The Well of Eternity (7 page)

“The Well is still in the midst of terrible throes,” commented the one who had initiated contact.

“So it has been for some time,” replied the second, tail flicking behind him. “The night elves play with powers they do not appreciate.”

“Has there been an opinion formed on your end?”

The darkened head within the sphere shook once.

“Nothing significant so far…but what can they possibly do save perhaps destroy themselves? It would not be the first time one of the ephemeral races did so and surely not the last.”

The first nodded. “So it seems to us…and the others.”

“All the others?” hissed the second, for the first time some true curiosity in his tone. “Even those of the Earth Warder’s flight?”

“No…they keep their own counsel…as usual of late. They are little more than Neltharion’s reflection.”

“Unimportant, then. Like you, we shall continue to monitor the night elves’ folly, but it is doubtful that it will amount to much more than the extinction of their kind. Should it prove to be more, we shall act if we are ordered to act by our lord, Malygos.”

“The pact remains unbroken,” responded the first. “We, too, shall act only if commanded by her majesty, the glorious Alexstrasza.”

“This conversation is over, then.” With that, the sphere went black. The second form had severed the link.

The other rose, dismissing the sphere. With a hiss, he shook his head at the ignorance of the lesser races. They constantly meddled in things beyond their capabilities and so often paid fatally for it. Their mistakes were their own to suffer, so long as the world as a whole did not suffer with them. If that happened, then the dragons would have to act.

“Foolish, foolish night elvesss…”

But in a place between worlds, in the midst of chaos incarnate, eyes of fire turned in sudden interest, the work of the Azshara’s Highborne having also reached them.

Somewhere, the one who gazed realized, somewhere someone had called upon the power. Someone had drawn from the magic in the mistaken belief that they and they alone knew of it, knew how to wield it…but where?

He searched, almost had the source, then lost it. It was near, though, very near.

He would wait. Like the others, he had begun to grow hungry again. Surely if he waited a little longer, he would sense exactly where among the worlds the casters were. He smelled their eagerness, their ambition. They would not be able to stop drawing from the magic. Soon…soon he would find the way through to their little world…

And he and the rest would
feed.

B
rox had a bad, bad feeling about their mission.

“Where are they?” he muttered. “Where are they?”

How did one hide a dragon, the orc wanted to know. The tracks were evident to a point, but then all he and Gaskal could find afterward were the footprints of a human, possibly two. Since the orcs were near enough to notice if a dragon launched itself into the air—and they had seen no such astonishing sight—then it only made sense that the leviathan had to be nearby.

“Maybe that way,” suggested the younger warrior, his brow furrowed deep. “That pass.”

“Too narrow,” growled Brox. He sniffed the air. The scent of dragon filled his nostrils. Almost masked by it was the smell of human. Dragons and wizards.

Treaty or no treaty, this would be a good day to die…if Brox could just find his foes.

Kneeling down to study the tracks better, the veteran had to admit that Gaskal’s suggestion made the most sense. The two sets of tracks led into the narrow pass while the dragon’s simply
vanished.
Still, if the orcs confronted the other intruders, the beast would surely come.

Not giving his companion any sign as to his true intentions, the older warrior rose. “Let’s go.”

Weapons ready, they trotted into the pass. Brox snorted as he looked it over. Definitely too narrow for a dragon, even a half-grown one. Where
was
the beast?

They had only gone a short distance when from further in they heard the monstrous howl of a beast. The two orcs glanced at each other, but did not slow. No true warrior turned at the first sound of danger.

Deeper they went. The shadows played games, making it seem as if unnatural creatures lurked all around them. Brox’s breathing grew heavier as he sought to keep pace with Gaskal. His ax weighed heavily in his hand.

A shout—a human shout—echoed from only a short distance ahead.

“Brox—” the younger orc began.

But at that moment, a monstrous vision filled their view, a fiery image like nothing either had ever seen.

It filled the pass, overflowing even into the rock. It did not seem alive, but nonetheless moved as if with purpose. Sounds—random, chaotic sounds—filled the orcs’ ears and when Brox stared into the center, he felt as if he stared into Forever.

Orcs were not creatures subject to easy fear, but the monstrous and surely magical vision overwhelmed the two warriors. Brox and Gaskal froze before it, aware that simple weapons would hardly turn it aside.

Brox had desired a heroic death, not one such as this. There was no nobility in dying so. The thing looked capable of swallowing him as readily and without notice as it would a gnat.

And that made his decision for him. “Gaskal! Move! Run!”

Yet Brox himself failed to follow his own command. He turned to run, yes, but slipped like an awkward infant in the slick snow. The huge orc tumbled to the ground, striking his head. His weapon fell just out of reach.

Gaskal, unaware of what had happened to his comrade, had not fled back, but rather darted to the side, to a depression in one of the walls. There he planted himself inside, certain of the protection of the solid rock.

Still trying to clear his head, Brox realized Gaskal’s mistake. Rising to his knees, he shouted, “Not there! Away!”

But the cacophony of sounds drowned out his warning. The fearsome anomaly moved forward…and Brox watched with horror as Gaskal was caught on its very edge.

A thousand screams escaped the stricken orc as Gaskal both aged and grew younger simultaneously. Gaskal’s eyes bulged and his body rippled like liquid. He stretched and contracted…

And with a last ungodly cry, the younger orc shriveled within himself, contracting more and more…until he completely vanished.

“By the Horde…” Brox gasped, standing. He stared at the spot where Gaskal had stood, still somehow hoping that his companion would miraculously reappear unharmed.

Then it finally sank in that he was seconds from being engulfed by the same monstrosity.

Brox turned, instinctively seized his ax, and ran. He felt no shame in it. No orc could fight this. To die as Gaskal had died would be a futile gesture.

But as fast as the orc ran, the fiery vision moved faster. Nearly deafened by the countless sounds and voices, Brox gritted his teeth. He knew he could not outpace it, not now, but he continued to try…

He managed only two steps more before it swallowed him whole.

* * *

Every bone, every muscle, every nerve in Krasus’s body screamed. It was the only reason the dragon mage finally stirred from the black abyss of unconsciousness.

What had happened? He still did not quite know. One minute, he had been trying to reach Rhonin—and then somehow despite not being near it he, too, had been swallowed by the anomaly. His mental link to the human wizard had literally dragged Krasus along.

Images flashed through his befuddled mind again. Landscapes, creatures, artifacts. Krasus had witnessed time in its ultimate aspect, all at once.

Aspect?
That word summoned another dread vision, one he had thankfully forgotten until now. In the midst of the swirling chaos of time, Krasus had glimpsed a sight that left his heart and hope shattered.

There, in the center of the fury, he had seen Nozdormu, the great Aspect of Time…
trapped
like a fly in a web.

Nozdormu had been there in all his terrible glory, a vast dragon not of flesh, but of the golden sands of eternity. His glittering, gemlike eyes, eyes the color of the sun, had been open wide, but had not in turn seen the insignificant figure of Krasus. The great dragon had been in the throes of both battle and agony, ensnared yet also fighting to hold everything together—absolutely
everything.

Nozdormu was both victim and savior. Trapped in all time, he also held it from falling apart. If not for the Aspect, the fabric of reality would have collapsed there and then. The world Krasus knew would have disappeared forever. It would never have even existed.

A new surge of pain tore through Krasus. He cried out in the ancient tongue of the dragons, momentarily losing his accustomed control. Yet, with the pain came the realization that he still lived. That knowledge caused him to fight, to force himself back to full consciousness…

He opened his eyes.

Trees greeted his gaze. Towering, lush trees with green canopies that nearly blotted out the sky. A forest in the bloom of life. Birds sang while other creatures rustled and scurried through the underbrush. Vaguely Krasus registered the setting sun and soft, drifting clouds.

So peaceful a landscape, the dragon mage almost wondered if he had after all died and gone to the beyond. Then, a not so heavenly sound, a muttered curse, caught his attention. Krasus looked to his left.

Rhonin rubbed the back of his head as he tried to force himself up slightly. The fiery-haired human had landed face-down only a few yards from his former mentor. The wizard spat out bits of dirt and grass, then blinked. By pure accident, he looked in Krasus’s direction first.

“What—?” was all he managed.

Krasus tried to speak but all that came from his own mouth at first was a sick croak. He swallowed, then tried again.

“I…do not know. Are you…are you injured in any way?”

Flexing his arms and legs, Rhonin grimaced. “Everything hurts…but…but nothing seems broken.”

After a similar test, the dragon mage came to the same conclusion concerning himself. That they had arrived so intact astonished him…but then he recalled the magic of Nozdormu at work in the anomaly. Perhaps the Aspect of Time had noted them after all and done what he could to save the two.

But if that was the case…

Rhonin rolled onto his back. “Where are we?”

“I cannot say. I feel I should know it, but—” Krasus stopped as vertigo suddenly seized hold of him. He fell back onto the ground, closing his eyes until the feeling passed.

“Krasus? What happened?”

“Nothing truly…I believe. I am still not recovered from what happened. My weakness will go away.” Yet, he noted that Rhonin already appeared much better, even sitting up and trying to stretch. Why would a frail human better survive the anomaly’s turmoil than he?

With grim determination, Krasus also sat up. The vertigo sought to overwhelm him again, but the dragon mage fought it down. Trying to take his mind from his troubles, he looked around once more. Yes, he certainly sensed a familiarity about his surroundings. At some point, he had visited this region, but when?

When?

The simple question filled him with a sudden dread.
When…

Nozdormu trapped in eternity…all time open to the anomaly…

The thick woods and the growing shadows created by the vanishing sun made it virtually impossible to see enough to identify the land. He would have to take to the air. Surely a short flight would be safe. The area seemed bereft of any settlement.

“Rhonin, remain here. I will scout from above, then return shortly.”

“Is that wise?”

“I think it absolutely necessary.” Without a further word, Krasus stretched out his arms and began transforming.

Or rather, he
tried
to transform. Instead, the dragon mage doubled over in agony and overwhelming weakness. His entire body felt turned inside out and he lost all sense of balance.

Strong arms caught him just as he fell. Rhonin carefully dragged him to a soft spot, then helped his companion down.

“Are you all right? You looked as if—”

Krasus cut him off. “Rhonin…I could not change. I could not change…”

The young wizard frowned, not comprehending. “You’re still weak, Master Krasus. The trip through that thing—”

“Yet, you are standing. Take no offense from me, human, but what we passed through should have left you in a far worse state than mine.”

The other nodded, understanding. “I just figured that you spent yourself trying to keep me alive.”

“I am afraid to tell you that once we entered it, I could do no more for you than I could for myself. In fact, if not for Nozdormu—”

“Nozdormu?” Rhonin’s eyes widened. “What’s he got to do with our survival?”

“You did not see him?”

“No.”

Exhaling, the dragon mage described what he had seen. As he did, Rhonin’s expression grew increasingly grim.

“Impossible…” the human finally breathed.

“Terrifying,” Krasus corrected him. “And now I must tell you also that, even if Nozdormu did save us from the raw forces of the anomaly, I fear he did not send us back to where we came from…or even
when.”

“You think…you think we’re in a different time?”

“Yes…but as to what period…I cannot say. I also cannot say how we will be able to get back to our own era.”

Slumping back, Rhonin gazed into empty space. “Vereesa…”

“Have courage! I said I cannot say how we will be able to get back, but that does not mean that we will not try! Still, our first action must be to find sustenance and shelter…and some knowledge of the land. If we can place ourselves, we might be able to calculate where best to find the assistance we need. Now, help me up.”

With the human’s aid, Krasus stood. After a few tentative steps, he decreed himself well enough to walk. A short discussion on which direction to take ended with agreement to head north, toward some distant hills. There the two might be able to see far enough over the trees the next day to sight some village or town.

The sun fell below the horizon barely an hour into their trek, but the pair continued on. Fortunately, Rhonin had in one of his belt pouches some bits of travel food and a bush they passed supplied them with a few handfuls of edible if sour berries. In addition, the smaller, almost elven form Krasus wore required far less food than his true shape. Still, both were aware that come the next day they would have to find more substantial fare if they were to survive.

The thicker garments used for the mountains proved perfect to keep them warm once darkness reigned. Krasus’s superior vision also enabled them to avoid some pitfalls in their path. Still, the going was slow and thirst began to take its toll on the pair.

Finally, a slight trickling sound to the west led them to a small stream. Rhonin and Krasus knelt gratefully and began to drink.

“Thank the Five,” the dragon mage said as they drank. Rhonin nodded silently, too busy trying to swallow the entire stream.

After they had their fill, the two sat back. Krasus wanted to go on, but neither he nor the human clearly had the strength to do so. They would have to rest for the night here, then continue on at first light.

He suggested as much to Rhonin, who readily agreed. “I don’t think I could go another step,” the wizard added. “But I think I can still create a fire if you like.”

The idea of a fire enticed Krasus, but something inside him warned against it. “We shall be warm enough in our garments. I would prefer to err on the side of caution for now.”

“You’re probably right. We could be in the time of the Horde’s first invasion for all we know.”

That seemed a bit unlikely to Krasus considering the peacefulness of the woods, but the centuries had produced other dangers. Fortunately, their present location would keep them fairly secreted from most creatures passing near. A rising slope also gave them a natural wall to hide behind.

More out of exhaustion than agreement, they stayed where they were, literally falling asleep on the spot. Krasus’s slumber, however, was a troubled one in which his dreams reflected events.

Again he saw Nozdormu struggling against that which was his very nature. He saw all time tangled, confused, and growing more unstable each moment the anomaly existed.

Krasus saw something else, too, a faint, fiery glare, almost like eyes, gazing hungrily on all it saw. The dragon mage frowned in his sleep as his subconscious tried to recollect why such an image would seem so terribly familiar…

But then the slight clink of metal against metal intruded, ripping apart his dreams and scattering the bits away just as Krasus was on the verge of remembering what the burning eyes represented.