Can’t you feel that? Look into yourself and touch Teldrassil’s heart!
”
Fandral stared down his nose. “I know Teldrassil’s heart better than you or anyone! I have given it my heart in turn and for that sacrifice, it gave him back to me…”
Only then did Malfurion note a shadow hovering behind the other night elf’s left shoulder. It was one of the foul creatures that had attacked him on his way here.
But even though Fandral looked at the shadow, he did not seem bothered by its obviously sinister presence. Instead, Fandral smiled with familial affection at the fiend.
“Teldrassil has given me back my son, Malfurion. My son! Is not Valstann as proud and handsome as ever?”
He is consumed by his madness, Malfurion sadly realized. He is beyond reach…
And that meant that Malfurion had only one recourse. He concentrated —
Fandral frowned, his expression as sad toward his former shan’do as Malfurion’s had been toward him. “I had hoped otherwise. That was your last chance, my teacher…”
The shadow that pretended to be Valstann laughed darkly, though only Malfurion appeared to hear it.
There was a terrible rumble. Malfurion was thrown to the ground.
Only the spot where Fandral stood appeared stable.
The ground erupted and the trees bent down as if seeking to uproot themselves. A dark dread filled Malfurion as he sensed the taint swell within Teldrassil.
“I advised him that we should wait!” Fandral shouted. “But it seems Valstann spoke the truth! You, Darnassus…all of it…must be cleansed! Valstann and I will show our people the way and they will be the better for it! Teldrassil will be the instrument of a new, glorious Azeroth!”
He continued to babble on, heedless of the awful truth around him. Malfurion fought to regain some balance, but the ground burned like fire. Before his eyes, it blackened. Monstrous leaves as dark as night and with savage thorns sprouted everywhere.
The trees shook with more violence, some of them finally ripping free. They bore a rot that had not been evident before. From their shaking crowns fell hundreds of smaller thorned leaves.
The leaves began changing into the shadow creatures.
For the first time, Malfurion also heard shouts and screams from without the enclave. Darnassus had finally joined the rest of Azeroth. The terror of the Nightmare had arisen, if in a different and in some ways more frightening form.
The night elves’ very home — Teldrassil — was their enemy.
21
STORM OVER STORMWIND
Broll stirred to consciousness, still aware that he could not recall just when he had fallen prey to the Nightmare. He found himself standing with Tyrande, Lucan, and the orc… and facing a very aggrieved Eranikus.
Worse, they were back in the Emerald Dream, or what remained of it. The group was situated in a deep valley that still retained the fading glory of the once-fabled realm. Tall hills surrounded them, but although they looked like strong, stern sentries, the druid was well aware how little protection they truly were.
The green dragon eyed Lucan as if he were a pest best disposed of by devouring. To his credit, the cartographer faced the behemoth without shaking.
“For the first and last time, take yourself and these others away from me! Whatever foolish link ties us two together, you would best be served removing it, human!”
“I only hoped to take us away from where we were,” Lucan responded with more than a bit of exasperation. “I didn’t know that we’d also return to you!”
The dragon hissed. “If I had known that you would be so much trouble to me, I would have left you as an infant in the Emerald Dream! That a human would come to possess such dangerous and haphazard abilities merely by being born here! Yes, better I had left you to the whims of fate, then…”
Despite his protests, Eranikus’s tone indicated to Broll at least that his anger was not truly focused on Lucan. The behemoth’s fury was actually meant for himself.
But that was a matter with which Eranikus had to deal. Broll was more concerned with another situation, one which Tyrande voiced for him.
“Can you take us to Malfurion?” she asked the dragon. “We have got to find him! I have to find him!”
“For what purpose?” Eranikus mocked. “All is coming to a dire end! The Nightmare has taken my queen, my mate! There is no more hope! I have failed her again…”
This earned him a look of contempt from the high priestess.
“And so you dwell in that failure! Well, we will not!”
Eranikus stretched his wings wide. He glanced around, almost as if afraid that the Nightmare would now sense him. Then, his anger momentarily overcoming his fear, he hissed, “You may go wherever you wish and do what foolishness you desire, just so long as I must never be reminded of what happened again!”
One wing swept toward the tiny figures. Broll pushed Tyrande toward Lucan and saw that to her credit, Thura also recognized his intention.
As for Lucan, he did as Eranikus obviously intended. Confronted by what seemed a threat…the human involuntarily shifted out of the Emerald Dream.
With him went the others. One moment, the green dragon loomed over them; the next, they stood on the walls of a great keep.
And in the midst of frantic, pitched battle.
On the one side, the horrific dreamforms of the Nightmare’s victims flowed over defenses and converged on the keep. Their twisted, agonized forms, their shrieking mouths…everything about them stirred the most basic fears within even the hardiest of the group. Hollow eyes sought out anyone with whom they could share their torture.
On the other side, a dwindling band of defenders clad in familiar armor tried to stem what could not be stemmed. Tremendous their courage was, for none fled even though they were far outnumbered. As the cadaverous fiends neared, the fighters stood their ground.
To Broll’s shock, he knew this place. “This is Stormwind City — and the royal keep!”
A soldier spotted them. He took a moment to register their odd arrival, then called to a couple of companions. The trio anxiously charged toward the newcomers, brandishing both swords and torches as they neared.
The orc moved to meet them in battle, but Tyrande blocked her path. “They think us a part of the Nightmare!” the high priestess shouted to Broll. “We must convince them otherwise!”
Before the others could prevent him, Lucan stepped to the forefront. Hands forward with palms open to the oncoming soldiers, he shouted, “Wait! We’re friends! I’m Lucan Foxblood, third assistant cartographer to the king! We must see him!”
The soldiers hesitated, more than one eyeing the orc among the party with great suspicion. Broll guessed what they were thinking.
What sort of nightmare took such an odd form?
Signaling his companions to hold back, the lead soldier moved within weapon’s reach of Lucan. He stretched the sword toward the cartographer, who did not move.
The tip touched solid flesh. The soldier looked even more relieved than Lucan. However, he then stared at Thura again.
The high priestess joined Lucan, cutting off view of the orc. “I am Tyrande Whisperwind, leader of the night elves and with me is Broll Bearmantle, comrade to King Varian! The orc is with us. She means no harm…”
“Broll Bearmantle…” that name at least registered with the soldier. He nodded his head in respect to both night elves. “My lady
…we are honored—”
“The king…” Lucan reminded him. “We need to see King Varian immediately!”
“Best come with me, then,” returned the fighter. “We’ve got to retreat from here anyway!”
No sooner had he spoken than a scream broke out nearby.
They turned to see another defender a few yards behind them struggling in the mist. Hands formed from the mist clutched at him and the macabre faces of the slaves of the Nightmare eagerly covered the hapless soldier as if seeking to devour him.