Whatever her suffering, though, Naralex’s was far greater. The shadow creatures swarmed all over him, tearing at the storm crow with wild relish.
Naralex’s flight faltered. He tried to shake off his attackers, but when that failed, the druid veered toward the ground closest to the path out of the enclave.
He released Shandris from his talons the moment that he was close enough to avoid her being harmed by the drop. Still reeling from the horrific chill, she dropped to her knees.
A roar echoed in her ears. Hamuul, once again in his true shape, had seized several vines and with his great strength now tore them loose. However, rather than toss them aside, he threw them up into the air.
An emerald sheen surrounded them. Each snapping tendril shrank rapidly.
A moment later the seeds to which they had reverted dropped harmlessly around the tauren.
Unfortunately, as this happened, the shadow creatures also converged upon Hamuul. The tauren thrust a hand into one pouch and then flung the contents at the nearest.
Although his attackers seemed without substance, the brown powder the archdruid used landed on them as if the fiends were solid. Moreover, it had a devastating effect. The shadow figures twisted and contorted. They began to shrink and change shape.
Their doom was accompanied by a chorus of monstrous hisses.
Hamuul’s eyes widened. The shadows had been reduced to leaves. This had not been the intention of his spell. The tauren could only fathom that the leaves represented the true nature of their attackers.
“No…” he rumbled. “It cannot have gone that far…”
But his distraction cost the tauren. Another of the shadows thrust its hand through his back. As the horrific cold encased his soul, another shadow struck through his chest.
The tauren fell to his knees. His eyes glazed over.
Shandris saw him fall, but could do nothing. She started to throw her glaive —
Branches reached down and seized her. Some tore her weapon from her. The rest bound her tight.
Another, heavier branch struck the Sentinel hard on the back of the head, knocking her out.
Naralex let out a mournful squawk as he collided with the ground.
At first glance, it appeared that he was being physically shredded to pieces, but each bit that the shadows tore away faded as they flung it aside.
The night elf resumed his normal shape. Gasping, he collapsed and lay still.
From the trees calmly emerged another druid. He stared at the frozen tauren, then at the stunned Sentinel.
“I’m sorry,” Fandral Staghelm honestly told them, though they were not conscious enough to hear him. “You must believe me that I am.”
The lead archdruid walked among the shadows, who moved respectfully out of his way. Fandral went to Naralex, who lay unmoving.
Leaning down, Fandral touched the other night elf’s neck.
“Still alive…”
Rising, Fandral eyed the party with disappointment.
“Something will have to be done with you.” He considered, a smile coming to his face. “Valstann will know just what! My son will have the answer…”
He started back to his sanctum without another glance at
Shandris, the tauren, or Naralex. The shadow creatures surrounded the trio but did not touch them. Instead, the branches that held the priestess drew her up among the dark, leafy crowns.
Others seized Hamuul and Naralex and carried them after her.
When that was done, the shadow creatures straightened. As one, they dissipated, their essence also rising up among the trees, where they reverted to their dormant form…the very leaves of Teldrassil.
The mists extended out even far into the sea. Malfurion could not believe its thickness. He beat his wings harder as the wind began to pick up. A gale was brewing, a gale that the archdruid was certain was taking shape only due to his presence.
Malfurion did not know what he planned — not completely — but some sense drove him toward the island where his people had chosen to make their new home. There was an urgency building within him that there was at least one key to the catastrophe engulfing two worlds.
A full-fledged hurricane struck.
Despite his awareness that it was brewing, its full intensity startled even Malfurion. He was thrust back as if he were nothing.
Lightning raged, some of it striking perilously near. The archdruid found himself hurtling away from the still-shrouded island.
More bolts nearly struck him. It was not by luck that they did not.
Whatever power had forged this fury desired to hit Malfurion; only the night elf’s instincts kept that from happening.
His anxiety swelled with the tempest’s strength. Each passing moment led Azeroth and all those he loved, especially Tyrande, toward doom. Yet, try as he might, Malfurion could barely save even himself. Again the archdruid wondered at Ysera’s seemingly foolish sacrifice. She thought him more valuable to both realms than her —
Although Malfurion did not believe as Ysera had, at that moment he did recognize one thing. Once again, he had played into the Nightmare’s hand. His uncertainties had fed into his own dark dreams again.
That was not to say that the storm was not real — the Nightmare’s master now had that terrible power — but its intensity was magnified by the night elf’s mind.
The fury lessened. Fueled by that fact, Malfurion focused on his destination. He beat his wings faster and faster.
The storm did not break; it simply ceased. Malfurion soared through the mists, aware that he had won a small battle.
Overconfidence was as dangerous as fear.
Something loomed ahead, something so huge that even at the height he flew, Malfurion could not see its top. He knew what it was, even though he had been a prisoner since before its creation.
Fandral had so often spoken of the need to create it, to bring back the immortality and glory of their race.
The second World Tree greeted his wary gaze. It was impressive. It was imposing.
And as he studied it more, Malfurion knew that it was also tainted by the Nightmare as nothing else on Azeroth had been.
The archdruid banked, his eyes ever on the gargantuan tree.
Outwardly, what he could see appeared normal; yet his senses told him it was infested with the evil that had spread from the other realm.
How could they not see that? Malfurion wondered about the other druids. What were they thinking? How could Fandral let this come to pass?
As he drew near the island, he detected great activity below.
Many druids were down there and they were all casting some coordinated spell. His hopes rose at first; the others had come to realize the World Tree’s taint and were fighting it.
But no…a mere breath later, Malfurion realized it was just the opposite. The spell was a powerful one, but instead of cleansing the tree, it was inadvertently feeding the taint. He could feel it and was astounded that the others could not.
Without hesitation, Malfurion dove. At the same time, he sought to reach out to the other druids and warn them of the terrible thing they were doing.
Yet something blocked his attempt to contact the casters. It came as no shock to Malfurion, but it meant that he had to reach them with all due haste. The World Tree’s taint, combined with Ysera’s capture, all but promised the Nightmare triumph.
A mind suddenly touched his. At first he thought it one of those below, but then he determined that it instead came from above.
More important, its way of thought was so very distinct, even despite the fragmented attempt to communicate, that he knew exactly who it was.
Hamuul Runetotem? In response to Malfurion’s question, there was a fragmented response. It was as if the tauren were not entirely conscious. However, Malfurion did sense an urgency from the tauren, an urgency and a warning.
It was a warning so intense that the archdruid veered skyward again. He soared up, finally sighting the crown.