And so, as his companion fought the physical fury of the shrieking gullet, the druid began channeling an unusual spell. It was meant to be a healing one, a spell of tranquility.
He concentrated, trying to recall what his shan’do had taught him. Indeed, as he focused, Broll could almost imagine Malfurion’s voice guiding him along.
The secret of the tranquility spell is to call upon that most peaceful, most caring part of Azeroth’s nature…of the Emerald Dream’s nature…
They were nearly upon the dark maw. Broll sensed when he was just close enough to hope for success and so close that he dared not wait any longer. The druid reached out to that of the Dream that remained pure.
He cast.
The spell was a small thing in comparison to the evil and fear it confronted. Broll did not in the least hope to destroy the sinister gullet.
He only wanted to give the female dragon the chance she needed.
“Be ready!” the druid warned.
It all hinged on what Broll believed the screams were. All he had seen thus far indicated that the Nightmare drew much of its strength from the growing legions of innocents falling prey to it when exhaustion finally made them sleep. The Nightmare used their darkest emotions to stir up their fearful visions. And that fear was what attacked now.
The spell touched the nearest vague shapes, the tortured slaves of the Nightmare.
Just for a moment — the briefest of moments — some little bit of the Nightmare’s hold of fear on the screaming voices lessened.
The female dragon let out a roar as she thrust herself far back from the abyss. Broll grabbed hold of her thick neck as he struggled to remain with her. The emerald leviathan beat and beat her wings until the dark maw was only a small speck.
But as quickly as the spell acted, it shattered. The screaming rose higher and more frantic again. The horrific abyss swelled, drawing them closer once more.
Then a huge emerald form materialized between the pair and the Nightmare. It spread its magnificent wings wide and from it radiated a wondrous glow that reminded the druid of what this realm had been before the corruption.
Away with you! it called to the Nightmare’s attack. Away!
Behind the massive newcomer, other green dragons appeared.
As mighty as their own efforts were, even combined those paled before the tremendous power of the gigantic dragon.
The abyss receded some distance. Though they were not vanquished, the screams faded to something now much more tolerable.
Ysera, mistress of the Emerald Dream, had come in response to Malfurion’s call.
17
THE NIGHTMARE UNVEILED
Lucan was alone in the mist with a volatile green dragon. Worse, he was astride the neck of this dragon, something that Eranikus evidently liked less than even him.
“We shouldn’t have split up!” the leviathan rumbled. “Not here!
Not now!”
The cartographer said nothing. He was feeling worthless. Thus far, he had fled from one place to the next as he sought to escape his growing nightmares, been seized by one powerful figure after another, and looked down upon by most as at best a child.
And now he was surely in a place where what little skill he had even as an assistant mapmaker was fairly useless.
The green dragon peered at the murky realm, his ire continuing to rise. Much of it was bitterness directed at himself. “I should have been there for her, but no, I failed! Now she’s out there facing the Nightmare without me!”
Lucan knew better than to make any comment. What point would there have been? He was nothing…no, less than nothing.
Eranikus let out another growl, but this one directed at the Nightmare. “What is it that keeps just at the periphery of our vision? What insidious force is the Nightmare still holding in reserve…and why?”
The human opened his mouth to make a suggestion, then quickly shut it. His ideas were hardly worth merit.
And yet…there suddenly came to his mind a glimmer of a notion, one that suddenly excited Lucan so much that it was all he could do to keep from shouting it out to Eranikus. What held him back was knowing that the dragon would never permit him to attempt such a thing, if it were even possible…and if it was wise to try at all.
But Lucan could not restrain himself. He had been rescued more than once by the others. It was time he repaid them for once by using his unsettling abilities to their benefit. At the very worst, he would rid them of his sorry self.
Lucan concentrated. At first, images of Stormwind surged up.
He saw his lanky master, Lord Edrias Ulnur, chief cartographer to His Majesty King Varian, peering down with disapproval of Lucan’s work…the same work later transcribed without change to Edrias’s name. He saw the fine courtiers admiring the maps that bore Lucan’s hand, but for which his superior earned the accolades.
And he saw the fine ladies, especially two, who had stepped into and out of his life without knowing it.
It was only Eranikus speaking that stirred Lucan from these moments of past failure and regret. He paid no mind to what the dragon now cursed. Eranikus was far more bitter than even Lucan.
Lucan tried to concentrate again. This time the cartographer focused on the person he was seeking. The image came to mind immediately and with such definition that he knew he was on the right track.
Eranikus was now shouting with great gusto, but whatever it was the winged behemoth sought to tell Lucan was lost.
The cartographer had already vanished.
She is near…very near… Malfurion thought anxiously. But does he know and know why?
Despite his grisly imprisonment, Malfurion had done his best to secretly discern what little he could of those battling the Nightmare.
He had dared not contact them, but had waited until that moment when his plans would come to fruition. Only the mistress of the realm had any inkling of what he planned, and that in itself had been through a single moment’s thought he had relayed to her.
And now Ysera had launched her dragonflight into action. They, the druids, and other protectors of Azeroth had launched a fullscale assault that would still utterly fail unless he had calculated things just perfectly.
But until she reached him, Malfurion would not know if he had.
He sensed the Nightmare Lord looming near, but the sinister shadow appeared focused on the dragons and the others.
Malfurion did his best to subtly mask her approach. It was imperative that she reach him and act without the shadow knowing.
Something moved through the thickening mist, something that the archdruid prayed only he could sense. As cunningly as he could, Malfurion not only kept her from seeing what truly lurked around her, but also kept them from noticing her.
She stepped into the small clearing surrounding him.
The orc grinned as her deep-set eyes fixed on the tree. She did not see it; rather, to her, Malfurion Stormrage the archdruid, the heinous murderer and corrupter, stood staring back at her, a defiant smile on his face. It was an illusion for her and her alone, one that Malfurion had carefully crafted, just as he had carefully crafted each successive vision driving her to this point.
Malfurion felt no triumph at bringing the orc Thura to this place.
He risked both her soul and her life. Yet in his desperate search for that which could best serve to free him of this prison, he had sensed Brox’s magical ax. Malfurion knew how it had ended up back with the orcs, though that tale had been one he had learned thousands of years later. The red dragon Korialstrasz — also known to a select few as Krasus the mage — had given it to the warchief Thrall while in the guise of an elderly orc shaman. That had been to honor Brox for his tremendous sacrifice in seeking to keep the titan Sargeras at bay long enough.