She could not believe what she was seeing. “Is that — is that the Idol of Remulos?”
“Yes.”
“I had heard that you passed that on to Archdruid Fandral’s keeping—”
“And now I’ve borrowed it.” His expression asked her not to pursue that matter further. When Tyrande nodded, Broll, appearing no more relieved, added, “It may be our best hope if we’re to make successful use of the portal.”
“How so?”
“Remulos said it was linked to a green dragon of great power. The Aspect Ysera would not tell him which when she added her influence in its crafting. He suspects the identity, as do I, having faced it briefly when seeking to cleanse the idol of its corruption. Though I didn’t know the name, I felt its great power. It should be one of her consorts.”
Which meant to the high priestess a dragon with knowledge and might comparable to few. Tyrande understood Broll’s reasoning.
“You think you can contact him through the figurine?”
“It was worth my honor to hope that, yes.”
She did not like the sound of that. “What will Fandral do when he finds out you removed this from his sanctum?”
Broll shrugged. “I’ve no idea, but if I survive all this, I’ll find out then.”
Tyrande studied the figurine, praying that it would be worth the price for the druid… and for them. “What do you hope to do… and can I help in any way?”
“There’s nothing you can help with. I’ve got to do this myself.”
Broll set the figurine down on the ground in front of him, then sat with legs crossed. The eyes of the dragon stared directly into the druid’s. “I’m trying something different. Don’t want to use the idol itself …” He suddenly choked up. “Never thought I’d have to see the damned thing again, for that matter …”
The high priestess said nothing, aware of the pain involved in Broll’s previous encounter with the figurine. She knew the agony he had suffered when, weakened, he could not save his daughter from the idol’s twisted forces. He was speaking more to himself than her.
Facing his palms toward the idol, Broll began muttering. The idol was still bound to the dragon, wherever he was. The druid hoped to tie into that link and touch the dragon’s mind. Tyrande knew exactly why. The green dragon might be able to give them a clue to what was happening, but, more important, it was possible that he might be able to assist them in passing through into the Emerald Dream.
Once, the idol itself had been able to do that — Broll had used it so, where there he had battled his own rage in the manifestation of his bear form. But that had been before the Nightmare had made even the untouched places difficult to reach. Certainly, having one of that realm’s guardians at their side would increase their chances of not only survival, but success.
A faint hint of emerald light softly bathed the idol and as it did, a faded stream of energies rose from the figurine.
The magic linking the idol to the mysterious dragon.
Her attention was suddenly taken by Broll, around whom another faint glow of a more forest green now arose. Curiously, it did not emanate from him, but rather had arisen from the grassy soil upon which he sat. As a druid, Broll received much of his power through the flora and fauna of Azeroth and for the first time, Tyrande was seeing it so. There was also power within him — she was well aware of that from Malfurion — but this was an aspect of her beloved’s calling that she had not really considered. In some ways it was akin to her calling upon the Mother Moon.
Perhaps Malfurion and I are not so different even there, the high priestess thought. And perhaps that is why we have been pushed apart so much…
It was a reminder of what she should have known so well, having experienced the teachings of Cenarius and having fought beside her beloved and other druids. Azeroth was so much a part of a druid; it touched them constantly. Malfurion, so attuned, surely felt everything much, much more than Broll.
He can no more turn from his calling than I can from mine…
yet those callings intersect just as our lives do… if we survive this… we will learn how to make both intertwine… and learn how to finally be together…
If we survive…
The forest green then began to expand to the magical stream that reached through the plane of Azeroth to wherever the dragon currently lurked. Yet barely had it begun when it seemed to falter.
There was resistance.
Broll muttered something.
The resistance lessened.
“No! You mustn’t!”
The human was in their midst, as wild-eyed as ever. He was half on his knees, desperately reaching for the idol.
As he closed on it, Tyrande saw around him a landscape that was and was not where the trio was situated. Part of it seemed so simple.
The other part —
The high priestess kicked out. However, it was not the human who was her target, but rather the Idol of Remulos.
The dragon figurine went flying. It bounced against a rise, then landed atop a small rock.
Broll, his spell shattered, peered at the pair with a combination of frustration and confusion. “What by the World Tree are you doing?
” he demanded of Tyrande. The druid leapt to his feet and seized the human by the scruff of the neck. “What mischief are you about? What sort of trick have you played on her?”
The man’s mouth moved, but no sounds escaped it. The images Tyrande had seen around him had faded, and despite her best attempts to sear them in her memory, they vanished into oblivion…
just as dreams both light and dark tended to do.
But she recalled one thing. Jumping to Broll’s side, she kept him from further frightening the disheveled human. “Leave him be! He was trying to help us!”
“Help us? He tricked you into breaking the spell just when it was starting to work!” Yet clearly respecting her opinion, Broll still loosened his hold.
“Wasn’t working, wasn’t working,” the man babbled, his eyes looking past them. “Only working for them, bringing them …”
“Who?” Tyrande asked, putting a calming hand on his shoulder.
Some focus finally came to his gaze. He glanced at her. “I… I don’t know… them… the nightmares …” The man looked down. “I slept… I can’t sleep… don’t sleep …”
“Who are you?” Broll asked, his tone much kinder. “What name do you have?”
“Name?” For a moment the focus vanished. Blinking, their companion seemed to pull himself together a bit. “Lucan… Lucan Foxblood …” Some vestigial pride made him straighten. “Third assistant cartographer to His Majesty, King Varian! On a mapping mission to — to—” His expression became that of a lost child. “I don’t remember that, anymore …”
“Do not concern yourself about that,” Tyrande quietly urged. “Tell us. How did you know that what we did risked danger?”
“I–I just did. It — it has to do with that place in my dreams… I felt them… I felt something near …”
Broll retrieved the figurine. “Might’ve just been the one we were trying to reach.”
Although this made sense, Tyrande still recalled how she had felt after viewing whatever it was she had seen behind Lucan Foxblood. “No… he has the right of it, Broll. There was something sinister approaching us. That’s why I did what I had to. I trust his word in this …”
Lucan looked at her as if she had just saved his head from the ax. “Thank you, glorious lady! Thank you!”
“Calm yourself, Lucan. You are among friends… and do not thank me. Your instinctive reaction may have saved us.”
“You really think so?” the druid asked, still eyeing the statuette.
“Maybe so… maybe so …” He set the statuette down. “In that case, there’s one thing left to do.” Broll looked to Lucan. “Do you know where we are?”
“No… no… I just kept going… I just kept going …”
“As I thought.” Broll stepped back. To Tyrande, he sa
id, “Didn’t tell you before, but while you slept I took a brief fly up. Didn’t recognize where we were, but thought if I tried once more, we might have a better idea of what to do next.”
Tyrande was not bothered by the revelation, aware that Broll would not have endangered her and Lucan. She nodded agreement to his new plan. “What of the idol?”
He shrugged. “What of it? We don’t use the damned thing, it won’t be dangerous. It can sit there until I return.”
Spreading his arms, he took on his storm crow form. Lucan gasped and stumbled back to Tyrande, who felt some guilt. She and Broll were far more versed in magic than most humans.
“It’s nothing,” she told Lucan. “Nothing to worry about.”
“My — my cousin took up the calling… wizardry, I mean,” Lucan muttered, almost sounding pleased at remembering. Then his frown returned. “He’s dead now.”
As so many are, the high priestess thought, recalling the lives lost in the last struggle. And now… what comes to wreak havoc on Azeroth this time?
Broll took to the air, diverting her musings. She and Lucan watched with admiration as the huge bird soared up into the sky.
Tyrande envied this particular skill of Malfurion’s calling. To fly like that…
Yet hardly had the storm crow reached a respectable height than he immediately dove back toward his companions. Lucan simply stared, perhaps not understanding, but Tyrande knew that Broll would not have returned so quickly if not for news of import.
She grabbed the idol before Broll reached them, certain for some reason that they would need to move. The druid’s countenance when he changed back was verification that her notion was at the very least close to the truth.
“Did you find out where we are?” Lucan innocently asked.
“What did you see?” Tyrande interjected. “Are we somewhere near the Horde’s territory?”
“The Horde’s the least of our troubles,” Broll growled. “We need to find cover and quick…”
He seized Lucan by the arm and started to drag him toward one of the hillier areas. Tyrande kept pace at the druid’s side, the idol tucked under her arm.
“What is it? More of those nightmarish creatures, like in Auberdine?”
Broll snorted. “No… just possibly a bigger nightmare.” He jutted a finger toward the sky to the east. “We’ve got a dragon out there… and it’s black.”
Thura eyed the strangers from a hilltop further to their west. Two night elves and a human. Two males and a female. She discounted the human immediately, for despite seeming in the prime of his life, he hardly looked the warrior. The two night elves, on the other hand, appeared to be more worthy opponents. The male was likely a druid. Thura respected the power of those who drew from nature.
The female most intrigued the orc, for she had always had the desire to compare her skills to those of her gender from the other races. The night elf moved with impressive grace and the glaive she carried was one that required strength and long training. Thura naturally trusted to her ax but wondered how the fight would have gone otherwise.
But the reality of her situation quickly erased such idle curiosity.
What mattered was that these three were here. Here when she was. They were tied somehow to her quest, the most obvious reason having to do with the two night elves. Her prey was one.
These were likely comrades from battle. The female might even be his mate.
The orc’s broad mouth split into a wide, grim smile. They are why I am here, she decided. They will lead me to him… they will lead me to this Malfurion… this betrayer of comrades and destroyer of life…
She had seen the druid perform great magic, becoming a bird that could fly high. Even more than the female, he would have to die quickly when it came to fighting them. He looked to be powerful, though clearly not as much as the murderous druid in her dreams.
Still, he would be good practice for the duel with her true foe.
Then Thura saw why the druid had flown for so short a time. The great dark form rising into the sky was the one that she had seen only as shadow before. Now it was flying toward the area where the trio had been, and though they were fleet of foot, even the human, they were surely doomed. The orc cursed, realizing that the best clue to her prey’s whereabouts was going to be eaten.
Then, an astounding thing happened.
The dragon’s prey simply became nothing. One minute they were running and the next they were gone. Only a momentary hint of some greenish illumination gave her any sort of answer. She assumed that one of the night elves had cast some sort of spell taking the trio far away.
Yet what surprised her more was when she looked again to the dragon. The great leviathan immediately turned, then, wings beating hard, left the vicinity. There had been no hesitation; the dragon had departed with all haste.
And most curious to Thura was that, though the darkness had not given her a perfect view of the departing behemoth… she would have sworn that the dragon had fled in sudden fear.
9
TO PURSUE A DRAGON
The druids were weary. They had given of themselves as much as any living being could, and though Fandral told them that their efforts were not in vain, still it was difficult for many to believe that.
Teldrassil looked no different… and, indeed, to Hamuul Runetotem, there was something about the World Tree that now bothered him more.
Worse, his concern was compounded by Fandral’s sudden curiosity as to Broll’s absence. With so many gathered and so much urgency, the disappearance had managed to go unnoticed until after the casting. Now, though, the lead archdruid seemed to be making a particular point about it.
Hamuul had promised to look for Broll, but that had mainly been to assuage Fandral. Unfortunately, there was only so much Hamuul could do in regards to a promise that he knew — with much guilt — had no hope of being fulfilled.
He had tried to stay far from the convocation, but knew that his own absence would eventually be noticed as well. Hoping to avoid further questions, he kept to the edges of the group, moving here and there as if still seeking.
Hamuul edged his way to Naralex. Although as exhausted as the rest, the night elf stood observing a single seed in his hand. As the tauren neared, Naralex gently waved his other hand over the seed, at the same time murmuring as if to an infant.
The seed burst open. A tiny tendril rose out of it. When it grew to more than four inches, Naralex shifted his free hand to the left. The shoot arched in that direction.
The night elf made a curving motion to the right. Retaining the arch to the left, the new plant now grew to the indicated direction.
“This is what we’re meant to be,” Naralex solemnly stated to Hamuul. “Nurturers of life. Gardeners of paradise …”
“If Azeroth were perfect, yes,” agreed the tauren, “but it is not.”
“No… it isn’t.” Bending, Naralex set the seed on the ground. He drew a circle around the seed.
The ground within the circle churned. The seed sank down until only the shoot remained.
Naralex tidied the area around the plant, then turned his attention to Hamuul. “And have you found our brother Broll?”
The tauren fought to keep his nostrils from flaring. “I am still searching for him.”
The night elf’s eyes narrowed. “We both know that he never returned with us, brother Hamuul.”
Hamuul neither confirmed nor denied it. “I promised Archdruid Fandral Staghelm that I would look for Broll. I must continue.”
In what under some circumstance might have proven a dangerous act, Naralex thrust a hand out to stop the departing tauren. “Archdruid Fandral’s moved on to other things. He’s not even here at the moment, brother Hamuul.”
“Not here?” Again, the tauren sought to hide any wariness.
“While you were… elsewhere… he suggested that we all do what we can to cleanse our thoughts so that when he returned, we could begin anew with another spell for Teldrassil.”
“And where has he gone in the meantime?”
Naralex gazed up… and up. “The enclave, naturally. He said he’s seeking guidance in the seclusion of his sanctum there.”
Hamuul snorted before he could stop himself. He had his suspicions as to where Broll Bearmantle had flown, though exactly what the night elf had intended then was a matter of conjecture.
The tauren could imagine one thing in particular, but Broll would not have been so audacious… would he?
Naralex lowered his arm. “I thought you’d like to know. Do you think that perhaps our brother Broll might have had a similar thought… seeking guidance in the enclave, I mean?”
Fully recovered, Hamuul replied, “I doubt that Broll Bearmantle will be found up there.”
The night elf nodded ever so slightly. “I thought as much, also. I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
Leaving Naralex, Hamuul pondered matters. Naralex had been trying to give him a warning, in case there was some reason that Broll would be up in the enclave. The night elf had likely wondered why Broll would not have returned for the convocation and came up with what he believed the most likely answer.
And that meant that Fandral had probably done the same.
Frowning, the tauren bent back to look up in the direction of unseen Darnassus. He hoped he was correct in one thing, that Broll Bearmantle was not up in the enclave. In truth, the only reason he would have gone there would have been to seek something in Archdruid Fandral’s sanctum. Hamuul feared that it would turn out to be the Idol of Remulos. The tauren knew of no other thing that Broll would have thought of to use. After all, it was tied to the Emerald Dream, where Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage’s dreamform had gone missing.
And it was also bound to the one method that someone as impetuous as Broll might use to find their missing shan’do.
He would not… Broll would not risk that…
Hamuul blinked. Yes. Broll would.
A shadow passed over him. Turning, he saw a huge storm crow descending. It could only be Fandral returning, the lead archdruid this time choosing the swiftness of the avian form to the more artful entrance he had utilized at the beginning of the convocation.
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