Eranikus hissed. “Hunger forced me out farther and farther. It seemed the best disguise… against all but him.” He eyed Lucan dubiously. “Never did I think I had created some link between us with that act so early on…”
“And so this is why he runs in and out of the Dream almost without realizing it?” Broll asked.
To the surprise of the two night elves, his question had the effect of filling the powerful dragon with renewed dread. “Does he? He does?” Eranikus bared his teeth at Lucan, causing the man and the night elves to prepare for the worst. “He passes into the Nightmare?”
“So we believe,” Broll replied, his spell ready. “And comes out of it uncorrupted, if not untouched.”
“It should not be… but the birth was there, and so the calling is from there… yet Azeroth calls him, too…” Eranikus stepped back, his gaze never leaving Lucan. “And how long have you suffered this, little mortal?”
“My name is Lucan Foxblood.” Having found he could stand up to a dragon, the cartographer had also found he did not like being called “little mortal.”
“The right of correction is yours in this instance,” Eranikus returned in a tone that said not much else was the human’s right.
However reasonably a dragon might converse with a creature not of his kind, most still did so with the innate sense that their kind were the first and foremost children of Azeroth. “Tell me now! When did you first suffer so? Do you remember?”
“I’ve always dreamed of an idyllic land, free of the interference of time and people…” Lucan remarked, looking almost nostalgic.
His expression then darkened, though. “But the first nightmares… the first bad dreams…” He paused to think, then told them.
Eranikus frowned. “A few scant years. A blink for dragons, but much time for mortals, I know…”
“Too long a time,” the cartographer returned.
“And too coincidental a time!” snarled Broll, causing the rest to look to him. He peered grimly at Tyrande. “From what I’ve gleaned, Lucan’s nightmares began just before you found Malfurion’s body…”
For all their size, orcs could be extremely stealthy. Thura was one of those stealthy orcs. She had successfully tracked the trio without being seen and had even followed them near enough to hear their voices. Not all the words had made sense and some had been unintelligible, but one word in particular spurred her on.
The evil one’s name. The base night elf. Malfurion.
Thura missed the word that followed his name, or she might have wondered if her prey was already dead. Thus, she only knew — or believed — one thing. Soon she would confront Brox’s slayer and he who would also ravage Azeroth…
The orc slipped back, still amazed. The dragon was not there now, but rather some wizard, it seemed. She had not heard enough to know the truth there, either. To Thura, wizards did not rate highly; they were cowards who fought from the back of the battle using methods no honorable warrior would accept. That she felt differently about shaman and even druids was merely a prejudice based on her people’s choices. In her eyes, it only meant one more obstacle that she would face in order to avenge her blood kin.
The orc crept along the landscape seeking a spot from which to watch the hill as a whole. No matter from which exit they left, she would see them. Then, as she had always done, Thura would follow the trail she was given, whether it be by dreams or tracking Malfurion’s companions.
A sound from above sent her flattening against a nearby hillside.
Gazing up, Thura grunted. Now she could account for all her enemies. The last had revealed itself, though the orc still did not know how it had slipped out without her seeing it.
The shrouded form of a dragon glided over the region. Thura watched as it hovered above the hills where she had thought it nested. In the night sky, the dragon was a great, black silhouette.
Indeed, it was hard to separate the dragon from the darkness. It was fortunate that Thura had seen the beast under better conditions, or else at this moment she would have questioned her eyes. The dragon looked much, much larger than before, huge in comparison. In fact, it was so huge that there was no possibility of it being the one she had seen earlier. This was truly a giant among giants.
Thura gripped the ax, ready to use it if need be, but the dragon ceased its hovering and went on the move again. Beating its wings hard, it flew away.
And if Thura had known the land better, she would have realized that the dragon was heading in the direction of Ashenvale.
11
TO BOUGH SHADOW
Little light filtered in from outside. Most of the illumination in the cave was still due to Tyrande’s work. Still, the faint light from without appeared to put the dragon further on edge.
“This is not natural,” he muttered at one point. “The sky should be brighter than this.” Eranikus shut his eyes for a moment. His expression hardening, he opened them again and informed them, “You should not have stayed! I have seen the outside. There is less cloud blocking the sun than a mist that should have burned away by now. It is not natural…I feel…I feel the Nightmare closer than ever…”
The green dragon rarely called the realm by the name by which it had been known since time immemorial. For him there existed only the horror that it had become.
He made no mention either of the fate of its mistress, Ysera, which boded ill to Broll. Yet despite also clearly being concerned about his queen and mate, Eranikus refused to accompany them to Ashenvale — the central subject of what had become an argument raging all night.
Eranikus remained in his false elven shape, as if even being himself for a short time risked being corrupted again. The dragon had bade them leave more than once, but neither the druid nor the high priestess would, not even when threatened. It was obvious to both that with matters so grave in the dream realm, they would need the aid of someone who knew the realm even better than Broll. Fortunately, it had become quite obvious that for reasons of his own, Eranikus had no intention of causing them harm.
“I have been very patient,” the dragon growled, turning from them. “Leave before I cast you out of this place.”
“You could’ve done that more than once,” Broll pointed out. “And you haven’t.”
“Mistake not my misery for weakness!” Eranikus retorted, turning on the night elf. “Nor my regret! I have done great evil and know that, but there are limits to my patience…”
Lucan listened to all of this with a sense of impending doom. The points of the discussion were well above his head, but he did understand that matters were growing worse and that, despite his desire otherwise, he was somehow linked to them.
A desire to have at least a little quiet had been gradually building up inside him. The cartographer finally gave in to it. With the night elves still arguing — arguing — with the dragon, Lucan decided to step away from them. Not far. Just enough to give him some peace.
Eranikus blocked the path by which the trio had entered, so Lucan headed in the opposite direction. He chose a passage at random, only caring that it be lengthy enough to escape the voices.
More and more, he just wanted to be away.
Although he was hardly as stealthy as either the druid or the high priestess, the human escaped the chamber without notice. Already breathing easier, Lucan stumbled down the jagged, narrow passage.
The voices drifted after him. Dissatisfied, Lucan moved further on. The argument faded to mere sounds, but that was still not enough.
Lucan had left the field of illumination, but a dim finger of light from ahead gave him at least some visibility. He instinctively strode toward it.