Richard Knaak - The Well of Eternity

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?