5
A DRUID’S BETRAYAL
“He has come,” the guard murmured to Tyrande from the tent’s entrance.
“Bid him enter and watch for anyone who might approach,” the high priestess commanded.
With a nod, the guard retreated outside. A moment later Broll Bearmantle respectfully entered. The druid bowed deep, as a subject would to a ruler. In a low voice he said, “High Priestess, you summoned me …”
“Be not so formal with me here, Broll. We have known each other for some time.”
The druid nodded, but said nothing.
“Please,” the high priestess started, gesturing at a grass mat with intricate moon patterns fashioned into it. “Be seated.”
Broll shook his head. “I prefer to stand, thank you… no disrespect meant.”
She nodded. “Very well. I shall keep this short, anyway… and I say right now that you have every right to turn my request down.”
His thick brow rose. Tyrande could, if she truly wanted to, complicate his life by ordering him to do whatever it was she desired.
But that was not her way. “Broll… you are the only one here I could ask of this. Malfurion trusted you very much, and so I place my faith in your hands — after all, you wear the mark of greatness, a n d your actions during the Third War have demonstrated its capabilities.” She glanced up at his antlers.
“You flatter me, my lady …” The druid cast his eyes downward.
“And exaggerate. My time away from my calling would hardly have left me high in his opinion …” His eyes shifted to the glaive, which now lay up on the table.
Tyrande watched him closely. She had placed it within view on the chance that the primitive weapon would remind Broll of his gladiatorial past. She had considered him for this task hoping that his recent outside exploits might stir his personal loyalty to Malfurion enough that he would step beyond the Cenarion Circle’s current chosen course of action.
“I do not exaggerate. Before he vanished, Malfurion made himself very clear. He understood the grief and anger you suffered and knew that you had to work through it by yourself.” Her eyes narrowed. “Let me be blunt, Broll. Malfurion’s dreamform must return to his body. Elune’s vision was clear; he is dying and dying quickly! He will not last through Fandral’s plans! I am certain of that.
I know he means well, but it is clear that Fandral is unwavering — not even I can change his mind. You and I must rescue Malfurion from whatever prison holds him.”
He hesitated. “You’re absolutely certain? There can be no mistake about your vision?”
“It was from the Mother Moon.” She stated it with absolute confidence. Elune played no tricks on her faithful.
To her relief, the druid finally nodded. Broll’s determined cast showed her that she had chosen correctly.
“I know you. I know Elune.” Like most night elves, Broll had grown up worshipping the Mother Moon. The calling to the path of the druid had come later, but it had in no manner erased the respect he had for the deity. “And though there’s much merit in Fandral’s course, there’s been that which leads me to believe more as you do. If you’ve a plan, my lady, I’m agreeable to it. Something must be done and, with all due respect to Archdruid Fandral, I fear that Teldrassil will be more of a distraction than a path. What do you have in mind?”
His decision to agree was an abrupt one, but not without substance behind it. Yes, Broll had at first been satisfied, even hopeful, with Fandral’s plan; but hearing Tyrande’s plea had stirred to the forefront thoughts of uncertainty that he realized had been growing since the last and most heinous of his visions. Something foul was at work — something that surely was the Nightmare. That these visions suddenly pressed him so, and that the last concerned his deceased daughter, had added weight to the high priestess’s concerns. Something very terrible was imminent and that thing seemed most likely Malfurion’s doom.
No… healing Teldrassil would indeed take too long, the druid thought. But Fandral wouldn’t understand that…
There was still no answer to his question, so he repeated it.
She looked away. Much of what Tyrande intended was based on knowledge gleaned about the druids through Malfurion. There was a tremendous possibility that the high priestess had made some false assumptions and, if so, then her plan had failed before it had even begun.
“I want you to go to Bough Shadow …”
He rightly stiffened at mention of that name. It was immediately clear to him her intention.
“Bough Shadow,” the sturdy male muttered. “I understand what you want. It makes the most sense… especially with time so precious as I now believe …”
Her hopes grew. “Do you think it might work?”
“My lady… it may be the only chance left to us… but it won’t be easy… unless …”
She waited, but when Broll continued to look inward, finally had to ask, “Unless what?”
Shaking his head, the druid murmured, “Best you not know.”
Looking more determined, Broll added, “But I’ll get there.”
“There is still the question of the convocation and Fandral’s plans,” the high priestess went on. “You will have to wait until all that is settled — but I’m afraid we’ve no time to waste.”
“There is only one thing with which I need to deal, High Priestess, and if Archdruid Fandral does not catch me at it, I will be gone immediately after.” His brow furrowed. “It does require I first return with the rest to the Cenarion Enclave, though …”
Again Tyrande waited for more explanation and again Broll gave none. She finally nodded to the druid, trusting that whatever secret he held from her was for her own — and Malfurion’s — good.
“I thank you,” Tyrande murmured. Her expression tightened. “But there’s one more thing. You won’t go alone. I will be sending Shandris to meet you… you are familiar with Auberdine, I’d imagine?”
“I’ve been there. It’s not a place conducive to druidic ways…
and, like my brethren, I prefer another mode of travel. Is that where we’re to meet?”
“Yes, then the two of you can proceed on to Ashenvale.”
His expression did not hide his dislike for her decision to add a partner to his travels. “With all due respect to the general and her considerable skills, I’d much prefer to go alone.”
She was adamant. “You will not. If I must order you to—”
Broll grunted. “You needn’t. If you really think this best for Malfurion, then… I’ll trust to you, high priestess.”
Tyrande’s mood softened. She reached out abruptly to touch his shoulder. As she did, a faint glow of moonlight briefly spread over the spot. The moonlight briefly engulfed Broll before fading into him.
“You have the blessing of the Mother Moon… and my gratitude, too.”
The male night elf bowed low. “I’m deeply honored by both, my lady.”
“I am Tyrande to you.”
The druid bowed, then began to retreat from her presence. “No
… to Malfurion, you are… to me… you are my high priestess, the embodiment of our people’s hopes …”
He slipped out of the tent. Tyrande pursed her lips, wondering if she had done the right thing.
Then her gaze returned to the glaive… and her determination hardened.
Broll said nothing to Hamuul when he returned and the stolid tauren did not ask. The night elf did not sleep much that day, and when the druids prepared to take their leave of the Moonglade, he only acknowledged the high priestess with a respectful bow no more intimate than that performed by any of his brethren.
The Sisters of Elune had their own method of travel — mighty hippogryphs — for the return to Darnassus, and so, after sharing a few words with Tyrande Whisperwind, Fandral Staghelm led the druids to a private clearing in the Moonglade.