Before anyone could help him, the man disappeared. His own scream echoed after, becoming more horrific, more a part of the Nightmare.
“Quickly!” ordered the fighter who had first confronted Broll and the others.
They were led with great haste down a long set of stone steps and then across a yard to another part of the wall. As they reached this, Broll called to their guide, “The city! How’s it standing?”
“In pieces scattered around! The Trade District, the harbor, the Valley of Heroes…all dark!” the man shouted back. “Some noise from the Old Town, Cathedral Square, and the Dwarven District
…and the Mage Quarter is still bright!” He gestured to his right, where the druid saw a constantly shifting array of colors that marked spells going off. There were a few other areas where lesser displays of light also appeared.
“’Twas much brighter yet an hour ago,” the soldier continued.
“We’re not holding. No one’s holding…”
“It is amazing any part is holding!” Tyrande interjected. “What do you say, Broll?”
The druid nodded. “As brave and as powerful as Stormwind’s defenders — warrior or mage — are, they should’ve been engulfed by now…” He considered the matter further and came up with a slim hope. “It might be Malfurion’s doing, but I think thus far it’s She of the Dreaming’s!”
“But Ysera is taken!”
Broll took a little pride in what he said next. “She is an Aspect, one of the great dragons! More to the point, she is the protector of the Emerald Dream! Even as the Nightmare’s captive, I think she struggles, preventing them from using her against the Dream and us…”
Thura considered the grim tableau inexorably pressing toward them. “She struggles, but this city…and maybe Orgrimmar, too, will fall.”
They began to ascend another set of stone steps. More than once their journey was accented by cries of terror and dismay.
“Ysera sacrificed herself in order to obtain Malfurion’s escape!”
the druid added. “She must think my shan’do can do something yet!
”
“And what of us?” Tyrande asked.
Broll had no answer for that. He could not tell her what constantly ate at him. The last nightmare involving his daughter had brought his great failure back to him full-blown. He was not Malfurion Stormrage. He was not even an archdruid.
He was only a rebellious former gladiator and slave.
But that was also what kept Broll moving on. The soldier finally brought them toward a familiar figure. Even with the armor obscuring everything, the stance was that of but one person.
“Lo’Gosh!” Broll roared.
The armored figure whirled. Through the helmet slits, Varian’s wide eyes took in the sight before him.
Unfortunately, his initial focus proved to be on Thura. “An orc in Stormwind!”
The king immediately charged forward, his legendary sword, Shalamayne, already raised to strike. Shalamayne’s great blade, with its unique narrow edge at the point and the thicker, angled edge further down, looked capable of cutting the orc in two. The gem in the lower part of the blade glowed like a furious sun.
Thura moved to defend herself. Varian saw this only as confirmation of his suspicions. He gripped tight the long, slender hilt, the backward arch at the bottom of the blade framing his taut fingers. “Let your blood be the first from a thousand orcs who’ll die this night for what’s happening! I’ll—”
Broll took to the forefront. “Your sight’s getting bad, Lo’Gosh!
Not good for a king, much less a poor excuse for a gladiator!”
“Broll Bearmantle!” Despite registering his friend’s presence, the king did not lower his sword. “Away from that damned green monster! I’ll strike her down—”
“She is with us! She is not to blame for what’s happening, nor is Thrall!”
Varian’s disbelief was clear, but it was also clear that to reach Thura — who was quite willing to do battle — the lord of Stormwind would have to go through his old comrade.
“I don’t even know if this is real,” Varian growled. “Tell me that you’re real, Broll…”
The druid reached out a hand. After a cautious pause, the lord of Stormwind took it. His gaze softened slightly as he pressed in return.
“It is you! Truly you — I think!”
“If you can feel those bones you’re cracking, you know I’m real!”
Broll and the king released one another. Their joy at their reunion was tempered by the dire moment. “Valeera! She isn’t here by any chance, is she?”
“Haven’t seen that blood elf rogue of yours in several weeks.
You know how independent she can be!” Varian grimaced. “Believe me, we could surely use her fighting skills now, Broll. I hope she’s not gotten caught stealing again. Hate to see her fighting for someone like Rehgar Earthfury or worse,” Varian concluded, referring to the orc shaman for whom they had battled as gladiators and slaves of the Crimson Ring. All fights in the Crimson Ring were to the death and even Valeera had slain her share.
The druid did not hide his disappointment. He could only hope that, wherever she was, the blood elf was safe.
But just exactly where would a safe place soon be?
“I know you,” Varian said, gazing past the night elf to Lucan.
“Foxblood. We thought you lost.”
The cartographer nodded. “I have been.”
Tyrande received a short but very polite nod. Varian had met her in the past, just before regaining his throne. “Your Majesty…” He then turned his attention back to Thura. The sword rose again and fixed with deadly purpose on the orc. “But why bring this filth into Stormwind City, Broll? What were you thinking? Her warchief used a fog to skulk up to our walls in the past, like some honorless assassin! Rather than face us directly, he used plague to soften us, a foul weapon no true warrior would wield—”
“Thrall is no assassin skulking in the fog nor is he an honorless warrior!” she retorted. “You can’t speak of him—”
Before it could get worse, Broll interjected, “Lo’Gosh! There’s no time for this eternal arguing! She is with us! I vouch for her with my life! My life!”
“You place little value on your existence, then, Broll—”
“Stop it! There are more important matters! Tell me truthfully; how long do you think the capital has left?”
“I’d have said we were lost already, but though their progress is undeniable, they move slowly. Still, our weapons are for the most part useless against them and all but a few areas have grown silent. By tomorrow — assuming that there is even a tomorrow — there may be nothing holding out but part of the keep. If you’ve anything in mind at all that might save us, I’ll lend what help I can.
You know that.”
“I’m grateful to hear that. I hope you’ll still feel so after I’ve told you what we hope to do.” The druid quickly explained his notions.
Varian’s brow wrinkled deeply as he tried to comprehend everything.
“I’ll take your word for it, Broll,” the monarch finally said. “The question remains, what to do about it?”
“My shan’do is the key…somehow. I believe he’s the key.” Broll indicated Lucan. “Your man’s got a distinctive talent…but it has a tendency to send us on a different path. We need to reach Darnassus fast…faster than even I can travel on my own…”
“There are still some flying mounts left to us here in the keep,”
Varian suggested. “A couple that might be useful—”
Tyrande suddenly stepped up. “King Varian. If you can answer a question, it occurs to me suddenly that there might be another manner by which one of us could reach Darnassus much more quickly. Even more quickly than the swiftest mount you have.”
“If I can answer in any way that aids our plight, by all means ask…”
“Do you know where our ambassador is now?”