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.