Stormrage (wow-7)

by Richard A. Knaak

  But the very grass at their feet was as devious a foe as the dark leaves or the shadow creatures that formed from those leaves.

  Anything that was a part of Teldrassil had now turned on Broll’s people.

  And only now could Broll sense just how horribly tainted the World Tree was. Yet just as disconcerting was a powerful force that not only fed Teldrassil, but fueled that taint.

  Druids were aiding the terror. Their spells were adding to the World Tree in a manner that he could not believe they understood.

  Broll rushed in the direction of the portal that would take him down to where he could feel the druids at work. They had to be warned and warned quickly.

  But as he ran, the leaves took special interest in him. Broll spread a glowing light purple fire before him that burned the leaves before they could touch. The way momentarily cleared, he shifted to cat form for better swiftness.

  The portal came into sight. Broll did not hesitate to leap through.

  Once he reached the others, they could help put an end to this awful attack.

  The world swirled about him. It was a different sensation than that he had experienced using the hearthstone. The druid felt as if he were thrust forward.

  Indeed, barely a breath later, Broll leapt out of the portal at the base of Teldrassil. The great cat surveyed the vicinity and was not surprised to find no one there. The druids were still gathered further on.

  With four strong limbs, Broll tore along the edge of Teldrassil, seeking the convocation. How could they be so unwary? he wondered. At the very least, Fandral and the other archdruids should sense what’s happening —

  Fandral.

  Foreboding filled Broll. He recalled how close Fandral was to Teldrassil. The World Tree was like the lead archdruid’s own child.

  Fandral truly should have sensed what was happening.

  Unless —

  A rain of thorns struck the great cat. Broll roared in pain, lost his footing, and tumbled forward. He felt dizziness, an unsettling dizziness that could not be normal.

  The thorns were drugged. His experienced mind quickly calculated which herbs with which they had been tipped. To his relief, none were poisonous. They were designed to incapacitate.

  Broll could feel his muscles growing slack. He was semiconscious, but unable to move. Broll felt himself slipping back into his true form, but that brought him no relief.

  A hand roughly gripped his arm. Broll was unceremoniously rolled onto his back. Through blurred eyes, he made out at least four druids leaning over him, but not the details of their faces.

  “Someone should tell Fandral,” one of them said. “Someone should tell him we’ve got the traitor…”

  22

  THE TAINTED

  The victims of Stormwind City were coming for them. Lucan, Thura, and the major were surrounded by the bedraggled, slumbering figures. Each was screaming about some dire event that they somehow blamed on the three. Worse, they all moved unerringly toward the defenders with their eyes tightly shut.

  “What do we do?” Lucan asked.

  “We fight them!” growled the orc, the ax ready. “We fight them or they tear us apart, fool!”

  “They are innocents!” Major Mattingly countered reprovingly.

  “Would you do this if they were your own people?”

  “Yes…because it must be done.”

  The look on the officer’s face when she said that was proof enough that Mattingly understood her logic. Yet he still shook his head at the thought.

  “Foxblood! Take her and see what has happened to the night elves!” Mattingly finally ordered.

  “But that’ll leave you alone here…”

  The two humans eyed one another for a moment. Lucan finally understood. Mattingly was trying to spare the innocents from Thura, who would surely take a terrible toll on them even if she was eventually overwhelmed. The major was also obviously hoping for some miracle to come from Tyrande’s and Broll’s efforts.

  “Come!” the cartographer ordered the orc. As surprised as she was at his commanding tone, Thura reluctantly followed, while the major swept his sword across the shrinking gap between him and the sleepwalking locals.

  But no sooner had they entered when a stout figure wielding a work ax charged Lucan.

  “ ’Tis my farm!” the man shouted. “I won’t let ya burn it!”

  The ax would have buried deep into Lucan’s chest if not for Thura. She blocked the strike with the shaft of her weapon. The sleepwalker turned to face her, his shut eyes disconcerting. The rage in his face was overwhelming.

  He swung at the orc. She parried the attack, then struck.

  “No!” But Lucan could not stop her.

  Her enchanted ax cut a red line across the possessed man’s chest. He dropped his own weapon, then fell to the floor.

  The cartographer was furious. “He couldn’t help himself!”

  Thura did not look happy with her own actions, but she asked, “What would you have done?”

  Lucan had no answer. From above there came the sounds of struggle and more screaming. The pair ran upstairs.

  They were met at the top by Tyrande, who struggled with a wild figure who could only have been the night elf ambassador. Lucan raced to help the high priestess, only to be confronted by a shadow creature.

  “Go to her!” roared Thura. The orc thrust past Lucan. Although her ax did not reach the shadow, it recoiled at the nearness.

  The way cleared, the cartographer joined Tyrande. He seized one of the screaming figure’s arms, enabling Tyrande to focus better.

  The high priestess touched the sleepwalker’s chest. A faint silver glow covered the flesh.

  The sleepwalker let out a gasp and crumpled into their arms.

  Lucan and Tyrande gently laid her down.

  As they did, the orc thrust. The ax cut through the shadow, which hissed…then faded.

  But though there was a moment of calm where the trio stood, the same could not be said for without. The screams grew louder, more terrifying. One briefly rose above the rest before abruptly cutting off.

  “That was the major!” Lucan gasped. He tried to go to a window, but Tyrande pulled him back.

  “It is too late for him.” The high priestess looked into Lucan’s eyes. “Too late for so many. But there is still hope for Azeroth and hope for us…if you take us from here.”

  He nodded. “I can’t promise that we might not end up by that green dragon again…”

  “Eranikus is the least of our problems…indeed, Eranikus is his own worst problem.”

  Lucan concentrated. Tyrande extended a hand to Thura, who took it.

  The world took on an emerald hue.

  And then a darker one. Mad shrieks assailed their ears and the landscape was covered in the familiar, cloying mist in which halfseen, grotesque shapes moved about. Vertigo shook each of them, heightening a growing sense of anxiety and disorientation that they knew was far from natural.

  They were back in the Nightmare.

  “No…” Lucan muttered. “Let me—”

  The shadow of a massive, skeletal tree stretched over them, its silhouette obvious even despite the darkness.

  Welcome… came a dread voice in their heads. And, especially, welcome to you, Tyrande Whisperwind…

  The high priestess turned as pale as death. Even the orc shivered at the dire tone in the night elf’s denial.

  “No…” Tyrande shook her head. “No…”

  Yes…oh yes… the voice answered.

  “Think, Fandral, think!” Malfurion called. “Is this truly all as you want it to be? Did you create Teldrassil to destroy your people?”

  “I am not destroying us; I am saving us from you and others who betray our world!” As he spoke, Fandral leaned his head toward the shadow he believed his son. The crazed archdruid nodded, then added to Malfurion, “You spoke against Teldrassil’s birth! You knew that it would restore our people to their glory and return to them the immortality that was stripped
away!”

  Malfurion dodged as a flower bloomed in front of him. It was a black lily and from it shot forth a white pollen. He had no idea what that pollen would do, but any plant tainted by the Nightmare was surely a threat.

  The pollen landed short. The area upon which Malfurion had stood burned and withered.

  There was a sharp pain on his left hand. A single grain had landed near the thumb. That one grain was enough to make

  Malfurion grit his teeth. Had a thousand touched him…

  A pressure built in his chest. Malfurion fell to his knees. The pressure increased. It became impossible to breathe.

  The archdruid quickly searched his body, seeking what assailed him. It proved all too easy.

  The pollen had been a ploy, albeit a dangerous one. Too late Malfurion realized that Fandral had utilized a more subtle druidic attack. While Malfurion had been evading the lily, he had also been inhaling the altered plant’s tiny spores. They now filled his lungs.

  But as he had done with the morrowgrain poison, Malfurion forced the spores from his body. It was not as simple and gradual a feat as he had utilized in his barrow den; after all, time was not on his side. Malfurion ejected the spores with one fierce exhalation, sending them toward their caster.

  The effort caused a brief sense of lightheadedness during which Fandral might have been able to attack him if not for the fact that the other night elf had to deflect the all but invisible spores. Fandral gestured and the wind scattered the counterattack before it could reach him.

  Yet though Malfurion had saved himself, he knew that every second that he was forced to combat Fandral only worked in the Nightmare’s favor. Fandral was lost; his madness consumed him.

  Unless…

  Palms turned skyward, Malfurion concentrated.

  A calm settled over the enclave. The trees stilled and the other plants grew calm. Malfurion smiled grimly. The taint might infest Teldrassil, but not all of Teldrassil had been consumed by it. He had called out to that which was still whole to listen to him, to remember what it was.

  But a mere breath later, the terror returned. Fandral stood with arms outstretched and the shadow at his side.

  “I will not permit you to take my son from me again!” he cried.

  Malfurion no longer listened to Fandral’s incoherent words. He focused again on drawing that which was still good in Teldrassil. It was not as great as what was tainted, but with his guidance it held, at least for the moment.

  And that was all Malfurion could ask.

  But it was no longer merely the enclave that he affected.

  Malfurion strained as he spread his spell to encompass all of Darnassus. There were still screams and shouts of struggle, but they were less and he sensed that it was because his plan was working.

  His body, his very soul, ached. Malfurion was fighting not one foe, but two. Somewhere deep in the World Tree was a touch of the Nightmare Lord, a physical presence. He wanted to seek it out, the better to combat it, but that would leave him defenseless against Fandral.

  The strain grew. Malfurion felt his power waning. It was not that Fandral was stronger; it was that Malfurion was at the same time seeking to protect the citizenry as well.

  It must happen soon! They must understand! he thought.

  Then he felt the presence of others in the enclave, and both his hopes and his concerns rose. How they reacted meant the difference between victory and defeat.

  Fandral lessened his attack, maintaining it only enough to keep Malfurion on edge. Malfurion had assumed that. He, in turn, dropped his hands and cut off his spellwork.

  For a moment he was buffeted, but then Fandral followed suit.

  Now was not the time for either to look the aggressor. They were about to be judged.

  The other archdruids and druids gathered around them, most with wary or uncertain looks. Malfurion met the gaze of each, letting them see into his soul. He had nothing to hide, whereas Fandral did.

  And one thing that Fandral hid was the shadow creature he believed was Valstann come back to him. The other archdruid stood before his brethren bearing a pious smile, as if he had been the one to summon the rest here. However, that responsibility lay with two unlikely figures — perhaps three, Malfurion saw — who now stepped into the center of the fray.

  Fandral could not help but glance behind him. Hamuul Runetotem and Shandris Feathermoon were no longer his prisoners.

  Malfurion’s attack had involved many subtle aspects. In addition to fighting the other archdruid’s efforts, Malfurion had used the distraction of the struggle to also manipulate the sinister vines holding the trio.

  Malfurion tried to revive Naralex, but the other male night elf remained unconscious. He had better success with Hamuul and Shandris. Placing Naralex in Hamuul’s care, he then sent them off to the portal, all the while hoping that Fandral’s madness would keep the other night elf from noticing what was happening.

  Malfurion had succeeded, but it was still a question as to whether the pair had come with aid for him — or more support for Fandral. The third member of the party gave indication of the latter, for he all but growled at several druids. How Broll Bearmantle had come to be here, Malfurion desperately wanted to know, but the answer to that had to wait.

  “Very good!” Fandral proclaimed to the newcomers. “The traitors are rounded up! Excellent work!”

  “They claim that you are the traitor, Master Fandral,” one druid cautiously responded.

  Broll stepped toward the speaker. “And he is, though even I was slow in understanding that he was forcing you to feed that which taints Teldrassil rather than curing the World Tree!” To Malfurion, he explained, “When I went to warn them, a group captured me!

  Fortunately, before they could do much else, Hamuul and Shandris came along and managed to talk some reason into them…”

  “We did what we believed right!” the druid who had spoken countered. Some of the druids looked ready to fight with Broll.

  Hamuul Runetotem joined the night elf. Shandris started toward them, but then looked to Malfurion.

  Nodding to her, he said to the gathered throng, “You know me.

  Most of you were trained by me. Look into yourselves and see if you still have faith in my word.”

  “The Nightmare has seduced him!” Fandral interjected. “You know how long he has been missing! Great though our shan’do once was, he is now an emissary of the darkness! Heed not his words!”

  “And why should they heed yours, Fandral?” Broll countered.

  “You promised Teldrassil would restore our people, but now all they have to do is truly seek with their senses to see what it’s become!”

  Malfurion looked on with approval at Broll. “Always you underestimate yourself. You know what lurks within the World Tree, don’t you, Broll?” He turned to the tauren. “And you, also, Hamuul…”

  “I sensed it, but could not believe, Malfurion Stormrage. I came here with Naralex, who felt the same, and we found the general also in search of the truth—”

  “Naralex?” Malfurion looked around, but there was no sign of the night elf.

  “He is still unconscious,” the tauren clarified dourly. “He was the most injured of us. I have done what I can for him…but there needs to be more—”

  Many among those assembled stirred, clearly upset by these revelations. Naralex was a powerful druid well-liked by many. They looked upon Fandral with new understanding…and dismay.

  Fandral defiantly stared down those in the crowd who were now clearly against him. “Naralex is another traitor! He gave me no choice! They are all traitors!”

  His arrogant words only further inflamed his audience against him. Several of the remaining druids joined Broll and the others who had already taken Malfurion’s side. Malfurion pushed to the forefront, determined that he would take responsibility for any and all of Fandral’s actions.

  “How many more must suffer or die?” Malfurion asked. “All Azeroth is falling, Fandral!” To th
e 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.