Stormrage

29 THE TWO TREES

Broll had expected to fall, but somehow he had been able to stave off the attack not only on his physical body, but also, more insidiously, his mind. The Nightmare sought him for its own, aware that he was one prized by Malfurion. Cries assailed him and his thoughts filled with visions of his dying daughter and his own guilt over her demise. It was a well-calculated assault, for Anessa had always been his weak point.

But no more. Having witnessed the horrors of the Nightmare, Broll condemned himself for having fallen prey to it through her death. He did not honor her memory by doing so. Broll had not seen that until he had seen so many others suffering because of their lost loved ones. The Nightmare had been particularly good at twisting its victims’ minds and turning love into torture.

The druid cast a handful of powder mixed from plants known for their fiery qualities. As the powder touched his dark foes, it sizzled.

The shadows burned away, their vanishing accompanied by tormented hisses. Broll looked for Thura, expecting the worst, but the orc squatted next to him, her eyes closed, but otherwise well.

“I have an oath to fulfill…” she said flatly. “I will fill it…”

Broll scattered the mist from them and for the first time saw that there was not only the ax, but another, odder object nearby. It was a thing that had once been alive but no more, and the one who had brought it to this place had planted it carefully, though not with any hope or desire of seeing it bloom.

It was a branch. A foul thing that Broll instantly knew well. He also understood why it had been placed here. The plan still had a chance.

And even as he thought that, the storm swept over their area.

Yet Broll felt no fear from it, no concern whatsoever. He knew its source and that it existed to protect, not harry, him and the others.

The druid seized the branch. To that from which it had originally been plucked — so that it could then be grafted on Teldrassil — the branch was nothing anymore. Dead.

But it was still of the Nightmare Lord’s essence. “Thura! You must grab the ax at the same moment as I strike!”

To her credit, the orc warrior understood immediately. Broll then began a distasteful spell. It was possible for those who were strong to nurture from seemingly dead plants, even trees, some measure of life. For any true plant, Broll would have had no qualms trying, though he also understood the limits.

But now he sought to revive something monstrous. His shan’do had revealed all concerning the truth about the branch and the tree from which it had originally come. Broll could sense the wrongness, the demonic essence, even in this tiny piece. This was not a thing of nature anymore; this was an atrocity.

But as he began his spell, Broll also sensed the other, more ancient evil of which Malfurion had also warned him, the ancient horror that had added its own infernal influence into the creation of the Nightmare Lord.

The spark he sought was there. Broll urged it on, even though the wrongness magnified.

The branch shook, fighting his grip.

“Now!” the druid called, raising the branch.

Thura grabbed for the ax, which still glowed both from its own good power and the Nightmare’s malevolent forces.

The orc’s hand and the branch touched the glow at the same moment. That was what was needed for the defenders. It broke what hold the Nightmare had on the weapon, strong enough to keep the ax there, but not enough to corrupt the enchanted artifact.

Cenarius had forged the ax that pure and Brox, by his deeds, had made it more so.

And Thura, chosen in part by Malfurion, was an apt successor.

She took up the weapon. Broll tossed aside the branch, which, bereft of his spell, could not survive. He shifted form, becoming a cat.

Thura leapt atop. He carried her forward. The shadow of the tree stretched to take them, but the storm struck hard, bending back the smoky branches and washing away the foul mists.

Lightning burned away shadow creatures and even set some of the intangible branches aflame.

Broll marveled at what he saw. He had witnessed large convocations create storms when rain was necessary, but none so huge or so directed. Surely, Malfurion must have all the other druids focused on this!

However his shan’do had managed this, it behooved Broll and Thura to reach the shadow tree. The fiendish silhouette rose over them —

A huge hand swatted both aside. Gnarl seized a stunned Thura, who still held tight the ax.

“All will be nightmare…” the corrupted ancient grated.

As Broll rolled to a halt, he became a night elf again. Teeth clamped from pain, he managed to cast a spell.

The ancient was a plant in nature. Even corrupted, he was covered in tremendous if now malignant growth. Still, that growth was yet susceptible to a skilled student of the druidic arts.

Stunted growths became thick, curling vines that within seconds ensnared the ancient’s limbs. Those near the hand that clutched Thura tightened, forcing Gnarl’s hand to open.

The orc dropped to the ground, landing on her feet. She wavered, but then steadied.

Gnarl struggled. Some of the vines holding his legs and one arm snapped. He reached again for Thura —

Grunting, Broll increased his efforts. The vines strengthened, thickened.

Just before the thick fingers could reach the orc again, the vines bound the corrupted ancient so tightly that he could no longer move. Broll did not let up. He had the vines continue to grow, continue to tighten.

The ancient tumbled to the ground, unable to move in the least.

The night elf marveled at his own effort, aware that there had been a time not that long ago when he would have thought his skills insufficient to capture one such as Gnarl without being forced to slay him in the process.

Thura, meanwhile, had not wasted her time. She was almost upon the shadow. She hefted the ax —

The storm faltered. The winds lessened.

The tree moved.

One shadow branch thrust into the orc’s chest. Although it had no substance, it impaled her. Thura stood frozen, the ax still raised high.

The other branches reached for Broll…

You are too weak…our foothold too strong…you have failed, my dear Malfurion…

Malfurion refused to listen to such words, even though they had some merit. He knew that even with Tyrande standing with him, he was fast approaching his limits.

See how they all fall now… offered the Nightmare Lord.

Before the archdruid’s eyes, visions of all those who depended upon him came anew. Thura transfixed. King Varian leading a shrinking army. The other druids — Hamuul yet urging them on — trying to do what they could against an unstoppable foe transforming both realms…

He had been shown this before, had felt it before, but the crushing weight of having come so close just to fail again was too much. Perhaps if he had been a hundred Malfurions, a thousand, he might have succeeded…but he was only one.

Despair…and know that as you do…I have only shown you what is happening…this time, you know your failings yourself…

Xavius laughed loud.

The storm all but faded. What his adversary said was so true.

Xavius was not doing anything; he merely showed Malfurion what Malfurion already understood…that the archdruid had let everyone down.

Then, just as the darkness seemed about to close about his heart, a cool, soothing light touched him from within. He knew its source instantly.

“Malfurion!” Tyrande called in his ear. Her voice was haggard, yet still somehow unyielding to her own pain. “Please! Do not…give in! He plays on your mind…”

The archdruid stirred…and found both of them caught up in the wicked branches. Only the fact that Tyrande had evidently been holding on to him at the time of their being seized had kept them together.

All is the Nightmare! Xavius the tree intoned. You…she…all

…How I have waited for this…trapped so long in the darkness beneath the waves, waiting and growing in strength with its guidance…growing until the time was right and then rising from the depths to set down roots here upon the eastern cliffs overlooking my lost Zin-Azshari! Here, where once my queen ruled all, where once I was power, how more appropriate that here you fall and the Nightmare covers all…how fitting!

All…that one word most of all struck a chord with Malfurion.

I have made a terrible mistake…he knew what he needed to do to finally finish this. Victory or defeat was not dependent on him and him alone nor even him and Tyrande, though together they had stemmed the tide.

It depended upon everyone working in concert as never before.

Strengthened by this last revelation, lightning guided by Malfurion struck the foremost branch involved in holding them. The two night elves were flung into the air. Malfurion transformed into storm crow form and caught Tyrande in his talons. He brought her to the ground just beyond the grasping branches, then became himself again.

“I made a mistake!” he informed her. “I know the truth now!”

She nodded. Tyrande knew what he expected of her. Without waiting, the high priestess began a prayer to Elune.

Malfurion reached out to the other druids…every druid left in either realm save Broll. Let me show you what we — together — may accomplish…

To do what he needed, Malfurion had to ask the other druids to leave themselves defenseless. He was surprised, grateful, and fearful when all accepted without hesitation.

He showed them what they already knew, but did not fully understand even now. They were druids. They were Azeroth’s caretakers and guardians. They also served as the same for the Emerald Dream. Yet, though they understood that as such their bonds with the essence of nature in both was powerful, they did not realize that they had, as a group, believed that they were more limited than they actually were.

But the two realms themselves were intertwined in a manner that even the druids had never fully comprehended and thus, the bond was more complex, and potentially far more powerful. The others marveled at what their shan’do revealed, but Malfurion could not let them dwell upon this amazing discovery. Guiding them on, he had them turn their spellwork to his intention.

The storm. His storm. The other druids were essential to its crafting, to its growth, but it was through Malfurion — with Tyrande’s prayers to the Mother Moon helping to keep his mind clear of the Nightmare’s presence — that it truly swelled, truly took on the epic proportions he needed.

A deep rumble shook both Azeroth and the Emerald Dream.

King Varian kept order among his fighters, aware that they could not make the assumption that this brought new hope. As the lord of Stormwind led the fighting, at times the image of the wolf would again superimpose itself upon his face, a sight that gave further encouragement to those who knew of the spirit’s favor.

The Life-Binder, standing at the one gate that prevented the Nightmare’s own efforts, smiled grimly in recognition of what Malfurion was accomplishing. She threw her last efforts into making certain she did not fail in her part.

Malfurion sensed it all come together. The druids became as one under his leadership. He felt an understanding of his world and the Emerald Dream that he could never have imagined. Yet it was his bond with Tyrande that enabled him to most make use of that understanding.

The storm unleashed.

It struck with a fury with which no tempest ever before had done.

Azeroth trembled. The Emerald Dream shimmered. They were two that were one, but not as Xavius desired. He had wanted one realm perverted into an evil mirroring his own and that of the force behind him.

But Malfurion instead gave them the purity and strength of nature.

The wind roared. It set the mists swirling. Its force made the nightmarish figures and shadow satyrs ripple, then dissipate like so much dust. Stormwind City, Orgrimmar…every embattled place upon Azeroth was suddenly cleared.

The rain poured, rivers spilling over the landscape wherever the evil had spread. The pristine waters not only washed away more of the Nightmare’s shadows and other horrific servants, but brought new life, new growth, where the Nightmare had stunted or manipulated it.

The carrion bugs melted in the rain, their foulness unable to withstand its force. Those too corrupted by the Nightmare to be saved fled from the cleansing, retreating with the melting mists that represented the darkness’s dwindling hold.

But the Nightmare still held sway over its many victims and the power that their fears brought was yet tremendous. The sleepwalkers rose in vast numbers, driven by their terrifying dreams to strike out at those living.

Malfurion had known, though, that this would come. He called forth the thunder, stirring it to a rumble.

There had been on Azeroth no sound like it. A hundred volcanoes could not match it. All the combined storms throughout history could not come even close to its fantastic power.

And no creature, no matter how deeply asleep, deeply hidden in the lowest recesses of any cave or high up in some mountain or behind thick stone walls…could avoid hearing it.

The thunder roiled.

The sleepers awoke.

The hold of the Nightmare shattered.

Xavius’s outrage echoed in Malfurion’s mind a moment after, a pitiful sound in comparison to the majesty of the storm. However, the archdruid did not assume his victory assured or imminent.

Arms outstretched, hands clenched, Malfurion threw his will into what he and the druids had created, then threw it at the Nightmare Lord.

The storm raged.

Wherever the taint resisted, lightning flashed, burning away the darkness. The bolts were not white or yellow, as normal, but the brilliant green of nature in its most lush growth. The ground where they struck was not scorched, but bloomed.

Malfurion did not let up in either realm, aware that to do so would possibly give the Nightmare a new foothold. Indeed, as the evil was pressed further and further back, its resistance grew. Malfurion felt some of the druids flagging and out of concern for them took on a larger burden. Tyrande reinforced him throughout it all, her determination matching his. This would end here…

But in the midst of it, Malfurion felt the evil behind Xavius for the first time exerting itself…and succeeding in pushing back.

It took a moment for the archdruid to understand why. The truth lay in the sleepers. They were now awake, but the horrors of their dread dreams were with them. Their fear still fed the Nightmare.

Malfurion and Tyrande sensed at the same time what had to be done. His left hand arced. The rain covering Azeroth altered, growing finer, warmer. It even took on a reddish hue, such as a rose might have. As this happened, Tyrande asked of Elune her help. The silver light of the Mother Moon came down, joining in concert with the rain.

As the astonishing rain touched the Nightmare’s victims, a sense of calm instantly overtook them. They began to forget much of what they had suffered or made others suffer as slaves of Xavius.

The resistance against Malfurion’s spell weakened.

Encouraged, he pushed…pushed until it reached the tree and its shadow.

Until it reached Xavius and could go no farther.

I will always be with you, the Nightmare Lord mocked. I am you, Malfurion Stormrage…

The archdruid made no response. He summoned up the energies of Azeroth and the Emerald Dream and cast them at the great and terrible tree.

They did nothing.

Malfurion turned his gaze to the Emerald Dream and the shadow of Xavius. There he saw what he already knew: Thura impaled and Broll fighting to keep from being snared by the smoky limbs.

The gathered energies struck at the shadow…with as little result as against the true tree.

So, this is what you want of me… Malfurion thought to his enemies. Very well…

Focusing within himself and utilizing the tremendous forces gathered from both realms, Malfurion separated his dreamform from his physical body in a manner that even he once would have never thought possible. Malfurion now stood as two separate beings, but still the same person. His physical body was not dormant. He stood and acted in both the Emerald Dream and Azeroth, something no druid had ever done before and what should have been impossible. Indeed, it was in part because of what the Nightmare had caused in trying to bring the two realms together that enabled Malfurion to accomplish this unique feat.

It was the only way by which his attack could be focused at precisely the same instant on both the tree and the shadow. He had to be of equal part to each, enough that they then became very susceptible to his powers.

But it was also what Xavius desired, for, by the same reasoning, Malfurion was now doubly susceptible to threats occurring in both realms. The shadow limbs assailed his dreamform. The wicked tree attacked with renewed effort his physical body.

However, as the Nightmare Lord attacked, Malfurion touched the mind of another. Broll…we must strike…

The druid gave a brief acknowledgment. Seen now as inconsequential, he gained that one second to bring his own powers into play.

Transforming into cat form, Broll used his mouth and seized Thura from the shadow’s grip. Her skin was cold to the touch, but the moment contact with the shadow was broken, her body warmed.

The orc stirred. Broll threw her forward.

A thousand shadowy branches plunged into Malfurion’s dreamform. On Azeroth, Tyrande clutched the archdruid as more agony than he had ever suffered as a tree himself tore through his system. The high priestess cried out as she took his pain and made it her own so that he could better concentrate on his own attack.

Malfurion gritted his teeth. The night elf now condensed the massive storm’s fury on but two places, one in Azeroth, the other the Emerald Dream. The Nightmare Lord’s tree and shadow bent under the added onslaught. The branches buried in the chest of Malfurion’s dreamform were at last ripped away by the wind. Those of the true tree were scorched by lightning. New ones sprouted in their place as the Nightmare Lord sought in turn to seize his foe, but Malfurion’s spell held sway.

And in the Emerald Dream, Thura reached the shadowed trunk.

She raised the ax, which glowed with the glory of the energies that the demigod Cenarius had ten thousand years earlier imbued in it for Broxigar.

Strike here! Malfurion told her, revealing in her thoughts an image of the critical spot.

With a crooked grin, the orc caught the shadow at the very point.

A shriek echoed over the Emerald Dream, a shriek whose twin erupted from Azeroth. The ax sank deep, as if biting into something solid.

The shadow wavered.

As Thura struck there, Malfurion increased his attack on the physical tree by a thousandfold. Emerald lightning hit true time and time again, setting vicious branch after branch ablaze.

My lord! Xavius abruptly shouted. Hear me!

But Malfurion felt the ancient darkness abandon its vile servant.

Although he wondered at that, the archdruid dared not lessen his efforts against Xavius; he knew too well that if any spark remained, Xavius’s evil would rise again…and in a form likely even more terrible. The entire terrible ordeal would begin anew.

Thura struck the shadow a second time and some of its outline faded. Malfurion continued to assail the true tree with lightning bolts, creating an inferno.

Xavius threw those flames back at his foes. Even though Tyrande did her best to protect Malfurion as he worked, the archdruid’s flesh burned.

Thura struck a third time. The fabled ax sank so deep into shadow that the head briefly vanished.

And then…as she pulled the magical weapon free…the shadow tree simply faded to nothing.

The Nightmare Lord shrieked.

On Azeroth, the true tree shook. It began to rapidly wither. The branches slumped. The great roots curled and shriveled.

The bitter, angry voice of Xavius, of the Nightmare Lord, thundered in the archdruid’s thoughts. Malfurion Stormrage! I will never leave you! I will ever be your nightmare! I —

The crown of the horrific tree crumbled.

Black ash marked its fall. The lower branches cracked off, powdering as they struck the hard ground. Even the trunk collapsed, huge pieces breaking away and scattering across the landscape. Malfurion deflected those that would have struck him and Tyrande. The blackened bark decayed rapidly.

In the end, only a rotted trunk — seemingly already centuries dead — remained when the last of the dust settled.

Xavius, once counselor to Queen Azshara, once first among the satyrs, once the Nightmare Lord…was at last no more.

Malfurion did not wallow in his victory. Rather, he pushed on, crushing what remained of the Nightmare, seeking to utterly eradicate it. The grafting from Xavius’s tree, worked into Teldrassil by Fandral, had given Xavius a tie to both realms — allowing the evil behind the Nightmare Lord to touch Azeroth and the Emerald Dream simultaneously. However, Xavius’s physical form had remained most dominant in Azeroth and without the tree to sustain that link, what was left of the Nightmare could not hold.

And when Azeroth was free of the taint, Malfurion — Tyrande standing with him throughout — focused then completely on the Emerald Dream, determined that it, too, should be cleansed. The Nightmare dwindled, receded…

But in one small corner of the Emerald Dream, in a vast, deep fissure, known to the druids as the Rift of Aln and believed to be where the magical realm itself first originated, even the combined efforts of the archdruid and the high priestess could not entirely end the struggle. The Nightmare held firmly in that place, which those of Malfurion’s calling believed bled into the Twisting Nether and the Great Dark Beyond. Gazing into it, Malfurion saw it as a bottomless chasm which radiated with primeval energies that even he dared not investigate. Indeed, the very rift itself seemed halfdream, for it had a surreal quality to its expanse and to the archdruid now and then seemed to ripple as if ready to fade or change.

Curiously, only then did Malfurion truly sense that the ancient evil, though it fought to keep its grip there, did so from somewhere deep in the depths of Azeroth’s own seas. Bereft of Xavius’s link to the dream realm, it was still powerful enough somehow to keep that one place under its horrific sway.

At last it became clear that there was nothing more to be gained by pressing. Aware of those yet needing them, Malfurion sealed off the vicinity around the rift. There was silent agreement between Tyrande and him. The day had been saved…this other war would have to wait for another, a better, time.

With the danger passing, the night elf felt his hold on the incredible energies slipping away. He was not bothered, but still had matters with which he had to deal before they fully vanished.

Sweeping across both realms, he sought out any surviving corrupted. There were few, and of those only a handful could he salvage. Gnarl was one of those, for he had been but recently taken. Remulos was already cleansed. However, many, regretfully, were like Lethon and Emeriss and could not survive without the Nightmare; they melted away as the shadow satyrs had. For what and who they once had been, Malfurion mourned them.

Next, he restored to their bodies those surviving members of Varian’s dreamform army, no matter from where they had been summoned. Night elves, of course, and orcs, trolls, draenei, blood elves, tauren, dwarves, gnomes, goblins, humans…they had all done their part, even some among the undead. He savored briefly one sight, that of the king rushing to his son and the pair holding one another tight. For those defenders who had no physical forms to which to return, the archdruid attuned them better to the Emerald Dream, so that their lives there would be at the fullest possible.

Of those who had been his closest allies in this, he found special time. Thura he delivered back to her people, letting their leader, Thrall, know of her significance in the struggle. Lucan Foxblood, the human of unique abilities, became the charge of Hamuul Runetotem. The tauren agreed to stay in the Moonglade for a time to teach the cartographer how best to control his unique abilities.

The two were oddly suited to one another’s company and Malfurion had great hopes that the teaching would go well.

And even as Malfurion did this, he sensed Tyrande summon forth the Sisters of Elune to go forth into the Alliance-held lands and do what else could be done to bring further calm and order to those victims at least. Shaman and druids also lent their skills to the Nightmare’s former slaves, tending to those with whom their particular race had ties so as to avoid any chance of further conflict. It was impossible for all the wounds to be healed, even by the forces guided by the archdruid. Too many had died for any power to be able to erase all the memories. Though banished to the Rift of Aln — where Malfurion prayed it would stay — the Nightmare’s legacy would haunt the world for years to come.

Malfurion saw many other things for which he would have liked to have utilized the gifts of Azeroth and the Emerald Dream, but knew that it was time for him to end his efforts. With much gratitude, he let the other druids break from the spell first. They had given much, more than he should have asked. He was proud of all.

And finally, Malfurion reluctantly separated himself from the spell, returning to the two realms the bounty that they had given him. The archdruid refocused upon the real world. His gaze settled upon she who had been with him from the beginning to the very end despite the great faults that had eventually led to his capture and torture and despite the travails through which she had gone through because of his failings. Malfurion saw the love within her and, though he knew he was not worthy of it, was determined that they would not be parted again.

He put a gentle hand to Tyrande’s cheek.

Exhaustion overtook him.

Malfurion collapsed in her arms.