The Well of Eternity (9 page)

But as he tried to raise his weapon, a second silvery veil settled over him. What strength Brox had summoned vanished again. When the ax fell this time, he knew he would be unable to retrieve it.

The orc took one wobbly step, then fell forward. Even then, Brox tried to crawl toward his foes, determined not to make their victory an easy one.

A third veil dropped over him…and Brox blacked out.

* * *

Three nights…three nights and still nothing to show for our efforts…

Xavius was not pleased.

Three of the Highborne sorcerers stepped back from the continual spellwork. They were immediately replaced by those who had managed to replenish their strength with some overdue rest. Xavius’s false black eyes turned to the three who had just finished. One of them noticed the dark orbs gazing their direction and cringed. The Highborne might be the most glorious of the queen’s servants, but Lord Xavius was the most glorious—and dangerous—of the Highborne.

“Tomorrow night…tomorrow night we shall increase the field of power tenfold,” he declared, the crimson streaks in his eyes flaring.

Unable to meet his gaze, one of the other Highborne nonetheless dared say, “W-with all due respect, my Lord Xavius, that risks much! Such an additional increase may destabilize all we have already accomplished.”

“And what is that, Peroth’arn?” Xavius loomed over the other robed figures, his shadow seeming to move of its own accord in the mad light of the spell. “What
have
we accomplished?”

“Why, we command more power than any night elf has ever commanded before!”

Xavius nodded, then frowned. “Yes, and with it, we can squash an insect with a mountain-sized hammer! You are a shortsighted fool, Peroth’arn! Consider yourself fortunate that your skill is demanded for this effort.”

Clamping his mouth shut, the other night elf bowed his head gratefully.

The queen’s counselor looked with disdain upon the rest of the Highborne. “What we seek to do, we need perfect manipulation of the Well to accomplish! We must have the ability to slay the insect without its even realizing the death until after the fact! We must have such precision, such a fine touch, that there will be no question as to the perfect execution of our final goal! We—”

“Preaching again, my darling Xavius?”

The melodic voice would have enchanted any of the other Highborne into killing themselves if it would please the speaker, but not so the onyx-eyed Xavius. With a careless gesture, he dismissed the weary spellcasters, then turned to the one person in the palace who did not rightly show him the respect he deserved.

She glittered as she entered, a vision of perfection that his magical orbs amplified. She was the glory of the night elves, their beloved mistress. When she breathed, she made the crowds breathless. When she touched the cheek of a favored warrior, he went out and willingly fought dragons and more, even if it meant his certain destruction.

The queen of the night elves was tall for a female, taller even than many males. Only Xavius truly towered above her. Yet, despite her height, she moved like the wind, silent grace with every step. No cat walked as silently as Azshara and none walked with as much confidence.

Her deep, violet skin was as smooth as the almost sheer silk garment she wore. Her hair, long, thick, lush, and moonlight silver, cascaded down around her shoulders and artfully curved backside. In contrast to her previous visit, when she had matched her garments to her eyes, she now wore a flowing gown the same wondrous color as her luxurious hair.

Even Xavius secretly desired her, but on his own terms. His ambitions drove him far more than her wiles ever could. Still, he found much use in her presence, just as he knew she found the same in his. They shared an ultimate objective, but with differing rewards for each waiting at the end.

When that goal was finally reached, Xavius would show Azshara who truly ruled.

“Light of the Moon,” he began, expression obedient. “I preach only of your purity, your flawlessness! These others I simply remind of their duty—nay, of their
love
—for you. They should not therefore wish to fail…”

“For they would be failing you, as well, my darling counselor.” Behind the stunning queen, two handmaidens carried the train of her long, translucent gown. They shifted the train to the side as Azshara seated herself on the special chair she had made the Highborne erect so that she could watch their efforts in comfort. “And I think they fear that more than they love me.”

“Hardly, my mistress!”

The queen positioned herself to gaze upon the struggling spellcasters, her gown shifting to best display her perfect form.

Xavius remained unmoved by her maneuver. He would have her and whatever else he desired after they had succeeded in their great mission.

A sudden flash of blazing light drew the eyes of both to the work of the sorcerers. Hovering in the center of the circle created by the Highborne, a furious ball of energy continually remade itself. Its myriad displays had a hypnotic effect, in great part because they often seemed to be opening up a doorway into
elsewhere.
Xavius especially spent long hours staring into the night elves’ creation, seeing with his artificial eyes what none of the others could.

Watching now, the counselor wrinkled his brow. He squinted, studying the endless depths within. For just the briefest of moments, he could have sworn that he had seen—

“I believe you are not listening to me, darling Xavius! Is that at all possible?”

He managed to recover. “As possible as living without breathing, Daughter of the Moon…but I admit I was distracted enough that I may not have understood clearly. You said again something about—”

A brief, throaty chuckle escaped Queen Azshara, but she did not contradict him. “What is there to understand? I simply restated that surely we must soon triumph! Soon we shall have the power and ability to cleanse our land of its imperfections, create of it the perfect paradise…”

“So it shall be, my queen. So it shall be. We are but a short time from the creation of a grand golden age. The realm—
your
realm—will be purified. The world will know everlasting glory!” Xavius allowed himself a slight smile. “And the blighted, impure races that in the past have prevented such a perfect age from issuing forth will
cease
to be.”

Azshara rewarded his good words with a pleased smile of her own, then said, “I am glad to hear you say that it will be soon. I have had more supplicants today, lord counselor. They came in fear of the violence in and around the great Well. They asked me for guidance as to its cause and danger. Naturally, I referred their requests to you.”

“As you rightly should have, mistress. I will assuage their fears long enough for our precious task to come to fruition. After that, it will be your pleasure to announce what has been done for the good of your people…”

“And they shall love me the more for it,” Azshara murmured, her eyes narrowed as if imagining the grateful crowds.

“If they could possibly love you any more than they do already, my glorious queen.”

Azshara accepted his compliment with a momentary lowering of her slitted eyes, then, with a smooth grace of which only she was capable, rose from the chair. Her attendants quickly manipulated the train of her gown so that it would not in the slightest hamper her movements. “I will make the wondrous announcement soon, Lord Xavius,” she declared, turning away from the counselor. “See to it that all is ready when I do.”

“It will consume my waking hours,” he replied, bowing to her retreating form. “And be the dreams of my slumber.”

But the moment she and her attendants had departed, a deep frown crossed the counselor’s cold visage. He signaled to one of the stone-faced guards ever standing duty at the entrance to the chamber.

“If I am not alerted before the next time her majesty decides to join us, it will be your head. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” the guard returned, expression never wavering.

“I also expect to be notified of Captain Varo’then’s arrival before her majesty. His task is nothing with which to sully her hands. Make certain that the captain—and whatever he brings with him—is led directly to me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Dismissing the guard, Xavius returned to the task of overseeing the Highborne’s spellwork.

A lattice of dancing magical energy now enshrouded the fiery sphere, which continued to remake itself. As Xavius watched, the sphere folded within, almost as if it attempted to devour itself.

“Fascinating…” he whispered. This close, the lord counselor could feel the intense emanations, the barely bound forces summoned up from the source of all the night elves’ magical might. It had been Xavius who had first suspected that his kind had only so far skimmed the surface of the dark water’s potential. The Well of Eternity was aptly named, for the more he studied it, the more he realized that its bounty was endless. The physical dimensions of the Well were only a trick of the limited mind…the true Well existed in a thousand dimensions, a thousand places, simultaneously.

And from every aspect of it, every variation of it, the Highborne would learn to draw whatever they pleased.

The potential staggered even him.

Energies and colors unseen even by the others danced and fought before Xavius’s magical eyes. They drew him in, their elemental power seductive. The lord counselor drank in the fantastic sight before him—

But from within, from deep beyond the physical world…he suddenly felt something stare back.

This time, the night elf knew he was not mistaken. Xavius sensed a presence, a distant presence. Yet, despite that incredible distance, the might he also sensed was staggering.

He tried to pull back, but it was already too late. Deep, so very deep within the captured energies of the Well, the mind of the counselor was suddenly dragged beyond the edge of reality, beyond eternity…until…

I have searched long for you…
came the voice. It was life, death, creation, destruction…and power infinite.

Had he even desired to do so, Xavius would have been unable to wrench his eyes away from the abyss within. Other eyes now snared his tightly…the eyes of the lord counselor’s new
god.

And now you have come to me…

The waters bubbled as if boiling. Great waves rose and crashed down time and time again. Lightning flashed from both the heavens and the dark Well.

Then came the whispers.

The first of the night elves to hear them thought the sounds only the wild wind. They soon ignored them completely, more concerned with the possible devastation of their elegant homes.

A few more astute, more attuned to the Well’s unearthly energies, heard them for what they were. Voices from the Well itself. But what the voices said, even the majority of those could not say.

It was the one or two who heard clearly who truly

feared…and yet did not speak of their fear to others, lest they be branded mad and cast out from their society. Thus, they failed to heed the only warning they would truly get.

The voices spoke of nothing but hunger. They hungered for everything. Life, energy, souls…they wanted through to the world, through to the night elves’ pristine realm.

And once there, they would devour it…

T
heir 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.