…”
“I don’t know, my lady.” Broll could explain no further, but there had been something in the manner of the man’s disappearance that had felt… familiar.
The druid focused on what he had seen. The human had looked at them, then he had started to take a step…
“He walked through something… walked into something,” Broll muttered to himself. And when it had happened, the druid had sensed… what?
“Vanished, walked into or through some portal — what does it matter?” argued Tyrande, her aspect even grimmer. She quickly stepped back to the hippogryph and seized from the side of the saddle her glaive. “He may be the key to Malfurion …”
Before Broll could stop her, the high priestess darted toward the spot where the human had stood. Broll could not deny that perhaps the stranger was the culprit, as Tyrande had said, but even he knew that more caution was needed, especially if their quarry was indeed a spellcaster.
Arriving at the human’s last location, Tyrande held the glaive ready while murmuring a prayer. The light of Elune surrounded her, then spread for several yards in every direction.
But of the human, there was no sign.
Broll joined her. “Great lady, I—”
She grimaced at him. “I am not Queen Azshara. Please do not call me by such titles as ‘great’ and such—”
More moans — the fright in them so very distinct — pierced the thick mist as sharply as the light of Elune had.
“We must wake them somehow!” Broll growled. “There must be some way …”
Jai let out a warning. Suspecting that the human had reappeared, both night elves turned at the sound —
And there, obscured by the mysterious fog, several figures lurched toward them as the mist carried forth a haunting, collective moan.
Broll experienced a rising anxiety. He suddenly felt the need to run or cover. He wanted to roll into a ball and pray that the shadowy figures would not hurt him. A nervous sweat covered the druid.
What’s happening to me? he managed to ask himself. Broll was not prone to fear, but the urge to surrender was powerful. He looked to Tyrande and saw that the hand in which she held the glaive was shaking, and not due to the weapon’s weight. The high priestess’s mouth was set tight. Even Jai revealed hints of stress, the powerful hippogryph’s breathing growing more and more rapid.
Tyrande looked to the left. “They are over there, too!”
“And to our right,” Broll added. “If we look behind us, I’ll wager they’ll be there as well.”
“I will not be sent to my knees crying like some frightened child!”
Tyrande abruptly declared to the half-seen shapes. Her hands shook harder despite her words and served to fuel Broll’s own swelling anxiety.
From above the high priestess emanated a silver light that wrapped over both night elves and the hippogryph. It spread toward the shadows, illuminating the first staggering shape.
And in the moonlit glow, they beheld a thing that was rotted and decayed. It stared with blank, unseeing eyes and a face twisted in pain even in undeath — a face that Broll suddenly registered as identical to the night elf lying on the tavern floor.
But if the face was that of the sleeper, the form was not. Rather, it was the shadowy outline of a thing Broll hoped never to see again. The night elf wore in body the semblance of a demon of the Burning Legion.
As the mob closed in, a second being was revealed, bearing the tormented face of the human, but his form, too, was otherwise that of a demon.
“They’ve—” Broll muttered to himself. “They’ve returned …”
“No… it cannot be them!” Tyrande murmured. “No satyrs…
please… no satyrs …”
The two night elves remained frozen. They wanted to defend themselves, but the monstrous figures converging on them had left the pair with minds in such turmoil that their bodies were paralyzed.
At that moment a new figure stepped out right in front of the druid and his companions — the ragged human they had been chasing. He stumbled toward them, his eyes looking past.
Broll blinked his eyes, trying to adjust them, but it seemed the mist had thickened — or had his eyes gone out of focus? The fiendish forms with the faces of Auberdine’s unfortunate inhabitants were once again simply murky shapes. Suddenly, the druid had the sensation of being near to the ground… and, feeling around with his hands, discovered he was on his knees. He realized then that he had been dreaming; that the demons he had seen had existed only in his subconscious.
“By the Mother Moon!” he heard Tyrande growl, but only as a faint echo. “What—?”
The hollow-eyed human who had stepped out of nothing finally spoke through the unnatural darkness. “Don’t fall asleep again…
Don’t sleep …” he whispered. Broll felt an arm drape over his shoulder and then he and Tyrande, kneeling alongside one another, were held together weakly by the haggard human who crouched behind them.
The world faded. It did not vanish. It faded, as if it were more memory than substance.
And, in addition, it took on a deep green hue.
There was no Auberdine. Merely a landscape barely seen. Broll tried to focus his thoughts enough to comprehend where they were, but then the landscape shifted as if they were racing along it at a pace impossible for any mortal creature.
Just as suddenly, their new surroundings lost their greenish hue.
Distinct features popped up all around them. It was again night and though there was mist, it was not nearly so thick as in Auberdine.
Broll discovered he was moving. This revelation made him react by trying to control his movement when apparently he should not have done so. The druid fell forward.
The ground was hard but, fortunately, covered by some vegetation. Broll managed to land on one knee. Next to him, Tyrande had better fortune, continuing on for several steps until able to control her own actions.
It was the high priestess who first managed to speak. On legs that were clearly unsteady but able to hold her, she surveyed their surroundings. “Where — where are we? This is not Auberdine!”
It was not Auberdine and, at first glance, it was nowhere with which the druid was familiar. He shook his head, trying to better focus. Some things that had just happened were beginning to make sense… not the sense he desired, though.
“Not Auberdine …” rasped the cause of their confusion. The bedraggled human stumbled by Broll. He looked from the druid to the high priestess, his expression beseeching. “You woke me enough for that… I managed to walk …”
Rising, Broll took hold of the man by the arm. While the stranger in no physical manner reminded him of Varian Wrynn, his distress stirred the night elf’s memories of his friend. Whatever this human suffered, it was at least as terrible as Varian’s long loss of memory.
“What did you do?” Broll asked. “Did you really take us through—”
The stranger pressed against him, the eyes burning into Broll’s.
“I’m so tired! I can’t stay awake! Please don’t let me sleep—” He let out a guttural sound, then collapsed unconscious against the night elf.
Taken by surprise, Broll had to quickly adjust his hold. He gently lowered the human to the ground.
“We need to wake him up!” Tyrande declared. “You heard what he said! You saw Auberdine!”
Broll peered closely at their new companion. “We couldn’t wake him now even with both our abilities combined. He’s deep asleep.”
“He is our only clue to Malfurion!” The high priestess reached down as if to shake the human, then hesitated. Her expression suddenly calmed. “Forgive me …”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Broll looked over the man. “He wears an outfit that once saw courts, but other than that, there’s nothing I can identify.”
“He seems a most unlikely mage to me.”
The druid nodded. “That I’ll agree… and no mage could’ve done what he did.” The former gl
adiator snorted. “No human or dwarf and not even many night elves, for that matter… unless I’m powerfully mistaken what just happened to us.”
She frowned. “What else could it have been but magic? Odd magic, but certainly that! He took all of us—” Tyrande paused. “Not Jai …”
Broll had already considered the hippogryph. “He sleeps, my lady. Jai is part of Auberdine now.”
The high priestess looked sad. “Poor creature… so many poor creatures …” Steeling herself, she asked, “And what of this one, then? If not a magic spell, then how did he take us out of Auberdine and deposit us here?”
“There’s only one way.” Broll’s tone could not hide his own disbelief at what he was saying. “I think… I think that for perhaps a single moment… he took us into and out of the Emerald Dream.”
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.”
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