The Well of Eternity

7

Their captors had grown very apprehensive…and to Rhonin, that made them even more of a threat.

It had much to do with the new stretch of forest that they had just entered. This area felt different to Rhonin compared to the dark stretches they had so far crossed. Here their captors seemed not so much the lords of the land as they did undesired intruders.

Dawn fast approached. He and Krasus, who appeared to still be unconscious, had been bound and unceremoniously tossed onto the back of one of the animals. Each jostle by the huge panther threatened to crack the wizard’s ribs, but he forced himself not to make any sound or movement that would reveal to the night elves that he was awake.

Yet, what did it matter if they knew? He had already tried several times to cast a spell, but for his attempts had gained only a skull-splitting headache. Around his throat had been placed a small emerald amulet, a simple-looking thing that was the source of his frustration. Whenever he tried to concentrate too hard on his spells, his thoughts grew all muddled and his temples throbbed. He could not even shake the amulet free. The night elves had secured it well. Krasus wore one also, but from him it seemed their captors had nothing to fear. Rhonin also noted what had happened each time his former mentor had tried to aid in the struggle. Krasus had even less mastery over his power than Rhonin, a disturbing notion.

“This isn’t the path we took,” snarled the scarred leader, whom the human had heard referred to as Varo’then. “This isn’t the way it should be…”

“But we’ve followed it back exactly as we should’ve, my captain,” replied one of the others. “There was no deviation—”

“Does that look like the spires of Zin-Azshari on the horizon?” Varo’then snapped. “I see nothing but more damned trees, Koltharius…and there’s something I don’t like about them, either! Somehow, even with our eyes keen and our path understood, we’ve headed elsewhere!”

“Should we turn back? Retrace our route?”

Rhonin could not see the captain’s face, but he could imagine the frustrated expression. “No…no…not yet…”

Yet, while Varo’then was not yet ready to give up on the trail, the wizard was becoming concerned about it himself. With each step deeper into the thick, towering forest, he sensed some growing presence, a presence the likes of which Rhonin had never experienced before. In some ways, it reminded him of how he sensed Krasus whenever the dragon mage contacted him, but this was more…much more.

But what?

“The sun’s nearly upon us,” muttered another of the soldiers.

From what Rhonin had so far ascertained, while his captors could function in daylight, they did not like it. In some ways, it weakened them. They were creatures of magic—even if individually they might not wield much of it—but their magic had to do with the night. If he could just rid himself of the amulet once the sun had risen, Rhonin believed the odds would swing back in his favor.

Making certain that no one watched, he surreptitiously shook his head. The amulet swung back and forth, but would not slip off. Rhonin finally tried thrusting his head up, hoping that might dislodge the piece. He risked being noticed by his captors, but that was a chance he had to take.

In the gloom of predawn, a face stared out at him from the nearby foliage.

No…the face was part of the foliage. The leaves and twigs formed the features, even creating a lush beard. The eyes were berries and a gap between the greenery represented what looked like a mischievous mouth.

It vanished among the bushes as swiftly as it had appeared, making Rhonin wonder if he had simply imagined it. A trick of the coming light? Impossible! Not with so much detail.

And yet…

The scrape of a weapon being drawn from its sheath caught his attention. One by one the night elves readied themselves for some battle that they did not understand, but knew was coming. Even the fierce cats sensed trouble, for not only did they pick up their already swift pace, but their backs arched and they bared their savage teeth.

Varo’then suddenly pointed to his right. “That way! That way! Quickly!”

At that moment, the forest erupted with life.

Huge, foliage-thick branches swung down, obscuring the faces of the riders. Bushes leapt up, becoming short, nimble figures with silent, smiling faces of green. The forest floor seemed to snag the claws of every panther, sending more than one rider tumbling. The night elves shouted recklessly at one another, trying to organize themselves, instead only adding to the chaos.

A low moan echoed through the vicinity. Rhonin caught only a glance, but felt certain that he had seen a massive tree bend over and sweep away two of the night elves and their mounts with its thick, leafy crown.

Curses filled the forest as Varo’then tried to regain command of his party. Those elves who remained mounted sat in a jumble, attempting not only to cut at the things swarming around them, but also to keep their excited panthers under control. For all their size, the huge cats clearly did not like what they faced, often pulling back even when their riders insisted that they move forward.

Varo’then cried out something and suddenly harsh, violet tentacles of radiant energy darted out at various points in the forest. One struck an approaching bush sprite, instantly turning the creature into an inferno. Yet, despite its apparent horrible demise, the creature continued forward without pause, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

Almost immediately, the wind, which had been nearly nonexistent prior to this, howled and roared as if angered by the assault. It blew with such fury that dirt, broken tree limbs, and loose leaves flew up in vast numbers, filling the air and further obscuring the night elves’ view. The flames snuffed out, their would-be victim as oblivious to this phenomenal rescue as it had been to its previous peril. A huge, flying branch struck down the night elf next to Varo’then.

“Regroup!” the scarred captain shouted. “Regroup and retreat! Hurry, blast you!”

A leafy hand covered Rhonin’s mouth. He looked again into the same startling face. Behind him, he felt other hands grasping his legs.

With a rather unceremonious push, they sent the mage sliding forward.

The panther took notice of this and roared. More of the small shrublike figures swarmed around the beast, harassing it. As the world rocked around him, Rhonin caught sight of Varo’then twisting back to see what was happening. The scowling elf swore as it registered that his prisoners were being stolen, but before he could raise a hand to stop them, more branches came down, both entangling the captain’s arms and face and blinding him.

The bush creatures caught Rhonin well before he would have been in danger of striking the ground headfirst. Silently and efficiently, they carried him like a battering ram into the thick forest. Rhonin could only hope that Krasus, too, had been rescued, for he could see nothing but the leafy figure before him. Despite their sizes, his companions were obviously strong.

Then, to his dismay, a lone night elf atop a snarling panther cut off their path. The wizard recognized him as the one called Koltharius. He had a desperate look in his eyes, as if Rhonin’s escape would mean the worst for him. From what little Rhonin had learned of the captain, he did not doubt that.

Wasting no words, the night elf urged his beast forward. The elves Rhonin knew, especially his own beloved Vereesa, were beings with the utmost respect for nature. Koltharius’s kind, however, seemed not to care a whit for it; he slashed at the tree limbs and shrubbery slowing him with unbridled fury. Nothing would keep him from his prey.

Or so he might have thought. Huge, black birds abruptly dropped from the foliage above, surrounding and harassing the night elf mercilessly. Koltharius swung madly about, but severed not even a pinfeather from his avian attackers.

So engrossed was the night elf by this latest assault that he did not notice another danger rising up from the earth. The trees through which he needed to pass rose by more than two feet, as if stretching their roots.

Koltharius’s mount, driven nearly to madness by the birds, did not pay enough attention to its course.

The typically nimble feline first stumbled, then tripped badly as its paws became more and more entangled. A mournful yowl escaped it as it flew sideways. Its rider tried to hold on, but that only served to worsen his situation.

The huge panther twisted, putting Koltharius between it and two massive tree trunks. Trapped, the night elf was crushed between them, his armor crumpling like paper under the tremendous force. His cat suffered little better, a terrible snapping sound at its neck accompanying the crash.

Rhonin’s leafy companions moved on as if nothing had happened. For a few more minutes, the wizard continued to hear the struggles of his former captors, but then the sounds suddenly shifted away, as if Varo’then had finally led his bedraggled hunters to escape.

On and on the tiny creatures carried him. He saw a movement to his right and made out what looked to be the dragon mage’s still form being brought along in like fashion. For the first time, though, Rhonin started to fear what his rescuers intended to do with the pair. Had they been taken from the night elves in order to face some more horrific fate?

The forest sprites slowed, finally halting at the edge of an open area. Despite the impossibility of the angle, the first hints of daylight already lit up the opening. Small, delicate songbirds twittered merrily. Myriad flowers of a hundred colors bloomed full and tall grass within waved gently, almost beckoningly, to the newcomers.

Again a leafy face filled his gaze. The open-gap smile widened and to his surprise Rhonin saw that a small, utterly white flower bloomed within.

A tiny puff of pollen shot forth, splattering the human’s nose and mouth.

Rhonin coughed. His head swam. He felt the creatures move again, carrying him into the sunlight.

But before one ray could touch his face…the wizard passed out.

Despite Rhonin’s belief otherwise, Krasus had not been unconscious most of the time. Weak, yes, almost willing to let the darkness take him, true, but the dragon mage had fought both his physical and mental debilitation and, if not a victor, he had at least suffered no defeat.

Krasus, too, had noticed watchers in the woods, but he immediately recognized them as servants of the forest. With senses still more attuned than those of his human companion, Krasus understood that the night elves had been drawn to this place purposely. Some force desired something of the armored figures and it took no leap of logic to assume that he and Rhonin were the prizes in question.

And so the dragon mage had kept perfectly still throughout the chaos. He had forced himself to do nothing when the party was attacked and the creatures of the forest stole him and Rhonin from under the elves’ very eyes. Krasus sensed no malice in their rescuers, but that did not mean the pair might not come to harm later. He had remained secretly vigilant throughout the forest journey, hoping he would be of more aid than the last time.

But when they had reached the sunlit opening, he had miscalculated. The face had appeared too swiftly, breathed too unexpectedly upon him. Like Rhonin, Krasus had passed out.

Unlike Rhonin, he had slept only minutes.

He awakened to, of all things, a small red bird perched atop his robed knee. The gentle sight so startled the dragon mage that he gasped, sending the tiny avian fleeing to the branches above.

With great caution, Krasus surveyed his surroundings. To all apparent evidence, he and Rhonin lay in the midst of a mystical glade, an area of immense magic at least as ancient as the dragons. That the sun shone here so brilliantly, that the grass, flowers, and birds radiated such peace, was no accident. Here was the chosen sanctum of some being whom Krasus should have known—but could not in the least recall.

And that was a problem of which he had not spoken truthfully to his companion. Krasus’s memories were riddled with gaps. He had recognized the night elves for what they were, but other things, many of them mundane, had completely vanished. When he tried to focus on them, the dragon mage found nothing but emptiness. He was as weak in his mind as he was in his body.

But why? Why had he suffered so much more than Rhonin? While a human mage of impressive abilities, Rhonin was still a fragile mortal. If anyone should have been battered and beaten by their madcap flight through time and space, it should have rightly been the lesser of the two travelers.

The moment he thought it, Krasus felt guilty. Whatever the reason for Rhonin surviving more, Krasus only shamed himself by wishing for a reversal of their fortunes. Rhonin had nearly sacrificed himself for his former mentor several times.

Despite his tremendous weakness and lingering pain, he pushed himself to his feet. Of the creatures who had brought them here, Krasus saw no sign. Likely they had returned to being a literal part of the forest, tending to its needs until next summoned to action by their lord. That these had been the simplest of the forest’s guardians Krasus was well aware. The night elves were a relatively paltry threat.

But what did the power that ruled here want of two wayward wanderers?

Rhonin still slumbered deep and, judging by his own reaction to the pollen, Krasus expected him to do so for quite some time. With no evident threat in sight, he dared leave the human sleeping, choosing now to investigate the boundaries of their freedom.

The thick field of flowers surrounded the soft, open grass like a fence, with what appeared an equal number pointed outward and inward. Krasus approached the closest section, watching the flowers warily.

As he came within a foot of them, they turned to face him, opening fully.

Instantly the dragon mage stepped back…and watched as the plants resumed their normal appearance. A simple, soft wall of effective guardians. He and Rhonin were safe from any danger outside while at the same time they were kept from causing trouble for the forest.

In his present condition, Krasus did not even consider leaping over the flowers. Besides, he suspected that doing so would only unleash some other hidden sentry, possibly one not as gentle.

There remained only one recourse. To better conserve his strength, he sat down and folded his legs. Then, taking a deep breath, Krasus studied the surrounding glade one last time…and spoke to the air.

“I would talk with you.”

The wind picked up his words and carried them into the forest, where they echoed again and again. The birds grew silent. The grass ceased waving.

Then came the wind again…and with it the reply.

“And so we shall talk…”

Krasus waited. In the distance, he heard the slight clatter of hooves, as if some animal had chanced by at this important moment. He frowned as the clatter grew nearer, then noticed a shadowy form coming through the woods. A horned rider atop some monstrous steed?

But then, as it drew up to the flowery guardians and the sun, ever shining, caught it full, the dragon in mortal form could only gape like a mere human child at the imposing sight.

“I know you…” began Krasus. “I know of you…”

But the name, like so many other memories, would not come to him. He could not even say with any certainty whether he had faced this mythic being before and surely that said something for the scope of the holes in his mind.

“And I know something of you,” said the towering figure with a torso akin to a night elf and a lower half like that of a stag. “But not nearly as much as I would like…”

On four strong legs, the master of the forest strode through the barrier of flowers, which gave way as loyal hounds would to their handler. Some of the flowers and grass even caressed the legs gently, lovingly.

“I am Cenarius…” he uttered to the slight figure sitting before him. “This is my realm.”

Cenarius…Cenarius…legendary connotations fluttered through Krasus’s tattered mind, a few taking root but most simply fading back to nothing. Cenarius. Spoken of by the elves and other forest dwellers. Not a god, but…almost. A demigod, then. As powerful in his own way as the great Aspects.

But there was more, so much more. Yet, strive as he might, the dragon mage could not summon any of it.

His efforts must have shown on his face, for Cenarius’s stern visage grew more kindly. “You are not well, traveler. Perhaps you should rest more.”

“No.” Krasus forced himself up, standing tall and straight before the demigod. “No…I would speak now.”

“As you like.” The antlered deity tilted his bearded head to one side, studying his guest. “You are more than what you seem, traveler. I see hints of night elven but also sense far, far more. Almost you remind me of—but that’s not likely.” The huge figure indicated Rhonin. “And he is unlike any creature to be found within or without my domain.”

“We’ve come a long distance and are, frankly, lost, great one. We know not where we are.”

To the mage’s surprise, this brought thundering laughter from the demigod. Cenarius’s laughter made more flowers bloom, brought songbirds to the branches around the trio, and set into motion a soft spring breeze that touched Krasus’s cheek like a lover.

“Then you are from far off! Where else could you be, my friend? Where else could you be but Kalimdor!”

Kalimdor. That, at least, made sense, for where else would one find night elves in numbers? Yet knowing where he and Rhonin had been deposited answered few other questions. “So I suspected, my lord, but—”

“I sensed an unsettling change in the world,” Cenarius interrupted. “An imbalance, a shifting. I sought out its origin and location in secret…and while I did not find all I searched for…I was led to you two.” He stepped past Krasus to once more study the slumbering Rhonin. “Two wanderers from nowhere. Two lost souls from nothing. You are both enigmas to me. I would rather you had not been in the first place.”

“Yet you saved us from captivity—”

The forest lord gave a snort worthy of the most powerful stag. “The night elves grow more arrogant. They take what does not belong to them and trespass where they are not wanted. It is their assumption that everything falls under their domination. Although they did not quite intrude upon my realm, I chose to make them do so in order to teach them a lesson in humility and manners.” He smiled grimly. “That…and they made it simpler for me by bringing what I desired directly here.”

Krasus felt his legs buckling. The effort to keep on his feet was proving monumental. With determination, he stood his ground. “They, too, seemed to be aware of our sudden arrival.”

“Zin-Azshari is not without its own abilities. It does, after all, overlook the Well itself.”

The dragon mage rocked, but this time not because of weakness. In his last statement, Cenarius had said two words that set fear into Krasus’s heart.

“Zin…Zin-Azshari?”

“Aye, mortal! The capital of the night elves’ domain! Situated at the very shores of the Well of Eternity! You know not even that?”

Disregarding the weakness he revealed to the demigod, Krasus dropped to the ground, sitting in the grass and trying to drink in the staggering reality of the situation.

Zin-Azshari.

The Well of Eternity.

He knew them both, even as perforated as his memory had become. Some things were of such epic legend that it would have taken the complete eradicating of his mind for Krasus to have forgotten them.

Zin-Azshari and the Well of Eternity. The first, the center of an empire of magic, an empire ruled by the night elves. How foolish of him not to have realized that during their capture. Zin-Azshari had been the focal point of the world for a period of centuries.

The second, the Well, was the place of magic itself, the endlessly deep reservoir of power spoken of in awed whispers by mages and sorcerers throughout the ages. It had served as the core of the night elves’ sorcerous powers, letting them cast spells of which even dragons had learned respect.

But both were things of the past…the far past. Neither Zin-Azshari nor even the wondrous and sinister Well existed. They had long, long ago vanished in a catastrophe that—that—

And there Krasus’s mind faltered again. Something horrible had happened that had destroyed the two, had ripped the very world asunder…and for the life of him he could not recall what.

“You are not yet recovered,” Cenarius said with concern.

“I should have left you to rest.”

Still fighting to remember, the mage responded, “I will be…I will be all right by the time my friend awakens. We—we will leave as soon as we can and trouble you no longer.”

The deity frowned. “Little one, you misunderstand. You are both puzzle and guest to me…and so long as you remain the former, you will also remain the latter.” Cenarius turned from him, heading toward the guarding flowers. “I believe that you need sustenance. It shall be provided shortly. Rest well until then.”

Cenarius did not wait for any protest nor did Krasus bother with one. When a being such as the forest lord insisted that they stay, Krasus understood that it would be impossible to argue otherwise. He and Rhonin were guests for as long as Cenarius desired…which with a demigod might be the rest of their lives.

Still, that did not worry Krasus so much as the thought that those lives could be very short indeed.

Both Zin-Azshari and the Well had been destroyed in some monstrous catastrophe…and the more the dragon mage pondered it, the more he believed the time of that catastrophe was rapidly approaching.

“I warn you, my darling counselor, I adore surprises, but this one I expect to be quite, quite delicious.”

Xavius but smiled as he led the queen by the hand into the chamber where the Highborne worked. He had come to her with as much graciousness as he could command, politely pleading with her to join him and see what his sorcerers had accomplished. The counselor knew that Azshara expected something quite miraculous and she would not be disappointed…even if it was not what the ruler of the night elves had in mind.

The guards knelt as they entered. Although their expressions were the same as always, like Xavius, they, too, had been touched. Everyone now in the chamber understood, save for Azshara.

For her, it would be only a moment more before the revelation.

She eyed the swirling maelstrom within the pattern, her tone dripping with disappointment. “It looks no different.”

“You must see it up close, Light of a Thousand Moons. Then you’ll understand what we have achieved…”

Azshara frowned. She had come without her attendants at his request and perhaps she now regretted that. Nevertheless, Azshara was queen and it behooved her to show that, even alone, she was in command of any situation.

With graceful strides, Azshara stepped up to the very edge of the pattern. She first eyed the work of the Highborne currently casting, then deigned to set her gaze upon the inferno within.

“It still strikes me as unchanged, dear Xavius. I expected more from—”

She let out a gasp and although the counselor could not see her expression completely, he made out enough to know that Azshara now understood.

And the voice he had heard before, the voice of his god, said for all to hear…

I am coming…