Stormrage

17 THE NIGHTMARE UNVEILED

Lucan was alone in the mist with a volatile green dragon. Worse, he was astride the neck of this dragon, something that Eranikus evidently liked less than even him.

“We shouldn’t have split up!” the leviathan rumbled. “Not here!

Not now!”

The cartographer said nothing. He was feeling worthless. Thus far, he had fled from one place to the next as he sought to escape his growing nightmares, been seized by one powerful figure after another, and looked down upon by most as at best a child.

And now he was surely in a place where what little skill he had even as an assistant mapmaker was fairly useless.

The green dragon peered at the murky realm, his ire continuing to rise. Much of it was bitterness directed at himself. “I should have been there for her, but no, I failed! Now she’s out there facing the Nightmare without me!”

Lucan knew better than to make any comment. What point would there have been? He was nothing…no, less than nothing.

Eranikus let out another growl, but this one directed at the Nightmare. “What is it that keeps just at the periphery of our vision? What insidious force is the Nightmare still holding in reserve…and why?”

The human opened his mouth to make a suggestion, then quickly shut it. His ideas were hardly worth merit.

And yet…there suddenly came to his mind a glimmer of a notion, one that suddenly excited Lucan so much that it was all he could do to keep from shouting it out to Eranikus. What held him back was knowing that the dragon would never permit him to attempt such a thing, if it were even possible…and if it was wise to try at all.

But Lucan could not restrain himself. He had been rescued more than once by the others. It was time he repaid them for once by using his unsettling abilities to their benefit. At the very worst, he would rid them of his sorry self.

Lucan concentrated. At first, images of Stormwind surged up.

He saw his lanky master, Lord Edrias Ulnur, chief cartographer to His Majesty King Varian, peering down with disapproval of Lucan’s work…the same work later transcribed without change to Edrias’s name. He saw the fine courtiers admiring the maps that bore Lucan’s hand, but for which his superior earned the accolades.

And he saw the fine ladies, especially two, who had stepped into and out of his life without knowing it.

It was only Eranikus speaking that stirred Lucan from these moments of past failure and regret. He paid no mind to what the dragon now cursed. Eranikus was far more bitter than even Lucan.

Lucan tried to concentrate again. This time the cartographer focused on the person he was seeking. The image came to mind immediately and with such definition that he knew he was on the right track.

Eranikus was now shouting with great gusto, but whatever it was the winged behemoth sought to tell Lucan was lost.

The cartographer had already vanished.

She is near…very near… Malfurion thought anxiously. But does he know and know why?

Despite his grisly imprisonment, Malfurion had done his best to secretly discern what little he could of those battling the Nightmare.

He had dared not contact them, but had waited until that moment when his plans would come to fruition. Only the mistress of the realm had any inkling of what he planned, and that in itself had been through a single moment’s thought he had relayed to her.

And now Ysera had launched her dragonflight into action. They, the druids, and other protectors of Azeroth had launched a fullscale assault that would still utterly fail unless he had calculated things just perfectly.

But until she reached him, Malfurion would not know if he had.

He sensed the Nightmare Lord looming near, but the sinister shadow appeared focused on the dragons and the others.

Malfurion did his best to subtly mask her approach. It was imperative that she reach him and act without the shadow knowing.

Something moved through the thickening mist, something that the archdruid prayed only he could sense. As cunningly as he could, Malfurion not only kept her from seeing what truly lurked around her, but also kept them from noticing her.

She stepped into the small clearing surrounding him.

The orc grinned as her deep-set eyes fixed on the tree. She did not see it; rather, to her, Malfurion Stormrage the archdruid, the heinous murderer and corrupter, stood staring back at her, a defiant smile on his face. It was an illusion for her and her alone, one that Malfurion had carefully crafted, just as he had carefully crafted each successive vision driving her to this point.

Malfurion felt no triumph at bringing the orc Thura to this place.

He risked both her soul and her life. Yet in his desperate search for that which could best serve to free him of this prison, he had sensed Brox’s magical ax. Malfurion knew how it had ended up back with the orcs, though that tale had been one he had learned thousands of years later. The red dragon Korialstrasz — also known to a select few as Krasus the mage — had given it to the warchief Thrall while in the guise of an elderly orc shaman. That had been to honor Brox for his tremendous sacrifice in seeking to keep the titan Sargeras at bay long enough.

But the ax was even more powerful than the orcs knew, and no one understood that better than Malfurion. His own shan’do had imbued it with forces bound to the world, forces that made it as much of Azeroth as the very seas and land, the very air.

And it was with that ax that Malfurion hoped to vanquish the Nightmare and free himself.

Thura approached him. She did not question what she saw; the druid had influenced her dreams far too long. Thura took for granted whatever he desired. That filled him with even more regret; he had abused her mind, no matter what the reason.

“Night elf,” she growled low. “You threaten my people, my world!

And for me, there is the blood of my kin staining your dishonorable hands! I have come to put an end to your evil!”

Strike! he silently commanded her. Strike! Malfurion even suggested where she aim. It was vital that she hit him just so.

Eyeing what to her was the archdruid’s stomach and what was in truth the center of the tree trunk, Thura added, “I give you one chance! I will let you make amends—”

The archdruid was taken aback. Despite what she surely thought of him, she was still willing to give him a chance to save his life!

Strike! he repeated again, radiating an image of contempt.

Thura glared at him.

“That’s your answer,” the orc snarled. She pulled back with the ax. “I gave you a chance for life…now I give you the certainty of death—”

A great silver sphere surrounded the orc.

No! No! No! the archdruid pleaded. Not now! You do not know what you are doing!

But his beloved Tyrande did not hear him even though Malfurion tried with all his will to make her. The lithe high priestess strode toward the orc, who completed her swing — or attempted to do so.

If not for Elune’s light, the ax would have done its work well. As it was, although the ax did not reach the tree, the magic of the weapon weakened the sphere.

Letting out a grunt of surprise at the ax’s power, Tyrande immediately kicked at Thura. Her foot struck the orc in the side as Thura sought to spin toward her. The orc stumbled back.

The high priestess pursued her attack, kicking twice more. The first landed hard on her opponent’s chest, but the second the halfgasping warrior stopped with her forearm.

Thura then thrust with the ax, forcing Tyrande back. In response, the night elf summoned forth Elune’s light, but before she could cast whatever spell she had in mind, Thura made a slash with Brox’s weapon. Tyrande was forced to retreat.

All of this went on before an increasingly apprehensive Malfurion. The longer the pair fought, the less the chance that any of them would survive. He tried to steer his thoughts toward the pair but could not reach either.

How had Tyrande even located him at just this moment?

Malfurion had been very well aware just how far away she had been. He had also done his best to secretly divert her, yet that had failed —

Another figure entered the fray, an unexpected one. He was a ragged-looking human who at first seemed of interest only due to the impossibility of his being here. However, Malfurion knew exactly who it was and now had his explanation as to how Tyrande had reached here at this critical juncture.

In their one secretive contact, Ysera had promised that her servants would lead to Thura the means by which the orc, as part of Malfurion’s plan, could reach this realm without the Nightmare Lord knowing. Malfurion had assumed it to be a druid or one of Ysera’s very dragon-flight. But instead, she had somehow found a very unique human.

The ragged figure had crept up behind Thura. It was doubtful that he could have done so against a seasoned warrior if not for the current circumstances.

To Malfurion’s further surprise, the man’s sole attack appeared to be to grab Thura around the waist. What purpose that served became clear a moment later as both she and her assailant began to fade away.

And with her would go the ax…and Malfurion’s last hope.

At the last moment, though, Thura twisted away from him. She fell to her knees.

As she did, Malfurion felt the Nightmare Lord’s attention at last turn to what was happening around his precious captive.

It was too late, then, for the archdruid, but he tried his best to give warning to Tyrande and the others. His branches shook and the sharp leaves shivered as he threw all his will into alerting them of the danger.

Far too late…mocked the Nightmare Lord. Far too late…

Shadows draped over Malfurion, skeletal shadows of the unseen tree’s reaching limbs.

But it was not for the archdruid that those limbs stretched.

Instead, they aimed for the others.

Malfurion again sought to warn them, but only the human appeared to notice him. The man eyed Malfurion’s macabre form and then gaped. He started to say something to the two combatants, raising the archdruid’s hopes…

A tremendous emerald force swept over the area.

The shadow tree recoiled but held its position. However, the foremost regions of mist burned away and the horror that Malfurion alone knew still awaited within it likewise vanished, seeking the safety of those areas still covered by the foulness.

Tyrande and Thura paused in their battle to follow with their gazes the human’s outthrust finger. And though Malfurion could not quite see the object of their interest, with his other senses he perhaps understood the enormity of it even better than they did.

The sky was filled with dragons, Ysera’s dragons. All those that remained uncorrupted had come at this desperate point to attack the Nightmare and its sinister master.

More to the point, they had come to rescue him.

This was not how Malfurion had wanted it. The dragons risked themselves. Yet he could not help but take heart in how the Nightmare melted away before them. What had started out as a distraction in order for the archdruid’s plan to succeed had now become part of the actual rescue. The Great Aspect had clearly understood that she could no longer trust for the orc to act as intended. Tyrande’s intervention inadvertently threatened catastrophe.

The mists retreated as if burned. Wherever Ysera’s servants stretched forth their power, the sinister tendrils of fog pulled back and the Dream was restored. The carrion bugs melted under the great emerald glow of the dragons’ power, fading to nothing. The grasses and trees were restored.

And at that moment Thura used the battle to fulfill her quest. She abandoned a distracted Tyrande and shoved past the desperate grab by the human.

Malfurion urged her on. He watched as she raised the ax.

Tyrande saw her. The high priestess glowed in preparation of stopping the orc.

The shadow tree moved. Malfurion realized that Tyrande still did not believe that she could be manipulated. With nothing to lose, Malfurion began to maneuver another root that he had been working with since extending the other beyond his prison. That one had originally been set to aid Thura, not Tyrande. This one would now have to distract the other night elf, if only for a critical second.

But someone else suddenly came to Malfurion’s aid. Even transformed, his identity was known to the trapped archdruid. Broll Bearmantle, racing along in his giant cat form, snarled for Tyrande’s attention. That he did so meant that he knew what was intended, not a surprise to Malfurion as he had obviously arrived with the coming of the green dragons.

His appearance did as intended. Startled, Tyrande lost her chance.

Thura swung. The shadow tree that was the Nightmare Lord reacted too slowly.

The ax cut just as Malfurion hoped. Pain coursed through him, but after the continual agonies he had suffered at the whim of his captor, it was pain easily smothered. What was important was that in cutting into the tree, the ax — forged by Cenarius and with the life force of Azeroth fueling it — also severed the spells that had caught Malfurion by surprise and trapped him so.

With a cry that was of relief, not anguish, Malfurion shed his foul trappings. The black, thorned leaves melted away. The branches that had been his arms and hands shrank and untwisted. The roots withdrew, then became feet, which, in turn, became part of two separate legs again.

And the dark, diseased green that had been his coloring burned away to the brilliant emerald of his dreamform.

No…came the Nightmare Lord’s voice. It is not so simple as that…

The shadows of several branches crossed Malfurion’s chest.

Despite neither they nor him having any solidity — or perhaps because of that fact — the night elf felt as if his chest were being crushed. The euphoria of his escape vanished as he felt his foe once more slipping into his thoughts and his very soul.

“Mal!” Tyrande shouted. She and Broll both surged toward the stricken archdruid. To his credit, the human followed.

Thura stood dumbstruck, the results of her attack hardly what she had expected. Her expression was that of someone just realizing that they had been tricked.

More shadow branches descended, brushing aside with ease Malfurion’s would-be rescuers. Thura, realizing what was the greater threat, swung at one of the shadows draping her former target’s chest.

There was a hiss as the magical wood touched the shadows.

One of the shadow branches flew off as if made of substance. It landed some distance away, where it faded to nothing.

The Nightmare Lord howled, almost causing Malfurion to black out.

The ground erupted at Thura’s feet. Shadow roots seized her legs and as they did, the orc suddenly let out a cry. One hand let go of the ax to claw at the air. The other’s grip weakened dangerously.

The Nightmare means for her to lose Brox’s ax! Malfurion struggled to help her, but the shadows squeezed tighter against his chest.

Come…he heard his captor murmur. Come…

But the archdruid had no intention of surrendering to the darkness. He strained and at the very least seemed to keep from being crushed.

All around them, the green dragons cleansed the area of the Nightmare. The only tendril still extending so far was around Malfurion and the shadow tree. Yet even despite the obvious threat of defeat, the Nightmare’s master would not release him.

Malfurion understood why. The Nightmare needed him. He was key to the Nightmare’s growth in both the Dream and Azeroth.

But others understood that as well. The shadow tree was abruptly bathed with the pure energies of both nature and dreams.

The tree shivered while at the same time the night elf experienced a sense of euphoria.

Only one being could wield the power so in his mind and struggling to look up, he saw that she now hovered over them.

“No taint of shadow shall be left in my domain!” Ysera called.

Her eyes were shut, but Malfurion knew that she saw with more accuracy than anyone where her foe was most vulnerable. “No child of mine left to Nightmare…”

Ysera opened her eyes. The Aspect’s gaze sparkled and though it did not seem at all threatening to Malfurion, he sensed the dismay and fear that it brought out of his captor. The shadow branches fled the druid.

One of the other green dragons dove down to just above the group. Ysera’s servant used magic to pluck up everyone, including Thura. It did not matter even that Malfurion was in dreamform; the dragon’s magic lifted him as if he were flesh.

But as they were carried up into the sky, the archdruid heard the cry of a dragon ring out from near another region of the mists.

From where he floated, Malfurion caught a glimpse of a large male of Ysera’s dragonflight.

Eranikus.

Malfurion was well aware of the consort’s troubled past and had sensed his presence on recent occasion. He had not expected Eranikus to be here, but was also not entirely surprised. Perhaps having sought to further redeem himself, the once-corrupted male had evidently moved with too much confidence toward the Nightmare.

And now it had him. Hundreds of horrific hands of mist clutched him tight. Within moments, all that was visible was his head, one forepaw, and a wing. He looked to Ysera in fear.

The Aspect reacted. She turned to rescue her mate, only for a moment turning her attention from the Nightmare —

And that was when the shadow tree swelled to a terrible size and seized her.

The ghoulish branches engulfed Ysera. Before even she could react, they thrust back, tossing her into the mists.

As that happened, Eranikus let out a savage laugh. His form shifted…revealing the insidious Lethon. Lethon’s foul visage mocked the stunned defenders for a moment before the corrupted dragon, completely shed of the powerful illusion, vanished after the Nightmare’s true prize…Ysera.

The other dragons immediately moved to rescue their mistress, but the Nightmare surged forward again with a ferocity that none, not even Malfurion, would have expected from it. Like a thousand krakens, tendrils of mist stretched out to seize the unwary. Two more of the green dragonflight were taken before the remaining green dragons reluctantly retreated.

As for Malfurion, he screamed in denial of what had happened.

If not for Ysera seeking to save him, she would not have been lost.

The Nightmare expanded, rushing toward its adversaries with the pace of a raging river. The tendrils whipped about. There was no choice but for all of them to flee.

Yet, even knowing that, the archdruid fought to free himself from the safety of the green dragon’s magic. He could not — would not — leave Ysera as prisoner of the awful power within.

Then, though the mist continued to surge on, it also dissipated some. Some of those among the green dragons took this as a sign of weakness, that perhaps having seized the mistress of the Dream that the Nightmare had overextended itself.

It was too late for Malfurion to warn the foremost of those impetuous behemoths. The first dragon who so eagerly dove toward the mist only made it that much more simple for the tendrils to seize her. Like those before, she was swallowed whole.

The rest were driven back. Indeed, Malfurion sensed those defending against the evil elsewhere were also pushed into abrupt retreat. It was as if they faced an entirely new and far more formidable adversary. Dragons, ancients, druids…they all fell back if they did not wish to join those already lost.

Yet, in the wake of their escape, the mist continued to fade.

Slowly, the distorted landscape that had once been the Emerald Dream became more distinct. Once proud hills were now covered in blackened pockmarks and vermin crawled over them as if atop great nests. What trees there were had been stripped of most of their leaves and were now covered in small reddish suckers that moved like mouths and bore teeth. The branches twisted and turned as if constantly seeking anything unwary enough to step within their reach.

The ground was saturated not only with the bugs and other crawlers, but more of the sickening pus that oozed from jagged crevices now opening up everywhere. The stench of decay filled the air worse than ever.

And then the Nightmare at last revealed to the others what Malfurion already knew, at last revealed what it had most kept hidden. He had hoped that with his escape, its evil would be at least reduced, but that was not so. Indeed, it had become even more horrifying than what his captor had previously shown him.

Wherever the mist existed, so, too, did they cluster. Their ranks spread on as far as the eye could see and he knew farther than that. Worse, they were multiplying by the second, each face akin only in its anguish and hunger.

They were the sleepers taken unaware, but they were far more.

Malfurion had fought demons and he had fought the undead Scourge. The horrific parodies that these sleepers had become made the former gentle-seeming in comparison. The sleepers were creatures drained of soul and so their forms reflected it.

When they moved, it was both fluid and with evident wracking pain that made Malfurion’s own past torture nothing.

Their shriveled flesh draped stretched skulls. Their mouths opened in continual shrieks and stretched wider than physically possible. Their eyes were sunk into their skulls and stared with a loathing at what did not share their suffering.

And still more of them came, more than there could possibly be on a hundred Azeroths. They were every horrible dream each sleeper suffered, and so their numbers were potentially endless.

They grasped with clawlike hands as they moved, reaching

…reaching…

Malfurion knew for what they reached and what they hungered.

His captor had been only too pleased to not only show their suffering, but let him sense just what the Nightmare Lord had let them think was their salvation. To them, the only respite, even for a moment, was to steal and experience what those who had not yet fallen victim to the Nightmare still had…the ability to dream without pain, without fear.

But that was a false desire, something that they could never actually seize. It was merely a ploy to drive them on, to make them so desperate as to seize upon their friends and loved ones, all for the sake of the Nightmare.

And Malfurion knew that, despite how good most of these people were…their nightmare selves would not hesitate in the least to bring about Azeroth’s destruction.

Their numbers continued to swell, continued to spread. The remaining members of Ysera’s dragonflight were as nothing to them. The dragons attacked and attacked, but they might as well have been a few grains of sand seeking to stem a flood.

Malfurion knew why. He also knew that he had been manipulated all along by the Nightmare Lord. In the archdruid’s cleverness, he had simply given the foul shadow what it truly desired. The night elf had served his captor as well as if he had been one of the corrupted…

“We must retreat from this place!” one of the elder green dragons roared to the rest. “We must regroup!”

Regroup? Why? Malfurion silently asked, still horrified at the role that he had played. Of what hope is there?

The Nightmare had never actually wanted him. Oh, its master had, but that had been a personal desire greatly outweighed by the ultimate need.

Malfurion had been the bait. His powers, his bond to Azeroth and the Emerald Dream had been strong enough to instigate the Nightmare’s intentions, but never to truly fulfill them. For that, the shadow had needed the one being most tied to the magical realm.

The Nightmare had wanted the mistress of the Emerald Dream all along.