As it vanished, Tyrande knelt to heal the root. She was not a druid, but she felt that surely Elune would take pity on the damage accidentally done to an innocent by her follower.
As she touched the root, once more Tyrande felt Malfurion’s presence. It was so strong that she could almost believe that he was actually there as opposed to entering her dreams.
Her eyes widened.
She looked at the tortured tree. Her faced paled.
“Malfurion…”
The whispers sought to drive him mad, so Broll thought as he raced along the dank landscape in cat form. It was unfortunate that in this huge, feline shape his hearing was more acute. That only served the whispers.
But his nose served him. He had Tyrande’s scent and it was no trick. He was near.
His paws were caked with the sickening ooze that was the vermin’s insides, but even the acidic burn it caused was not enough to slow the druid. Each step crushed more of the foul creatures to mush and Broll’s only regret was that behind him he knew that new ones formed from the shattered remnants of the old.
The mists continually threatened to engulf him, but with an occasional slash of his paw that was accompanied by magical purple fire, the cat kept both the mist and the lurkers within at just a safe enough distance.
Then, a huge rumbling shook both Broll and his surroundings.
Despite his keen reflexes, the great cat was tossed around. Broll managed to roll back on his feet, then buried his claws in the ground as he regained his senses.
A huge shape swooped overhead. It was followed by another and another and another.
And even through the thick mist, the druid could see that they were dragons. Dragons of an emerald hue. Ysera’s subjects were still defending the Dream. The druid counted at least ten and prayed that there were far more.
Just as they were about to leave him behind, one suddenly broke from the group. It dove down toward the druid, who saw that it was female.
“What do you do here alone, night elf…and in your mortal form?”
He did not recognize the dragon, but that was not necessarily a surprise. Transforming, Broll quickly told her.
She gasped in surprise. “Eranikus flies the Dream again!
This—” She looked up in the direction the other leviathans had gone, as if hearing something. Her eyes widened.
The dragon growled, then said to the druid, “Night elf, climb atop!
I will take you with me!”
“My friends—”
“Climb atop me! I will explain when we are aloft!”
She did not add anything about it being safer up above and Broll knew better than to believe it so. With corrupted such as Lethon lurking about and the abilities of the Nightmare still very much a mystery, it was possible that “above” was even less safe than the ground.
Of course, with a dragon as his mount, the night elf felt a little safer.
Yet, as they rose into the sky, Broll saw that the foulness of the Nightmare now extended far beyond where it had previously. He could no longer make out anything but mist-enshrouded hills.
No, he could make something else out. In what seemed every direction — even farther up — brief but brilliant flashes of magical energy erupted like lightning during a fantastic storm. Again, there came the intense rumbling, so powerful that it even caused the green dragon to waver a moment.
“What’s happening?” he shouted.
The dragon twisted her head around so as to stare him square in the eye, though hers were closed, of course. “Did you not hear his call? You who are of his kind and seek him even now? Listen!”
“His—” But even as he started to speak, the druid did hear the call. It was the summons of the last one he would have expected to hear from, but the one from whom Broll had most hoped to hear.
Malfurion’s call.
It was not in the form of words, and yet it summoned those fighting against the Nightmare to be vigilant. Something was about to happen, something significant.
It was clearly also warning them. Malfurion did not want anyone hurt or perishing because of him. Yet the archdruid — wherever he was — also obviously knew that this went beyond his imprisonment.
This threatened everything.
“But how can this be?” the night elf asked. “And what do we do, then?”
“Can you not see it yet?” the green dragon called back, beating her wings harder. “Can you not feel its wrongness? Look ahead
…and look within!”
Broll obeyed…and in the mist ahead, just barely discernible, formed a shadow. A shadow of a tree.
A tree so foul that nature could never have produced it.
“My shan’do is down there,” the night elf growled.
“And with him the cause of the Nightmare,” his mount solemnly added.
From where he was, the Nightmare was a vast gray-green mass that pulsated as if alive. Shapes moved through it, unsettling shapes that could not be identified and yet almost looked like things that Broll should have recognized. He wondered why they remained so hidden and wondered what would happen if and when they were revealed. The druid shuddered.
The Nightmare was also filled with powerful flashes of magic that came not only in emerald, but a brackish green, a bloody crimson and more. The druid could sense that the emerald ones were from the defenders…the others he could only assume had more vile purpose. Broll could sense astounding forces at work and knew that what he saw was only a hint of the monumental spells at play.
However, for all that, the emerald-black that was the Nightmare had not retreated and, in fact, seemed darker yet near where he and the dragon were heading.
So dark…and yet the shadow cast looks more distinct than ever…the night elf thought. But where was the tree that made it?
“A question of great import, I think,” the dragon responded, as if Broll had spoken out loud. In a tone more concerned, she added, “And one we hope to discover the answer to soon!”
The druid jerked as something else abruptly became obvious.
There was now whispering even up where they flew. It had a frantic, hungry feel to it.
“There’s something wrong! We’d better—”
But the dragon had also sensed the danger. She banked sharply in an attempt to avoid whatever was about to happen.
What had been whispers now became screams. There were so many of them that even as loud as they were — loud enough to force Broll to cover his ears — what they were saying could still not be understood. The druid found himself shivering uncontrollably and even the dragon strained as she flew.
A great black gap opened in front of the pair.
The druid blinked. Not a gap.
A deep and terrible maw.
And from its depths erupted the screams with even more force.
Although he could not make out their words, he sensed their fear.
Yet that fear was also a weapon being used against Broll and the dragon by the Nightmare Lord.
The druid noticed that the green dragon was no longer trying to fly forward. Her wings now beat hard in retreat. Yet they were still heading toward the evil gullet.
“It — is the power of their fear — the fear of the screaming voices — that pulls us! It is chaos and evil stripping their sanity to the core that fuels the Nightmare!” his mount roared. “Such force! It is as if I fight against thousands! It is all I can do to — to keep us this far from it!”
“A spell—”
“If I attempt to concentrate — on that — we will be in it before I can — can finish!”
But Broll had not been talking about a spell cast by the dragon.
He could see that, despite her tremendous abilities, she needed her entire focus on fighting the pull. The attack had been crafted just that way, the druid saw.
Yet an idea had occurred in that regard, an idea that came so suddenly that Broll wondered at it. He did not know if it would work, but he would try.