An exit to the outside world finally greeted him. It was barely brighter outside than where he was and tendrils of mist crept into the passage, but despite his wariness, Lucan felt the urge to continue. There could be no harm in taking a single step outside. If it looked even the least treacherous, all he had to do was enter again.
Convinced by such logic, the human left the passage. He was greeted by a vague landscape that at first put him in mind of the pristine, emerald one of which he had always dreamed and which, though he apparently stepped into it, now feared.
Still, being outside after a night in the cave gave Lucan some relief. I’ll only stay out here a moment , he promised. Perhaps
…perhaps then they’ll know what to do…
The one thing of which he was certain was that not in the least did he desire to travel to this Ashenvale. He had already realized that in some manner the place was tied to the dream realm. Lucan had not told the night elves that the more he was near things bound to what the dragon rightly called the Nightmare, the more the feeling of constantly slipping between Azeroth and it increased. Everything related to the dream realm called to him.
That, Lucan finally understood, was why he had ended up here in the first place. He had been heading toward the dragon from the start, for Eranikus was not only a part of his astounding and terrible past — a past with which Lucan was still coming to grips — but the dragon had, at least in the past, been an integral part of the Nightmare. Whatever had stirred up this part of Lucan seemed determined to set him on a path into the other realm…something he desperately wanted to avoid.
The cartographer paced back and forth. Throughout the night, while the others had struggled to come to some agreement, he had tried to comprehend why this should be forced upon him. An orphan raised by good folk in Stormwind, he had expected his life to begin and end as it did for most people. Magic and monsters were not for him. His thirst for travel focused only on how better he could make the maps on which his master would sign his own name. Lucan had no desires above that.
He was not a coward, not in the least, but neither was he an adventurer beyond his dreams.
The last thought made him grimace. ’Tis my dreams that are the problem!
A clattering of stone made him look around. Only then did Lucan see that he had walked farther away than he had intended. The passage was now a faint shape some distance behind him.
Turning, he headed with all haste for it.
A powerful figure seized him from behind. He smelled a body more unwashed than his. Lucan caught sight of the hands gripping the ax handle that squeezed the air from his chest — thereby also keeping him from shouting for help — and noted foremost that they were thick and green.
“Orc—” he gasped, the word barely even a whisper. Lucan tried again, but this time did not have any air. He began to grow dizzy and his vision grew cloudy.
It also grew… green.
As that happened, the pressure on his chest vanished.
However, a powerful force shoved him to the ground. Lucan fell on his face, the ground feeling much softer, more pleasant, than he knew it should have.
“Yes…” rumbled a voice that, though deep, was also female. “I am close… the place of emerald shadows…”
“Em — emerald?” Lucan managed. He looked up, and to his horror saw that the voice had spoken the truth. He was in the other realm…only this time he had not merely passed through.
Before the cartographer could register more, he was dragged up to a standing position, then spun halfway around.
It was an orc and it was female, although with a face that Lucan hoped for her sake was attractive to her kind. The mouth was very broad and the nose short and squat. The eyes so balefully fixed on him were the only features he could call attractive. In fact, they would have been striking on a human female.
The head of an ax jutted up under his chin. The orc growled, “Take me to him!”
“To — to who?”
“The honorless one! The base slayer! The evil threatening all! The night elf who calls himself Malfurion Stormrage!”
Lucan tried to pull his chin up, but the ax followed. Through clenched teeth, he answered, “I don’t know — know where to find him!”
This did not sit at all well with his captor. Lucan wondered why he did not slip back into Azeroth as he always had in the past. He concentrated…but nothing happened except that the orc pressed the ax head deeper into his chin.
“You know! The vision told me only last night! I saw you there, when he slew great and loyal Brox—”
“I’ve no — no idea what you’re—” He stopped when a stinging sensation under his chin informed him that the ax head had drawn blood.
“It was different again! Each time it tells me what to do! I am close, human! I will avenge my blood kin… and you will help, or you will share the night elf’s fate!”
Lucan knew that she meant it. He carefully murmured, “Yes…I’ll lead you there.”
The ax head lowered. The orc leaned close, her breath almost as strong as the scent of her body. She looked through him, her mind elsewhere. “My vengeance is destined… I dreamed that you would come out and where that place would be and it happened! Malfurion will die…”
She spun him back around again so that he could lead her. Only then did Lucan for the first time see the place through which he had previously only stumbled half-dead or rushed through.
The landscape nearest them was of an idyllic nature, an untouched place of natural beauty. Long, flowing grass spread over fields dotted with sloping hills and lush trees. It was clearly a place untouched by civilization. There were signs of wildlife, especially birds in the distance. It was truly like something out of a dream, he thought.
Then the cartographer noticed that there were no birds in the immediate area. All of them were far away. Seeing nothing in the direction he faced, he peered over his shoulder.
Lucan gaped. Even though the sight was still some great distance from their location, it so shook the human that he instantly tried desperately to return to the mortal plane to escape what he saw…but to no avail.
As if she did not see what no living creature could miss — and what no living creature should desire to face — the orc used the ax handle to brusquely shove Lucan forward…toward the Nightmare.
Eranikus shivered. “The way was opened!” He peered around.
“Where is the human?”
All argument was forgotten as the trio sought Lucan. Broll picked up the trail first. “He went this way!”
Tyrande followed the druid, but Eranikus whirled the opposite direction. Neither night elf had time to concern themselves with the dragon, who seemed steadfast in his refusal to help them.
Broll broke out into the open moments later. The mist was thicker and much too reminiscent of Auberdine.
“Do you see him?” the high priestess asked.
“No, but in this muck, he might be only a few yards away.”
Tyrande held one palm before her and began praying under her breath. The mist began to move back, as if pushed by some unseen hand.
But in the area revealed, there was no immediate sign of the cartographer. The druid again studied the ground, quickly finding Lucan’s barely visible tracks.
“He went along this way, but it looks like he was pacing a lot. He—” Broll paused, then all but pressed his face against the hard ground as he took in other details. “There’s another set of prints… and by their shape, I’d guess an orc.”
“An orc? Here?”
A heavy flapping of wings caused both night elves to look up and behind themselves. Overhead, the immense form of the green dragon appeared in all his terrible majesty. He was huge in comparison to most dragons either had seen, other than the Great Aspects. Yet Eranikus was also sleeker, longer, than many. He hovered, his huge, webbed wings spreading far to each side. Two long horns darted back from the top of his head. His narrow jaws opened, revealing an unnerving array of sharp teeth as long as Broll’s arm. Under his chin, a slight tuft of hair gave Ysera’s consort a more scholarly look.