Stormrage (wow-7)

by Richard A. Knaak

  “So I believed also… but as the Nightmare grew stronger, I discovered the truth! The shadow of it will always be within me so long as it exists… and because of me, it exists throughout my queen’s realm …” He snarled. “And that is why I do not wear the night elven form you know, and why I disguised myself as a dragon of black when forced to fly out for sustenance! I wanted no one to know it was me! I wanted no one to come in search of me!”

  “But Ysera and the Emerald Dream—” the high priestess began.

  “Call it as it should be! Call it as it will be! Call it the Emerald Nightmare! Our Nightmare!” As he shouted, Eranikus leapt to his feet. His form shifted, becoming again something part elf, part dragon. There was also more of an ethereal look to him, as if he were part dream himself.

  Then the hooded figure solidified. Eranikus stared off into space, his expression horrified. “No… I almost… I should not have nearly done that… the line between the two realms is fading

  … but it should not be this bad yet …”

  Behind Tyrande, Lucan shifted into the shadows. Broll noticed the movement and Eranikus noticed Broll observing it.

  “Humannn …” the green dragon, still a bizarre mixture of his two selves, stalked toward Lucan. The elven face now bore a blunt muzzle and teeth too sharp for the mortal form. Small wings flapped back and forth in agitation, and what should have been hands were savage paws with long nails. “It comes from the humannn …”

  The high priestess took up a defensive position in front of the cartographer. “With all respect, this one is under the protection of Elune.”

  Broll moved toward her. “And under the protection of this particular druid, too.”

  Eranikus waved a hand.

  The two night elves found themselves thrust in opposite directions, leaving Lucan to face the green dragon.

  Steeling himself, the man stepped forward. “Slay me and get it over with, if you want! I’ve been through far too much to be worried about being eaten by a monster.”

  “I prefer simpler fare,” Eranikus answered bluntly. His countenance reverted to something more elven as he studied the haggard mortal. “I only wish to see you deeper …”

  Tyrande was on her feet, the glaive ready to throw. However, Broll, also rising, gestured for her to hold back. He could sense that the dragon did indeed mean no harm… at least for the moment.

  And should that change, Broll already had an attack in mind.

  Eranikus towered over Lucan, who was not that short a human.

  The cartographer bravely looked up at the half-transformed dragon, who reached a taloned finger toward his chest.

  “You humans are always the most fascinating of the dreamers,”

  Eranikus murmured, sounding more calm. “Such a diversity of imagination, of desire. Your dreams can create beauty and horror in the same moment …”

  “I don’t like to dream,” the man stated.

  This brought an unexpected chuckle from the dragon. “Nor do I these days… nor do I.”

  The taloned finger came within a hair’s breadth of Lucan… and suddenly both figures took on an emerald glow.

  Broll shook his head. “That can’t be possible! He’s a human! There are no human druids!”

  “What do you mean?” Tyrande asked the dragon.

  “The other realm touches him, is part of him, can be open to him,” Eranikus replied, marveling. The finger withdrew. “I know you, if not by name! I have seen you, though you were barely out of the shell then …”

  Lucan Foxblood swallowed, but otherwise remained steadfast.

  “I’m merely a cartographer.”

  “A maker of maps, a student of landscapes… the closest your human mind could come to recalling and accepting a part of you that was not of your doing …” Eranikus hissed. “Nor hers, either.”

  “ ‘Hers’?” the human repeated.

  “She who bore you, little one! Your mother, brought to the Dream most foully by a fey creature who seduced a young female whose man had abandoned her just as she was about to give birth! I came upon the thing as it waited for the infant in order to claim it for whatever dark purpose it had. The creature fled at my coming, leaving a mother dying from her great exertions and a lone, weak, male child …”

  Lucan looked to Broll and Tyrande as if hoping this made more sense to them. It did not.

  “You were not a dream and so did not belong. My queen did pass you on to one who knew humans better, though he was of our kind, a red dragon called Korialstrasz—”

  “I know that name!” blurted the high priestess.

  “Well you should! He is chief consort to the Queen of Life, Alexstrasza”—Eranikus’s brow furrowed angrily—“and a more competent, trustworthy mate than I was to my beloved …”

  Tyrande began to comprehend some things. “You carried him out of the Emerald Dream?”

  “After using a spell to heal his weakness! At my queen’s request — though it was a strange one, I thought — I gave some minute part of myself so that he would live…”

  “Which would explain why he saw you as your true self, when we saw you as the black dragon you desired others to believe hunted here.”

  Eranikus hissed. “Hunger forced me out farther and farther. It seemed the best disguise… against all but him.” He eyed Lucan dubiously. “Never did I think I had created some link between us with that act so early on…”

  “And so this is why he runs in and out of the Dream almost without realizing it?” Broll asked.

  To the surprise of the two night elves, his question had the effect of filling the powerful dragon with renewed dread. “Does he? He does?” Eranikus bared his teeth at Lucan, causing the man and the night elves to prepare for the worst. “He passes into the Nightmare?”

  “So we believe,” Broll replied, his spell ready. “And comes out of it uncorrupted, if not untouched.”

  “It should not be… but the birth was there, and so the calling is from there… yet Azeroth calls him, too…” Eranikus stepped back, his gaze never leaving Lucan. “And how long have you suffered this, little mortal?”

  “My name is Lucan Foxblood.” Having found he could stand up to a dragon, the cartographer had also found he did not like being called “little mortal.”

  “The right of correction is yours in this instance,” Eranikus returned in a tone that said not much else was the human’s right.

  However reasonably a dragon might converse with a creature not of his kind, most still did so with the innate sense that their kind were the first and foremost children of Azeroth. “Tell me now! When did you first suffer so? Do you remember?”

  “I’ve always dreamed of an idyllic land, free of the interference of time and people…” Lucan remarked, looking almost nostalgic.

  His expression then darkened, though. “But the first nightmares… the first bad dreams…” He paused to think, then told them.

  Eranikus frowned. “A few scant years. A blink for dragons, but much time for mortals, I know…”

  “Too long a time,” the cartographer returned.

  “And too coincidental a time!” snarled Broll, causing the rest to look to him. He peered grimly at Tyrande. “From what I’ve gleaned, Lucan’s nightmares began just before you found Malfurion’s body…”

  For all their size, orcs could be extremely stealthy. Thura was one of those stealthy orcs. She had successfully tracked the trio without being seen and had even followed them near enough to hear their voices. Not all the words had made sense and some had been unintelligible, but one word in particular spurred her on.

  The evil one’s name. The base night elf. Malfurion.

  Thura missed the word that followed his name, or she might have wondered if her prey was already dead. Thus, she only knew — or believed — one thing. Soon she would confront Brox’s slayer and he who would also ravage Azeroth…

  The orc slipped back, still amazed. The dragon was not there now, but rather some wizard, it seemed. She had n
ot heard enough to know the truth there, either. To Thura, wizards did not rate highly; they were cowards who fought from the back of the battle using methods no honorable warrior would accept. That she felt differently about shaman and even druids was merely a prejudice based on her people’s choices. In her eyes, it only meant one more obstacle that she would face in order to avenge her blood kin.

  The orc crept along the landscape seeking a spot from which to watch the hill as a whole. No matter from which exit they left, she would see them. Then, as she had always done, Thura would follow the trail she was given, whether it be by dreams or tracking Malfurion’s companions.

  A sound from above sent her flattening against a nearby hillside.

  Gazing up, Thura grunted. Now she could account for all her enemies. The last had revealed itself, though the orc still did not know how it had slipped out without her seeing it.

  The shrouded form of a dragon glided over the region. Thura watched as it hovered above the hills where she had thought it nested. In the night sky, the dragon was a great, black silhouette.

  Indeed, it was hard to separate the dragon from the darkness. It was fortunate that Thura had seen the beast under better conditions, or else at this moment she would have questioned her eyes. The dragon looked much, much larger than before, huge in comparison. In fact, it was so huge that there was no possibility of it being the one she had seen earlier. This was truly a giant among giants.

  Thura gripped the ax, ready to use it if need be, but the dragon ceased its hovering and went on the move again. Beating its wings hard, it flew away.

  And if Thura had known the land better, she would have realized that the dragon was heading in the direction of Ashenvale.

  11

  TO BOUGH SHADOW

  Little light filtered in from outside. Most of the illumination in the cave was still due to Tyrande’s work. Still, the faint light from without appeared to put the dragon further on edge.

  “This is not natural,” he muttered at one point. “The sky should be brighter than this.” Eranikus shut his eyes for a moment. His expression hardening, he opened them again and informed them, “You should not have stayed! I have seen the outside. There is less cloud blocking the sun than a mist that should have burned away by now. It is not natural…I feel…I feel the Nightmare closer than ever…”

  The green dragon rarely called the realm by the name by which it had been known since time immemorial. For him there existed only the horror that it had become.

  He made no mention either of the fate of its mistress, Ysera, which boded ill to Broll. Yet despite also clearly being concerned about his queen and mate, Eranikus refused to accompany them to Ashenvale — the central subject of what had become an argument raging all night.

  Eranikus remained in his false elven shape, as if even being himself for a short time risked being corrupted again. The dragon had bade them leave more than once, but neither the druid nor the high priestess would, not even when threatened. It was obvious to both that with matters so grave in the dream realm, they would need the aid of someone who knew the realm even better than Broll. Fortunately, it had become quite obvious that for reasons of his own, Eranikus had no intention of causing them harm.

  “I have been very patient,” the dragon growled, turning from them. “Leave before I cast you out of this place.”

  “You could’ve done that more than once,” Broll pointed out. “And you haven’t.”

  “Mistake not my misery for weakness!” Eranikus retorted, turning on the night elf. “Nor my regret! I have done great evil and know that, but there are limits to my patience…”

  Lucan listened to all of this with a sense of impending doom. The points of the discussion were well above his head, but he did understand that matters were growing worse and that, despite his desire otherwise, he was somehow linked to them.

  A desire to have at least a little quiet had been gradually building up inside him. The cartographer finally gave in to it. With the night elves still arguing — arguing — with the dragon, Lucan decided to step away from them. Not far. Just enough to give him some peace.

  Eranikus blocked the path by which the trio had entered, so Lucan headed in the opposite direction. He chose a passage at random, only caring that it be lengthy enough to escape the voices.

  More and more, he just wanted to be away.

  Although he was hardly as stealthy as either the druid or the high priestess, the human escaped the chamber without notice. Already breathing easier, Lucan stumbled down the jagged, narrow passage.

  The voices drifted after him. Dissatisfied, Lucan moved further on. The argument faded to mere sounds, but that was still not enough.

  Lucan had left the field of illumination, but a dim finger of light from ahead gave him at least some visibility. He instinctively strode toward it.

  An exit to the outside world finally greeted him. It was barely brighter outside than where he was and tendrils of mist crept into the passage, but despite his wariness, Lucan felt the urge to continue. There could be no harm in taking a single step outside. If it looked even the least treacherous, all he had to do was enter again.

  Convinced by such logic, the human left the passage. He was greeted by a vague landscape that at first put him in mind of the pristine, emerald one of which he had always dreamed and which, though he apparently stepped into it, now feared.

  Still, being outside after a night in the cave gave Lucan some relief. I’ll only stay out here a moment , he promised. Perhaps

  …perhaps then they’ll know what to do…

  The one thing of which he was certain was that not in the least did he desire to travel to this Ashenvale. He had already realized that in some manner the place was tied to the dream realm. Lucan had not told the night elves that the more he was near things bound to what the dragon rightly called the Nightmare, the more the feeling of constantly slipping between Azeroth and it increased. Everything related to the dream realm called to him.

  That, Lucan finally understood, was why he had ended up here in the first place. He had been heading toward the dragon from the start, for Eranikus was not only a part of his astounding and terrible past — a past with which Lucan was still coming to grips — but the dragon had, at least in the past, been an integral part of the Nightmare. Whatever had stirred up this part of Lucan seemed determined to set him on a path into the other realm…something he desperately wanted to avoid.

  The cartographer paced back and forth. Throughout the night, while the others had struggled to come to some agreement, he had tried to comprehend why this should be forced upon him. An orphan raised by good folk in Stormwind, he had expected his life to begin and end as it did for most people. Magic and monsters were not for him. His thirst for travel focused only on how better he could make the maps on which his master would sign his own name. Lucan had no desires above that.

  He was not a coward, not in the least, but neither was he an adventurer beyond his dreams.

  The last thought made him grimace. ’Tis my dreams that are the problem!

  A clattering of stone made him look around. Only then did Lucan see that he had walked farther away than he had intended. The passage was now a faint shape some distance behind him.

  Turning, he headed with all haste for it.

  A powerful figure seized him from behind. He smelled a body more unwashed than his. Lucan caught sight of the hands gripping the ax handle that squeezed the air from his chest — thereby also keeping him from shouting for help — and noted foremost that they were thick and green.

  “Orc—” he gasped, the word barely even a whisper. Lucan tried again, but this time did not have any air. He began to grow dizzy and his vision grew cloudy.

  It also grew… green.

  As that happened, the pressure on his chest vanished.

  However, a powerful force shoved him to the ground. Lucan fell on his face, the ground feeling much softer, more pleasant, than he knew it should have.

  “Yes
…” rumbled a voice that, though deep, was also female. “I am close… the place of emerald shadows…”

  “Em — emerald?” Lucan managed. He looked up, and to his horror saw that the voice had spoken the truth. He was in the other realm…only this time he had not merely passed through.

  Before the cartographer could register more, he was dragged up to a standing position, then spun halfway around.

  It was an orc and it was female, although with a face that Lucan hoped for her sake was attractive to her kind. The mouth was very broad and the nose short and squat. The eyes so balefully fixed on him were the only features he could call attractive. In fact, they would have been striking on a human female.

  The head of an ax jutted up under his chin. The orc growled, “Take me to him!”

  “To — to who?”

  “The honorless one! The base slayer! The evil threatening all! The night elf who calls himself Malfurion Stormrage!”

  Lucan tried to pull his chin up, but the ax followed. Through clenched teeth, he answered, “I don’t know — know where to find him!”

  This did not sit at all well with his captor. Lucan wondered why he did not slip back into Azeroth as he always had in the past. He concentrated…but nothing happened except that the orc pressed the ax head deeper into his chin.

  “You know! The vision told me only last night! I saw you there, when he slew great and loyal Brox—”

  “I’ve no — no idea what you’re—” He stopped when a stinging sensation under his chin informed him that the ax head had drawn blood.

  “It was different again! Each time it tells me what to do! I am close, human! I will avenge my blood kin… and you will help, or you will share the night elf’s fate!”

  Lucan knew that she meant it. He carefully murmured, “Yes…I’ll lead you there.”

  The ax head lowered. The orc leaned close, her breath almost as strong as the scent of her body. She looked through him, her mind elsewhere. “My vengeance is destined… I dreamed that you would come out and where that place would be and it happened! Malfurion will die…”