Richard Knaak: The Well of Eternity

He had not seen any of them—not even his father—since entering the ranks of wizardry, but Rhonin had discovered an emptiness in his heart when the news had arrived. The rift between himself and his kin—caused in great part because of his chosen calling—had vanished in that instant. All that had mattered at the time was that he had become the last of his family. He was all alone.

Alone until he realized that the feelings he had developed for the brave elven ranger at his side were reciprocated.

When the terrible struggle had finally played out, there had been only one logical path for the two of them. Despite the horrified voices emanating from both Vereesa’s people and Rhonin’s wizardly masters, the two had chosen to never be parted again. They had sealed a pact of marriage and tried to begin as normal a life as two such as they could possibly have in a world torn asunder.

Naturally ,thought the mage bitterly, peace for us wasn’t meant to be .

Vareesa pushed herself from the bed before he could help her. Even so near the time of birth, the elf moved with assured swiftness. The elf took hold of Rhonin by the shoulders.

“You wizards! Always seeing the dire! I thought my own people were so gloomy! My love, this will be a happy birth, a happy pair of children! We will make it so!”

He knew that she made sense. Neither would do anything that would risk the infants. When the two had realized her condition, they ceased their own efforts to help rebuild the shattered Alliance and settled in one of the most peaceful regions left, near enough to shattered Dalaran but not too near. They lived in a modest but not completely humble home and the people of the nearby town respected them.

Her confidence and hope still amazed him, considering her own losses. If Rhonin had felt a hole in his heart after losing family he had barely known anymore, Vereesa surely had felt a gaping chasm open in her own. Quel’Thalas, more legendary and surely more secure than even the magic-ruled Dalaran, had been utterly ravaged. Elven strongholds untouched by centuries had fallen in mere days, their once-proud people added to the Scourge as easily as the mere humans. Among the latter had been included several of Vereesa’s own close-knit clan…and a few from her very family.

From her grandfather she had heard of his desperate battle to slay the ghoulish corpse of his own son, her uncle. From him she had also heard how her younger brother had been ripped apart by a hungering mob of undead led by their own elder brother, who later had been set afire and destroyed along with the rest of the Scourge by the surviving defenders. What had happened to her parents, no one yet knew, but they, too, were presumed dead.

And what Rhonin had not told her…might never dare tell her…was of the monstrous rumors he had heard concerning one of Vereesa’s two sisters, Sylvanas.

Vereesa’s other sister, the great Alleria, had been a hero during the Second War. But Sylvanas, she whom Rhonin’s wife had sought to emulate her entire life, had, as Ranger General, led the battle against the betrayer—Arthas, prince of Lordaeron. Once the shining hope of his land, now the twisted servant of the Legion and the Scourge, he had ravaged his own kingdom, then led the undead horde against the elven capital of Silvermoon. Sylvanas had blocked his path at every juncture and for a time, it had seemed that she would actually defeat him. But where the shambling corpses, sinister gargoyles, and gruesome abominations had failed, the dark necromancy granted the traitorous noble had succeeded.

The official version had Sylvanas dying valiantly as she prevented Arthas’s minions from slaying Silvermoon’s people. The elven leaders, even Vereesa’s grandfather, claimed that the Ranger General’s body had burned in the same fire that had devastated half the capital. Certainly there had been no trace left.

But while the story ended there for Vereesa, Rhonin, through sources in both the Kirin Tor and Quel’Thalas, had discovered word of Sylvanas that left him chilled. A surviving ranger, his mind half gone, had babbled of his general being captured, not killed. She had been horribly mutilated, then finally slain for the pleasure of Arthas. Finally, taking her body up in the dark temple he had raised in his madness, the prince had corrupted her soul and corpse, transforming her from heroic elf into a harbinger of evil…a haunting, mournful phantom called a banshee that still supposedly roamed the ruins of Quel’Thalas.

Rhonin had so far been unable to verify the rumors, but he felt certain that they had more than a grain of truth. He prayed that Vereesa would never hear the story.

So many tragedies…small wonder that Rhonin could not shake his uncertainty when it came to his new family.

He sighed. “Perhaps when they’re born, I’ll be better. I’m likely just nervous.”

“Which should be the sign of a caring parent.” Vereesa returned to the bed. “Besides, we are not alone in this. Jalia aids much.”

Jalia was an elder, full-bodied woman who had given birth to six children and midwifed several times that number. Rhonin had been certain that a human would be leery of dealing with an elf—let alone an elf with a wizard for a husband—but Jalia had taken one look at Vereesa and her maternal instincts had taken over. Even though Rhonin did pay her well for her time, he very much suspected that the townswoman would have volunteered anyway, so much had she taken to his wife.

“I suppose you’re right,” he began. “I’ve just been—”

A voice…a very familiar voice…suddenly filled his head.

A voice that could not be bringing him good tidings.

Rhonin…I have need of you .

“Krasus?” the mage blurted.

Vereesa sat up, all cheer vanishing. “Krasus? What about him?”

They both knew the master wizard, a member of the Kirin Tor. Krasus had been the one instrumental in bringing them together. He had also been the one who had not told them the entire truth about matters at the time, especially where he himself had been concerned.

Only through dire circumstance had they discovered that he was also the dragon Korialstrasz.

“It’s…it’s Krasus,” was all Rhonin could say at the moment.

Rhonin…I have need of you …

I won’t help you! the mage instantly responded. I’ve done my share! You know I can’t leave her now …

“What does he want?” Vereesa demanded. Like the wizard, she knew that Krasus would only contact them if some terrible trouble had arisen.

“It doesn’t matter! He’ll have to find someone else!”

Before you reject me, let me show you…the voice declared. Let me show both of you …

Before Rhonin could protest, images filled his head. He relived Krasus’s astonishment at being contacted by the Lord of Time, experienced the dragon mage’s shock when the Aspect’s desperation became evident. Everything Krasus had experienced, the wizard and his wife now shared.

Last of all, Krasus overwhelmed them with an image of the place the other believed the source of Nozdormu’s distress, a chill and forbidding chain of jagged mountains.

Kalimdor.

The entire vision lasted only a few seconds, but it left Rhonin exhausted. He heard a gasp from the bed. Turning, the wizard found Vereesa slumped back on the down pillow.

He started toward her, but she waved off his concern. “I am all right! Just…breathless. Give me a moment…”

For her Rhonin would give eternity, but for another he had not even a second to grant. Summoning the image of Krasus into his head, the wizard replied, Take your quests to someone else! Those days are through for me! I’ve got far more important matters at stake!