Richard Knaak - The Well of Eternity

Lord Xavius, on the other hand, could do both.

When it became clear that the others were of no use to him, the queen’s advisor threw himself toward Malfurion. His artificial eyes radiated dark energy and Malfurion sensed an attack of some sort coming. Instinctively he raised his hand, asking aid of the wind and air.

Bolts of crimson lightning darted toward him and, had they actually reached the younger night elf, would surely have obliterated him. However, mere inches from Malfurion, the bolts not only struck some invisible barrier—solid air, perhaps—but were diverted back by the wind that the ghostly figure had summoned.

With deadly accuracy, the bolts struck the huge warriors near the portal.

The demons were tossed about like leaves in a storm. Several crashed against the walls while two collided with the sorcerers who kept working on the portal. That, in turn, threw the latter’s efforts into near chaos. The portal heaved as if breathing raggedly, opening and closing in mad fashion.

The Highborne sorcerers struggled to keep the portal under control. Several demons about to step through suddenly vanished back into the darkness within.

One of the larger, winged figures standing near the opening charged in the direction of Malfurion. The huge demon obviously could not see the night elf, but swung about with its weapon in the clear hope of striking something. Malfurion tried to avoid the weapon as best he could, not at all certain that he was immune to it.

Lord Xavius had ducked away from his reversed spell, but now the counselor returned to the fray. From a pouch at his side, he removed yet another crystal.

“From this one, you shall not escape…”

The magical eyes flared.

Moving quickly, Malfurion set the demon between himself and the counselor. Instead of his intended victim, the advisor drew in the startled demon. The brutish figure roared its rage at such trickery and grasped in vain in the general direction of Malfurion before being sucked into the crystal.

Xavius swore and tossed the crystal aside, caring little for the fate of its contents. All his attention remained focused on the ghostly form that only he could see.

“My lord!” cried one of the sorcerers. “Shall we—”

“Do nothing! Keep at the task at hand! The portal must remain open and the shield must keep intact! I will deal with our invisible intruder!”

That said, Xavius prepared to cast again. Malfurion, however, had no intention of waiting for him. He turned and darted from the chamber, passing through the outer door without so much as a glance from the wary sentries.

The furious counselor immediately rushed after him. “Open the door!”

The guards obeyed. Xavius rushed out of the chamber and down the steps in pursuit of his adversary.

But Malfurion had not fled downstairs, instead floating within an inner wall of the tower. There, unseen by the lord counselor, he waited until he was certain the trouble had passed.

Returning to the chamber, Malfurion immediately drifted to the array. He had to destroy it quickly, before the Highborne had the chance to reinforce it.

However, as he reached for it, a familiar dread returned to him. Malfurion shivered and, despite himself, looked toward the portal.

You will not touch the shield …the terrible presence within uttered in his mind. You do not wish to. You wish only to serve me…to worship me …

Malfurion fought the urge to give in to that voice. He knew what would happen to everyone if the one who spoke had the chance to enter the world. All the evil unleashed by the demons so far paled in comparison to what commanded them.

I…will…not be one of your pawns! Almost screaming from effort, Malfurion tore his gaze from the vortex.

He could feel the dread figure’s fury as he sought to recover. The evil within could not affect him directly other than to play with his thoughts. Malfurion had to ignore him, think only of those he cared about and what failure meant to them.

Just a few seconds more—

His dream form twisted, suddenly wracked by incredible pain. He spun around, falling to his knees.

“No more games…” muttered Lord Xavius, standing at the doorway. Near him, several perplexed guards searched in vain for the enemy with whom he spoke. “No more near disasters! I will rend your spirit form to shreds, scatter your essence over the world…and only then will I give you to the great one to do with as he pleases…”

He pointed at Malfurion.

More and more the Burning Legion crushed the lines of the night elves. Lord Ravencrest kept his followers from being ripped apart, but they continued to give ground.

A fierce battering ram created by Rhonin plowed into the demons, tossing several back and digging deep into the horde. It slowed them in that one place, but everywhere else the Legion continued to advance.

From somewhere, Rhonin heard Lord Ravencrest shouting orders. “Strengthen that right flank! Archers! Take out those winged furies! Latosius, get your Moon Guard back!”

It was hard to say if the senior sorcerer heard the noble’s command, but, either way, the Moon Guard remained where they were. Latosius stood at the forefront, ordering this spellcaster or that to deal with various situations. Rhonin grimaced. The elder night elf had no concept of tactics. He wasted what little might his group had on several minuscule attacks rather than on one concerted effort.

Illidan saw this, too. “The damned old idiot’s making no use of them at all! I could lead them better!”

“Forget them and concentrate on your own spells—”

But even as the wizard said this, Latosius suddenly reeled. He grabbed at his throat and slumped over, blood pouring from his mouth. His skin blackened and he collapsed, clearly dead already.

“No!” Rhonin surveyed the Legion, found the warlock, and pointed.

Using the trick unleashed earlier by perhaps this same demon, Rhonin seized several arrows in flight and sent them hurtling down upon the warlock. The robed figure glanced up, saw the bolts, and simply laughed. He gestured in a manner Rhonin assumed created a defensive shield around him.

The Eredar ceased laughing when each bolt not only penetrated his shield, but went through his torso.

“Not as strong as you think, are you?” muttered the wizard in grim satisfaction.

Rhonin turned again to Illidan—only to find the latter gone. He looked around, found the determined young night elf riding madly toward the Moon Guard, who seemed in complete disarray without their leader.

“What does he—?” But Rhonin had no time to worry about his would-be protégé, for incredible heat suddenly surrounded him. He felt as if his skin were about to melt.

The Eredar warlocks had finally identified him as a major threat. More than one certainly had to be attacking him. He managed to summon enough strength to momentarily ease the incredible heat, but no more. Slowly, they were cooking him alive.

So this was it. Here he would die, never knowing if his part in this battle would keep history more or less intact or destroy it utterly.

Then…the intense pressure on him all but ceased. Rhonin reacted instinctively, using his magic to completely counter the remaining danger. His eyes cleared and he finally managed a fix on the key spellcaster.

“You like fire? I’d like it a little cooler.”

The wizard reversed the spell cast upon him, sending at its user an intense wave of cold.

Rhonin sensed the bitter chill overwhelm the warlock. The Eredar stiffened, turning a pale white. His expression contorted, freezing in mid-agony.

One of the Fel Guard bumped the warlock. The frozen figure toppled, striking the hard ground with a harsh crash and scattering bits of iced demon over the battlefield.