The whispering started up again. Hamuul stared at Teldrassil
…then looked down at his foot. There, the side of his right foot touched one of the World Tree’s roots.
He placed his hand on the trunk.
The whispering filled his head. Hamuul could not understand it. It was not any of the tongues spoken by the intelligent races of Azeroth. Rather, it reminded him of something else, something the tauren should know well —
“Shakuun, guide my spear…” he murmured, blurting a tauren oath. Shakuun had been his father’s father, and tauren called upon their venerated ancestors, who watched over them. The oath as he spoke it was not to be taken literally; Hamuul was asking his grandsire to help him come to grips with what he had discovered.
The archdruid was listening to the voice of Teldrassil.
All druids knew the language of the trees, although some understood it better than others. This was not the first time that Hamuul had touched and listened to the World Tree, but this was the first time he had heard these whispers. The voice of the World Tree was usually heard more in the rustle of its branches and leaves and through the coursing of the sap that flowed as blood up and down the vast trunk. It could be heard as a whisper, but one with understanding.
But Hamuul could make no sense out of what he heard now. The whispers were without proper rhythm, without form. As the archdruid continued to listen, they went on and on as if —
“What is it you do, Hamuul Runetotem?” Fandral’s voice suddenly said.
Smothering his startlement, the tauren turned to the lead archdruid. He had not sensed the night elf approach, which said something for Hamuul’s present state of mind. As a tauren, he prided himself on his belief that his people were the only ones who could truly sneak up on one of Fandral’s race.
Hamuul chose to be honest. This was something Fandral of all druids should know.
But how to explain it best? “I fear…Archdruid Fandral, will you listen to Teldrassil for a moment? I fear that things are worse than we thought! When I touched my hand to the trunk just now—”
The night elf did not wait for him to finish. Fandral placed his palm flat against Teldrassil. He shut his eyes and concentrated.
A few breaths later, the lead archdruid looked at the tauren. “I sense nothing different than before. Teldrassil is not yet well, but there is improvement.”
“‘Improvement’?” Hamuul could not prevent himself from gaping.
“Archdruid, I sensed—”
Fandral, his expression sympathetic, interjected, “You are weary, Hamuul, and I have been remiss in my treatment of you. You have a loyalty to a friend who must answer for his recklessness, I fear. It was beneath me, though, to show such disappointment with you when he is to blame.”
“I—”
Fandral raised a hand. “Hear me out, good Hamuul. I have just returned with some knowledge of interest. It will make for a new and stronger attempt to cure what still ails Teldrassil. You, with your strong spirit, would be of tremendous value in that effort, but you need to recoup your strength more. If you fear that there is something more amiss with the World Tree, then this is surely good news to you.”
Bowing his head, the tauren replied, “As you say, Archdruid Fandral.”
“Excellent! Now, come with me. I would tell you more about our next effort. It shall be very exerting. It may take more than a day’s meditation to recover from it…”
Fandral started off. Hamuul could do nothing but follow. Yet even as he listened to the night elf begin to explain, he also looked back at the area he had touched. He had heard the incoherent whispering and he knew that it was the voice of the World Tree.
Had not the lead archdruid also investigated, the tauren would have been even more anxious than he was. Still, enough of a concern remained that Hamuul continued to wonder…and worry.
To Hamuul Runetotem, the whispering meant one and one thing only.
Teldrassil was going mad.
They did not enter the portal immediately, although that had been their intention. Eranikus and Alexstrasza cautiously probed ahead, their powers reaching deep within to see if there still lurked some trap by the corrupted Lethon and Emeriss. Only when they were satisfied that there was not did the dragons agree it was safe for Eranikus and the night elves to proceed.
“About damned time,” Broll muttered. Tyrande nodded, mirroring his opinion. They were both filled with an urgency to find Malfurion.
One particular thing that disturbed both was the missing Lucan Foxblood and this mysterious orc. The orc was likely an accidental intruder, and yet…
“You do not yet comprehend the full threat of the Nightmare,” the green dragon responded with some bitterness. “Be not so desiring of entering it without all preparations made.”
“Time is of the essence.”
Alexstrasza dipped her head in agreement. “So it is, Broll Bearmantle, but if I am correct and Malfurion Stormrage has somehow been trying to help guide you, then he would want matters thought through first.” The dragon smiled grimly. “And we have done that now.”
“I am ready,” Eranikus declared.
“Are you certain?” asked the Aspect.
The bitterness grew more evident. “I am. I owe it to my Ysera.”
The Life-Binder bowed her head. A warm, comforting glow radiated from Alexstrasza. It touched the trio. The night elves smiled and even Eranikus looked thankful.
“May my blessing keep you safe and guide your hunt to success,” the Aspect declared.
“We are honored and thank you,” Tyrande replied.
Eranikus took a breath, then stretched his wings. “I will go ahead
…to guard the way.”
The energies within the portal swelled up as he approached. To his credit, the green dragon did not hesitate. He stepped into the portal.
And then he was gone.
Broll and Tyrande strode up to the portal.
“You should stay here,” he said to her.
“I have remained apart from Malfurion much too long already,” she retorted.
Before he could say anything else, she had leapt through.
Broll let out an exasperated sound, then followed.
The sensation of physically entering the other realm was akin to the feeling that one got just before falling asleep. Broll had not had time to think about that when Lethon had attacked them, but now he recognized it. It was far different from sending his dreamform here.
When he did that, it was as if he had cast off a heavy weight and was finally free of all his worldly problems.
Not so now. More than ever, he was aware of what the Nightmare could hold, even if at present he could only see the thick mist ahead. The Nightmare had not entirely departed after all.
“We cannot travel like this,” Eranikus proclaimed. The dragon fluttered just above the night elves, his wings beating in slow motion. He looked as if seen through the ripples of a rushing river, something else that Broll had not had time to notice during the desperate struggle. The same could be said for Tyrande and even the druid himself.
The dragon arched his back, then breathed upon the mist. A soft spray of what appeared to be speckles of emerald light touched everywhere ahead.
“Elune, protect us!” the high priestess gasped as the way cleared.
At that moment Broll would have gratefully accepted the aid of any deity or demigod. Even the company of a dragon did not at the moment seem enough.
Before, the Emerald Dream had been a place that was the world of Azeroth as seen as if no races such as the night elves had ever existed. Its hills and mountains had been perfectly shaped, for erosion did not exist here. High grasses and beautiful trees had spread across a rolling landscape. The fauna had been unafraid, peaceful. To druids, it had seemed a paradise.
But now no name was more apt, at least for the area before them, than that by which Eranikus called it…Nightmare.