“How many more must suffer or die?” Malfurion asked. “All Azeroth is falling, Fandral!” To the assembled druids, he explained, “While he kept you here, claiming to heal the World Tree, the rest of the world was attacked. See into yourselves and feel Azeroth’s pain…”
They did as he bade. Almost immediately, several druids gasped in horror.
“The Moonglade!” blurted one. “Even the Moonglade! But where’s Keeper Remulos? He’d surely not abandon it?”
It was an excellent question whose answer worried Malfurion.
He knew that the other archdruid was not by himself either powerful or cunning enough to have taken down the keeper. However, the malevolent force behind the insane night elf certainly might have been. “Well, Fandral? Where is Remulos?”
“He is a traitor, also! He will be held until he sees the truth!” The mad archdruid gestured at everyone before him. “You will all be made to see the truth!”
Dropping all pretense, Fandral gestured. Many of the druids suddenly clutched their chests.
From out of one burst a long vine that swayed back and forth like a serpent. Despite his terrible wound, the druid grabbed it — only to reveal to the rest that other wicked vines were sprouting from various places on his hands, his arms, everywhere.
“I have prepared for treachery from any of you,” Fandral explained, his eyes unblinking. “One way or another…you will all serve Teldrassil and its purpose!”
The first victim was joined by more and more. Malfurion reacted immediately, seeking to stem the growth of Fandral’s malevolent seeds. He could only imagine that they had been inhaled just like the spores that had but recently attacked him. Fandral was willing to kill every other druid for his desires.
But not all were affected. In fact, there were those who moved to join Fandral, druids who had become his followers. That his calling had itself become so tainted sorrowed Malfurion, but he had no time to wonder why any would choose such a path. What mattered was saving the afflicted.
However, neither Fandral nor the Nightmare Lord intended to give him that time. The taint in Teldrassil surged again. Darnassus was once more put under siege as more shadow creatures sprouted from the World Tree’s blackened leaves.
Malfurion needed to deal with Fandral and his master, but to do so meant to sacrifice his brethren. The first druid was already lost, what remained of his body devoured by the parasitic vines’ explosive growth.
There was one hope, one other with the strength…if he believed. “Broll! Look into me! See what must be done!”
“These mean nothing!” Broll bitterly shouted back, indicating his great antlers. “I’m not like you, Shan’do!”
“You are!” Malfurion insisted, the strain in his voice growing.
“Feel your tie to Azeroth! You can stop this! Or will you just let them all die horribly?”
It was a cold question and Malfurion despised himself for having to ask it, but he could no longer hold off. The rest of the night elf race — the rest of Azeroth — had little more time left than the druids did.
Malfurion focused on Fandral. As he stared at his rival, he saw the shadow creature behind and yet also a part of the mad archdruid. It was guiding Fandral’s thoughts for its true master.
Malfurion understood what he had to do, though it risked much.
He threw himself at Fandral, transforming to cat semblance as he did. Fandral reacted as expected, drawing a handful of tiny thorns from a pouch and flinging them toward the giant feline.
Malfurion changed back, casting another spell as he did. For most druids, even those of Malfurion’s skill, the odds of success would have been minimal. However, Malfurion had been the first trained by the demigod Cenarius. He had also learned his craft with the first invasion of the Burning Legion, and honed those skills well over the past ten thousand years.
The hurricane wind caught up the thorns and threw them back at Fandral, who cast a spell of his own. The vines that had held Hamuul and Shandris spat hundreds of drops of sticky sap at the thorns, sealing the deadly missiles inside and causing them to all land short of Malfurion’s nemesis.
“Hardly worthy of—” Fandral started.
Fire that glowed like the stars — Malfurion’s true attack — struck the shadow creature behind Fandral.
The murky figure twisted into itself as the fire engulfed it. It hissed and howled. Bits of burning shadow fluttered off in the wind.
“Valstann!” Fandral desperately clutched at the shadow. He tried in vain to douse the fire, but only succeeded in becoming caught up in it. Even then, the archdruid paid the agony no mind as he grabbed at the fiend he believed his lost child.
A hand spun Fandral around. Before he could react, Malfurion struck him in the jaw. It was the least of attacks that he could have used against the other archdruid and Malfurion’s choice for many reasons.
Fandral tumbled back.
There was little left of the shadow creature. Like Fandral before him, Malfurion reached for what remained. The fire even burned him, but he knew how to lessen the sense of pain from it. It was vital that he make contact with the shadow.
Only fragments remained. Malfurion had tried to temper his attack in order to give him this necessary moment, but still he was nearly too late.
One hand thrust into the shadow. Instantly, a horrific chill enveloped his soul. Malfurion steeled himself and drove his mind into the shadow.
And what he sensed verified the dread that had been building up in him since first he was captured by the Nightmare Lord.
The last of the shadow burned away and with it went the fire.
Malfurion took a breath as he regained his equilibrium. He turned to Fandral, but the other night elf lay sprawled where he had left him, Fandral’s eyes open but not seeing. The second loss of his
“son” had been too much.
Malfurion turned to Broll — and his eyes widened.
Broll Bearmantle stood among the suffering druids, his hands raised above his head and the energies of Azeroth swirling around him. His formerly silver eyes now blazed nearly as gold as Malfurion’s. From his hands, tendrils of energy stretched out to each of the other druids.
Two riddled bodies lay on the ground — the first of Fandral’s victims — but for the other druids, there appeared hope. Hamuul Runetotem stood with Broll, giving what aid he could, but the effort was truly the night elf’s.
You are as you were destined to be, Malfurion thought with relief and pride.
Belatedly, he realized that there was no sign of Shandris.
Knowing her as he did, Malfurion felt certain that she had gone to direct Darnassus’s defenders.
Malfurion transformed. Once again the great cat, he raced from the enclave and into central Darnassus. Around him, he registered the struggle still going on. Even without Fandral, Darnassus was in terrible danger, but Malfurion could only help them by continuing on.
Out into the forest beyond the capital he ran. Immediately, the branches and leaves of the nearby trees sought to bar his path.
Malfurion lithely dodged them when he could, tore through them with his claws and teeth when he could not. His thick fur kept his body from much harm, but still more than a score of bloody slashes marked him before he reached the deep interior of Teldrassil’s crown.
A savage, towering figure emerged from the tree, so much a part of it that even the archdruid barely noticed it in time. The ancient moved to take into account evasion by Malfurion, so Malfurion instead lunged directly toward it.
The corrupted forest guardian tried to recover, but Malfurion dove under the creature’s legs. More swift and agile, the cat eluded the gigantic ancient.