The Well of Eternity

23

Malfurion thought he had outfoxed Lord Xavius, but once again, it was the young night elf who had played the fool. What had made him think that the counselor would continue to hunt for him through the stairways and corridors when clearly Malfurion would want to return to the tower and complete his mission?

It would be his final mistake. Lord Xavius was a gifted sorcerer with the power of the Well upon which to draw. Malfurion had learned much from his shan’do, but not enough, it seemed, to stand up to such a deadly foe.

And Lord Xavius was aware of that as well.

Yet, in Malfurion’s head suddenly came a voice…not the voice from within the portal, but rather that of the mysterious Krasus, who Malfurion had long thought had abandoned him.

Malfurion…our strength is your strength…as you did in the crystal, draw upon the love and friendship of those who know you…and draw from the determination of those like myself, who stand with them for you.

Not all of what he said made perfect sense to the night elf, but the essence of it was clear. He sensed not only Tyrande and Krasus, but also Brox now. The three opened up their minds, their souls to Malfurion, giving to him whatever strength he needed.

You are a druid, Malfurion, perhaps the first of your kind. You draw from the world, from nature…and are not we all a part of both? Draw from us as well…

Malfurion obeyed…and just barely in time.

Lord Xavius cast his spell.

It should have left little trace of Malfurion’s dream self. The younger night elf raised his hand to ward off the evil attack, but he did not expect his powers to be sufficient even now. The counselor’s previous assault had weakened him badly.

But the spell never struck. The attack was dismissed as easily as if Malfurion had brushed away a gnat from his face.

Rise up! Krasus urged. Rise up and do what must be done!

He did not mean that Malfurion should do battle with the counselor. That would be a dangerous waste of time. Instead, the night elf had to finish what he had started.

Malfurion struck at the shield spell.

The array shifted out of sequence. Two of the Highborne hurried to adjust it, but the floor beneath their feet suddenly gave way as the stones there acted on Malfurion’s silent request to cease their natural tendency to be strong and hold things together. With a scream, the pair dropped from sight.

Lord Xavius struck angrily at Malfurion, enshrouding him in a vapor that clung to the latter’s dream form and tried to eat away at it. Malfurion struggled at first, but the combined strength of Tyrande, Brox, and Krasus steeled him again. He quickly summoned a wind that assailed the vapor, scattering it.

But while Malfurion dealt with the vapor, Xavius took the opportunity to restore the shield spell to some order. He then turned toward his adversary, his next intent obvious.

Malfurion grew frustrated. This could not go on indefinitely. Eventually, he would either lose or be forced to flee. Something had to change…and quickly.

He spun, but not toward either the array or Lord Xavius.

Instead, Malfurion now faced the portal.

Again he called upon the wind, this time asking it to prove it was strong enough to push about more than simple vapor. Malfurion eyed the Highborne in particular, daring the wind to show what it could do.

And within their sanctum, the sorcerers suddenly found themselves assaulted by a gale. Three of their number were quickly thrown across the chamber, where they struck the opposing wall hard. As they fell, another stumbled away from the pattern, then tumbled over one of the still forms.

The rest bent low, seeking to keep from the wind’s full wrath. Yet, despite no more falling prey, it was clear that the losses already suffered had put a strain on the survivors, for the portal shimmered and twisted dangerously. The sense of evil that Malfurion had felt lessened.

Fiery hands suddenly seized him by the the back of the neck, throttling Malfurion. They burned into Malfurion’s dream form as if into his own flesh, causing him to unleash a scream that, despite its intensity, only his attacker could hear.

“The power of the great one is with me!” roared the queen’s advisor with much satisfaction. “You are no match for us both!”

Indeed, Malfurion felt the evil reaching out again from the shifting portal. While still not as potent as when it had sought to turn him to the Highborne’s side, it added much to the counselor’s already fearsome might. Against it, even the strength Malfurion received from the three proved insufficient.

Tyrande…He did not try to summon the priestess, only feared in his mind that he might never see her again, never be near her.

The voice of Krasus suddenly filled his head again. Courage, druid…there is another of us who has been waiting for just this moment.

A fourth presence intruded, immediately adding itself to those strengthening Malfurion. Like Krasus, it was a being far superior to a mere night elf. He sensed a weakness in it, but compared to any of Malfurion’s own kind, such weakness was minute, laughable. Oddly, it almost felt as if the new presence was the twin of Krasus, for they were so much alike in feel that at first he had some trouble differentiating between the pair.

Even the new voice in his head reminded him much of Krasus. I am Korialstrasz…and I freely give what I have.

Their gifts were those with which life, nature, had endowed them. The added presence of Korialstrasz multiplied Malfurion’s will a hundredfold, giving him hope such as he had never had.

You are a druid…Krasus reminded him yet again. The world is your strength.

Malfurion felt invigorated. Now he sensed not only his distant companions, but the stones, the wind, the clouds, the earth, the trees…everything. Malfurion was nearly overwhelmed by the fury the world radiated now. The evil thus far perpetrated by the Highborne and the demons offended the elements as nothing ever had before.

I promised I would do what I could, he said to them. Grant me your strength as well and it will be done!

To Malfurion, this took place over what felt like an eternity, but when he at last glanced at Lord Xavius, he saw that only a second at most had perhaps passed. The counselor stood almost as if frozen, his expression sluggishly altering as he prepared, with the power of his master behind him, to finally destroy his ghostly adversary.

Malfurion smiled at the other night elf’s folly. He raised his hands to the hidden sky and called upon its might.

Outside, thunder roared. The Highborne around the portal and the array faltered again, aware that this was not a part of their work. Even Lord Xavius frowned.

And suddenly the palace tower shook—then exploded.

Captain Varo’then knelt before Azshara, his helmet carried in the crook of his arm. “You summoned me, my glorious queen?”

Two of Azshara’s servants brushed her luxurious hair, something she had them do several times a day to keep it fluffed and perfect. While they performed this task, she amused herself with sampling the exotic scents brought to her recently by traders.

“Yes, captain. I wondered what that noise was coming from above. It sounded as if it originated from the tower. Is there some trouble of which I have not been informed?”

The male night elf shrugged. “None that I am aware of, Light of a Thousand Moons. Perhaps it is the prelude to the great Sargeras’s entrance.”

“You think so?” Her eyes lit up. “How wonderful!” She waved him off. “In that case, I should be prepared! Surely we are in for a wonderful event!”

“As you say, Glory of Our People. As you say.” The captain rose, replacing his helmet on his head. He hesitated.

“Would you like me to investigate, just to be certain?”

“No, I am certain you are correct! By all means do not bother Lord Xavius!” Azshara sniffed another vial. The scent made her blood race in ways she enjoyed. Perhaps she would wear this one when she met the god. “After all, I am certain the good counselor has everything in hand.”

The top half of the tower chamber had been sheared off, the lightning bolts sent by the heavens ripping it away and sending the roof and more hurtling into the black Well below.

Several large chunks of stone had collapsed into the room, killing two of the Highborne and scattering most of the rest. The shield array and the portal still stood…but both had been badly weakened.

Shrieking winds tore at those within. One sorcerer thrown near the edge by the blasts made the mistake of rising. The winds caught his robed form, carrying him backward.

With a pathetic shriek, he followed the top of the tower down into the Well.

An intense downpour battered at the survivors. Still struggling to keep their spells intact, the Highborne fell to their knees. This did little to preserve them, though, so severe was the storm.

Only two figures remained untouched by the elements. One was Malfurion, his dream form allowing the wind and rain to pass through harmlessly. The other was Lord Xavius, protected not only by the power he drew from the Well, but by the evil still managing to leak through from the dark vortex.

“Impressive!” shouted the counselor. “If, in the end, futile, my young friend! You have but the power of the Well upon which to draw…while I also have the might of a god!”

His remarks made Malfurion smile. The lord counselor did not yet realize what he now fought. He assumed that he still simply faced another adept sorcerer.

“No, my lord,” the younger night elf called back. “You have it turned around! For you, there’s only the Well and the supposed might of a demon that claims godhood! For me…there’s the power of the world itself as my ally!”

Xavius sneered. “I’ve no more use for your babbling…”

Malfurion felt him summon from the Well such power as surely none before ever had. It jarred the druid for a moment, but then the strength that served Malfurion reassured him.

“You must be stopped,” he declared to the counselor.

“You and the thing you serve must be stopped.”

Whatever spell Lord Xavius intended to cast, Malfurion would never know. Before the counselor could complete it, the elements themselves assailed him. Lightning struck again and again at Xavius, burning him from within and without. His skin blackened and peeled, yet he did not fall.

The rain became a torrent that poured all its might down on Malfurion’s foe. Xavius seemed to melt before the younger night elf’s eyes, flesh and muscle sloughing off—and yet the counselor still strained to reach him.

Then, thunder cracked, thunder so loud that what remained of the tower shook, sending another of the Highborne into the dark waters of the Well. Thunder so loud it shook Malfurion himself to his very being.

Thunder so loud that Lord Xavius, counselor to the queen and highest of the Highborne—shattered.

He howled like one of the hellish felbeasts as he exploded, a howl that continued even as the pieces scattered in the air. The cloud of dust that had once been the advisor spun around and around, tossed about by an angry, fearsome wind.

The remaining Highborne finally abandoned their posts, fleeing from the wrath of the one who had bested their feared leader. Malfurion let them depart, knowing that he had depleted himself beyond measure but still needing to deal with one final matter.

With Lord Xavius no longer there to protect it, the shield array collapsed easily. A simple gesture from the young druid finally dismissed the evil spell, removing at last the possible impediment to his people’s survival. He only prayed that it was not already too late.

At last, he returned his attention to the portal.

It was but a faint shadow of itself, a mere hole in reality. Malfurion glared at it, knowing that he could not permanently seal off his world from the evil within…but he could at least give it some respite.

You delay the inevitable…came the voice he dreaded. I will devour your world…just as I have so many others…

“You’ll find us a sour treat,” Malfurion retorted.

Once again he unleashed the elements.

The rain washed away the precious pattern over which the portal floated. Bolt after bolt of lightning struck the very center of the hole, forcing that within to retreat further. The wind swirled around the weakened spell, tearing away at it with the intensity of a fierce twister.

And the earth…the earth shook, finally succeeding in breaking up the last bits of foundation left to the high tower.

With no corporeal form, Malfurion had nothing to fear from the collapsing structure. Despite his growing weariness, he watched it all happen, determined to see for himself that there would be no last reprieve.

The floor tipped. Instruments of dark sorcery and pieces of what remained of the walls clattered toward the lower end. A tremendous groan accompanied the collapse.

The tower fell.

As it did, the portal closed in on itself, rapidly shrinking.

A sudden suction caught Malfurion off guard. He felt his dream form pulled by a powerful force toward the vanishing hole.

I will still have you…came the faint yet baleful voice.

The night elf struggled, urging his dream form away from the gap. Dust flowed through him and into the shrinking portal. Other refuse followed.

The strain became unbearable. He was dragged closer and closer…

Malfurion! Tyrande called. Malfurion!

He clung to her call, trying to use it as a tether. Below him, the last of the tower joined the rest in the dark abyss of the Well of Eternity. Only Malfurion and the tiny but malevolent hole remained.

Tyrande! he silently called. He shut his eyes, trying to picture her, trying to come to her.

I have you…said a voice he could not identify.

The world turned upside down.

Mannoroth felt the loss. Mannoroth felt the emptiness even before it happened.

The huge, bestial commander paused in the rear of the horde, turning his ugly, tusked head in the direction of the tower.

The tower that was no longer there.

“Noooooooo!”he roared.

Rhonin felt it. He felt the sudden surge of power, the surge of strength. He suddenly imagined himself able to build worlds, take the stars from the heavens and rearrange them to his desire. He was invincible, omnipotent.

The spell sealing off the Well of Eternity had been destroyed.

Immediately he looked to Illidan, to see if the young night elf had sensed the same. Rhonin need not have feared, though, for Illidan clearly had experienced the same rush of strength as he had. In fact, not only did the Moon Guard all look strong and ready, but so did the rest of the defenders as well.

The Well and the night elves are one, the wizard realized. Even those who could not cast spells were still tied to it to some extent. Its loss had stripped them in ways that they could never realize. Now, though, Rhonin saw in every figure, from Lord Ravencrest down to the lowliest soldier, a renewed confidence and determination. Truly they now thought themselves unbeatable by any force.

Even the Burning Legion.

Horns blared. The night elves gave a collective roar well matching anything emitted prior by the demons. The front lines of the Legion faltered, not at all certain what this abrupt change meant.

“Have at them!” shouted Ravencrest.

The defenders surged forward. Demons suddenly found themselves harried as never before. Felbeasts were slaughtered before they could make their way back to the horde. Tusked warriors dropped one after another as each time the night elves’ blades sank true. The encroaching Legion was stopped dead in its tracks.

Illidan led the Moon Guard against the invaders, continuing to guide their efforts through his own spells. The land itself rippled beneath the Burning Legion’s feet, tossing demons about as if they were nothing. Several of the winged Doomguard burst into flames as they darted overhead, becoming instead fiery missiles that added further mayhem to their own ranks.

Rhonin did not stay out of the battle, either. With the memories of all those who had died this day and all those who would perish in the future war in mind, he struck again and again at the ones responsible. An Eredar warlock who foolishly sought to match him was enveloped by his own robes, which twisted tightly until they snapped the demon in twain. From the wizard then came a punishing series of blue lightning bolts that methodically hunted down other spellcasters among the Legion, leaving behind only slight piles of ash to mark the former foes.

For the first time, true pandemonium broke out among the fearsome warriors. This was not the battle expected, the bloodshed desired. There was nothing here now save their own deaths, a prospect even the demons found daunting.

Their lines buckled. The night elves pushed forward.

“We have them now!” shouted Lord Ravencrest. “Give them no quarter!”

The defenders rallied further around his cry. Despite the imposing size of the invaders, the night elves advanced undaunted.

And Rhonin and Illidan continued to pave the way to victory. The wizard looked up, spying several of the savage Infernals plummeting toward the defenders. As ever, the fiery demons were rolled up into balls, dropping like boulders to create the most disastrous results.

For once, Rhonin made some use of Illidan’s tactics. With the Well from which to draw, he created a huge golden barrier in the sky, one which the Infernals could not avoid. The barrier was not simply a wall, however, for Rhonin had another purpose in mind. He shaped it according to those desires, curving it and forcing those demons who crashed into it to bounce instead in the direction he chose.

The very midst of their own army.

Even the bolts he had cast down upon the demons earlier could not have done as much devastation as the fearsome behemoths did now. More than two dozen Infernals struck the Legion’s center at various points, decimating the ranks and creating huge, smoking craters. The bodies of the enemy flew everywhere, crashing down upon others and multiplying the damage tenfold.

From far to his side, the wizard heard triumphant laughter. Illidan clapped his hands in honor of the human’s successful effort, then pointed at the harried enemy.

A part of the Burning Legion’s left flank suddenly floundered, many immediately sinking to their knees. The solid earth below them had become as soup and the heavy, armored forms of the demons could do nothing but plunge beneath its surface like stones. A few struggled, but, in the end, any who had the misfortune of being where Illidan had cast vanished.

With a wave of his hand, the young night elf resolidified the earth, erasing all trace of his victims. He then turned back to Rhonin and, with a grand flourish, bowed to the wizard.

Rhonin kept his expression set, only nodding again. If nothing else, Illidan surely kept the demons at bay.

At last, under such brutal assault, the Burning Legion did the only thing it could do—retreat en masse.

There was no horn, no call. The demons simply began to back away. They kept a semblance of order, but clearly it was all their commanders could do to maintain that much. Even still, they did not move fast enough to suit the defenders, who took full advantage of the victory.

The Moon Guard in particular savored the turn of events. They hunted the felbeasts especially, turning some into gnarled bits of wood, others into rodents. Several simply burst into flames as they ran—their tails between their legs—for the questionable safety of the Legion ranks.

Here and there, pockets of resistance remained, but those were quickly whittled down by the eager soldiers. Fel Guard lay everywhere. Rhonin had no doubt that each night elf thought about the countless dead the Burning Legion had already left in its wake. There had to have been many friends and loved ones among Zin-Azshari’s victims.

However, one cause for which the night elves continued to fight concerned the wizard. Even now, Ravencrest shouted her name, using it to further rally the troops.

“For Azshara! For the queen! We ride to her rescue!”

Rhonin had heard Malfurion’s suggestion that the queen was likely as complicit in the slaughter as most believed her counselor and the Highborne were and he suspected that to be the truth. The wizard could only keep telling himself that the truth would come out if and when they reached the palace.

Back and back the Burning Legion went, edging into the very borders of the ruined capital. They died in droves, they died by weapon or wizardry, but they died. The battle raged unceasingly through the darkness, the ground buried under the corpses of the fiendish invaders.

Perhaps it would have gone on, perhaps they could have taken the fight into Zin-Azshari itself and even reached the palace, but as day forced its will upon night, the defenders at last flagged. They had given their all in an effort well worth praise, but even Lord Ravencrest saw that to go on would put the night elves at more risk than they could afford. His expression reluctant, he nonetheless signaled the horns to sound the halt.

As the horns called, Illidan’s expression grew cross. He tried to make the Moon Guard follow him forward, but while some seemed eager enough, all clearly had spent themselves of their physical energy.

Rhonin, too, was exhausted. True, he could still cast spells of great destruction, but his body was covered in sweat and he felt faintness in his head if he moved too quickly. His concentration slipped more and more…

Illidan aside, the rest of the night elves knew that they could go no further—not in the daylight—but that did not take away from what they had accomplished. True, the threat had not been removed, but they now saw that the demons were limited. They could be slain. They could be driven back.

The commander quickly sought volunteers to ride out through the various parts of the night elf realm, their mission of two purposes. They were to rally those they found in order to create yet a vaster force, a multipronged defense with which to meet the next assault of the Burning Legion—for surely there would be one—and also to see the extent of the devastation elsewhere.

In addition to that effort, the noble also immediately set his personal sorcerer—Illidan—in charge of the Moon Guard already with them. There was some mild protest from those most senior among the survivors, but a simple show of power in the form of one last harsh explosion among the retreating demons quickly silenced the young spellcaster’s critics.

Pleased with his new status, Illidan sought out Rhonin to tell him. The wizard nodded politely, on the one hand wondering if he had ever been so enthusiastic when younger, and on the other worried about how Illidan’s new status would affect his personality. Illidan had greater potential yet than what had so far been revealed, but his recklessness was a trap that could create of him a danger in its own way as deadly as the Burning Legion. Rhonin vowed to keep an eye on his counterpart.

Left alone again, the one human among the night elves slowly surveyed the force that had been arrayed against the demons. Sunlight made their armor glitter, giving the host an epic appearance. They looked and acted as if they could defeat any enemy. Despite that, however, Rhonin remained aware that they needed a far greater force if they hoped to win the final struggle. History said that victory was ensured, but too many factors—himself included—now muddied the outcome. Worse, the Burning Legion was well aware of the magical might against them; they would be seeking the wizard and Illidan more now.

Rhonin had been the target of the demons and their allies in his own time. He did not look forward to repeating that situation.

And what of the one most responsible for this night’s success? Not Rhonin. Not Illidan. Not all the Moon Guard or Lord Ravencrest and his legions. None of them was the real reason for victory.

What, the weary wizard thought as he gazed out at dark Zin-Azshari and the disorganized horde, what has happened to Malfurion?