The night elves looked at one another. “He wasn’t seeking death, not truly, anyway.” Tyrande told her. “Your ax was needed to break the spell, I think…”
The orc slumped. “So…my purpose is false…I am nothing.”
“Excuse me,” Lucan interrupted, causing heads to turn to him.
“Was he supposed to come through with us?”
The others looked to where he pointed. It was Broll who recognized the towering figure first.
“Gnarl!” he roared with joy. “You—”
“Get away from him!” Tyrande shouted, dragging Broll back.
The ancient of war let out a nerve-ripping laugh. As he stepped near, the fungus covering his body became evident. His leaves were filled with rot and his eyes glowed black.
“He wishes you to return…” the towering figure rasped.
His eyes were on Tyrande.
“Keep back!” The high priestess started to pray.
Gnarl’s great arm swept toward them. Broll shoved the others back, taking a glancing blow that was still mighty enough to send him to his knees.
The ancient reached for the fallen night elf. Tyrande cut in front of Broll, her expression grimly set. “I’m sorry, Gnarl…”
The light of Elune struck the corrupted ancient dead-on. Gnarl stumbled back…and then righted.
“He is too strong for you this time,” Gnarl mocked. “Azeroth is his…finally…”
As he spoke, the mists thickened. In them formed shapes that quickly defined themselves. Too familiar now were the grasping hands, the ever-shrieking mouths, and the desperate, hungry eyes.
The Nightmare’s slaves surrounded them. The four pressed close together. Gnarl let out a harsh laugh.
Broll blinked. He was in the midst of a different battle and in his hand was a familiar object. The Idol of Remulos. The druid shook his head. This is another dream! This is another trick!
But his surroundings remained constant. Worse, he heard a voice nearby him calling for his help. Against his better judgment, the former gladiator looked —
Tyrande knelt beside a stone cairn. She was weeping, but it took her a moment to realize why.
Malfurion was buried here.
He was dead, though the cause of his death the high priestess could not recall. She only knew that she ached for him, ached for the life together that they had never been allowed to have.
“No!” Tyrande shouted angrily, rising at the same time. “I will not be cheated! We will not be cheated!”
She looked to the sky, where the moon shone full and bright. The high priestess raised her hands to the moon, to Elune.
“Grant me this wish! Fill me with your light as you never have before…”
Tyrande knew that what she hoped to do was wrong — indeed, something about the entire situation struck her as wrong — but a dread determination filled her. She would have Malfurion back!
She would!
The light of the Mother Moon radiated from her. She gestured at the cairn. The silver glow bathed it.
The stones shook. A few at the top fell away.
A skeletal hand thrust out.
Tyrande tried to stop her spell, but it kept feeding Elune’s light into the cairn. The hand shoved more stones away. Despite the silver nature of the Mother Moon’s gift, the cadaverous fingers shone a sinister green.
Then, with a great rumble, the cairn burst apart. Stone rained down on Tyrande.
From the ruined burial mound, a monstrous Malfurion roseThura stood surrounded by the elders of Orgrimmar. She felt ashamed enough to stand before them, but at their head stood the great Thrall himself. He looked terribly disappointed in her, disappointed and angry.
“You’ve shamed your kin,” Thrall declared. “You were given a great weapon and took a blood oath to avenge Broxigar!”
She knelt. “I failed. I know. But the night elf—”
“Lives to laugh at you while the life fluids of Broxigar still drip from his foul hands!”
Thura had no reply.
The orc leader reached out. “You’re not fitting to wield the glorious ax. Give it over.”
Head bent low, Thura offered up the weapon to Thrall. A sense of guilt coursed through her as the ax left her hands.
Thrall hefted the weapon, admiring its balance and workmanship.
Gripping it tight, he glared at the female orc.
“And now, you will make amends for your failure…”
He raised the ax high, preparing for a killing stroke —
Lucan stared at his companions. They stood as statues and with their eyes half-lidded. Their gazes seemed to have no focus.
They were caught up in the Nightmare.
Why he was not as they were was a question to which he had no answer. Likely because he was the least of the threat to the Nightmare. Even now, all the cartographer wanted most was to hide.
And in his desperation, that seemed the wisest choice to Lucan.
The human grabbed his three companions as best he could, hoping that his touch alone might be sufficient. They did not move even then, but Lucan had no time to concern himself with their conditions.
He tried to do what in the past seemed to work only when he was not trying. Yet there had been one or two recent moments when his conscious desire had enabled his unique ability to work for him.
The slaves of the Nightmare fell upon the helpless group —
Lucan and the party vanished.
They materialized in the Emerald Dream, the last place to which Lucan wanted to return. He felt certain that the Nightmare would be upon them there as well.
The others began coming out of their personal nightmares. They looked tired and momentarily disoriented.
Lucan was the only one to note the shadow suddenly covering them. He looked up.
“What do you want of me now?” Eranikus growled.
20
THE ENCLAVE
Hamuul Runetotem was not alone. Naralex, with whom Shandris was familiar, stood with the tauren.
His presence was enough to confirm the general’s suspicions that they were the ones responsible for her imprisonment. She slipped out of Hamuul’s grip and drew a dagger.
But Hamuul moved swiftly and surely against her attack. He thrust a hand out and deflected the dagger’s path, but not without some injury to his extremity.
Ignoring the blood, the tauren barreled into her. As he did, he said under his breath, “You must stop this or he will certainly notice us, Shandris Feathermoon!”
“Who?” she quietly demanded.
“A traitor in our midst! A traitor who threatens all Darnassus and beyond!”
He stopped. Hamuul and Naralex peered at one another in grave concern.
“He knows …” the night elf druid muttered.
“Quickly! Stand between us!” Hamuul ordered Shandris. As some inner sense warned her to obey, the two druids began to transform into birds.
From the ground erupted long vines that sought to ensnare the trio. Shandris severed two with her dagger, then fended off more.
Hamuul had sought to fly up, but the tauren was caught by two other vines. As they snared his wing, what at first appeared as flower buds sprouted from the tips.
The buds opened…revealing wicked thorns that acted like teeth.
The tauren would have been bitten, but Naralex used his beak to bite through the vines. The tops dropped, yet the respite was only momentary, for, as with those that Shandris had cut, these two grew new roots.
Hamuul squawked something to Naralex. The transformed night elf immediately seized Shandris by her shoulders and carried her aloft.
But as they rose, something else fell upon them from the branches above. They were shadowy forms that seemed to sprout from the leaves themselves. Naralex, intent on bringing his charge to safety, flew right into their midst.
One of the shadow creatures thrust an ethereal hand into Shandris. She shrieked as a chill touched her very soul. The Sentinel commander lost her grip on the dagger. Her body shook.