No… that will not happen… Tyrande insisted to herself. I am a priestess of the Mother Moon… the light of Elune is a part of me…
And as this thought coursed through her, it melted both the ice within her and the fear seeking to dominate her will.
“I am the high priestess of the Mother Moon…” she declared to her shadowy adversaries. “Feel her light…”
The silvery glow filled her tent. The black-and-emerald figures cringed from its glory.
Despite this promising reaction, the night elf did not relax. She opened herself up to Elune. The soft comfort of the Mother Moon enveloped her. Elune would protect her daughter.
The silvery light intensified a thousand times stronger.
With low, hissing sounds, the monstrous assassins dissolved as if truly made of nothing but shadow.
Suddenly, all was black as pitch. Tyrande gasped. The light of Elune was gone, and she was somehow seated on the ground, in a meditative pose. The high priestess shot a glance toward the glaive — it was still by the blankets, where it had been before the intruders had burst in. Or had they? The icy pain in her back returned — or perhaps it was just a chill creeping down her spine. She swallowed, her mouth dry and her heart still racing.
As Tyrande stood up, a guard suddenly burst into the tent.
Masking her emotions, Tyrande met the sentry’s puzzled gaze.
From the other priestess’s expression, she knew nothing about the attempted slaying of her mistress.
“Forgive me,” the guard murmured. “I heard a gasp and feared something had happened …”
“I merely overpracticed and was out of breath.”
The other night elf frowned, then nodded. She bowed at the waist, beginning to depart at the same time.
Something came to Tyrande’s mind. This strange, sinister vision had settled matters in her mind, but if she planned to move independently of Archdruid Fandral’s intentions, then Tyrande first needed to make certain of one thing. “Wait.”
“Mistress?”
“I have a task for you… concerning one of the druids …”
Having been a slave once, Broll Bearmantle found barrow dens too cramped; thus, he slept, as some others did, out in the open in a chosen part of the Moonglade. Hamuul slept a short distance away to his right. There existed a kinship between the pair, as both were somewhat unique in one way or another among those of their calling.
Indeed, other than Varian Wrynn and young Valeera Sanguinar — a blood elf rogue, of all things — Hamuul was perhaps the night elf’s closest friend. It made for a strange — and to many, disturbing — collection of characters, but Broll no longer cared what others thought.
Several troublesome thoughts weighed on the night elf as he lay there — too many to allow him to fall asleep. As the tauren snored next to him, Broll’s concerns focused for a time on Valeera, who had become almost like a daughter to him. As a blood elf, the youngling was addicted to the absorption of arcane magical energy, a path her kind had turned to after the destruction of the high elves’ fount of power, the Sunwell. Broll had almost managed to help her overcome it… but then circumstance had forced Valeera to return to her kind’s ways. They had parted company, at least for a time, shortly before his summons to the convocation. He hoped she was better, but feared that her addiction might have worsened again.
Grunting, Broll tried to calm his mind. At the moment, he could do nothing for Valeera, unless he had help… and that brought his thoughts back to his shan’do. For the first time something occurred to him — or rather, tried to occur to him. The main thrust of it remained just outside of his weary mind’s reach. The druid tried over and over to concentrate enough, but instead, the truth seemed to slip further and further from him. He almost —
There came a sound from among the trees behind him, a hint of something like a gasp of breath.
Father…
The night elf stiffened. Had he heard… her?
Broll quietly pushed himself up to a sitting position.
Father…
There it was again. He knew that voice better than he knew his own. Broll trembled. It could not be her.
It could not be… could never be… Anessa?
He glanced at Hamuul, whose snoring remained steady. The sharpeared tauren had noticed nothing. To Broll, that verified that he had only imagined that he had heard —
Father… I need you…
Anessa! Broll gasped. He had heard her!
The druid reacted instinctively, rising up and peering into the woods in search of his daughter. He did not call out, fearful that not only would that alert others to his situation, but also send his beloved daughter running.
But… a part of his mind reminded him… Anessa is dead…
and I’m responsible…
Despite being well aware of that fact, Broll felt his heart beat fast. He took a tentative step in the direction from which he believed the call had come.
Father… help me…
Tears welled up in the otherwise stolid druid’s eyes. He remembered her death and his part in it. The old agony stirred again. Memories of the battle arose anew.
Yes, Anessa was dead…
But she calls me! the most basic part of him insisted. This time, I can save her!
Something shadowy moved among the trees well ahead of him.
Broll veered toward the half-seen form. Suddenly, the druid’s world rippled. The trees twisted as if made of smoke. The indistinct figure grew more distant. The sky became the ground and the ground the sky. Broll felt as if his bones had turned to liquid. He tried to call out to his daughter.
Something moved toward him from the woods. As it neared, it swelled to horrific proportions. Even then, the druid could not make out any distinct features. It almost looked like —
Broll tried to scream… and then woke.
His focus began to return. Slowly, the night elf registered several things wrong with what he last recalled about his surroundings. He did not stand at the edge of the woods, but rather lay on the ground as if still sleeping. Squinting, Broll glanced up. By the position of the bright sun, several hours must have passed.
The songs of birds and the sigh of the wind greeted his ears, but another sound was missing. He looked over his right shoulder and saw Hamuul solemnly gazing back at him. The archdruid was down on one knee next to his shaking friend.
“You are awake, yes,” the tauren remarked, reading Broll’s remaining uncertainty. “Is there something amiss? You look—”
The night elf did not let him finish. “It was a dream. Or rather, a nightmare …”
“A dream… as you say …” Hamuul was silent for a moment, then said, “I awoke sooner than you know, for, this being day and I not a night elf, I but lightly napped. I heard you say something. You mumbled a name,” the tauren went on with some slight hesitation.
“A name close to you.”
“Anessa …” Bits of the nightmare came back. Broll shivered. He had dreamed of his daughter before, but never in such a manner.
The tauren briefly bowed his head again at mention of Broll’s lost child. “Anessa, yes …” He peered up at the night elf. “You are well now, though, Broll Bearmantle?”
“I am good now. Thank you …”
“This was not natural, Broll Bearmantle… no more than your earlier visions… though different from them in all other ways, I think.”
“It was only a bad nightmare, Hamuul.” Broll’s tone told the other druid not to argue that point. “Neither it nor the other instances mean anything.”
The tauren blinked, then finally shrugged. “I will not press the point, my friend, as I would only worsen your pain… but we both know better …”
Before anything more could be said, there came a faint rustling sound from the woods. Broll immediately tensed and Hamuul’s eyes widened.
From behind the trees, a figure emerged. However, it was not some shade of Anessa returned to the mortal plane. Rather, it proved
to be one of the priestesses who had accompanied Tyrande to the Moonglade.
“My mistress wishes to speak with you, druid,” the slim figure murmured to Broll. Her gaze shifted to the tauren. “She would have you come alone… with all due respect, Archdruid …”
The priestess did not wait for a reply from either, instead vanishing back into the barrow den woods. As a druid, Broll could have easily followed her, but her cautious stance and her short, somewhat mysterious message had made it clear that such a reaction would have been unwise. He was to come on his own, as if the decision were his.
“Will you go?” asked Hamuul.
“Yes,” came the night elf’s immediate reply. “I will.”
“I will tell no one.”
The tauren’s promise meant much to Broll. Nodding his gratitude, the night elf followed the priestess’s path. His thoughts were already on the possible reasons why the high priestess of Elune and the ruler of the night elves would desire a secret encounter with him. Tyrande Whisperwind had something in mind that she wished few others to know… including Archdruid Fandral Staghelm.
And, unsettling as it was, Broll had the terrible feeling that he knew just what she desired.
5
A DRUID’S BETRAYAL
“He has come,” the guard murmured to Tyrande from the tent’s entrance.
“Bid him enter and watch for anyone who might approach,” the high priestess commanded.
With a nod, the guard retreated outside. A moment later Broll Bearmantle respectfully entered. The druid bowed deep, as a subject would to a ruler. In a low voice he said, “High Priestess, you summoned me …”
“Be not so formal with me here, Broll. We have known each other for some time.”
The druid nodded, but said nothing.
“Please,” the high priestess started, gesturing at a grass mat with intricate moon patterns fashioned into it. “Be seated.”
Broll shook his head. “I prefer to stand, thank you… no disrespect meant.”
She nodded. “Very well. I shall keep this short, anyway… and I say right now that you have every right to turn my request down.”
His thick brow rose. Tyrande could, if she truly wanted to, complicate his life by ordering him to do whatever it was she desired.
But that was not her way. “Broll… you are the only one here I could ask of this. Malfurion trusted you very much, and so I place my faith in your hands — after all, you wear the mark of greatness, a n d your actions during the Third War have demonstrated its capabilities.” She glanced up at his antlers.
“You flatter me, my lady …” The druid cast his eyes downward.
“And exaggerate. My time away from my calling would hardly have left me high in his opinion …” His eyes shifted to the glaive, which now lay up on the table.
Tyrande watched him closely. She had placed it within view on the chance that the primitive weapon would remind Broll of his gladiatorial past. She had considered him for this task hoping that his recent outside exploits might stir his personal loyalty to Malfurion enough that he would step beyond the Cenarion Circle’s current chosen course of action.
“I do not exaggerate. Before he vanished, Malfurion made himself very clear. He understood the grief and anger you suffered and knew that you had to work through it by yourself.” Her eyes narrowed. “Let me be blunt, Broll. Malfurion’s dreamform must return to his body. Elune’s vision was clear; he is dying and dying quickly! He will not last through Fandral’s plans! I am certain of that.
I know he means well, but it is clear that Fandral is unwavering — not even I can change his mind. You and I must rescue Malfurion from whatever prison holds him.”
He hesitated. “You’re absolutely certain? There can be no mistake about your vision?”
“It was from the Mother Moon.” She stated it with absolute confidence. Elune played no tricks on her faithful.
To her relief, the druid finally nodded. Broll’s determined cast showed her that she had chosen correctly.
“I know you. I know Elune.” Like most night elves, Broll had grown up worshipping the Mother Moon. The calling to the path of the druid had come later, but it had in no manner erased the respect he had for the deity. “And though there’s much merit in Fandral’s course, there’s been that which leads me to believe more as you do. If you’ve a plan, my lady, I’m agreeable to it. Something must be done and, with all due respect to Archdruid Fandral, I fear that Teldrassil will be more of a distraction than a path. What do you have in mind?”
His decision to agree was an abrupt one, but not without substance behind it. Yes, Broll had at first been satisfied, even hopeful, with Fandral’s plan; but hearing Tyrande’s plea had stirred to the forefront thoughts of uncertainty that he realized had been growing since the last and most heinous of his visions. Something foul was at work — something that surely was the Nightmare. That these visions suddenly pressed him so, and that the last concerned his deceased daughter, had added weight to the high priestess’s concerns. Something very terrible was imminent and that thing seemed most likely Malfurion’s doom.
No… healing Teldrassil would indeed take too long, the druid thought. But Fandral wouldn’t understand that…
There was still no answer to his question, so he repeated it.
She looked away. Much of what Tyrande intended was based on knowledge gleaned about the druids through Malfurion. There was a tremendous possibility that the high priestess had made some false assumptions and, if so, then her plan had failed before it had even begun.
“I want you to go to Bough Shadow …”
He rightly stiffened at mention of that name. It was immediately clear to him her intention.
“Bough Shadow,” the sturdy male muttered. “I understand what you want. It makes the most sense… especially with time so precious as I now believe …”
Her hopes grew. “Do you think it might work?”
“My lady… it may be the only chance left to us… but it won’t be easy… unless …”
She waited, but when Broll continued to look inward, finally had to ask, “Unless what?”
Shaking his head, the druid murmured, “Best you not know.”
Looking more determined, Broll added, “But I’ll get there.”
“There is still the question of the convocation and Fandral’s plans,” the high priestess went on. “You will have to wait until all that is settled — but I’m afraid we’ve no time to waste.”
“There is only one thing with which I need to deal, High Priestess, and if Archdruid Fandral does not catch me at it, I will be gone immediately after.” His brow furrowed. “It does require I first return with the rest to the Cenarion Enclave, though …”
Again Tyrande waited for more explanation and again Broll gave none. She finally nodded to the druid, trusting that whatever secret he held from her was for her own — and Malfurion’s — good.
“I thank you,” Tyrande murmured. Her expression tightened. “But there’s one more thing. You won’t go alone. I will be sending Shandris to meet you… you are familiar with Auberdine, I’d imagine?”
“I’ve been there. It’s not a place conducive to druidic ways…
and, like my brethren, I prefer another mode of travel. Is that where we’re to meet?”
“Yes, then the two of you can proceed on to Ashenvale.”
His expression did not hide his dislike for her decision to add a partner to his travels. “With all due respect to the general and her considerable skills, I’d much prefer to go alone.”
She was adamant. “You will not. If I must order you to—”
Broll grunted. “You needn’t. If you really think this best for Malfurion, then… I’ll trust to you, high priestess.”
Tyrande’s mood softened. She reached out abruptly to touch his shoulder. As she did, a faint glow of moonlight briefly spread over the spot. The moonlight briefly engulfed Broll before fading into him.
“You have the blessing of the
Mother Moon… and my gratitude, too.”
The male night elf bowed low. “I’m deeply honored by both, my lady.”
“I am Tyrande to you.”
The druid bowed, then began to retreat from her presence. “No
… to Malfurion, you are… to me… you are my high priestess, the embodiment of our people’s hopes …”
He slipped out of the tent. Tyrande pursed her lips, wondering if she had done the right thing.
Then her gaze returned to the glaive… and her determination hardened.
• • •
Broll said nothing to Hamuul when he returned and the stolid tauren did not ask. The night elf did not sleep much that day, and when the druids prepared to take their leave of the Moonglade, he only acknowledged the high priestess with a respectful bow no more intimate than that performed by any of his brethren.
The Sisters of Elune had their own method of travel — mighty hippogryphs — for the return to Darnassus, and so, after sharing a few words with Tyrande Whisperwind, Fandral Staghelm led the druids to a private clearing in the Moonglade.
“I have determined that the situation here merits immediate continuance of our efforts to heal the World Tree,” the lead archdruid announced as they prepared to depart. “We will renew our efforts this very night—”
“This very night?” a druid blurted. “After so long a flight?”
“There will be a period of meditation first, naturally, and I will work to reconsider how best to utilize our power, since we’ll not have the Idol of Remulos to add to it after all …” Fandral waved away further discourse. “It is settled! Now, for Malfurion’s sake, let us be on our way quickly …”
Fandral raised his arms.
As one, the druids shrank. They bent forward and feathers burst from their violet skin. Their noses and mouths distended, becoming beaks.
The small flock of storm crows took to the air, nearly invisible against the night sky.
Fandral, a larger bird with silver streaks along each wing, led the druids at a swift pace, eager to reach Teldrassil. The sight was a rare one, for only the most skilled and powerful of druids were able to learn the mysteries of flight. Indeed, with the exception of Broll, all the rest were archdruids of reputation. It was another hint of the power he wielded, yet could not focus enough to truly attain his place among his brethren. That he was here at all was Fandral’s doing, and that made Broll feel even more guilt for what he intended.
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