The Well of Eternity

24

He lay as still as death, that image made all the worse by the fact that none of them could sense any trace of the link they had once had with him. Tyrande nestled Malfurion’s head in her lap, the soft grass underneath acting as the rest of his bed.

“Is he lost to us?” asked a perplexed Jarod Shadowsong. The captain had accompanied the group out to this location far in the woods, ostensibly to keep an eye on his prisoner, Krasus. He had not played a role in their spellwork, but had instead ended up acting as guard when the situation had changed. He had grown from reluctant addition to concerned companion even though he still understood little of what had taken place.

“No!” Tyrande snapped. In a more apologetic tone, she added, “He can’t be…”

“He does not smell dead,” rumbled Korialstrasz.

Jarod Shadowsong looked askance each time Korialstrasz spoke. He had yet to grow used to the presence of the red dragon. It might have amused Tyrande at one time, but not under the present circumstances. She herself had quickly come to accept the behemoth, especially since she sensed some hidden relationship between Korialstrasz and Krasus. They seemed almost like brothers or twins.

Thinking of twins made her gaze down at Malfurion again.

Krasus paced the area. He seemed much healthier now and the young priestess had noted that the effect had magnified when he had come within sight of the dragon. Unfortunately, that health did not help the pale figure now, for he appeared as worried as she did about Malfurion—even though Krasus had clearly never met him before seeing the night elf in the temple.

Brox knelt across from Tyrande, his ax placed next to his stricken friend. The orc’s head was buried in his chest and she could hear him muttering what sounded like a prayer.

“The area was charged with powerful magical forces,” murmured Krasus to himself. “It could have dispersed parts of his dream self to every corner of the world. He might be able to regather himself…but the odds of that…”

Captain Shadowsong looked around at the others. “Forgive this impertinent question, but did he at least accomplish what he hoped to?”

The cowled figure turned to him, expression flat. “He did do that at least. I pray it is enough.”

“Stop talking like that…” Tyrande insisted. She wiped a tear from her eye, then gazed up at the sunlit sky. Despite the brightness, Tyrande refused to look away. “Elune, Mother Moon, forgive this servant for disturbing your rest! I do not dare ask for him to be returned…but at least give us an answer as to his fate!”

But no glorious light shone down on Malfurion. The moon did not suddenly appear and speak to them.

“Perhaps it would be better if we brought him back to the temple,” suggested the Guard captain. “Maybe she can hear him better there…”

Tyrande did not bother to answer him.

Krasus paused in his pacing. He stared to the south, where the woods thickened. His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips in frustration. “I know you are there.”

“And I now know what you are,” returned a booming voice.

The nearest trees suddenly melded together, forming a figure with a lower torso akin to that of a huge stag and a chest, arms, and face more like those of Tyrande and Jarod Shadowsong.

Fists tight, Cenarius moved slowly toward the band. He and Krasus matched gazes for a time, then both nodded in respect.

The forest lord walked over to where Tyrande held Malfurion. Brox respectfully stepped out of the way while the Guard captain stared open-mouthed from where he stood.

“Daughter of my dear Elune, your tears touch the heaven and the earth.”

“I cry for him, my lord…one you also loved.”

Cenarius nodded. His forelegs bent in a kneeling motion and he touched Malfurion’s forehead ever so gently. “He is a son to me…and so I am pleased that he has one like you who also holds him so near…”

“I—we’ve been friends since childhood.”

The forest lord chuckled, a sound that brought songbirds near and made a cool, refreshing breeze caress the cheeks of each in the party. “Yes, I heard your pleas to dear Elune, both the spoken and unspoken ones.”

Tyrande did not hide her embarrassment. “But all my entreaties have been for nothing.”

His expression turned to one of honest puzzlement. “Did you think that? Why would I come, then?”

The others froze. The novice priestess shook her head. “I don’t understand!”

“Because you are young still. Wait until you reach my age…” With that, Cenarius opened his left hand.

An emerald light rose from his open palm. It floated a few inches above as if orienting itself.

Rising, the demigod stepped back to observe his student. “I walked the Emerald Dream, seeking answers to our many terrible questions. I hunted through there looking for what could be done about these followers of death…” A gentle smile crossed his bearded visage. “…and imagine my surprise when I found one I knew drifting in the Emerald Dream…but in a very dazed and much confused state. Why, he didn’t even know himself, much less me!”

And as Cenarius finished, the light drifted over to Malfurion, sinking harmlessly into his head.

The night elf’s eyes opened.

“Malfurion!”

Tyrande’s voice was the first thing that registered with Malfurion and he quickly seized upon it, using it as a tether, a lifeline. He pulled himself from the abyss of unconsciousness toward a bright but comforting light.

And when he opened his eyes, it was to see Tyrande under the morning sun. Surprisingly, the daylight did not bother him and he even thought that it revealed to him a Tyrande so beautiful he could not at first believe it.

He almost told her, but then the presence of the others made him shut his feelings inside again. He settled for touching her hand, then acknowledging the others.

“The—the shield—” His voice sounded like that of a frog.

“Is it—”

“Gone,” replied a figure who was and was not a night elf. To Malfurion, surely this had to be Krasus. “For now, the Burning Legion has been held in check…at least in one place.”

Malfurion nodded. He knew that the war was not over, that his people still faced annihilation. Yet, that did not take away from the night’s triumph. If nothing else, there was still hope.

“We will fight them,” Tyrande promised. “We will save our world.”

“They can be beaten,” agreed Brox, brandishing proudly the weapon that the young druid had helped create. “This I know.”

Krasus remained pragmatic. “They can…but we will need more help. We will need the dragons.”

“You’ll need more than the dragons!” Cenarius bellowed.

“And I go now to see to that!” He stepped from the others, but gave Malfurion one last smile. “You’ve made me proud, my thero’shan…my honored student.”

“Thank you, shan’do.” He watched as the demigod melted back into the trees.

“Do we return to Suramar now?” asked a figure in a Guard officer’s uniform. Malfurion could not place him, but assumed the others had a reason for him being here.

“Yes,” said Krasus. “We return to Suramar.”

With Tyrande’s help, Malfurion rose. “But only for a short time. The portal through which the demons flowed was destroyed, but, unlike the shield, the Highborne can remake it easily. More will come, I’m afraid.”

Despite his wish otherwise, no one disagreed. Malfurion looked to the direction of Zin-Azshari. A terrible evil had come to his land, one that had to be stopped before it could raze all in its path. Malfurion had helped in great part to stop the Burning Legion’s initial advance and, for reasons he could not himself explain, he did not doubt that it would somehow fall to him again to assist in keeping the invading demons from destroying his beloved Kalimdor.

Malfurion only prayed that when that time came he would be found ready to face them…or else not only Kalimdor but the entire world risked obliteration.