“Corrupted…” he grated, his voice akin to the scraping of wood against wood. “You will not pass…”
“An ancient of war!” the high priestess called.
As quickly as he had transformed, Broll reverted to his true shape. He ran toward the lumbering figure, unafraid of the fearsome paws that resembled huge, sharp splinters capable of skewering a mere druid.
“Gnarl!” Broll shouted at the top of his lungs. “Gnarl, ancient of war, protector of Ashenvale and Forest Song! You know me! You know me!”
The ancient hesitated. The mighty creature wore only a few bits of armor that looked more ornamental than protective. Fearsome faces and mystic patterns decorated them. In truth, the ancient needed little protecting. There was not much that could injure one of them. The ancients were among the first creatures of Azeroth, the first guardians of its life.
Gnarl cocked his head as he studied the druid. There was a hint of resemblance to a hound in the jagged face, but the eyes bespoke of an intelligence much greater. Indeed, ancients of war helped teach night elf warriors much of their skills.
“I know you, yes, night elf! You are the wanderer and friend called Broll Bearmantle…” Gnarl briefly bent his head. “My sorrow still for the death of your youngster…”
The comment made Broll clench a fist, though he hid that from the ancient. With lives that made those of night elves look so very short, ancients often saw years like seconds. To Gnarl, Anessa’s death was an incident that had only just happened and so was very well recalled. Gnarl did not mean to remind Broll…not that the druid ever forgot, anyway.
But Gnarl then returned his attention to Eranikus, who had finally righted himself. The dragon spread his wings and hissed at the ancient, yet though Gnarl was smaller, the guardian did not look afraid to directly face Eranikus.
“Corrupt one! You were warned…”
“I come here only to bring these two to help my queen and their friend — your friend, also! Malfurion Stormrage!”
“Stormrage…” Gnarl looked uncertain. “We have felt his absence strong…yet also his presence…” The eyes glared at Eranikus. “As we have sensed your nearing presence for the past day…and the corruption you bring with you…”
The dragon started to shrink back. It was clear by his reaction that what the ancient had said struck a chord.
“He’s freed of his corruption!” Broll corrected, coming to Eranikus’s defense. “He is an ally and a friend to us again! You should know that!”
“No!” Gnarl raised a mighty hand. “I saw him return to his evil!
He—” The huge figure blinked. “No…that was a nightmare…one of many of late. He does not seem corrupted…yet…”
Taking advantage of the ancient’s hesitance, Broll asked a question that had been bothering him. “Gnarl…where are the other guardians?”
The forest dweller’s expression turned grimmer. “Some to the east, some to the north, some to the south. The others…those who remained behind with me…the others sleep and do not wake…” He shook his head. “I hid them safe…but I have grown so tired myself
…I may soon be joining them.”
“What happened?”
Gnarl told them how the guardians — including ancients, night elves, green drakes, dryads, and especially those of the green dragonflight — had been without commands by Ysera for far too long. They had grown concerned. That concern had turned worse when a dryad named Shael’dryn had come to them after fleeing her moonwell. The wells — bound to the magic of nature and the light of Elune — were places of healing for both the land around them and those who drank of their waters. Magi and other spellcasters could even refresh their mana, a gift of the Mother Moon to Azeroth’s other defenders. Shael’dryn had been the one watching over the northernmost.
“I know her,” Broll said with a slight, wry smile. “A jester of words, a lover of puns…”
Gnarl shook his craggy head. “No humor was there in her when she came. She warned of — of attackers in the dark, seeking the wells. The dryad only called them shadows, though she said that they reminded her of something else.”
No one heard the intake of breath from Tyrande, who then asked, “Where is she? It might be wise to speak with her.”
“That is impossible,” the ancient answered. “She has slept for two days now.”
He went on to tell them how, after hearing from the dryad, the ancients and other guardians had then divided up to head to the moonwells and other strategic locations. They had left Gnarl and the others in charge of the portal’s protection.
“There were more than a dozen…all strong, especially the dragons and drakes…and at the time, we did not know yet about the unwaking sleep. That happened only after we divided up and said our farewells…”
“You were played like pieces in a chess game,” Eranikus pointed out, not without some satisfaction at someone else’s mistakes.
“Hmmph!”
Although Gnarl obviously did not care for the dragon’s comments, he did not defend himself and his comrades. Instead, the ancient gestured at the portal. “I will not stand in your way…go, if you think it some good…”
“I am not foolish enough to enter there! That is for these two!”
Now Gnarl did show his contempt, though Eranikus ignored him.
Forgetting the dragon, the woodland guardian said to Broll, “Forest brother, I would go with…but there must be someone here…other than him…”
“That’s understood. I’ll go alone—”
“We go together,” Tyrande curtly interjected.
As ever, there was no arguing with the high priestess. Broll shrugged. “Then let’s get on with it.”
Eranikus moved to the side. The night elves strode toward the glittering energies.
Tyrande exhaled. “It looks so…beautiful.”
“Once, it was.”
“How do we enter?”
“Just walk in,” the druid replied, “and then be prepared for anything.”
“I always am.”
“Fare you well,” Gnarl grated, the ancient raising one heavy hand. “There is still the sense of corruption near…”
“The Nightmare covers much of the Dream,” Eranikus impatiently pointed out. He acted more anxious now that the two were about to enter. “I sense its malevolence more than ever.
Once you are through, I shall depart!”
Broll, in the lead, paused to look one last time to the dragon.
“We thank you for your aid, though.”
“Thank me not for helping you to possible disaster, little night elf!”
Tyrande, peering at the portal, interrupted. “Broll, there is something—”
The portal flared. The emerald energies darkened, then swelled, expanding to encompass the pair.
As the night elves tried to come to grips with what was happening, mocking laughter rang in their ears and a fearsome head that seemed as much mist as real lunged toward them. Like the energies of the portal, the creature was of a dire green shade.
“We’ve been waiting for you…” the dragon said.
12
NIGHTMARE’S SERVANTS
The green dragon was not so great in size as Eranikus, but he was large indeed and eager to take the night elves. Broll cast the calming spell that had worked at least in part on Ysera’s consort, hoping to slow the attacking beast.
But for his efforts he received only more of the malevolent laughter. The dragon would have fallen upon him if not for Tyrande, who shoved the druid aside and threw her glaive.
Glowing with Elune’s majesty, the triple-bladed weapon whirled unerringly at its target. The tip cut across the dragon’s snout just above the red region that almost resembled a beard, and though the monster seemed half-insubstantial, a wicked flash of dark emerald energy escaped the cut. The horned dragon arched his neck, more furious than wounded. His wings spread wide, revealing red membrane that contrasted sharply to his overall verdant appearance. Lethon’s fiendish orbs were wide with rage and it was clear that, unlike Eranikus or others of the green dragonflight — who generally kept their eyes shut and observed all through the halfwaking, half-sleeping state — the corrupted behemoth saw quite well.