It was scarcely more than another shadow, but what a shadow it was. It rose and rose above her even though it was still some distance away. There were no leaves that she could make out, merely a number of wicked, skeletal limbs that at times resembled several giant hands.
The shadow wavered. Tyrande could not make out the actual tree itself, but it had to be somewhere near. Despite its clearly awful appearance, the night elf was encouraged by its very existence. She took a step toward it —
Something converged upon her from her right.
Tyrande whirled to meet it.
A powerful force struck her hard, a muscular body that crashed into the night elf with such force that Tyrande was thrown far. She landed on her back among the carrion creatures, crushing several.
The rest scattered as the light of the Mother Moon spread over the area.
The high priestess started to rise — only to have the deadly edge of an ax pressed against her throat.
An ax she recognized even after more than ten thousand years.
“Night elf,” rumbled the female orc wielding Brox’s gift from Cenarius. “You’re his mate…”
It was not a question. That the orc had not immediately attacked her again for being Malfurion’s supposed partner both encouraged and concerned Tyrande. There was a chance that she might be able to talk sense into the other female…but there was also the question as to just why the night elf still had her head.
“My name is Tyrande—”
The ax pressed closer. “Name doesn’t matter! You know him!
He knows you! He’ll come to you…”
“Malfurion is not your enemy—”
“He is enemy to all of us! He would destroy Azeroth!” The orc’s eyes radiated hatred for the archdruid. “And, yes, the blood of my kin is also on his hands! Broxigar will be avenged! I, Thura, will take the coward’s head — and maybe yours, too!”
Despite the threat to her, the high priestess could not let the accusation pass. “Malfurion is no threat to Azeroth! He is one of its protectors!” Tyrande’s expression steeled. “And Brox was our friend! He perished saving us! We honor his memory!”
Her captor growled furiously. Yet she suddenly pulled the ax back.
Tyrande read the confusion in the orc’s expression. Thura had obviously not slept much and that had taken its toll. It was also possible, the high priestess considered, that Thura also realized that she was being tricked into hunting Malfurion.
But the orc swung the ax toward Tyrande again. “Up!”
The night elf obeyed. On her feet, she had more of a chance against Thura, yet not only did Tyrande respect the warrior’s skills, she also saw the orc as an innocent caught up in the machinations of the Nightmare Lord.
“Thought I had him,” Thura muttered, half-speaking to herself.
“Saw him and got close to where he was supposed to be…but wasn’t there…” She glared at Tyrande. “Druid’s tricks! Your mate’s tricks!” The brawny female brandished the ax. “You’ll take me to him!”
Tyrande stood steadfast. “To kill Malfurion? No.”
“Then I’ll cut you in two!”
“Is that what Brox would have done?” the high priestess countered. “Would he have slain someone for refusing, someone who will not battle him?”
Thura glared, then repeated her demand. “Lead me to him!
Now!”
“I will not—”
She stopped as the orc suddenly glanced to the side. Tyrande heard nothing, but trusted to the skilled warrior’s instinct.
The orc snarled again. Thura peered around, then grinned at something she saw. “The tree! The tree beckons again!”
Following the orc’s gaze, Tyrande saw that the huge shadow had returned. She could still not see the tree that cast it, but knew it had to be close.
“He will be there!” Thura muttered gleefully to herself. “The vision said so…”
The high priestess could take no more chances. With Thura’s attention diverted, she attacked. Tyrande could not trust to Elune’s magic, the illumination too much of a warning against such a foe. It had to be her own martial skills.
Her outthrust fingers shot toward the orc’s vulnerable neck.
Thura spun back. The blunt bottom of the ax handle swung against the side of the high priestess’s head at a speed even greater than that with which the night elf moved. Tyrande had only a moment to realize that she had been outmaneuvered before the bottom hit her on the temple.
But the night elf’s reflexes, honed by centuries of practice and battle, kept the blow a glancing one. As Thura shifted the ax around for a strike, Tyrande dove under, then kicked.
Her expert strike just below the orc’s knee sent Thura falling to the side as her leg slipped. The orc’s grip on the ax loosened. The high priestess reached for the weapon —
Tyrande…a voice called in her head.
“Malfurion?” She could not be certain, but it seemed to be him.
“Malfurion—”
Distracted, she did not sense Thura’s renewed attack. The orc’s heavy fist caught her in the throat.
With a gasp, she tumbled to her knees. Desperately seeking air, Tyrande thought about the fact that Thura would next slay her…and all because of the voice. The high priestess fought to regain her breath in time to save herself.
And yet, the killing blow did not land. Finally able to breathe again, Tyrande managed to look up.
Thura was gone.
Tyrande struggled to her feet. She saw the great shadow and knew where the orc had gone. Still astounded that Thura had not attempted to slay her, the night elf gave pursuit.
But where the mist had in the past so readily given way to the Mother Moon’s illumination, now it pressed against the night elf as if seeking to smother her. Tyrande focused her mind, seeking to calm herself. As she did, the silver light grew stronger and the mist receded some.
Knowing that she would have to be satisfied with that, the high priestess pushed forward. She concentrated on the vast shadow. It ever loomed nearer, yet still she could not make out the tree that cast it.
But she did make out something else. Another, smaller tree.
Tyrande’s step faltered at the sight of it. Its monstrously twisted form shook her to the core. She felt both repulsed by it and saddened for the obvious torture it must be going through.
Of Thura, there was no sign, and Tyrande feared that she had followed the wrong path. Yet as she started to turn to her left, something drew her gaze back to the horrific tree. Even as it was, it did not disturb her as the shadow looming over it, the shadow that still refused to reveal its source.
Something whispered. Tyrande spun around to face from where the sound had come, only to hear another in the opposite direction.
A third caught her ear even before the night elf could turn to the second.
The mists were suddenly filled with whispers, but not just any whispers. Although Tyrande could not make out what they said, their sense was that of pleading. They needed help. They begged for help.
And despite the sinister aspects of the mist, the high priestess knew that the pleading was true.
Drawn to them by her innate compassion, Tyrande again turned from the tortured tree. She stretched a hand toward one of the murky shapes she saw there. For the first time it moved toward her rather than fled.
But something suddenly snagged her foot. Thinking she had walked into a trap, the high priestess immediately prayed to Elune, then shaped a spear of pure illumination from her light. Such an effort was costly to Tyrande, but she no longer felt as if she had any choice.
The spear came down on what held her foot. The light pierced as if made of true steel.
What she took at first for a tentacle immediately released its grip. Pinned by her gleaming spear, it writhed in obvious agony.
Only then did Tyrande realize that it was not a tentacle, but a root.
And realizing that, the enormity of what she had done struck her hard. The high priestess immediately dismissed the spear of light.