Stormrage (wow-7)

by Richard A. Knaak

  She spun him back around again so that he could lead her. Only then did Lucan for the first time see the place through which he had previously only stumbled half-dead or rushed through.

  The landscape nearest them was of an idyllic nature, an untouched place of natural beauty. Long, flowing grass spread over fields dotted with sloping hills and lush trees. It was clearly a place untouched by civilization. There were signs of wildlife, especially birds in the distance. It was truly like something out of a dream, he thought.

  Then the cartographer noticed that there were no birds in the immediate area. All of them were far away. Seeing nothing in the direction he faced, he peered over his shoulder.

  Lucan gaped. Even though the sight was still some great distance from their location, it so shook the human that he instantly tried desperately to return to the mortal plane to escape what he saw…but to no avail.

  As if she did not see what no living creature could miss — and what no living creature should desire to face — the orc used the ax handle to brusquely shove Lucan forward…toward the Nightmare.

  Eranikus shivered. “The way was opened!” He peered around.

  “Where is the human?”

  All argument was forgotten as the trio sought Lucan. Broll picked up the trail first. “He went this way!”

  Tyrande followed the druid, but Eranikus whirled the opposite direction. Neither night elf had time to concern themselves with the dragon, who seemed steadfast in his refusal to help them.

  Broll broke out into the open moments later. The mist was thicker and much too reminiscent of Auberdine.

  “Do you see him?” the high priestess asked.

  “No, but in this muck, he might be only a few yards away.”

  Tyrande held one palm before her and began praying under her breath. The mist began to move back, as if pushed by some unseen hand.

  But in the area revealed, there was no immediate sign of the cartographer. The druid again studied the ground, quickly finding Lucan’s barely visible tracks.

  “He went along this way, but it looks like he was pacing a lot. He—” Broll paused, then all but pressed his face against the hard ground as he took in other details. “There’s another set of prints… and by their shape, I’d guess an orc.”

  “An orc? Here?”

  A heavy flapping of wings caused both night elves to look up and behind themselves. Overhead, the immense form of the green dragon appeared in all his terrible majesty. He was huge in comparison to most dragons either had seen, other than the Great Aspects. Yet Eranikus was also sleeker, longer, than many. He hovered, his huge, webbed wings spreading far to each side. Two long horns darted back from the top of his head. His narrow jaws opened, revealing an unnerving array of sharp teeth as long as Broll’s arm. Under his chin, a slight tuft of hair gave Ysera’s consort a more scholarly look.

  More astounding, Eranikus shimmered slightly, as if not completely attuned to the mortal plane. It added an ethereal quality to the leviathan and marked the ties he still had with the Emerald Dream despite his previous troubles.

  Eranikus surveyed the region.

  “There is no sign of the little human, anywhere, though admittedly I am near blind, using my eyes like some mortal creature!” the dragon finally hissed. Unsaid by him was the fact that, under the circumstances, he dared not view the world through dreamsight. That risked too much contact with the Emerald Dream

  …and so, the Nightmare. “And the way has closed again!”

  “He was taken,” Broll explained, “by an orc, it seems.”

  The behemoth bared his sharp teeth. “He must have tried to escape using his unique circumstances.”

  “If he did…then he took the orc with him,” Tyrande pointed out.

  Still hovering, Eranikus cocked his head. “I have smelled orc here, but it was a small scent, meaning perhaps one, and no orc would be foolish enough to seek me…” He hissed again. “Unlike night elves!”

  Broll did not like the sound of the first part. “Why would an orc stay here for days? What could they want from this place?”

  “It could be coincidence,” replied the high priestess, “but I rather think someone wanted the orc here from the start. The orc’s presence, coupled with Lucan’s own and his past association with Eranikus, make it too difficult to believe that any of it is due to chance…”

  A sinister rumbling escaped the green dragon. He glared at the night elves. “I will join with you long enough to bring you to Ashenvale and make certain that your path is clear! No more than that!”

  While both were grateful, Broll had to ask, “But why change your mind? Why draw so near to what you dread so much?”

  Eranikus stared into empty air as he contemplated something.

  Finally, “Because I do not like the notion that perhaps something has been working all this time…just so this orc can reach the Nightmare!”

  The druid was incredulous. “But for what reason?”

  The great dragon looked troubled, so troubled that the night elves’ unease grew by volumes. “Well we might ask, little druid

  …well we might ask…”

  He descended to the ground and with a tip of his head indicated that the two should climb atop near his neck. Tyrande had ridden dragons before and so obeyed without hesitation. Broll frowned, but followed immediately. His avian form could not possibly keep up with a dragon’s pace.

  The moment they were ready, Eranikus took to the sky. He circled once, then headed in the direction that the druid had assumed Ashenvale lay.

  “How long before we reach it?” Tyrande shouted. “How long before we reach Ashenvale?”

  “Not so long, but perhaps too long!” the dragon roared back.

  “Press yourselves against my neck and hold tight!”

  They raced through the heavens at a speed that nearly took the night elves’ breath away. The gusting wind might have been harder to take, but Eranikus arched his neck to give them some protection.

  Broll dared lean to his right just enough to see something of the ground. What he noticed left him with more concern. There was mist everywhere. It was not one thick blanket, but neither was there any separate patch. Indeed, the pattern reminded him of something.

  As a druid, it finally came to him. Branches…the tendrils of mist look like branches from some evil tree…

  The resemblance was enhanced by areas that brought to mind leaves with jagged edges. That brought back memories of the visions Broll had earlier suffered, and he pondered their connection to all this.

  On and on they flew. The hills became wooded lands. The air cooled some. The woods thickened into lush, green forest that Broll knew from past journeys.

  “I see it…” Eranikus informed them. “Bough Shadow lies just ahead…”

  “Just ahead” to the dragon still meant to his passengers that it was out of sight for several minutes more. Then…

  “I see it!” cried Tyrande.

  Broll tapped her shoulder in acknowledgment. He, too, could at last make out the Great Tree.

  It was dwarfed by its mightier siblings, but it still rose high over the region, a monarch in its own right. From a distance, the tree seemed in good order, even if its base was covered by mist. Its vast branches spread nearly a mile across, and within its boughs could be found a multitude of creatures, including many of those who served as its guardians. It was one of a handful of such trees, the others located in the astounding Crystalsong Forest — a mystic place in chill Northrend where, in addition to normal fascinating trees, formations of crystal grew — the Hinterlands — east of Aerie Peak, home of the gryphonriding Wildhammer dwarves — murky and dangerous Duskwood, and the deep, dank jungle of Feralas.

  There were portals located in all these places, but for the druids and Broll in particular, Ashenvale was the most secure, the most safe. Thus far.

  However, as they neared, the dragon said, “The area is empty. I see no one, night elf or otherwise…”

  “That ca
n’t be,” Broll returned. “The druids were summoned away, but there were others who would be here!”

  “We shall see.” Eranikus circled once, then descended.

  As the dragon alighted, the night elves got their first glance at the tree’s huge base…and the portal that represented their best hopes.

  Vine-wrapped, fluted columns with wide capitals marked their ultimate destination. A path composed of pieces of stone passed between them, leading to the tree.

  The portal itself was round. Its surrounding border was shaped from the tree’s living roots. They wrapped around one another, forming an arch. With the arch was a second border violet in color and radiating energy.

  But it was the core that most demanded attention. Within the portal, a swirling mass of emerald energy constantly shifted. At times, streaks that resembled miniature bolts of green lightning flared.

  The key to their hopes of reaching Malfurion, the reason for seeking this place, was this portal. The physical path to the Emerald Dream and the Nightmare — the only path that might still be at all trustworthy — lay open to them.

  And that in itself now presented another concern.

  “It is as you said,” Tyrande remarked to the dragon. “There is no one, though there should be many guardians.”

  “Could they be to the east?” Broll suggested. “The Horde’s been getting very cocky about trying to harvest that part of the forest. It was something Malfurion was concerned about years ago already.”

  “That is a point,” conceded the dragon, “but those who serve here serve most my queen…they would not depart without her com—”

  Eranikus let out a fearsome roar of pain as a huge boulder crashed down upon his back. Caught unaware and having just carried the two night elves, he had not raised defenses against such a primitive but powerful assault.

  As the dragon sought to recover, a second missile collided with him. Eranikus tumbled toward the portal, bowling over several columns.

  The night elves turned to face the enemy, Broll transforming into the ferocious bear and Tyrande wielding the glaive.

  Out of the forest burst a gigantic figure who seemed spawned by the very trees. His body was covered in thick bark and he had a long beard of leaves. Two tusks thrust from his mouth and his eyes were filled with a golden rage focused not on the night elves, but the dragon.

  “Corrupted…” he grated, his voice akin to the scraping of wood against wood. “You will not pass…”

  “An ancient of war!” the high priestess called.

  As quickly as he had transformed, Broll reverted to his true shape. He ran toward the lumbering figure, unafraid of the fearsome paws that resembled huge, sharp splinters capable of skewering a mere druid.

  “Gnarl!” Broll shouted at the top of his lungs. “Gnarl, ancient of war, protector of Ashenvale and Forest Song! You know me! You know me!”

  The ancient hesitated. The mighty creature wore only a few bits of armor that looked more ornamental than protective. Fearsome faces and mystic patterns decorated them. In truth, the ancient needed little protecting. There was not much that could injure one of them. The ancients were among the first creatures of Azeroth, the first guardians of its life.

  Gnarl cocked his head as he studied the druid. There was a hint of resemblance to a hound in the jagged face, but the eyes bespoke of an intelligence much greater. Indeed, ancients of war helped teach night elf warriors much of their skills.

  “I know you, yes, night elf! You are the wanderer and friend called Broll Bearmantle…” Gnarl briefly bent his head. “My sorrow still for the death of your youngster…”

  The comment made Broll clench a fist, though he hid that from the ancient. With lives that made those of night elves look so very short, ancients often saw years like seconds. To Gnarl, Anessa’s death was an incident that had only just happened and so was very well recalled. Gnarl did not mean to remind Broll…not that the druid ever forgot, anyway.

  But Gnarl then returned his attention to Eranikus, who had finally righted himself. The dragon spread his wings and hissed at the ancient, yet though Gnarl was smaller, the guardian did not look afraid to directly face Eranikus.

  “Corrupt one! You were warned…”

  “I come here only to bring these two to help my queen and their friend — your friend, also! Malfurion Stormrage!”

  “Stormrage…” Gnarl looked uncertain. “We have felt his absence strong…yet also his presence…” The eyes glared at Eranikus. “As we have sensed your nearing presence for the past day…and the corruption you bring with you…”

  The dragon started to shrink back. It was clear by his reaction that what the ancient had said struck a chord.

  “He’s freed of his corruption!” Broll corrected, coming to Eranikus’s defense. “He is an ally and a friend to us again! You should know that!”

  “No!” Gnarl raised a mighty hand. “I saw him return to his evil!

  He—” The huge figure blinked. “No…that was a nightmare…one of many of late. He does not seem corrupted…yet…”

  Taking advantage of the ancient’s hesitance, Broll asked a question that had been bothering him. “Gnarl…where are the other guardians?”

  The forest dweller’s expression turned grimmer. “Some to the east, some to the north, some to the south. The others…those who remained behind with me…the others sleep and do not wake…” He shook his head. “I hid them safe…but I have grown so tired myself

  …I may soon be joining them.”

  “What happened?”

  Gnarl told them how the guardians — including ancients, night elves, green drakes, dryads, and especially those of the green dragonflight — had been without commands by Ysera for far too long. They had grown concerned. That concern had turned worse when a dryad named Shael’dryn had come to them after fleeing her moonwell. The wells — bound to the magic of nature and the light of Elune — were places of healing for both the land around them and those who drank of their waters. Magi and other spellcasters could even refresh their mana, a gift of the Mother Moon to Azeroth’s other defenders. Shael’dryn had been the one watching over the northernmost.

  “I know her,” Broll said with a slight, wry smile. “A jester of words, a lover of puns…”

  Gnarl shook his craggy head. “No humor was there in her when she came. She warned of — of attackers in the dark, seeking the wells. The dryad only called them shadows, though she said that they reminded her of something else.”

  No one heard the intake of breath from Tyrande, who then asked, “Where is she? It might be wise to speak with her.”

  “That is impossible,” the ancient answered. “She has slept for two days now.”

  He went on to tell them how, after hearing from the dryad, the ancients and other guardians had then divided up to head to the moonwells and other strategic locations. They had left Gnarl and the others in charge of the portal’s protection.

  “There were more than a dozen…all strong, especially the dragons and drakes…and at the time, we did not know yet about the unwaking sleep. That happened only after we divided up and said our farewells…”

  “You were played like pieces in a chess game,” Eranikus pointed out, not without some satisfaction at someone else’s mistakes.

  “Hmmph!”

  Although Gnarl obviously did not care for the dragon’s comments, he did not defend himself and his comrades. Instead, the ancient gestured at the portal. “I will not stand in your way…go, if you think it some good…”

  “I am not foolish enough to enter there! That is for these two!”

  Now Gnarl did show his contempt, though Eranikus ignored him.

  Forgetting the dragon, the woodland guardian said to Broll, “Forest brother, I would go with…but there must be someone here…other than him…”

  “That’s understood. I’ll go alone—”

  “We go together,” Tyrande curtly interjected.

  As ever, there was no arguing with the high prie
stess. Broll shrugged. “Then let’s get on with it.”

  Eranikus moved to the side. The night elves strode toward the glittering energies.

  Tyrande exhaled. “It looks so…beautiful.”

  “Once, it was.”

  “How do we enter?”

  “Just walk in,” the druid replied, “and then be prepared for anything.”

  “I always am.”

  “Fare you well,” Gnarl grated, the ancient raising one heavy hand. “There is still the sense of corruption near…”

  “The Nightmare covers much of the Dream,” Eranikus impatiently pointed out. He acted more anxious now that the two were about to enter. “I sense its malevolence more than ever.

  Once you are through, I shall depart!”

  Broll, in the lead, paused to look one last time to the dragon.

  “We thank you for your aid, though.”

  “Thank me not for helping you to possible disaster, little night elf!”

  Tyrande, peering at the portal, interrupted. “Broll, there is something—”

  The portal flared. The emerald energies darkened, then swelled, expanding to encompass the pair.

  As the night elves tried to come to grips with what was happening, mocking laughter rang in their ears and a fearsome head that seemed as much mist as real lunged toward them. Like the energies of the portal, the creature was of a dire green shade.

  “We’ve been waiting for you…” the dragon said.

  12

  NIGHTMARE’S SERVANTS

  The green dragon was not so great in size as Eranikus, but he was large indeed and eager to take the night elves. Broll cast the calming spell that had worked at least in part on Ysera’s consort, hoping to slow the attacking beast.

  But for his efforts he received only more of the malevolent laughter. The dragon would have fallen upon him if not for Tyrande, who shoved the druid aside and threw her glaive.

  Glowing with Elune’s majesty, the triple-bladed weapon whirled unerringly at its target. The tip cut across the dragon’s snout just above the red region that almost resembled a beard, and though the monster seemed half-insubstantial, a wicked flash of dark emerald energy escaped the cut. The horned dragon arched his neck, more furious than wounded. His wings spread wide, revealing red membrane that contrasted sharply to his overall verdant appearance. Lethon’s fiendish orbs were wide with rage and it was clear that, unlike Eranikus or others of the green dragonflight — who generally kept their eyes shut and observed all through the halfwaking, half-sleeping state — the corrupted behemoth saw quite well.