The Well of Eternity

22

Anight elf cried out, his breast plate and chest cut open by a demon blade. Another near him had no chance to utter a sound, a Fel Guard mace crushing in his skull.

Everywhere, the defenders were dying and nothing Rhonin had done so far had been sufficient to alter that horrific fact. Despite Lord Ravencrest’s determined figure at the forefront, the night elves were slowly being slaughtered. The Burning Legion gave them no respite, constantly pummeling the lines.

But even knowing he and the rest would die, the wizard fought on.

He had no other recourse.

The news of the defending army’s arrival had taken Lord Xavius by some surprise, but it had not made him any less confident of the final outcome. He saw how many of the great one’s celestial host flooded through the portal and felt certain that no army arrayed against them could possibly stand long. Soon, the unfit would be cleansed from his world.

Mannoroth led the Legion against the fools and Hakkar was on the hunt, leaving all in the counselor’s skilled hands. He peered briefly in the direction of a small alcove near the entrance, wherein he had stored his most recent prize. After news arrived that the defending forces had been decimated, Xavius would take the time to see to his “guest.” At the moment, he had far more important things to do.

He returned his attention to the portal, where yet another group of Fel Guard had materialized. They received their instructions from the towering Doomguard left by Mannoroth, then marched to join their bloodthirsty brethren. The scene had repeated itself some dozen times in just the past few minutes, the only difference being that each successive batch of arrivals was larger in number than the last. Now they almost took up the entire chamber.

As the latest troop of Fel Guard passed, Lord Xavius heard Sargeras’s glorious voice in his head. The pace increases…I am pleased.

The night elf knelt. “I am honored.”

There is resistance already.

“Merely some of the unfit delaying the inevitable.”

The portal must be protected…it must not only remain open, but be strengthened more. Soon…very soon…I will come through…

The counselor’s heart leapt. The momentous event neared!

Rising, he said, “I shall see that everything is done to prepare the way for you! I swear it!”

He felt a wave of satisfaction…then Sargeras departed his thoughts.

Lord Xavius immediately turned to the array that kept the shield spell functioning. He had inspected it after the intruder’s attempt to destroy it and found it intact, but one could never take chances.

Yes, it was still in perfect order. Thinking of his “guest,” Xavius mulled over some of the things he would do when Sargeras finally stepped forth from the portal. Surely the queen would have to be there and, of course, an honor guard had to be arranged. Captain Varo’then would deal with the last matter. The counselor himself intended to be the first to greet the celestial one. As a proper gift, Xavius decided that he would hand over the crystal and its contents to Sargeras. After all, this was one of the three that Mannoroth had felt significant enough to send the Houndmaster after again. How foolish Hakkar would look when he came back to discover that the advisor had so easily captured one already.

Lord Xavius could hardly wait to present his prisoner to the great Sargeras. It would be especially interesting to see just what the god did with the young fool…

His nightmare continued.

Malfurion drifted within the crystal, staring out at what little he could see of the chamber. He had been placed in a small nook in the alcove, the crystal set on an angle. The alcove gave him a glimpse of the area near the doorway, which meant that the captive watched a constant stream of demonic warriors lumbering by, death clearly on their minds. That, in turn, twisted his heart further, for he knew that they went out to slay every night elf they could find…and all because Malfurion had failed to destroy the shield.

Although his surroundings did not give any indication of the passage of time, Malfurion felt certain that at least two nights had gone by since his capture. In his dream form, he did not sleep, and that made those two or more nights even longer.

How stupid he had been! Malfurion had heard the tales of Lord Xavius’s eyes, how people said they could even see the shadows of shadows, but he had taken those for fanciful stories. Little had he suspected that the same lenses that enabled the counselor to observe the natural forces of sorcery also let him take note of a spirit in his sanctum. How Lord Xavius had laughed!

Malfurion had tested his crystalline cage several times early on and found it too strong. Perhaps with more teaching the young night elf might have discovered some flaw, but that hardly mattered now. He had failed. He had failed himself, his friends, his race…his world.

Now, nothing but Lord Ravencrest’s defenders likely stood in the way of the demons.

He had to do something.

Steeling himself, Malfurion once again tried to use what Cenarius had taught him. The crystal was a part of nature. It was susceptible to his spells. He ran his hands over the edges, seeking a weakness in the matrix that held it together. It was not quite a druidic spell he utilized, but close.

But still he found nothing.

Malfurion screamed out of frustration. Thousands would die because of his failure. Illidan would perish. Brox would perish. Tyrande—

Tyrande would perish.

He could picture her face, visualize it better than any other. Malfurion imagined her concern for him. He knew that she likely sat near his body, trying to summon him back. The imprisoned night elf could almost hear her calling to him.

Malfurion…

The night elf shook. Surely, he had begun to lose his mind. It astounded Malfurion that the process had started so quickly, but then, his situation was a most terrible one.

Malfurion…can you hear me?

Again it felt as if Tyrande’s voice echoed in his thoughts. He peered out of his prison, trying to see if perhaps Lord Xavius had begun some sort of mental torture, but of the counselor Malfurion could see no sign.

With some trepidation, he finally thought, Tyrande?

Malfurion! I’d scarcely hoped!

He could hardly believe it himself. True, she was a priestess of Elune, but still, such an act should have been beyond her. Tyrande…how did you reach me?

Thanks to another…he’s been searching for you, he says.

The only ones that Malfurion could think of were Brox and Rhonin. Tyrande had met the orc, though, and while a courageous warrior, Brox lacked any magical skills. Could it be Rhonin? Even that made little sense, the wizard having supposedly ridden off with Lord Ravencrest.

Who? he finally asked. Who?

My name is Krasus.

The sudden switch unsettled Malfurion. The voice was like none he had ever felt, although in some ways it hinted of Cenarius’s. Whoever this Krasus was, he was not simply some night elf, but much, much more.

Do you sense us still? asked the new voice.

I do…Krasus.

I have shown Tyrande how we can work through her bond to you to reach out to your dream self. The trick is difficult, but we hope to do it only long enough to free you.

Free me? Glancing again at his prison, Malfurion doubted that it would be possible.

A cunning trap, yes, Krasus went on, surprising the night elf. Apparently the link enabled them to see just where Lord Xavius had imprisoned him. But I have dealt with its like before.

Now Malfurion’s spirits rose further. What must be done?

Now that we have moved your body—

You’ve done what?Moved his body? The risk to it—

I am quite familiar with the risks. When Malfurion protested no more, Krasus continued, It was necessary to bring it…closer to one of our party. Now you must listen, for we must do this quickly.

The night elf waited tensely. If they could release him from the crystal, he would do anything they said.

I must see the crystal, see every facet of its nature. You are a druid. This you can show me.

Acknowledging his understanding, Malfurion surveyed the entire interior of his magical cell. He looked at every corner, every facet, showing the crystal’s strengths and its possible weaknesses. Nothing he saw gave him any encouragement, but he suspected that Krasus knew far better than he what to look for.

There! The disembodied voice made him pause before one edge. Malfurion had studied it earlier, noticing a slight fault to it, but had not been able to make any use of the spot.

It is the key to your escape. Touch it with your mind. See how the flaw works?

For the first time, he did. The fault was minute, but still distinct. How had he failed to see that earlier?

With experience comes wisdom, they say, Krasus suddenly replied. However, I am still working to prove that adage.

He ordered Malfurion to use the skills the forest lord had taught him to feel the entire width and breadth of the flaw, to understand its ultimate nature. To know it as well as he knew himself.

You should be able to note its most vulnerable place, its key, so to speak.

I don’t—Yes! He did! Malfurion sensed the location. He pressed against it, eager to be free…but it would not give way.

You are strong, but not yet fully trained. Open your thoughts further to us. Let us in, no matter how many of us there are. We shall be your added strength and knowledge.

Clearing his mind as much as he could, Malfurion left himself open to Tyrande and the mysterious Krasus. He immediately felt the distinction between the two of them. Tyrande’s thoughts were caring but firm, Krasus’s wise but frustrated. Curiously, the frustration had nothing to do with Malfurion’s situation.

Now…try again.

The imprisoned night elf pictured his dream form as a physical one. He literally pushed against the flaw as he would have any weak barrier. Surely, it would give if he pushed hard enough…

It suddenly felt as if the other two pushed with him. Malfurion could almost envision Tyrande and the other at his side, straining.

The flaw began to give. A minute crack developed…

A tiny, tiny gap appeared as the fault opened ever so slightly.

It is your doorway! urged Krasus. Go through it!

And Malfurion’s dream form poured through the slim opening.

He grew as he left the counselor’s cell, expanding until he stood his normal height. The change was simply a change in his own perspective, but he much preferred it to the insect-like position in which he had been while imprisoned.

Now…before you are noticed…return to us!

But here Malfurion disagreed. He had come this far to do what needed to be done to save his people, his world. The shield spell had to fall.

Malfurion! Tyrande pleaded. No!

Ignoring both, he floated around the corner…and stopped. Lord Xavius stood at the other end of the chamber, attention riveted on the dark portal through which the demons constantly arrived. Almost it seemed the counselor communed with whatever lurked deep within. Malfurion shuddered, recalling the inherent evil of that entity.

Still, the present situation worked in his favor. If Xavius would just keep staring into the vortex a few moments more, Malfurion could accomplish his task and be away.

He drifted toward the array, already aware of how to destroy it. A few simple alterations and it would be no more.

Both Tyrande and Krasus had ceased speaking, which either meant that they intended to let him see this through or…or the link with him had been somehow severed. Whichever the case, he could not turn back now.

With one last glance at the lord counselor, Malfurion reached in with his power. He first altered one of the interior components of the spell, guaranteeing its eventual instability regardless of what he did next.

It was the strength of the world, of nature, that Malfurion summoned now. He used it to force the array into a new combination, a new form that would negate its purpose and ultimately cause it to dissipate.

The shield spell faltered…

Lord Xavius instantly sensed the wrongness. Something terrible was happening to the shield spell.

Within the portal, Sargeras, too, sensed something amiss.

Seek! he commanded his pawn.

The counselor spun about. His dark, magical eyes fixed on the precious array—and the ghostly intruder whom he had captured before.

The imbecile was meddling with the spell!

“Stop him!” roared Lord Xavius.

The shout nearly upset everything Malfurion had set into motion. He managed to regain his control, then looked to where Xavius pointed furiously at him, screaming for the Highborne or the demons to seize him. However, neither seemed able to obey that command, for, unlike the counselor, they could not see Malfurion’s dream form, much less touch it.

Lord Xavius, on the other hand, could do both.

When it became clear that the others were of no use to him, the queen’s advisor threw himself toward Malfurion. His artificial eyes radiated dark energy and Malfurion sensed an attack of some sort coming. Instinctively he raised his hand, asking aid of the wind and air.

Bolts of crimson lightning darted toward him and, had they actually reached the younger night elf, would surely have obliterated him. However, mere inches from Malfurion, the bolts not only struck some invisible barrier—solid air, perhaps—but were diverted back by the wind that the ghostly figure had summoned.

With deadly accuracy, the bolts struck the huge warriors near the portal.

The demons were tossed about like leaves in a storm. Several crashed against the walls while two collided with the sorcerers who kept working on the portal. That, in turn, threw the latter’s efforts into near chaos. The portal heaved as if breathing raggedly, opening and closing in mad fashion.

The Highborne sorcerers struggled to keep the portal under control. Several demons about to step through suddenly vanished back into the darkness within.

One of the larger, winged figures standing near the opening charged in the direction of Malfurion. The huge demon obviously could not see the night elf, but swung about with its weapon in the clear hope of striking something. Malfurion tried to avoid the weapon as best he could, not at all certain that he was immune to it.

Lord Xavius had ducked away from his reversed spell, but now the counselor returned to the fray. From a pouch at his side, he removed yet another crystal.

“From this one, you shall not escape…”

The magical eyes flared.

Moving quickly, Malfurion set the demon between himself and the counselor. Instead of his intended victim, the advisor drew in the startled demon. The brutish figure roared its rage at such trickery and grasped in vain in the general direction of Malfurion before being sucked into the crystal.

Xavius swore and tossed the crystal aside, caring little for the fate of its contents. All his attention remained focused on the ghostly form that only he could see.

“My lord!” cried one of the sorcerers. “Shall we—”

“Do nothing! Keep at the task at hand! The portal must remain open and the shield must keep intact! I will deal with our invisible intruder!”

That said, Xavius prepared to cast again. Malfurion, however, had no intention of waiting for him. He turned and darted from the chamber, passing through the outer door without so much as a glance from the wary sentries.

The furious counselor immediately rushed after him. “Open the door!”

The guards obeyed. Xavius rushed out of the chamber and down the steps in pursuit of his adversary.

But Malfurion had not fled downstairs, instead floating within an inner wall of the tower. There, unseen by the lord counselor, he waited until he was certain the trouble had passed.

Returning to the chamber, Malfurion immediately drifted to the array. He had to destroy it quickly, before the Highborne had the chance to reinforce it.

However, as he reached for it, a familiar dread returned to him. Malfurion shivered and, despite himself, looked toward the portal.

You will not touch the shield…the terrible presence within uttered in his mind. You do not wish to. You wish only to serve me…to worship me…

Malfurion fought the urge to give in to that voice. He knew what would happen to everyone if the one who spoke had the chance to enter the world. All the evil unleashed by the demons so far paled in comparison to what commanded them.

I…will…not be one of your pawns! Almost screaming from effort, Malfurion tore his gaze from the vortex.

He could feel the dread figure’s fury as he sought to recover. The evil within could not affect him directly other than to play with his thoughts. Malfurion had to ignore him, think only of those he cared about and what failure meant to them.

Just a few seconds more—

His dream form twisted, suddenly wracked by incredible pain. He spun around, falling to his knees.

“No more games…” muttered Lord Xavius, standing at the doorway. Near him, several perplexed guards searched in vain for the enemy with whom he spoke. “No more near disasters! I will rend your spirit form to shreds, scatter your essence over the world…and only then will I give you to the great one to do with as he pleases…”

He pointed at Malfurion.

More and more the Burning Legion crushed the lines of the night elves. Lord Ravencrest kept his followers from being ripped apart, but they continued to give ground.

A fierce battering ram created by Rhonin plowed into the demons, tossing several back and digging deep into the horde. It slowed them in that one place, but everywhere else the Legion continued to advance.

From somewhere, Rhonin heard Lord Ravencrest shouting orders. “Strengthen that right flank! Archers! Take out those winged furies! Latosius, get your Moon Guard back!”

It was hard to say if the senior sorcerer heard the noble’s command, but, either way, the Moon Guard remained where they were. Latosius stood at the forefront, ordering this spellcaster or that to deal with various situations. Rhonin grimaced. The elder night elf had no concept of tactics. He wasted what little might his group had on several minuscule attacks rather than on one concerted effort.

Illidan saw this, too. “The damned old idiot’s making no use of them at all! I could lead them better!”

“Forget them and concentrate on your own spells—”

But even as the wizard said this, Latosius suddenly reeled. He grabbed at his throat and slumped over, blood pouring from his mouth. His skin blackened and he collapsed, clearly dead already.

“No!” Rhonin surveyed the Legion, found the warlock, and pointed.

Using the trick unleashed earlier by perhaps this same demon, Rhonin seized several arrows in flight and sent them hurtling down upon the warlock. The robed figure glanced up, saw the bolts, and simply laughed. He gestured in a manner Rhonin assumed created a defensive shield around him.

The Eredar ceased laughing when each bolt not only penetrated his shield, but went through his torso.

“Not as strong as you think, are you?” muttered the wizard in grim satisfaction.

Rhonin turned again to Illidan—only to find the latter gone. He looked around, found the determined young night elf riding madly toward the Moon Guard, who seemed in complete disarray without their leader.

“What does he—?” But Rhonin had no time to worry about his would-be protégé, for incredible heat suddenly surrounded him. He felt as if his skin were about to melt.

The Eredar warlocks had finally identified him as a major threat. More than one certainly had to be attacking him. He managed to summon enough strength to momentarily ease the incredible heat, but no more. Slowly, they were cooking him alive.

So this was it. Here he would die, never knowing if his part in this battle would keep history more or less intact or destroy it utterly.

Then…the intense pressure on him all but ceased. Rhonin reacted instinctively, using his magic to completely counter the remaining danger. His eyes cleared and he finally managed a fix on the key spellcaster.

“You like fire? I’d like it a little cooler.”

The wizard reversed the spell cast upon him, sending at its user an intense wave of cold.

Rhonin sensed the bitter chill overwhelm the warlock. The Eredar stiffened, turning a pale white. His expression contorted, freezing in mid-agony.

One of the Fel Guard bumped the warlock. The frozen figure toppled, striking the hard ground with a harsh crash and scattering bits of iced demon over the battlefield.

Trying to catch his breath, Rhonin looked to the Moon Guard, the direction from which he had felt aid come. His eyes widened as he saw Illidan at their head.

The young night elf smiled his way, then turned back to the struggle. He directed the veteran sorcerers as if born to it. Illidan had them aligning in arrays that magnified what little strength they had through him. He, in turn, drew forth their power, thereby increasing the intensity of his own spells.

An eruption in the midst of the Burning Legion destroyed scores of demons there. Illidan let out a triumphant cheer, unaware of the strain now on the faces of the other sorcerers. He had used their power to good effect, but if he repeated such steps too often, the Moon Guard would burn out one by one.

But there was nothing Rhonin could do to let Illidan know that and, in truth, he was not all that certain he should try. If the defenders fell here, who else was there?

If only Malfurion had not failed…

Mannoroth looked upon the battlefield and was pleased. His host swept across the land—not just where they encountered no resistance, but even where the puny inhabitants of this world had quickly decided to meet the Legion in battle.

He appreciated their effort to bring this struggle to a close so soon. It meant paving the way sooner for his master, Sargeras. Sargeras would be pleased with all that had been accomplished in his name. He would reward Mannoroth well, for the demon had managed this feat without having had to ask for the aid of Archimonde.

Yes, Mannoroth would be rewarded well, receiving more favor, more power, among the Legion.

As for the night elves who had so far aided the demons in their endeavor to take this world, they would receive the only reward Sargeras ever gave to such…

Utter annihilation.