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generations of loved ones and companions. The wizard understood his former mentor well enough to realize that
the centuries had not made Krasus immune to sorrow. The cowled spellcaster suffered deeply with each death,
however much he hid those emotions at times.
And now, there was yet another to add to the losses. Rhonin had never thought to mourn an orc, but he did. Brox
had become a stalwart comrade, a noble companion. Only belatedly had the human understood the warrior s
sacrifice. The orc had dropped himself through the portal knowing that horrible doom awaited him there, yet, Brox
had not hesitated. He had been aware that Malfurion needed time and time the orc had granted the druid.
Rhonin knelt by the edge of the sea, the creation of which he saw in some ways as a tribute itself to Brox. It would
not have existed without the orc s action. Undelayed, Sargeras likely would have stepped through the gateway, then
slaughtered everyone.
Did Brox bring history back to what it should be or was he part of it all along? the wizard wondered. Perhaps
Nozdormu knew, but the Aspect of Time was not about to tell anyone. He had not even spoken of his own ordeal
save that it had involved the Old Gods. Now, with the portal gone, even that threat had been removed.
Standing again, the wizard eyed the flotsam still flowing toward the shore. The tide brought in a variety of things,
bits of plants, mostly, but also wreckage from the night elves realm. Shreds of clothes, broken pieces of furniture,
rotting food, and, yes, there were bodies. Not many, thankfully, and none at this spot. Jarod had parties scanning the
shore, seeking any dead so that they could have swift but proper burials. It was not just a matter of propriety, but
safety, too. The dead might carry with them disease, a very real fear for the refugees.
Something floated near the wizard, bobbing up and down twice before settling just under the surface. Rhonin would
have ignored it, but sensed something unusual. The thing had a touch of magic to it.
Stepping into the water, he reached down.
Brox s ax.
There could be no mistaking it. Rhonin had seen the astonishing weapon in action enough times. Despite its
tremendous size, the double-edged ax fit perfectly in his grip and felt as light as a feather. It did not even feel wet.
This isn t possible, he muttered, eyeing the sea suspiciously.
But no spirit arose from the depths to give a reason for the amazing discovery. The wizard looked down at the ax,
then at the sea, and lastly at the ax again.
Finally, Rhonin stared off into the direction of the lost portal. An image of Brox standing atop slaughtered demons
and challenging more to come to him filled the human s thoughts.
The wizard suddenly raised the ax high in what he recalled from his own time as an orcish salute to fallen heroes.
Rhonin brandished it three times, then lowered the ax head-first.
They ll sing of you yet, he whispered, recalling Brox s words to both him and Krasus. They ll pass songs of you
down for generations to come. We ll see to that.
Hefting the ax over his shoulder, he went to find Krasus.
Twenty-Two
I llidan dismounted, his wrapped eyes surveying the thick forest for any threat. Of course, even had there been one,
he had no doubt as to his ability to deal with it. The Well might be gone, but he had learned enough from Rhonin
and the Burning Legion to make up for much of its loss. Besides, in a few minutes, even that consideration would
be of no consequence.
The sorcerer tied his mount to a tree. Jarod Shadowsong and the others in charge of the host were busy arguing
about mundane matters such as food and shelter. Illidan was more than happy to leave such petty things to others.
He had come to this place for a far more important reason, one that he felt outshone all others.
He intended to salvage the lifeblood of the night elves.
They were all naive, so Malfurion s twin had decided, if they did not believe that the demons would someday
return. Having tasted Kalimdor once, the Burning Legion would be eager for a second bite. Next time, they would
strike in a far more terrifying manner, of that he was certain.
And so, Illidan planned to be prepared for that coming invasion.
The pristine lake buried deep atop Hyjal s highest peak had survived the onslaught undiscovered by either the
defenders or the demons. A green, idyllic island lay at the very center. Illidan saw it as fate that he had been the one
to come across the body of water first. It suited his desires perfectly.
He touched the thick pouch at his waist. The precious contents within called to Illidan. Their siren song assured the
sorcerer that he had made the right decision. His people would fall over themselves in their gratitude and he would
stand among them as one of their greatest heroes, possibly even more so than Malfurion.
Malfurion& his twin was honored by all as if he alone has saved the world. The people gave Illidan some crumb of
recognition, but many misunderstood what the sorcerer had attempted to do. Rumors swelled that he had gone to
the demons to truly join them and that only his brother had saved his soul from damnation. All Illidan s own efforts
went unappreciated. His eyes his glorious eyes were only seen by the rest as a mark of his supposed pact with
the lord of the Legion.
His so-perfect brother spoke pretty words about him to the public, but that only made Malfurion look
magnanimous. Even the antlers sprouting from his twin s forehead did not disgust the dainty night elves. They
embraced it as a sign of divinity, as if Malfurion now stood as one of the demigods& the same demigods who had
perished so easily in battle while Illidan had survived and thrived.
It ll all change, though, he told himself, not for the first time. They ll see what I ve done& and thank me a thousand
times over.
Anticipation spreading across his face, the sorcerer opened the pouch and removed from it a vial identical to the one
that Tyrande had seen him use earlier. In fact, not only was the vial the same, but so were contents.
The Well of Eternity might be gone, but Illidan Stormrage had saved a small bit of it.
It ll work! I know it ll work! He had felt the Well s astonishing properties himself. Even so minute an amount
would be potent.
The stopper shaped like Queen Azshara once more danced for him before popping off. Letting the stopper fall to
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