Stormrage

9 TO PURSUE A DRAGON

The druids were weary. They had given of themselves as much as any living being could, and though Fandral told them that their efforts were not in vain, still it was difficult for many to believe that.

Teldrassil looked no different… and, indeed, to Hamuul Runetotem, there was something about the World Tree that now bothered him more.

Worse, his concern was compounded by Fandral’s sudden curiosity as to Broll’s absence. With so many gathered and so much urgency, the disappearance had managed to go unnoticed until after the casting. Now, though, the lead archdruid seemed to be making a particular point about it.

Hamuul had promised to look for Broll, but that had mainly been to assuage Fandral. Unfortunately, there was only so much Hamuul could do in regards to a promise that he knew — with much guilt — had no hope of being fulfilled.

He had tried to stay far from the convocation, but knew that his own absence would eventually be noticed as well. Hoping to avoid further questions, he kept to the edges of the group, moving here and there as if still seeking.

Hamuul edged his way to Naralex. Although as exhausted as the rest, the night elf stood observing a single seed in his hand. As the tauren neared, Naralex gently waved his other hand over the seed, at the same time murmuring as if to an infant.

The seed burst open. A tiny tendril rose out of it. When it grew to more than four inches, Naralex shifted his free hand to the left. The shoot arched in that direction.

The night elf made a curving motion to the right. Retaining the arch to the left, the new plant now grew to the indicated direction.

“This is what we’re meant to be,” Naralex solemnly stated to Hamuul. “Nurturers of life. Gardeners of paradise …”

“If Azeroth were perfect, yes,” agreed the tauren, “but it is not.”

“No… it isn’t.” Bending, Naralex set the seed on the ground. He drew a circle around the seed.

The ground within the circle churned. The seed sank down until only the shoot remained.

Naralex tidied the area around the plant, then turned his attention to Hamuul. “And have you found our brother Broll?”

The tauren fought to keep his nostrils from flaring. “I am still searching for him.”

The night elf’s eyes narrowed. “We both know that he never returned with us, brother Hamuul.”

Hamuul neither confirmed nor denied it. “I promised Archdruid Fandral Staghelm that I would look for Broll. I must continue.”

In what under some circumstance might have proven a dangerous act, Naralex thrust a hand out to stop the departing tauren. “Archdruid Fandral’s moved on to other things. He’s not even here at the moment, brother Hamuul.”

“Not here?” Again, the tauren sought to hide any wariness.

“While you were… elsewhere… he suggested that we all do what we can to cleanse our thoughts so that when he returned, we could begin anew with another spell for Teldrassil.”

“And where has he gone in the meantime?”

Naralex gazed up… and up. “The enclave, naturally. He said he’s seeking guidance in the seclusion of his sanctum there.”

Hamuul snorted before he could stop himself. He had his suspicions as to where Broll Bearmantle had flown, though exactly what the night elf had intended then was a matter of conjecture.

The tauren could imagine one thing in particular, but Broll would not have been so audacious… would he?

Naralex lowered his arm. “I thought you’d like to know. Do you think that perhaps our brother Broll might have had a similar thought… seeking guidance in the enclave, I mean?”

Fully recovered, Hamuul replied, “I doubt that Broll Bearmantle will be found up there.”

The night elf nodded ever so slightly. “I thought as much, also.

I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

Leaving Naralex, Hamuul pondered matters. Naralex had been trying to give him a warning, in case there was some reason that Broll would be up in the enclave. The night elf had likely wondered why Broll would not have returned for the convocation and came up with what he believed the most likely answer.

And that meant that Fandral had probably done the same.

Frowning, the tauren bent back to look up in the direction of unseen Darnassus. He hoped he was correct in one thing, that Broll Bearmantle was not up in the enclave. In truth, the only reason he would have gone there would have been to seek something in Archdruid Fandral’s sanctum. Hamuul feared that it would turn out to be the Idol of Remulos. The tauren knew of no other thing that Broll would have thought of to use. After all, it was tied to the Emerald Dream, where Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage’s dreamform had gone missing.

And it was also bound to the one method that someone as impetuous as Broll might use to find their missing shan’do.

He would not… Broll would not risk that…

Hamuul blinked. Yes. Broll would.

A shadow passed over him. Turning, he saw a huge storm crow descending. It could only be Fandral returning, the lead archdruid this time choosing the swiftness of the avian form to the more artful entrance he had utilized at the beginning of the convocation.

As the storm crow alighted, it transformed. Wings became arms, legs grew. Talons became feet. Feathers flew away or became hair and garments. The beak receded, turning into a mouth and nose…

Fandral once more himself, straightened. Among all the druids assembled, his eyes fixed upon distant Hamuul.

Grave disappointment filled the night elf’s gaze. It was all Hamuul needed to see to understand that Fandral knew everything Broll had done.

The tauren prayed that his friend knew what he was doing.

They had shifted again. Broll knew it, even though once more he had been unable to focus long on the place through which they had moved. He was certain that it had been the Emerald Dream… but then why were his memories of those moments as hazy as the mist enshrouding Auberdine?

And, more important, how was a human — a human! — able to physically cross into the mystic realm almost without realizing it?

There was, however, no time at present to seek such answers from Lucan Foxblood. The three were still on the move, for Lucan’s sudden action had taken them not farther from the dragon… but rather nearly underneath it.

“Get down!” Tyrande whispered.

The shadow swooped past them as if racing the wind itself. The gust it in turn created nearly accomplished the high priestess’s suggestion. The trio were buffeted to their knees.

Yet… the dragon did not turn. It did not bank and drop upon them. Instead, it dove deep into the hills just beyond their position

… and did not rise up again.

Broll was the first to voice what the others also surely thought.

“At that speed, it should have either come up or crashed …”

“What is a black dragon doing here?” Tyrande asked.

“Wherever here might be …”

“It wasn’t black.”

The night elves looked to Lucan. Still very wild-eyed, he repeated himself. “It… it wasn’t black… it was green …”

“A color-blind human,” Broll grunted.

“If he were color-blind, he would not be seeing green instead of black,” the high priestess pointed out. Her tone reassuring, she said to Lucan, “Tell us why you say the dragon was green.”

He shrugged. “It was near enough to see.”

The druid shook his head. “Well, that’s an answer. Not the right one, since we were just as close to see it and it was black.”

Tyrande studied the human. Finally, “Yet an answer I sense with some grain of potential truth, Broll… at least as Lucan knows it.”

She checked her glaive. “I think we should investigate this dragon who might be black, might be green. There could be a reason we ended up so near it.”

“And if it turns out to be a black dragon?”

She started in the last direction that they had seen the beast fly.

Tyrande readied the glaive for tossing. “Then, we kill it.”

Lucan looked to Broll as if hoping he would tell the man that she did not mean what she said. Instead, the druid gripped the cartographer by the arm and led him after, saying, “You’re better with us than not …”

Lucan did not look at all convinced.

They wended their way over the hills, moving as quickly as Lucan’s presence permitted. He was not slow, but he was neither in optimal health nor a night elf. Still, he kept pace better than Broll would have expected, considering all the human had been through.

They paused only once, when Broll felt an itch on his neck. He looked behind them.

“What is it?” Tyrande quietly asked.

“Thought someone was following us… but I’m wrong.”

A short while later the high priestess called a halt. Lucan took the moment to catch his breath while the night elves conferred.

“If the dragon landed… it must be very near here,” Tyrande remarked.

“Agreed. We’ve seen a few caves, but nothing large enough for such a huge creature… and this one’s bigger than many, no matter what its color might be.”

“Yet we never saw it in the air and the landscape, while hilly, would also force the dragon out in the open if it tried to crawl along.

”

Broll considered. “Maybe there’s something to what Lucan said after all. If the dragon’s—”

Tyrande stared after him. “Where is Lucan?”

The druid spun around. The human was no longer where he had just left him.

For a moment the night elves looked at one another as if thinking the same… that Lucan had once more drifted off into what Broll suspected was part of the Emerald Dream. Then, a brief clatter of rocks beyond them told the pair of a simpler truth. Lucan had merely stepped away.

Or rather… he was climbing up the side of the hill at a pace impressive considering his exhaustion.

“Lucan!” the druid called as cautiously as he could. “Lucan!”

But the cartographer ignored him. Broll finally went in pursuit, Tyrande only a step behind. This near a possible dragon’s lair, they could ill afford being given away.

Lucan pushed himself to the top of the hill. Broll managed to grab him by the ankle just before the human would have started down the other side. The druid pulled himself up next to the other.

“Have you gone mad—?” Broll thought for a moment that he already had his answer, for Lucan stared at him as if what remained of his sense had abandoned him once more.

“It’s down there,” Lucan finally murmured. He pointed at one of a handful of caves marking the area below. “That one with the sharp point to the entrance. That’s where the dragon is.”

“And how do you know this?”

In answer, Lucan could only shrug.

Tyrande joined the two males. “Did I hear him correctly? The dragon is down there?”

“He’s sure about that, if nothing else.” A sound caught Broll’s attention. He eyed the path from which they had come. “There is something or someone behind us …”

“Never mind! Lucan is moving again!”

Broll turned to see that with the druid no longer holding him and both night elves distracted, the man was indeed heading down the other side of the hill. Aware that they left some pursuer on their trail, Broll nevertheless leapt down after Lucan.

He managed to catch up with the cartographer near the base.

Spinning Lucan to face him, Broll was confronted by the same almost blank look.

“Do you wish to die?” he asked the human.

“No …” Lucan seemed to finally register where he was. His face grew even paler. “I just… I just went where I had to.”

Giving up the hope of making sense of his companion, Broll started to tug Lucan back to Tyrande, who was just behind them.

A low, mournful reptilian hiss escaped the cave.

The three stood frozen. The high priestess took a step toward the cave.

“There must be another entrance!” she muttered. “That’s far too small for a dragon.”

Broll grimaced at what he was thinking. “Then… it’s a good entrance for us!”

Tyrande nodded. Lucan swallowed and said nothing.

Concerned for the human, who was certainly no experienced fighter like Varian Wrynn, Broll said, “There are some large rocks over there. You can hide among them. If we don’t return in roughly an hour’s time, keep heading on the path we’re taking. I think I do know vaguely where we are and it’s closer to Ashenvale than I thought.”

To both night elves’ surprise, Lucan steeled himself and replied, “No. I come with you. You helped me… and I brought you here.”

There was no time to discuss it. Broll nodded. Tyrande pulled a dagger from her belt and handed it to Lucan. He took it, though he clearly understood its uselessness against a dragon. Still, the weapon gave some comfort… and it was probable that the human knew that he could also use it on himself if it came down to it.

Broll sought to take the lead, but Tyrande had already moved ahead. She looked almost eager to confront the dragon, as if that would somehow bring Malfurion back to her.

Or bring her to him if they both die? the druid wondered with some sudden worry.

Tyrande held the glaive ready to throw as she entered the mouth. The cave was dark, but while that might have bothered Lucan, it did not concern either night elf. Still, the high priestess cast a tiny glow, perhaps for the human’s sake or perhaps to attract the dragon’s attention.

“Stay close,” Broll reminded the cartographer. He did not doubt that Lucan intended to, but with the man’s habit of wandering, it was good to remind him.

The cave twisted from one side to the next and grew narrower as they entered. It was now barely large enough for two of them to walk side by side. That a dragon lurked somewhere ahead meant that there had to be another entrance. That was something to remember, if this one became blocked to them.

Of course, that other entrance would also enable the dragon to give chase.

The cave grew cooler. Black dragons tended to prefer more warm abodes, which added merit to Lucan’s suggestion that Broll had been mistaken. Yet the druid and the high priestess had both seen an ebony creature. If not a black dragon, then why would one of any other color masquerade as such?

Broll abruptly recalled something that their current dire circumstances had pushed to the back of his memory. Once, in the past, he had faced the dire daughter of the great black dragon Deathwing. Onyxia had been a monster herself, but what Broll now remembered was that she had been able to transform to other forms… including much smaller ones.

He touched Tyrande on the shoulder. The high priestess silently turned.

“Beware,” Broll whispered. “These tunnels may be large enough for the dragon after all.”

Her eyes narrowed. Tyrande Whisperwind, too, was aware of this particular draconic ability, even more so than Broll, who did not know of her ties to the red dragon Korialstrasz. “Yes,” she muttered. “We must be very wary …”

There came a sound, a slight movement, from deeper within.

The three immediately tensed. Broll kept Lucan behind Tyrande and him. The high priestess pushed forward before Broll could keep her back.

Only a few yards farther they came to a larger chamber riddled with gaps large enough to mean passages. The chamber was perhaps ten times the druid’s height, and the rough edges revealed paths — some of them precarious — that could be used to reach many of the possible passages.

But more important… among the stalagmites that dotted the chamber floor, Broll saw prints. He knelt down to investigate them.

“They look to be from one of our own,” the druid commented to Tyrande, “or maybe one of Lucan’s. They’re on top of one another, too. Whoever they belong to has tread this area often.”

“I feel a draft,” she commented. She lowered the glaive. “There’s at least one other entrance nearby.”

“Do we search for it?”

“Which way do the footprints most head?”

He studied them closer, finally pointing to his right. “That way …”

As Broll rose, Lucan blinked, then started to speak to Tyrande.

Sensing this, the high priestess slipped her free hand to his wrist and gently squeezed.

“The direction of the air current matches up with what you say,” the high priestess remarked, releasing the human’s wrist. “We can either follow them or—”

Tyrande cut off, her expression suddenly focused.

The light of Elune bathed the chamber.

And in its light was revealed a figure invisible to them until now, but whom Lucan had evidently sensed with that peculiar talent of his. Tyrande had realized what he was about to say and silenced him in order to surprise the watcher.

He was clad in a long, hooded garment that resembled a combination of a mage’s outfit and that of some human priests.

The figure stood a few inches taller than Broll, who was not short himself at seven feet, but was more lithe of form. His hands were akin to those of the night elves, but though his face also had some similarity to theirs, it was of a much paler cast, like no elven offshoot either knew.

That was as much of a view as any of the three were permitted, for the hooded figure immediately stretched forth a hand toward the most obvious threat, the high priestess.

It was a mistake of which Broll eagerly took advantage.

The druid flung himself at the mysterious caster, but not as a night elf. Gone was Broll, replaced by a hulking, furred figure more than twice his girth. The druid’s mouth and nose elongated, growing together at the same time to create a savage maw. Huge, clawed paws seized the caster. Broll was now a ferocious bear.

His foe staggered back under the bulk and momentum. For a moment the hooded figure looked ready to fall back.

Suddenly, a green aura surrounded Broll’s adversary. The druid went flying to the side, finally colliding with two hard stalagmites, shattering one. The bear slumped, momentarily stunned.

Tyrande held her glaive ready, but did not attack. The high priestess met the caster’s gaze.

And only then, seeing those eyes, did the high priestess feel she should know who it was she faced. His guise was somewhat changed, of that Tyrande was certain, else his identity would have immediately been known to her. She tried to recall his name…

Then, to the shock of all three, he let out an anguished cry, flung an arm over his face… and began to transform.

“Wait!” Tyrande shouted. “Wait! Unless you are of the black dragonflight, we seek your help, not battle!”

The transformation, so barely begun that his true form had not even been in the least noticeable, ceased. Letting his arm drop, the caster stared at her with what seemed pity.

“You would be best served facing one of Deathwing’s ilk, little night elf! One of them would be less of a monster for you to face than me!”

“A monster, are you?” Broll rumbled, reverting to his true form.

He peered around him, seeking what in his guise as a bear he could not carry with him.

It lay at the feet of his foe, who now plucked it from the chamber floor. “Ah! This damned thing! I felt its presence! Would that she had never asked of me to lend my power to it!”

The druid rose. “Then you are the green dragon bound to the Idol of Remulos!”

“‘Bound’ is the proper word!” The figurine went flying in Broll’s direction. As the night elf caught it with one hand, the dragon hissed, “Tied to it with all my essence… though admittedly even my Ysera could not have foreseen the terrible things that would come from that. When it was first done, it was to allow us to be of immediate aid to Remulos or those he thought worthy to wield it.”

He glared at the druid. “And speaking of wielding… I know you by the signature of your magic, if not your name! You employed that thing some time past and with dread results …”

Broll grimaced. “Aye, very dread ones… and then, when I thought it lost, it turned out instead to have become tainted.”

The hooded form laughed harshly. “That taint was nothing to the true danger, druid… you are fortunate that I am a wreck of a creature rather than the foulness that might have touched your heart a short while back …”

The druid stood ready to attack again, though he was wise enough to hold off for the moment. There was more to learn… and perhaps a chance to avoid blood. “What do you mean by that?”

His adversary looked incredulous. “Are you blind to the Nightmare? Have you not felt it?”

“Aye, I’ve felt it, as have most others of my calling! Dragons we may not be, but we, too, have fought for the Emerald Dream—”

“Utter babble!” The lanky “elf” swelled in size as he shouted, his words ending in a roar. “You know nothing! You understand nothing!

I did not understand, I who stood at her side! I betrayed her, betrayed the Dream, and helped the Nightmare Lord begin his encroachment on not only that realm… but this mortal plane as well!”

Now Broll at least understood what faced them. Even as the dragon became less “elf” in shape and more true to his nature, the druid shifted toward Tyrande. They would need all their power to hope to even escape from this dragon.

“I know you now,” he calmly said to the half-altered leviathan.

“You’re one of the corrupted! You’re one of those turned by the Nightmare against Ysera—”

Great leathery wings spread across the length of the chamber.

Long, sharp horns thrust back from the head. The dragon’s girth filled more than two-thirds of the space. Green dragons were sleeker than most, more ethereal, but this one was a behemoth who had to arc his lengthy neck in order to stand. The eyes — Broll realized that the dragon had been peering at them all the time, when, in general, the eyes of a green dragon were shut, for the beasts lived half in the Dream at all times — stared with a wildness that more than matched Lucan at his worst.

“‘One of the corrupted’.… what a simplistic turn of phrase, little night elf… you hardly understand what that means! You hardly understand what it is to have your mind, heart, and soul—‘soul’ as we dragons understand it — stripped away, eaten by darkness, and forced back into your screaming shell!” Again the harsh laughter erupted, shaking the cave so much that some of the stalactites broke loose. The trio was able to avoid those nearest and the dragon was not in the least distracted by the tons of limestone and rock that crashed against his scaled hide.

“‘One of the corrupted,’” the green leviathan repeated with selfmockery.

“Would that I would have been merely ‘one’!” The great reptilian head dove down, coming within a few yards of the night elves and the human. Broll and Tyrande stood their ground and even Lucan brandished his tiny dagger. “I was more than that, little creatures! I was the one most trusted of her, most dear… and because of that, my betrayal was far worse and far more terrible in ultimate consequence! Have you seen the sleepers? Have you seen their shadows? All of that began with my help …”

Tyrande dared speak up, her voice even and comforting. “I know you now, though you wear another unfamiliar form. But clearly you are free of the corruption now. Clearly you overcame it …”

“Through others… and what I did not know then was that it would call to me again… every moment… it calls to me! It desires me more than most, for I am… was… her most favored… her consort …”

“‘Consort’?” Broll gritted his teeth. “You are—”

The dragon roared, silencing him. The eyes — the cold, emerald eyes — fixed on the druid and Tyrande. “Yes… I am Eranikus, first consort of Ysera …” His jaws opened wide. “And, knowing that, knowing I exist here… all of you must die …”