and a horrific, hissing sound beset his ears.

He lifted his head—and looked into a face out of nightmare.

If someone had taken a human skull, dipped it in soft, melting wax and let that wax drip free, that would have come close to describing the gut-wrenching vision at which Rhonin stared. Add to that needle-shaped teeth filling the mouth, along with red, soulless orbs that glared hungrily at the wizard, and the picture of hellish horror was made complete.

It moved toward him on legs much too long and reached out with bony arms that ended in three long, curved fingers that gouged into the already ravaged stone. Over its macabre form it wore the ripped remnants of a once-regal coat and pants. It was so thin that at first Rhonin did not think it had any flesh at all, but then he saw that an almost transparent layer of skin covered the ribs and other visible areas.

The wizard scrambled back just as the monstrosity grabbed at his foot. The slime-encrusted mouth opened, but instead of a hiss or a shriek, there came a childlike voice.

“Papa!”

The same voice in Rhonin’s dream.

He shivered at such a sound coming from the ghoul, but at the same time the cry sent an urge through him. Again he felt as if his own children called to him, an impossibility.

An earth-shaking roar suddenly filled the ruined building, eradicating any urge to fling himself into the deadly talons of the fiend. Rhonin pointed at the creature, muttering.

A ring of fire burst to life around it. Now the pale monstrosity shrieked. It rose as high as its ungainly limbs would enable it, trying to climb over the flames.

“Rhonin!” Korialstrasz shouted from without. “Where are you?”

“Here! In here! A place no longer with a roof!”

As the mage replied, the gaunt creature suddenly leapt through the fire.

Flames licking its body in half a dozen places, it opened its maw far wider than should have been possible, wide enough to engulf Rhonin’s head.

Before the wizard could cast another spell, a huge shadow blotted out the stars and a great paw caught the ghoulish beast square. With another shriek, the still-burning horror flew across the chamber, crashing into a wall with such force the stones caved in around it.

A breath of dragon fire finished what Rhonin’s own spell had begun.

The stench almost overwhelmed the wizard. Holding one sleeve over his nose and mouth, he watched as Korialstrasz alighted.

“What—what was that thing?” Rhonin managed to gasp out.

Even in the dark, he could sense the leviathan’s disgust. “I believe…I believe it was once one of those who called this home.”

Rhonin eyed the charred form.“That was once human? How could that be?”

“You have seen the horrors unleashed by the Undead Scourge during the struggle against the Burning Legion. You need not ask.”

“Is this their work?”

Korialstrasz exhaled. Clearly he had been as disturbed as Rhonin by this encounter. “No…this is much older…and even more unholy an act than the Lich King ever perpetrated.”

“Kras—Korialstrasz, it entered my dreams! Manipulated them!”

“Yes, the others sought to do the same with me—”

“Others?”Rhonin glanced around, another spell already forming on his lips. He felt certain that the ruins swarmed with the fiends.

“We are safe…for the time being. Several are now less than what remains of yours and the rest have scattered into every crevice and gap in these ruins. I believe there are catacombs below and that they slumber there when not hunting victims.”

“We can’t stay here.”

“No,” agreed the dragon. “We cannot. We must move on to Kalimdor.”

He lowered himself so that Rhonin could climb aboard, then immediately flapped his wings. The pair rose into the dark sky.

“When we have succeeded with our mission, I will return here and end this abomination,” Korialstrasz declared. In a softer tone, he added, “There are already too many abominations in this world.”

Rhonin did not answer him, instead taking one last glance down. It might have been a trick of his eyes, but he thought that he saw more of the ghouls emerging now that the dragon had left. In fact, it seemed to him that they gathered by the dozens, all of them looking up hungrily…at the wizard.

He tore his gaze away, actually happy to be on the journey to Kalimdor. Surely after a night such as this, whatever awaited the pair could hardly be worse.

Surely…