Stormrage

8 LUCAN

Something different moved near Malfurion’s enshrouded location, something both familiar… and not.

The archdruid wondered what new torture the Nightmare Lord intended now. The agony of his continual transformation still assailed him, but Malfurion had managed to keep that one part of his mind shielded off from it. He knew that his captor was aware of this and sought to break down that shield and so expected that this was to be the next effort.

Malfurion was not certain of his own ability to hold off anymore.

To do what he had done and still suffer his torments had taken so very, very much out of him. The Nightmare Lord knew well how to torture him, striking through just who and what the archdruid loved or feared the most.

The shape was huge, though not so much as the shadow of a gigantic tree that was all Malfurion knew of his foe. The new shape moved with a confidence and sinuousness that disturbed the night elf. He wished that the thick, unsettling mist surrounding his tiny prison would just for a moment disperse so that he could see the thing better and understand what new evil it brought with it.

I am here… came a voice in his head. However, it was not the Nightmare Lord, but rather the new shape. Nor was it talking to Malfurion; he simply heard it as it reached out to another.

And that other came forth. The shadow of the tree bent over Malfurion’s own twisted form, the Nightmare Lord’s branches reaching like tendrils toward the newcomer.

There was silence. Malfurion realized that his captor spoke to the shape, but unlike the latter, the Nightmare Lord kept his desires hidden from his prisoner. The night elf wondered why that was necessary.

The new shadow let out a mocking laugh. Yes… it shall be done so… what a jest it will be…

The archdruid would have frowned if he could. This was not a new torture for him — at least not directly. Rather, his tormentor had some task for this other shadow.

Understanding that brought resolve to Malfurion. He let his pain focus his powers. He was still in the Emerald Dream — or Nightmare now — and although his efforts thus far to pierce the mist and see how the realm had been changed by the evil that had swept over it had failed, perhaps… perhaps Malfurion could manage enough for something more focused.

The veil would not part. The shape continued to be nothing more than that. Still, the archdruid concentrated, using the same methods needed to peer into oneself for the meditation that preceded the dreamform leaving the body. Sensing all there was to this unsettling visitor became Malfurion’s all. He had tried this with the Nightmare Lord and failed, but if they did not expect him to try again on the newcomer…

Too curious a vermin you are!

Malfurion’s mind was struck by a mental force so great it momentarily stunned him. That had the curious effect of lessening his agony — if but for a second.

I go… the shape said to the night elf’s unheard tormentor. The archdruid managed to refocus enough to see the shape dwindle in the thick mist.

The shadow tree that was the Nightmare Lord’s presence here now twisted back to loom over Malfurion. Too much spirit still, but not for long… so much effort costs, does it not? How fares your mortal cloak, my friend?

The night elf understood immediately. He felt the weakness that originated not from his dreamform but his actual body increase.

His attempt to learn more had cost him valuable power.

The shadow branches draped over his eyes, almost as if they desired to pluck them out. Yet Malfurion was aware that his eyes were perhaps the safest part of his dreamform. The evil that held him wanted him to see, even if there was nothing to see… or perhaps because there was nothing.

You wish to see? Why you only had to ask, my friend… it is the least I can do for one who gives so much to our desires…

The branches stretched forward, separating into two sets that in turn acted as monstrous hands that pushed away the mist…

revealing for the first time what the emerald realm had become.

Malfurion would have screamed if he could, albeit not because of pain.

The branches receded. The mist closed about the trapped archdruid once more.

The mocking voice filled his head. The glee in it was like daggers that constantly thrust at the night elf’s mind. And we are indebted to you for so much of this, Malfurion Stormrage… so much…

The shadow tree vanished. The voice stilled. For the moment Malfurion was being left to dwell on the horror that he had seen. It was but the latest torture designed to break that part of him that had not yet surrendered.

But what his captor did not know was that the night elf had also learned something that he desired to know. Two significant things, in fact. One was the identity of the Nightmare Lord’s servant. The answer should have been obvious, but due to Malfurion’s constant suffering, it had taken the creature’s own abrupt anger to reveal him.

A green dragon indeed served the evil… but not just any green dragon… He prayed that Ysera knew, lest she be caught by surprise. If the mistress of the Emerald Dream was captured, then all was truly lost.

And the second thing, which had come with the unveiling of Malfurion’s true surroundings, served to verify a choice that the archdruid had made long ago.

If there was a chance at all of him saving Ysera and the Emerald Dream, then Malfurion would have to die.

Despite what they had seen, despite what that potentially meant for them, Tyrande and Broll knew that they also had to sleep. The shocking struggle in Auberdine had taken more out of them than they had realized.

They had no idea as to where they were in conjunction to either Auberdine or Ashenvale, but the druid had told her that he thought that they were closer to their goal. Unfortunately, she was now without Jai, which meant that they could not fly. As powerful as Broll’s storm crow form was, it could not carry her and their intriguing companion.

Tyrande continued to study the slumbering human. He appeared a harmless figure and she sensed no overwhelming magical presence around him, even though, as not only high priestess of Elune but one who had through the centuries studied the various magics, she should have noticed something. There was that about him that bespoke of some kind of magic, but it was very subtle, almost as if an inherent part of his most basic being and not enhanced by any study of the mystical arts.

She glanced at the heavens, which were going from gray to black. A day had passed, a precious one lost as they waited for the human to wake up. Though he muttered in his sleep, he did not act like the townsfolk. His nightmares might be vivid, but they had not come to life.

Recalling Auberdine again, the high priestess shuddered. She and Broll had come close to falling victim just as poor Jai had.

Tyrande relived the nightmares she had suffered — hellish, grinning satyrs come to take her to their master — and gave thanks that the human had come when he had. Broll had told her of his own monsters, in his case ghastly demons of the Burning Legion. For both night elves, the creatures had worn horrific parodies of the sleeping inhabitants of Auberdine.

Not for the first time, Tyrande wanted to shake their new companion until he woke. Malfurion slipped closer and closer to oblivion — or worse — with each passing day. However, she and the druid had come to agree that there was no use in attempting such a futile act again. The human had remained unconscious even despite their initial harsh efforts; it seemed he would not wake until he chose to wake.

But I will not lose him again! Tyrande insisted, her expression tightening. I will not lose him even if it is his own fault that he’s come to these straits —

A sense of shame washed over her even as she thought that.

Malfurion had gone in search of a possible threat. He had had the best interests of not only the druids, but all Azeroth when he had gone… just like so many times before —

Tyrande shook her head, trying to clear it of her regrets. She gave thanks when she heard Broll stir.

He did not notice her expression shift, his attention first on the human. “Still sleeping, I see.”

“I have my doubts that he will awaken.”

“Me, too. He doesn’t act like the others, but to sleep the day through after half the night before that …”

The high priestess toyed with her glaive. She was glad that she had taken it from Jai’s saddle. If she had not, the weapon would have been left behind in Auberdine. While Tyrande carried within her the gifts of the Mother Moon, they did not make her invincible.

The glaive was a sturdy and necessary weapon. “Do we leave him here? I dislike doing that, considering how he helped us.”

“I’m of the same mind. Still, we need to reach Ashenvale and while I could carry him for a time, he’ll slow us down even more.”

She finally said to him what she had been considering for most of her time awake. “You should go on alone. You planned to do that when first I suggested Ashenvale.”

Broll looked aghast. “I wouldn’t abandon you here! Especially after Auberdine! We proceed to Ashenvale together”—he thrust a thick thumb at the human—“and hopefully with this one in tow …”

“Then what do we do?”

The druid looked guilty. “Something I planned to do beyond Auberdine, anyway.” From his cloak, he produced what he had taken from Fandral’s dwelling. “It’s time I tried to bring some worthiness to my theft, if that’s possible.”

She could not believe what she was seeing. “Is that — is that the Idol of Remulos?”

“Yes.”

“I had heard that you passed that on to Archdruid Fandral’s keeping—”

“And now I’ve borrowed it.” His expression asked her not to pursue that matter further. When Tyrande nodded, Broll, appearing no more relieved, added, “It may be our best hope if we’re to make successful use of the portal.”

“How so?”

“Remulos said it was linked to a green dragon of great power.

The Aspect Ysera would not tell him which when she added her influence in its crafting. He suspects the identity, as do I, having faced it briefly when seeking to cleanse the idol of its corruption.

Though I didn’t know the name, I felt its great power. It should be one of her consorts.”

Which meant to the high priestess a dragon with knowledge and might comparable to few. Tyrande understood Broll’s reasoning.

“You think you can contact him through the figurine?”

“It was worth my honor to hope that, yes.”

She did not like the sound of that. “What will Fandral do when he finds out you removed this from his sanctum?”

Broll shrugged. “I’ve no idea, but if I survive all this, I’ll find out then.”

Tyrande studied the figurine, praying that it would be worth the price for the druid… and for them. “What do you hope to do… and can I help in any way?”

“There’s nothing you can help with. I’ve got to do this myself.”

Broll set the figurine down on the ground in front of him, then sat with legs crossed. The eyes of the dragon stared directly into the druid’s. “I’m trying something different. Don’t want to use the idol itself …” He suddenly choked up. “Never thought I’d have to see the damned thing again, for that matter …”

The high priestess said nothing, aware of the pain involved in Broll’s previous encounter with the figurine. She knew the agony he had suffered when, weakened, he could not save his daughter from the idol’s twisted forces. He was speaking more to himself than her.

Facing his palms toward the idol, Broll began muttering. The idol was still bound to the dragon, wherever he was. The druid hoped to tie into that link and touch the dragon’s mind. Tyrande knew exactly why. The green dragon might be able to give them a clue to what was happening, but, more important, it was possible that he might be able to assist them in passing through into the Emerald Dream.

Once, the idol itself had been able to do that — Broll had used it so, where there he had battled his own rage in the manifestation of his bear form. But that had been before the Nightmare had made even the untouched places difficult to reach. Certainly, having one of that realm’s guardians at their side would increase their chances of not only survival, but success.

A faint hint of emerald light softly bathed the idol and as it did, a faded stream of energies rose from the figurine.

The magic linking the idol to the mysterious dragon.

Her attention was suddenly taken by Broll, around whom another faint glow of a more forest green now arose. Curiously, it did not emanate from him, but rather had arisen from the grassy soil upon which he sat. As a druid, Broll received much of his power through the flora and fauna of Azeroth and for the first time, Tyrande was seeing it so. There was also power within him — she was well aware of that from Malfurion — but this was an aspect of her beloved’s calling that she had not really considered. In some ways it was akin to her calling upon the Mother Moon.

Perhaps Malfurion and I are not so different even there, the high priestess thought. And perhaps that is why we have been pushed apart so much…

It was a reminder of what she should have known so well, having experienced the teachings of Cenarius and having fought beside her beloved and other druids. Azeroth was so much a part of a druid; it touched them constantly. Malfurion, so attuned, surely felt everything much, much more than Broll.

He can no more turn from his calling than I can from mine…

yet those callings intersect just as our lives do… if we survive this… we will learn how to make both intertwine… and learn how to finally be together…

If we survive…

The forest green then began to expand to the magical stream that reached through the plane of Azeroth to wherever the dragon currently lurked. Yet barely had it begun when it seemed to falter.

There was resistance.

Broll muttered something.

The resistance lessened.

“No! You mustn’t!”

The human was in their midst, as wild-eyed as ever. He was half on his knees, desperately reaching for the idol.

As he closed on it, Tyrande saw around him a landscape that was and was not where the trio was situated. Part of it seemed so simple.

The other part —

The high priestess kicked out. However, it was not the human who was her target, but rather the Idol of Remulos.

The dragon figurine went flying. It bounced against a rise, then landed atop a small rock.

Broll, his spell shattered, peered at the pair with a combination of frustration and confusion. “What by the World Tree are you doing?

” he demanded of Tyrande. The druid leapt to his feet and seized the human by the scruff of the neck. “What mischief are you about? What sort of trick have you played on her?”

The man’s mouth moved, but no sounds escaped it. The images Tyrande had seen around him had faded, and despite her best attempts to sear them in her memory, they vanished into oblivion…

just as dreams both light and dark tended to do.

But she recalled one thing. Jumping to Broll’s side, she kept him from further frightening the disheveled human. “Leave him be! He was trying to help us!”

“Help us? He tricked you into breaking the spell just when it was starting to work!” Yet clearly respecting her opinion, Broll still loosened his hold.

“Wasn’t working, wasn’t working,” the man babbled, his eyes looking past them. “Only working for them, bringing them …”

“Who?” Tyrande asked, putting a calming hand on his shoulder.

Some focus finally came to his gaze. He glanced at her. “I… I don’t know… them… the nightmares …” The man looked down. “I slept… I can’t sleep… don’t sleep …”

“Who are you?” Broll asked, his tone much kinder. “What name do you have?”

“Name?” For a moment the focus vanished. Blinking, their companion seemed to pull himself together a bit. “Lucan… Lucan Foxblood …” Some vestigial pride made him straighten. “Third assistant cartographer to His Majesty, King Varian! On a mapping mission to — to—” His expression became that of a lost child. “I don’t remember that, anymore …”

“Do not concern yourself about that,” Tyrande quietly urged. “Tell us. How did you know that what we did risked danger?”

“I–I just did. It — it has to do with that place in my dreams… I felt them… I felt something near …”

Broll retrieved the figurine. “Might’ve just been the one we were trying to reach.”

Although this made sense, Tyrande still recalled how she had felt after viewing whatever it was she had seen behind Lucan Foxblood. “No… he has the right of it, Broll. There was something sinister approaching us. That’s why I did what I had to. I trust his word in this …”

Lucan looked at her as if she had just saved his head from the ax. “Thank you, glorious lady! Thank you!”

“Calm yourself, Lucan. You are among friends… and do not thank me. Your instinctive reaction may have saved us.”

“You really think so?” the druid asked, still eyeing the statuette.

“Maybe so… maybe so …” He set the statuette down. “In that case, there’s one thing left to do.” Broll looked to Lucan. “Do you know where we are?”

“No… no… I just kept going… I just kept going …”

“As I thought.” Broll stepped back. To Tyrande, he said, “Didn’t tell you before, but while you slept I took a brief fly up. Didn’t recognize where we were, but thought if I tried once more, we might have a better idea of what to do next.”

Tyrande was not bothered by the revelation, aware that Broll would not have endangered her and Lucan. She nodded agreement to his new plan. “What of the idol?”

He shrugged. “What of it? We don’t use the damned thing, it won’t be dangerous. It can sit there until I return.”

Spreading his arms, he took on his storm crow form. Lucan gasped and stumbled back to Tyrande, who felt some guilt. She and Broll were far more versed in magic than most humans.

“It’s nothing,” she told Lucan. “Nothing to worry about.”

“My — my cousin took up the calling… wizardry, I mean,” Lucan muttered, almost sounding pleased at remembering. Then his frown returned. “He’s dead now.”

As so many are, the high priestess thought, recalling the lives lost in the last struggle. And now… what comes to wreak havoc on Azeroth this time?

Broll took to the air, diverting her musings. She and Lucan watched with admiration as the huge bird soared up into the sky.

Tyrande envied this particular skill of Malfurion’s calling. To fly like that…

Yet hardly had the storm crow reached a respectable height than he immediately dove back toward his companions. Lucan simply stared, perhaps not understanding, but Tyrande knew that Broll would not have returned so quickly if not for news of import.

She grabbed the idol before Broll reached them, certain for some reason that they would need to move. The druid’s countenance when he changed back was verification that her notion was at the very least close to the truth.

“Did you find out where we are?” Lucan innocently asked.

“What did you see?” Tyrande interjected. “Are we somewhere near the Horde’s territory?”

“The Horde’s the least of our troubles,” Broll growled. “We need to find cover and quick …”

He seized Lucan by the arm and started to drag him toward one of the hillier areas. Tyrande kept pace at the druid’s side, the idol tucked under her arm.

“What is it? More of those nightmarish creatures, like in Auberdine?”

Broll snorted. “No… just possibly a bigger nightmare.” He jutted a finger toward the sky to the east. “We’ve got a dragon out there

… and it’s black.”

Thura eyed the strangers from a hilltop further to their west. Two night elves and a human. Two males and a female. She discounted the human immediately, for despite seeming in the prime of his life, he hardly looked the warrior. The two night elves, on the other hand, appeared to be more worthy opponents. The male was likely a druid. Thura respected the power of those who drew from nature.

The female most intrigued the orc, for she had always had the desire to compare her skills to those of her gender from the other races. The night elf moved with impressive grace and the glaive she carried was one that required strength and long training. Thura naturally trusted to her ax but wondered how the fight would have gone otherwise.

But the reality of her situation quickly erased such idle curiosity.

What mattered was that these three were here. Here when she was. They were tied somehow to her quest, the most obvious reason having to do with the two night elves. Her prey was one.

These were likely comrades from battle. The female might even be his mate.

The orc’s broad mouth split into a wide, grim smile. They are why I am here, she decided. They will lead me to him… they will lead me to this Malfurion… this betrayer of comrades and destroyer of life…

She had seen the druid perform great magic, becoming a bird that could fly high. Even more than the female, he would have to die quickly when it came to fighting them. He looked to be powerful, though clearly not as much as the murderous druid in her dreams.

Still, he would be good practice for the duel with her true foe.

Then Thura saw why the druid had flown for so short a time. The great dark form rising into the sky was the one that she had seen only as shadow before. Now it was flying toward the area where the trio had been, and though they were fleet of foot, even the human, they were surely doomed. The orc cursed, realizing that the best clue to her prey’s whereabouts was going to be eaten.

Then, an astounding thing happened.

The dragon’s prey simply became nothing. One minute they were running and the next they were gone. Only a momentary hint of some greenish illumination gave her any sort of answer. She assumed that one of the night elves had cast some sort of spell taking the trio far away.

Yet what surprised her more was when she looked again to the dragon. The great leviathan immediately turned, then, wings beating hard, left the vicinity. There had been no hesitation; the dragon had departed with all haste.

And most curious to Thura was that, though the darkness had not given her a perfect view of the departing behemoth… she would have sworn that the dragon had fled in sudden fear.