Stormrage (wow-7)

by Richard A. Knaak

  Malfurion trampled others who sought to bar his path, clawed those who stood their ground, and bit through the torsos of yet more.

  Roots constantly sought for his legs or to snag Tyrande from his back. Malfurion twisted out of their reach and Tyrande severed more than one grasping tip. The path grew slick, but his claws better caught purchase than the satyrs’ cloven hooves. The landscape sped by.

  And, finally, something ominously familiar broke through the mist ahead. It was still far from the pair and yet so gigantic. Indeed, Malfurion realized that it was far taller than most normal trees and that its branches, seemingly empty of life from this distance, stretched along the horizon. It was not Teldrassil nor any of the Great Trees…but it was a thing of titanic proportions.

  And as twisted as the shadow had been, it failed to fully reveal the dread majesty of the true tree. There were hundreds, thousands of smaller branches, all as wicked as the great ones and as the pair approached, they were at last able to perceive that there were leaves. Yet unlike the World Tree’s corrupted leaves, these were long, arched, and to Malfurion’s heightened gaze, very much shaped like a reaper’s sharp sickle. Moreover, as Malfurion brought himself and Tyrande nearer yet, it became evident that both the leaves and the tree itself were not black, as first it had seemed…but the same deep red color of the “sap” that flowed through.

  It was not the tree into which a much younger Malfurion had transformed his adversary thousands of years ago. That one had been a symbol of renewal, something that would bring life where Xavius sought death. Malfurion had meant to return to it after the war in order to see to its growth, but then had thought it lost with Zin-Azshari.

  But how did this abomination remain hidden from us?

  Malfurion wondered, then thought of the ancient evil lurking behind Xavius. It surely had extended much of whatever power it had in Azeroth to shield the tree from everyone’s senses.

  The dark force behind the Nightmare Lord must have been able to reach Xavius shortly after Malfurion had left the new tree, for what it had become had surely taken many millennia. It showed the insidious patience of not only the former counselor, but his monstrous master. Only when it had been powerful enough, dread enough, had there been no more concern for hiding the truth of its presence.

  As if a tremendous wind gusted, the branches suddenly moved as one toward where the pair raced. Despite the great distance still separating the tree from them, the branches stretched closer and closer…

  And were nearly upon them.

  Malfurion sensed the ground move again. Growling a warning to Tyrande, he threw them to the side. The roots shot up just where they had been, spearing so high that they nearly collided with the foremost branches.

  A sinister swishing sound cut through the air. The archdruid twisted in mid-jump. More than a dozen smaller branches passed within inches of them, each covered in the long sickle leaves.

  Malfurion did his best to avoid all, but two caught him.

  The leaves sliced into his skin and he heard Tyrande gasp.

  The cat spun. The path behind briefly filled his gaze. There was now a wall of roots cutting off the two from any escape and satyrs were eagerly spilling through the one gap left.

  Xavius had wanted them to come to him.

  “Beware!” Tyrande shouted. Her glaive sliced through three branches before the deadly leaves could touch the duo.

  Malfurion made a decision. He was still in contact with the others, still trying to guide them. The strain was tremendous, but the archdruid knew that he needed to do even more.

  With a growl, he warned Tyrande of his need to change form again. The high priestess expertly slipped off while still using her whirling glaive to cut at whatever branch snagged at them.

  Once again himself, Malfurion looked into both Azeroth and the Emerald Dream. He had to seek deeper this time, both within the two realms and himself.

  The sky roared. It roared not just above them, but all over Azeroth, all over the Emerald Dream/Nightmare. Malfurion straining more, paid it little mind.

  Yet his attack was not focused on his enemy, not directly.

  Rather, Malfurion concentrated on the ones he needed most.

  Broll…Thura…

  This time, he could sense them. This time, he could feel the other druid’s struggle to keep them from falling to the Nightmare.

  Shan…do… came the weak but still determined response.

  The time is now…the tools are in place…the branch I gave you, this is the truth about its origins and what we need to do

  …Malfurion showed him.

  Broll drank in what was revealed and to his credit accepted it immediately. He trusted in the archdruid completely. I am…ready…

  It was all Malfurion needed to hear. Over the continuous rumble, he shouted to Tyrande, “Take yourself from here! I must end it now! I cannot promise—”

  “No! We live or die together!”

  He knew better than to argue. The archdruid looked within himself one last time.

  And suddenly… the storm stirred again.

  29

  THE TWO TREES

  Broll had expected to fall, but somehow he had been able to stave off the attack not only on his physical body, but also, more insidiously, his mind. The Nightmare sought him for its own, aware that he was one prized by Malfurion. Cries assailed him and his thoughts filled with visions of his dying daughter and his own guilt over her demise. It was a well-calculated assault, for Anessa had always been his weak point.

  But no more. Having witnessed the horrors of the Nightmare, Broll condemned himself for having fallen prey to it through her death. He did not honor her memory by doing so. Broll had not seen that until he had seen so many others suffering because of their lost loved ones. The Nightmare had been particularly good at twisting its victims’ minds and turning love into torture.

  The druid cast a handful of powder mixed from plants known for their fiery qualities. As the powder touched his dark foes, it sizzled.

  The shadows burned away, their vanishing accompanied by tormented hisses. Broll looked for Thura, expecting the worst, but the orc squatted next to him, her eyes closed, but otherwise well.

  “I have an oath to fulfill…” she said flatly. “I will fill it…”

  Broll scattered the mist from them and for the first time saw that there was not only the ax, but another, odder object nearby. It was a thing that had once been alive but no more, and the one who had brought it to this place had planted it carefully, though not with any hope or desire of seeing it bloom.

  It was a branch. A foul thing that Broll instantly knew well. He also understood why it had been placed here. The plan still had a chance.

  And even as he thought that, the storm swept over their area.

  Yet Broll felt no fear from it, no concern whatsoever. He knew its source and that it existed to protect, not harry, him and the others.

  The druid seized the branch. To that from which it had originally been plucked — so that it could then be grafted on Teldrassil — the branch was nothing anymore. Dead.

  But it was still of the Nightmare Lord’s essence. “Thura! You must grab the ax at the same moment as I strike!”

  To her credit, the orc warrior understood immediately. Broll then began a distasteful spell. It was possible for those who were strong to nurture from seemingly dead plants, even trees, some measure of life. For any true plant, Broll would have had no qualms trying, though he also understood the limits.

  But now he sought to revive something monstrous. His shan’do had revealed all concerning the truth about the branch and the tree from which it had originally come. Broll could sense the wrongness, the demonic essence, even in this tiny piece. This was not a thing of nature anymore; this was an atrocity.

  But as he began his spell, Broll also sensed the other, more ancient evil of which Malfurion had also warned him, the ancient horror that had added its own infernal influence into the creation of the Nightmare
Lord.

  The spark he sought was there. Broll urged it on, even though the wrongness magnified.

  The branch shook, fighting his grip.

  “Now!” the druid called, raising the branch.

  Thura grabbed for the ax, which still glowed both from its own good power and the Nightmare’s malevolent forces.

  The orc’s hand and the branch touched the glow at the same moment. That was what was needed for the defenders. It broke what hold the Nightmare had on the weapon, strong enough to keep the ax there, but not enough to corrupt the enchanted artifact.

  Cenarius had forged the ax that pure and Brox, by his deeds, had made it more so.

  And Thura, chosen in part by Malfurion, was an apt successor.

  She took up the weapon. Broll tossed aside the branch, which, bereft of his spell, could not survive. He shifted form, becoming a cat.

  Thura leapt atop. He carried her forward. The shadow of the tree stretched to take them, but the storm struck hard, bending back the smoky branches and washing away the foul mists.

  Lightning burned away shadow creatures and even set some of the intangible branches aflame.

  Broll marveled at what he saw. He had witnessed large convocations create storms when rain was necessary, but none so huge or so directed. Surely, Malfurion must have all the other druids focused on this!

  However his shan’do had managed this, it behooved Broll and Thura to reach the shadow tree. The fiendish silhouette rose over them —

  A huge hand swatted both aside. Gnarl seized a stunned Thura, who still held tight the ax.

  “All will be nightmare…” the corrupted ancient grated.

  As Broll rolled to a halt, he became a night elf again. Teeth clamped from pain, he managed to cast a spell.

  The ancient was a plant in nature. Even corrupted, he was covered in tremendous if now malignant growth. Still, that growth was yet susceptible to a skilled student of the druidic arts.

  Stunted growths became thick, curling vines that within seconds ensnared the ancient’s limbs. Those near the hand that clutched Thura tightened, forcing Gnarl’s hand to open.

  The orc dropped to the ground, landing on her feet. She wavered, but then steadied.

  Gnarl struggled. Some of the vines holding his legs and one arm snapped. He reached again for Thura —

  Grunting, Broll increased his efforts. The vines strengthened, thickened.

  Just before the thick fingers could reach the orc again, the vines bound the corrupted ancient so tightly that he could no longer move. Broll did not let up. He had the vines continue to grow, continue to tighten.

  The ancient tumbled to the ground, unable to move in the least.

  The night elf marveled at his own effort, aware that there had been a time not that long ago when he would have thought his skills insufficient to capture one such as Gnarl without being forced to slay him in the process.

  Thura, meanwhile, had not wasted her time. She was almost upon the shadow. She hefted the ax —

  The storm faltered. The winds lessened.

  The tree moved.

  One shadow branch thrust into the orc’s chest. Although it had no substance, it impaled her. Thura stood frozen, the ax still raised high.

  The other branches reached for Broll…

  You are too weak…our foothold too strong…you have failed, my dear Malfurion…

  Malfurion refused to listen to such words, even though they had some merit. He knew that even with Tyrande standing with him, he was fast approaching his limits.

  See how they all fall now… offered the Nightmare Lord.

  Before the archdruid’s eyes, visions of all those who depended upon him came anew. Thura transfixed. King Varian leading a shrinking army. The other druids — Hamuul yet urging them on — trying to do what they could against an unstoppable foe transforming both realms…

  He had been shown this before, had felt it before, but the crushing weight of having come so close just to fail again was too much. Perhaps if he had been a hundred Malfurions, a thousand, he might have succeeded…but he was only one.

  Despair…and know that as you do…I have only shown you what is happening…this time, you know your failings yourself…

  Xavius laughed loud.

  The storm all but faded. What his adversary said was so true.

  Xavius was not doing anything; he merely showed Malfurion what Malfurion already understood…that the archdruid had let everyone down.

  Then, just as the darkness seemed about to close about his heart, a cool, soothing light touched him from within. He knew its source instantly.

  “Malfurion!” Tyrande called in his ear. Her voice was haggard, yet still somehow unyielding to her own pain. “Please! Do not…give in! He plays on your mind…”

  The archdruid stirred…and found both of them caught up in the wicked branches. Only the fact that Tyrande had evidently been holding on to him at the time of their being seized had kept them together.

  All is the Nightmare! Xavius the tree intoned. You…she…all

  …How I have waited for this…trapped so long in the darkness beneath the waves, waiting and growing in strength with its guidance…growing until the time was right and then rising from the depths to set down roots here upon the eastern cliffs overlooking my lost Zin-Azshari! Here, where once my queen ruled all, where once I was power, how more appropriate that here you fall and the Nightmare covers all…how fitting!

  All…that one word most of all struck a chord with Malfurion.

  I have made a terrible mistake…he knew what he needed to do to finally finish this. Victory or defeat was not dependent on him and him alone nor even him and Tyrande, though together they had stemmed the tide.

  It depended upon everyone working in concert as never before.

  Strengthened by this last revelation, lightning guided by Malfurion struck the foremost branch involved in holding them. The two night elves were flung into the air. Malfurion transformed into storm crow form and caught Tyrande in his talons. He brought her to the ground just beyond the grasping branches, then became himself again.

  “I made a mistake!” he informed her. “I know the truth now!”

  She nodded. Tyrande knew what he expected of her. Without waiting, the high priestess began a prayer to Elune.

  Malfurion reached out to the other druids…every druid left in either realm save Broll. Let me show you what we — together — may accomplish…

  To do what he needed, Malfurion had to ask the other druids to leave themselves defenseless. He was surprised, grateful, and fearful when all accepted without hesitation.

  He showed them what they already knew, but did not fully understand even now. They were druids. They were Azeroth’s caretakers and guardians. They also served as the same for the Emerald Dream. Yet, though they understood that as such their bonds with the essence of nature in both was powerful, they did not realize that they had, as a group, believed that they were more limited than they actually were.

  But the two realms themselves were intertwined in a manner that even the druids had never fully comprehended and thus, the bond was more complex, and potentially far more powerful. The others marveled at what their shan’do revealed, but Malfurion could not let them dwell upon this amazing discovery. Guiding them on, he had them turn their spellwork to his intention.

  The storm. His storm. The other druids were essential to its crafting, to its growth, but it was through Malfurion — with Tyrande’s prayers to the Mother Moon helping to keep his mind clear of the Nightmare’s presence — that it truly swelled, truly took on the epic proportions he needed.

  A deep rumble shook both Azeroth and the Emerald Dream.

  King Varian kept order among his fighters, aware that they could not make the assumption that this brought new hope. As the lord of Stormwind led the fighting, at times the image of the wolf would again superimpose itself upon his face, a sight that gave further encouragement to those who knew of the spirit’s favor.

>   The Life-Binder, standing at the one gate that prevented the Nightmare’s own efforts, smiled grimly in recognition of what Malfurion was accomplishing. She threw her last efforts into making certain she did not fail in her part.

  Malfurion sensed it all come together. The druids became as one under his leadership. He felt an understanding of his world and the Emerald Dream that he could never have imagined. Yet it was his bond with Tyrande that enabled him to most make use of that understanding.

  The storm unleashed.

  It struck with a fury with which no tempest ever before had done.

  Azeroth trembled. The Emerald Dream shimmered. They were two that were one, but not as Xavius desired. He had wanted one realm perverted into an evil mirroring his own and that of the force behind him.

  But Malfurion instead gave them the purity and strength of nature.

  The wind roared. It set the mists swirling. Its force made the nightmarish figures and shadow satyrs ripple, then dissipate like so much dust. Stormwind City, Orgrimmar…every embattled place upon Azeroth was suddenly cleared.

  The rain poured, rivers spilling over the landscape wherever the evil had spread. The pristine waters not only washed away more of the Nightmare’s shadows and other horrific servants, but brought new life, new growth, where the Nightmare had stunted or manipulated it.

  The carrion bugs melted in the rain, their foulness unable to withstand its force. Those too corrupted by the Nightmare to be saved fled from the cleansing, retreating with the melting mists that represented the darkness’s dwindling hold.

  But the Nightmare still held sway over its many victims and the power that their fears brought was yet tremendous. The sleepwalkers rose in vast numbers, driven by their terrifying dreams to strike out at those living.

  Malfurion had known, though, that this would come. He called forth the thunder, stirring it to a rumble.

  There had been on Azeroth no sound like it. A hundred volcanoes could not match it. All the combined storms throughout history could not come even close to its fantastic power.