The Well of Eternity

20

All was well in the world…for Lord Xavius, anyway.

His dreams, his goals, were well within reach.

Better yet, the great one was quite pleased with him. The shield spell that he and Mannoroth had set into motion had not only succeeded in sealing the Well’s might from all but the Highborne, it had also enabled them to widen and solidify the portal. In the space of only a few scant hours, hundreds of the celestial host had poured through.

Mannoroth had immediately taken control of them, sending them out to purge the unfit. Once, Xavius might have found that idea horrific, but he now fully embraced the ways and methods of Sargeras. The god knew best how to achieve the perfect paradise the counselor sought. Had not the quarter reserved for the homes of the Highborne been completely spared? From those who served the palace would arise the new Golden Age of the night elf race, an era eclipsing any existing prior to it.

Lord Xavius had been granted the further honor of monitoring the work that made all this possible. He kept in delicate balance the spell that constantly regenerated the shield. The labor required had been more than even Mannoroth had planned and if the spell failed now, it would be near impossible to repeat without effectively sealing the portal first and using the combined might of all the Highborne sorcerers.

But Xavius had no intention of letting any disaster befall the precious shield. Not that he expected any trouble. What could happen here in the heart of the palace?

A brooding figure stalked into the chamber, peering around impatiently.

“Where isss Mannoroth?” hissed the Houndmaster.

“He commands the host, of course,” responded the night elf. “He goes to clear Zin-Azshari of the unfit.”

Something in Hakkar’s expression momentarily disturbed Xavius. Almost it seemed that the counselor had said something that the Houndmaster found amusing. What that could be, though, the night elf could not possibly say.

Through the portal materialized four more of the Fel Guard. One of the even more menacing Doomguard stood nearby. He barked something in an unknown tongue to the newcomers, who immediately marched out of the chamber.

The celestial host moved with remarkable military precision, instantly obedient to orders and constantly aware of their duties. Even Captain Varo’then’s elite Guard paled in comparison, at least in Lord Xavius’s mind.

“How fare preparations for the hunt?” the counselor asked Hakkar.

The hint of mockery left the hulking figure’s expression. “It goesss well, lord night elf. My houndsss and the Fel Guard who run with them have their explicit ordersss. Thossse that Mannoroth desssiresss captured will be.”

He turned and stalked out of the room, leaving in his wake an oddly satisfied Lord Xavius. While he much respected the status of the Houndmaster, the night elf now saw himself closer in rank to the great one’s commander.

The counselor looked once again at the spell of which he had been an integral part. Only a few yards from the portal, the cluster of blue, flashing nodules over the diagram Mannoroth had drawn were the only physical signs of the shield spell. With his magical eyes, however, Xavius could make out other swirling patterns in orange, yellow, green, and more. A powerful cornucopia of magical forces of which he was now in control.

Just as he was now in control of the destiny of not only his own people…but the rest of the world as well.

The temple of Elune did not need to be warned of the catastrophe that had befallen the realm of the night elves. They had not personally been touched by the Well’s loss, but they could still sense the sudden emptiness. When throngs came to the various temples to ask for guidance, the priestesses throughout the realm conversed with one another through methods utilized since the Mother Moon had first touched the heart of her initial convert, discussing what could be done. They chose to invite the people in for mass prayer, let Elune give them comfort. They also searched with their skills in the direction of the Well…but like the Moon Guard, they could not divine just what had happened.

Yet, even though they still retained the gifts granted them by their goddess, that did not mean the priestesses were safe from the horror unleashed soon afterward. When the Legion overran the temples in the capital, even those as far away as Suramar felt the deaths of their sisters there, felt their agonies as the horde slaughtered them without mercy.

“Sister,” one of the other priestesses called to Tyrande, who had been pouring water for the faithful. “There is one at the front entrance who requests to see you.”

“Thank you, sister.” Tyrande handed the jug to another priestess, then hurried off. She could only assume that Illidan had come to see her again. Tyrande dreaded speaking with him, unsure what she would say if he brought up a possible match between them.

Yet, it was not Illidan, but rather another she had not thought to see for a very, very long time.

“Malfurion!” Without realizing what she did, Tyrande threw her arms around him, hugging Malfurion tightly.

His cheeks darkening, he whispered, “It’s good to see you, Tyrande.”

She released him. “How did you come to be here?” A sudden fear arose within her. “Broxigar? What have they done with—”

“He’s with me.” Malfurion pointed behind himself, where Tyrande saw that the orc waited in a dark corner near the entrance. The monstrous warrior looked quite uncomfortable as he eyed the many night elves.

She glanced around but saw no guards other than those of the temple. “Malfurion! What madness brings you here? Did the two of you sneak back into the city just to see me?”

“No…we were captured.”

“But if—”

He gently put a finger to her lips, silencing her. “That story must wait. You know of the terror in Zin-Azshari?”

“Only some…and even that’s too much! Malfurion, the terror we felt in the minds and souls of our sisters there! Something dreadful—”

“Listen to me! It spreads beyond the capital even as we speak. What’s worse, now the Moon Guard are helpless against it! Some spell all but cuts off the Well’s power from them!”

She nodded. “So we have surmised…but what does that have to do with your coming here?”

“Is the Chamber of the Moon in use now?”

She thought. “It was earlier, but so many have come for guidance that the high priestess had the main worship chamber opened instead. The Chamber of the Moon may be empty now.”

“Good. We need to go there.” He signaled Brox, who hurried over. To Tyrande’s astonishment, the orc even carried an ax.

“You were captured…” she reminded Malfurion.

“Lord Ravencrest saw no more reason to detain us, providing Brox stayed with me.”

“I owe you both,” reminded the broad-shouldered warrior. “I owe my life.”

“You owe us nothing,” Illidan’s brother returned. To Tyrande he said, “Please take us to the chamber.”

With her in the lead, they headed into the temple. Despite Brox’s attempt to stay as close to his companions as possible, he could not hide his appearance from those night elves gathered inside. Many looked in horror at him and some even screamed, pointing at the orc as if he was the one responsible for their turmoil.

Guards caught up to them just as they neared the Chamber of the Moon. The foremost was the one who had spoken with Tyrande about Illidan.

“Sister…it is the custom to allow any entry into the Mother Moon’s temple, but that creature—”

“Elune says that he does not have the same right as any other believer?”

The sentries looked uncertainly at one another, the first finally replying, “It does not say exactly anything about other races in that regard, but—”

“But are not all the children of Elune? Does he not have the right to come to her for guidance, make use of all facets of the temple?”

There was no answer to this. Finally, the lead guard waved them by. “Just please keep him from sight as much as possible. There is already enough panic out there.”

Tyrande nodded gratefully. “I understand.”

As they entered, they found only two other acolytes in attendance. Tyrande immediately walked up to the pair and explained the need for privacy, pointing specifically at Brox. In truth, the orc’s presence was all that was needed to encourage the other sisters to quickly retreat.

Returning to Malfurion, she asked, “What do you hope to do?”

“I intend to walk the Emerald Dream again, Tyrande.”

She did not like the sound of that at all. “You plan to journey to Zin-Azshari!”

“Yes. There I hope to learn the truth about what has been done to the Well.”

Tyrande knew him better. “You don’t hope to simply learn the truth, Malfurion; I think you intend to do something about it…”

Instead of replying, he studied the center of the chamber. “That seems the most tranquil location.”

“Malfurion—”

“I’ve got to hurry, Tyrande. Forgive me.”

With Brox in tow, he walked to the place he had chosen, then seated himself on the ground. Legs folded in, Malfurion looked up into the moonlit sky.

The orc seated himself across from the night elf, but made room when Tyrande joined. Malfurion glanced questioningly at her. “You needn’t stay.”

“If in any way the Mother Moon can help me guide you, protect you from harm, I intend to do so.”

Malfurion gave her a grateful smile, then grew grim again. “I must begin now.”

For reasons beyond her, Tyrande suddenly seized his hand. He did not look at her, his eyes now shut, but briefly the smile returned.

And suddenly Tyrande felt him leaving her.

It had been a quickly devised, desperate plan, one from which Malfurion understood Lord Ravencrest actually expected little result. Yet, with the Moon Guard virtually powerless, he had seen no reason why the upstart young night elf could not at least try.

Now Malfurion only had to hope that he had not made empty promises.

Tyrande’s hand on his own proved invaluable to wending his way into the sleeplike trance. Her touch had comforted Malfurion, eased the incredible tension the horrific events of the past few days had created.

Soothed, he reached out to the world around him, to the trees, river, stones, and more as he had with Cenarius.

Yet, this time he was met not by the tranquil elements of nature—but rather turmoil.

The world was no longer in balance. The forest knew it, the hills knew it, even the heavens felt the wrongness. Everywhere he focused, Malfurion sensed only disharmony. It struck with such force that for a moment the night elf nearly drowned in it.

Instead, he fixed again on Tyrande’s light touch, drawing peaceful strength from her nearby presence. The discord faded, still there but unable to overwhelm him.

Once more steady, Malfurion reached out to the spirits of nature, touching each and letting them feel his own calm. He understood their turmoil and promised that he would act in their name. The night elf asked in turn that they be there if he needed their assistance, reminding the spirits that both he and they desired a return to the balance.

The sense of discord dwindled more. It would not go away so long as the Highborne meddled with the Well, but Malfurion had at least created some semblance of harmony again.

And with that done, he was able once again to enter the dreamscape safely.

Free from earthly confinement, he paused to gaze down at his friends, especially Tyrande. It was easier this time to summon the images, transpose the reality over the idyllic landscape. Both Brox and Tyrande immediately materialized…as did his own body, of course.

To his surprise, he noted a tear drifting down one of Tyrande’s cheeks. Instinctively, Malfurion reached to wipe it away, only to have his finger pass through it. Yet, as if feeling his nearness, the young priestess reached up with her free hand and not only wiped away the tear, but also touched the area.

Forcing himself to turn away, Malfurion looked to the sky again. He focused on the direction of Zin-Azshari, then stepped up.

The familiar greenish tint permeated everything. Malfurion concentrated, again overlapping the shadow world with elements of reality. With what seemed a combination of half walking, half flying, he drifted over the now-covered dreamscape, sensing the myriad aspects of both the true and subconscious worlds.

But as he journeyed, an unexpected presence caught his attention. At first he doubted his senses, but a quick search verified his first suspicions.

Shan’do? he called.

Malfurion felt his mentor touch his thoughts, but only in an indistinct manner. However, the touch was enough to convey that Cenarius was well. The last of the felbeasts had been dealt with, but some other matter urgently demanded the demigod’s attention. Malfurion realized that the forest lord had felt the presence of his student in the Emerald Dream and had quickly reached out to let the night elf know that all was not yet lost.

Comforted by Cenarius’s unspoken message, Malfurion moved on. The green haze thinned further and soon he saw the world below almost as he would had he been truly able to fly like a bird. Hills and rivers passed swiftly by as he focused more on his destination.

And as he neared the capital, for the first time Malfurion beheld the horror.

As terrifying as the messenger’s descriptions had been, they had not fully conveyed the monstrous cataclysm that had befallen the fabled city. Much of Zin-Azshari had been razed to the ground as if a great boulder had rolled over it time and again. No building on the outskirts had been left standing. Fire ruled everywhere, but not simply the crimson flames with which Malfurion was familiar. The capital was also awash in foul green or pitch black fire clearly of an otherworldly nature. As Malfurion passed over them, he could feel their evil heat despite being in the dream realm.

Then he caught his first glimpse of the demons.

The felbeasts had been monstrous enough, but the creatures following them sent new chills through him, the more so because they were clearly intelligent. Despite the huge horns, devilish faces, and horrific forms, they moved in concert, with terrible purpose. This was not some mindless horde, but an army dedicated to evil.

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…