Richard Knaak: The Sundering

The queen was no fool. She knew her shield would not last much longer. Then the Well would claim her and her followers and the glory that was Azshara would be lost to the world.

The silver-tressed night elf nodded.

“Ungh!” The goblet fell from her hand. Her body was wracked with pain. She felt her limbs twisting, curling. Her spine felt fluid, as if much of it had instantly melted away…

You will be more than you have ever been… promised the voices. And when the time comes, for what we grant you… you will serve us well…

The last vestiges of her shield spell failed. Azshara shrieked as the waters overwhelmed her. In the background, she heard other cries as well… her handmaidens, the guards, and the rest of the Highborne who still served her.

The Well filled her lungs…

But… she did not drown.

Krasus, too, watched as the vast city, the epitome of the night elf civilization, was sucked whole into the throat of the maelstrom. He shivered, not only because of the destruction before him, but of the knowledge that he had of the future. The dragon mage had hoped to see Zin-Azshari torn apart before it sank, but that part of history had remained true. The city would sink to the depths… and, over the centuries, begin to birth a new horror.

There was nothing he could do about that now. Krasus looked away from the Well, looked away from the devastation spreading rapidly in all directions. Huge chunks of Kalimdor continued to be torn into the Well with no sign of the terror lessening. Already several miles of land beyond Zin-Azshari had vanished. The only good thing was that the Burning Legion had long ago sent fleeing any life that had remained. So far, only parched soil and the bones of the dead fell victim… but if the catastrophe did not slow soon, Krasus wondered if anything would remain.

It has to, though! he insisted. History says it must be so!

But he knew too well that Time had already unraveled far too much… and that he was, in great part, responsible.

Krasus could only pray…

R honin thanked the stars that he saw little in the way of life before reaching the host. It would have been impossible for two dragons and a weary wizard to save anyone still so near the region of the Well. The only people he discovered was a large band of Highborne riding for their lives toward the host. Fortunately, they had nearly made it by the time he and the dragons came upon them.

A quick descent and an even quicker conversation revealed the surprising truth. Their leader, one Dath’Remar Sunstrider, told the story of their attempt to flee with Tyrande. Dath’Remar’s regret over losing her was clear and Rhonin, who had sensed Malfurion’s contact with her, informed the sorcerer that she had survived the escape. He could not promise that Tyrande still lived, although the wizard doubted that Malfurion would let anything happen to the female night elf once he had been reunited with her.

Rhonin and the dragons guided the Highborne to the host, preventing, in the process, any fight breaking out between the two factions. With the bronze dragon guarding the Highborne — for their own safety — the human and his mount sought out Jarod.

They found the commander already astride his night saber and anxiously awaiting word. Rhonin smiled in relief as he realized that the night elves and their allies were already prepared to move.

Still atop the red, he quickly greeted Jarod, then said, “We have to get the host moving! All the way to Mount Hyjal! The portal’s been destroyed, but all that spellwork around the Well has caused chaos! It’s eating itself up and taking everything around it with it!”

“Gods…” But Jarod’s shock quickly subsided as his inherent sense of responsibility took over. He summoned a herald who Rhonin realized the former guard captain had kept handy just for such news. “Give the signal to reverse direction!” Calling up two more riders, Jarod added, “Send word to the officers and nobles! We move at swiftest pace to Mount Hyjal! No stopping! Those who need assistance will be granted it, but no one hesitates and no one stays behind! Go!”

“We’ll keep watch from above,” the wizard said.

“What about… what about those who might be other directions?”

Rhonin was grim. “The Burning Legion cleared the way for us there. I would say that any survivors are as far from the Well as we hope to get. We were the strongest resistance, after all.”

“We can only hope for the best for those, then.”

“And pray for ourselves at the same time.”

As if to emphasize that point, a distant rumble caught the attention of both. Both the wizard and the soldier looked in the direction of the sound… and saw utter blackness just at the horizon.

“Get them moving, Jarod! Fast!”

The host started toward Mount Hyjal mere minutes later, but still not swift enough for Rhonin. Each time he glanced back, the darkness appeared to have swollen. The human swallowed, aware just what was happening and wondering if the catastrophe had already taken Krasus and the others.

A short distance into their desperate trek, the night elves and others began to realize their danger. It would have been impossible to keep them ignorant and neither Rhonin nor Jarod had any desire to do so. What did matter was to maintain some order and Jarod Shadowsong proved adept at that. The dragons, too, aided, swooping down and guiding back to the throng those who began, in their panic, to turn off.

Rhonin kept looking back, seeking some sign of Krasus and the others, but finding nothing. The darkness continued to encroach at an incredible pace and the ominous rumble grew more and more strident.

It’s catching up to us! The wizard looked ahead. Mount Hyjal stood in the distance, enticingly close and yet still so far.

Would even reaching it be enough? Krasus thought so and Rhonin’s recollection of history agreed… but so much had been altered.

Vereesa… I did what I could…

The darkness drew nearer. The roar as the ground miles back was torn and sucked into the Well pounded in his head. Below, many started to run and scream…

And still there was no sign of Krasus and the others.

Hillsides were ripped away. Entire lands simply crumbled into the churning, hungry whirlpool, quickly vanishing into its center. High above, Krasus watched whole settlements — fortunately long emptied by the war — vanish in a heartbeat. Nothing could stand before the onslaught of the Well’s death throes. The carnage caused by the Burning Legion paled… no… it could not even compare to what now took place.

The first hint of Mount Hyjal appeared at the horizon. From high above, the mage could make out the desperate mass of bodies moving toward it. Providing that he had not guessed wrong, they would just barely make it to safety.

If there were any survivors of the war in the other directions, Krasus could do nothing for them. He could only again thank the stars that so little of worth remained in the areas over which the demons had marched.

He still had hope that the destruction would soon cease, that in this instance, at least, things would go as history recalled. They had the Demon Soul, an important factor in that, and —

He suddenly had a premonition of danger. Krasus quickly looked back.

A monstrous, black tendril arose from within the gargantuan Well… a tendril darting up toward an unsuspecting Ysera and the trio astride her.

The Old Gods! I should have known!

“Turn! The Old Gods still seek the Demon Soul for their use! This is their last chance before they are sealed off again!”

Alexstrasza veered around. Ysera noted their sudden action, but at that moment, the tendril reached her… and plucked the druid from the dragon’s back.