Free The Well of Eternity by Richard A. Knaak

turned in sudden interest, the work of the Azshara’s Highborne having also reached them.
    Somewhere, the one who gazed realized, somewhere someone had called upon the power. Someone had drawn from the magic in the mistaken belief that they and they alone knew of it, knew how to wield it…but where?
    He searched, almost had the source, then lost it. It was near, though, very near.
    He would wait. Like the others, he had begun to grow hungry again. Surely if he waited a little longer, he would sense exactly where among the worlds the casters were. He smelled their eagerness, their ambition. They would not be able to stop drawing from the magic. Soon…soon he would find the way through to their little world…
    And he and the rest would feed.

FIVE

    B rox had a bad, bad feeling about their mission.
    “Where are they?” he muttered. “Where are they?”
    How did one hide a dragon, the orc wanted to know. The tracks were evident to a point, but then all he and Gaskal could find afterward were the footprints of a human, possibly two. Since the orcs were near enough to notice if a dragon launched itself into the air—and they had seen no such astonishing sight—then it only made sense that the leviathan had to be nearby.
    “Maybe that way,” suggested the younger warrior, his brow furrowed deep. “That pass.”
    “Too narrow,” growled Brox. He sniffed the air. The scent of dragon filled his nostrils. Almost masked by it was the smell of human. Dragons and wizards.
    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