Stormrage (wow-7)

by Richard A. Knaak

  And no creature, no matter how deeply asleep, deeply hidden in the lowest recesses of any cave or high up in some mountain or behind thick stone walls…could avoid hearing it.

  The thunder roiled.

  The sleepers awoke.

  The hold of the Nightmare shattered.

  Xavius’s outrage echoed in Malfurion’s mind a moment after, a pitiful sound in comparison to the majesty of the storm. However, the archdruid did not assume his victory assured or imminent.

  Arms outstretched, hands clenched, Malfurion threw his will into what he and the druids had created, then threw it at the Nightmare Lord.

  The storm raged.

  Wherever the taint resisted, lightning flashed, burning away the darkness. The bolts were not white or yellow, as normal, but the brilliant green of nature in its most lush growth. The ground where they struck was not scorched, but bloomed.

  Malfurion did not let up in either realm, aware that to do so would possibly give the Nightmare a new foothold. Indeed, as the evil was pressed further and further back, its resistance grew. Malfurion felt some of the druids flagging and out of concern for them took on a larger burden. Tyrande reinforced him throughout it all, her determination matching his. This would end here…

  But in the midst of it, Malfurion felt the evil behind Xavius for the first time exerting itself…and succeeding in pushing back.

  It took a moment for the archdruid to understand why. The truth lay in the sleepers. They were now awake, but the horrors of their dread dreams were with them. Their fear still fed the Nightmare.

  Malfurion and Tyrande sensed at the same time what had to be done. His left hand arced. The rain covering Azeroth altered, growing finer, warmer. It even took on a reddish hue, such as a rose might have. As this happened, Tyrande asked of Elune her help. The silver light of the Mother Moon came down, joining in concert with the rain.

  As the astonishing rain touched the Nightmare’s victims, a sense of calm instantly overtook them. They began to forget much of what they had suffered or made others suffer as slaves of Xavius.

  The resistance against Malfurion’s spell weakened.

  Encouraged, he pushed…pushed until it reached the tree and its shadow.

  Until it reached Xavius and could go no farther.

  I will always be with you, the Nightmare Lord mocked. I am you, Malfurion Stormrage…

  The archdruid made no response. He summoned up the energies of Azeroth and the Emerald Dream and cast them at the great and terrible tree.

  They did nothing.

  Malfurion turned his gaze to the Emerald Dream and the shadow of Xavius. There he saw what he already knew: Thura impaled and Broll fighting to keep from being snared by the smoky limbs.

  The gathered energies struck at the shadow…with as little result as against the true tree.

  So, this is what you want of me… Malfurion thought to his enemies. Very well…

  Focusing within himself and utilizing the tremendous forces gathered from both realms, Malfurion separated his dreamform from his physical body in a manner that even he once would have never thought possible. Malfurion now stood as two separate beings, but still the same person. His physical body was not dormant. He stood and acted in both the Emerald Dream and Azeroth, something no druid had ever done before and what should have been impossible. Indeed, it was in part because of what the Nightmare had caused in trying to bring the two realms together that enabled Malfurion to accomplish this unique feat.

  It was the only way by which his attack could be focused at precisely the same instant on both the tree and the shadow. He had to be of equal part to each, enough that they then became very susceptible to his powers.

  But it was also what Xavius desired, for, by the same reasoning, Malfurion was now doubly susceptible to threats occurring in both realms. The shadow limbs assailed his dreamform. The wicked tree attacked with renewed effort his physical body.

  However, as the Nightmare Lord attacked, Malfurion touched the mind of another. Broll…we must strike…

  The druid gave a brief acknowledgment. Seen now as inconsequential, he gained that one second to bring his own powers into play.

  Transforming into cat form, Broll used his mouth and seized Thura from the shadow’s grip. Her skin was cold to the touch, but the moment contact with the shadow was broken, her body warmed.

  The orc stirred. Broll threw her forward.

  A thousand shadowy branches plunged into Malfurion’s dreamform. On Azeroth, Tyrande clutched the archdruid as more agony than he had ever suffered as a tree himself tore through his system. The high priestess cried out as she took his pain and made it her own so that he could better concentrate on his own attack.

  Malfurion gritted his teeth. The night elf now condensed the massive storm’s fury on but two places, one in Azeroth, the other the Emerald Dream. The Nightmare Lord’s tree and shadow bent under the added onslaught. The branches buried in the chest of Malfurion’s dreamform were at last ripped away by the wind. Those of the true tree were scorched by lightning. New ones sprouted in their place as the Nightmare Lord sought in turn to seize his foe, but Malfurion’s spell held sway.

  And in the Emerald Dream, Thura reached the shadowed trunk.

  She raised the ax, which glowed with the glory of the energies that the demigod Cenarius had ten thousand years earlier imbued in it for Broxigar.

  Strike here! Malfurion told her, revealing in her thoughts an image of the critical spot.

  With a crooked grin, the orc caught the shadow at the very point.

  A shriek echoed over the Emerald Dream, a shriek whose twin erupted from Azeroth. The ax sank deep, as if biting into something solid.

  The shadow wavered.

  As Thura struck there, Malfurion increased his attack on the physical tree by a thousandfold. Emerald lightning hit true time and time again, setting vicious branch after branch ablaze.

  My lord! Xavius abruptly shouted. Hear me!

  But Malfurion felt the ancient darkness abandon its vile servant.

  Although he wondered at that, the archdruid dared not lessen his efforts against Xavius; he knew too well that if any spark remained, Xavius’s evil would rise again…and in a form likely even more terrible. The entire terrible ordeal would begin anew.

  Thura struck the shadow a second time and some of its outline faded. Malfurion continued to assail the true tree with lightning bolts, creating an inferno.

  Xavius threw those flames back at his foes. Even though Tyrande did her best to protect Malfurion as he worked, the archdruid’s flesh burned.

  Thura struck a third time. The fabled ax sank so deep into shadow that the head briefly vanished.

  And then…as she pulled the magical weapon free…the shadow tree simply faded to nothing.

  The Nightmare Lord shrieked.

  On Azeroth, the true tree shook. It began to rapidly wither. The branches slumped. The great roots curled and shriveled.

  The bitter, angry voice of Xavius, of the Nightmare Lord, thundered in the archdruid’s thoughts. Malfurion Stormrage! I will never leave you! I will ever be your nightmare! I —

  The crown of the horrific tree crumbled.

  Black ash marked its fall. The lower branches cracked off, powdering as they struck the hard ground. Even the trunk collapsed, huge pieces breaking away and scattering across the landscape. Malfurion deflected those that would have struck him and Tyrande. The blackened bark decayed rapidly.

  In the end, only a rotted trunk — seemingly already centuries dead — remained when the last of the dust settled.

  Xavius, once counselor to Queen Azshara, once first among the satyrs, once the Nightmare Lord…was at last no more.

  Malfurion did not wallow in his victory. Rather, he pushed on, crushing what remained of the Nightmare, seeking to utterly eradicate it. The grafting from Xavius’s tree, worked into Teldrassil by Fandral, had given Xavius a tie to both realms — allowing the evil behind the Nightmare Lord to touch Azeroth and the
Emerald Dream simultaneously. However, Xavius’s physical form had remained most dominant in Azeroth and without the tree to sustain that link, what was left of the Nightmare could not hold.

  And when Azeroth was free of the taint, Malfurion — Tyrande standing with him throughout — focused then completely on the Emerald Dream, determined that it, too, should be cleansed. The Nightmare dwindled, receded…

  But in one small corner of the Emerald Dream, in a vast, deep fissure, known to the druids as the Rift of Aln and believed to be where the magical realm itself first originated, even the combined efforts of the archdruid and the high priestess could not entirely end the struggle. The Nightmare held firmly in that place, which those of Malfurion’s calling believed bled into the Twisting Nether and the Great Dark Beyond. Gazing into it, Malfurion saw it as a bottomless chasm which radiated with primeval energies that even he dared not investigate. Indeed, the very rift itself seemed halfdream, for it had a surreal quality to its expanse and to the archdruid now and then seemed to ripple as if ready to fade or change.

  Curiously, only then did Malfurion truly sense that the ancient evil, though it fought to keep its grip there, did so from somewhere deep in the depths of Azeroth’s own seas. Bereft of Xavius’s link to the dream realm, it was still powerful enough somehow to keep that one place under its horrific sway.

  At last it became clear that there was nothing more to be gained by pressing. Aware of those yet needing them, Malfurion sealed off the vicinity around the rift. There was silent agreement between Tyrande and him. The day had been saved…this other war would have to wait for another, a better, time.

  With the danger passing, the night elf felt his hold on the incredible energies slipping away. He was not bothered, but still had matters with which he had to deal before they fully vanished.

  Sweeping across both realms, he sought out any surviving corrupted. There were few, and of those only a handful could he salvage. Gnarl was one of those, for he had been but recently taken. Remulos was already cleansed. However, many, regretfully, were like Lethon and Emeriss and could not survive without the Nightmare; they melted away as the shadow satyrs had. For what and who they once had been, Malfurion mourned them.

  Next, he restored to their bodies those surviving members of Varian’s dreamform army, no matter from where they had been summoned. Night elves, of course, and orcs, trolls, draenei, blood elves, tauren, dwarves, gnomes, goblins, humans…they had all done their part, even some among the undead. He savored briefly one sight, that of the king rushing to his son and the pair holding one another tight. For those defenders who had no physical forms to which to return, the archdruid attuned them better to the Emerald Dream, so that their lives there would be at the fullest possible.

  Of those who had been his closest allies in this, he found special time. Thura he delivered back to her people, letting their leader, Thrall, know of her significance in the struggle. Lucan Foxblood, the human of unique abilities, became the charge of Hamuul Runetotem. The tauren agreed to stay in the Moonglade for a time to teach the cartographer how best to control his unique abilities.

  The two were oddly suited to one another’s company and Malfurion had great hopes that the teaching would go well.

  And even as Malfurion did this, he sensed Tyrande summon forth the Sisters of Elune to go forth into the Alliance-held lands and do what else could be done to bring further calm and order to those victims at least. Shaman and druids also lent their skills to the Nightmare’s former slaves, tending to those with whom their particular race had ties so as to avoid any chance of further conflict. It was impossible for all the wounds to be healed, even by the forces guided by the archdruid. Too many had died for any power to be able to erase all the memories. Though banished to the Rift of Aln — where Malfurion prayed it would stay — the Nightmare’s legacy would haunt the world for years to come.

  Malfurion saw many other things for which he would have liked to have utilized the gifts of Azeroth and the Emerald Dream, but knew that it was time for him to end his efforts. With much gratitude, he let the other druids break from the spell first. They had given much, more than he should have asked. He was proud of all.

  And finally, Malfurion reluctantly separated himself from the spell, returning to the two realms the bounty that they had given him. The archdruid refocused upon the real world. His gaze settled upon she who had been with him from the beginning to the very end despite the great faults that had eventually led to his capture and torture and despite the travails through which she had gone through because of his failings. Malfurion saw the love within her and, though he knew he was not worthy of it, was determined that they would not be parted again.

  He put a gentle hand to Tyrande’s cheek.

  Exhaustion overtook him.

  Malfurion collapsed in her arms.

  30

  A GATHERING OF HOPE

  Broll Bearmantle took the news of Malfurion’s awaking with an exuberance rarely seen in most night elves, much less druids. He let out a hearty yell that echoed throughout the enclave and rushed to the Temple of the Moon. He raced past those taking a more solemn approach to the home of the Sisterhood, only caring that his shan’do appeared to be well.

  Two armed Sisters briefly blocked his path until one recognized him. “Our orders are to allow only a select few in,” she explained, “lest the temple be overwhelmed with those concerned for the archdruid’s health.”

  Broll nodded, grateful that he was one of those Tyrande had permitted to enter. Aware where they had brought Malfurion, Broll needed no directions. He rushed through the temple, giving homage and thanks to the Mother Moon’s image more than once during the trek.

  They had made a place for Malfurion underneath the great statue, where moonlight ever shone. The high priestess had insisted that he be brought to the temple, though the first notion of the druids had been to take their esteemed shan’do to the Moonglade. However, Tyrande had refused to be swayed and as she was not only ruler of the night elves but also Malfurion’s beloved, in the end none could refuse her.

  Eyes shut, Malfurion lay on a mat of woven leaves and herbs — an offering of the druids. Tyrande knelt beside him, a soft, moist cloth in her hand. She had been tending to him as if she were a novice, not head of the order. Behind her, and standing guard, was an equally quiet Shandris Feathermoon. The general wore a look Broll would have more expected of a child concerned over her parents than that of a seasoned warrior.

  “My lady,” Broll murmured to Tyrande as he neared. Shandris gave him a cursory glance; she had registered his presence much earlier and thus was not concerned. “I had heard that he was…that he was awake…”

  “And so…and so I am…” Malfurion responded, his eyes slowly opening. The archdruid’s orbs still shone like the sun…and always would, it seemed. He gave the other male a brief smile. “But she” — with his gaze, he indicated Tyrande—“insists I rest some more

  …a command with which, after a failed…failed attempt to rise…I must agree…” Malfurion’s smile grew. “But I’m remiss. I see that the struggle has changed you as well, Broll…”

  That to which the archdruid referred was Broll’s own eyes, which, while not as resplendent as those of his shan’do, now also gleamed gold. In reaching into himself and into Azeroth, Broll had finally broken the final barrier — a self-imposed barrier — and truly become the great druid so many had believed he was. More important, the change went deep within. Gone was Broll’s uncertainty; he himself knew at last that he was as he had always been meant to be and his every movement radiated his great confidence in his calling.

  But that was not of interest to him at the moment. Only one thing mattered. “But…you are truly well?”

  The high priestess paused in her ministrations to stare at Broll as if he were mad. “He is in the house of Elune and I am her hand in this world…do you think he would be otherwise?”

  “Forgive me,” the druid returned with a chuckle. “I clearly wasn
’t thinking.”

  Malfurion put a hand on her knee. Tyrande’s expression softened. To Broll, the archdruid replied, “She is rather protective.

  I’ve made her a promise she intends I keep.”

  “ ‘Promise’?”

  “It is fortuitous that you are here, Broll, for I can think of no other I would have stand with me when I and Tyrande take our vows.”

  It took Broll a moment to register what he meant. Shandris laughed lightly at his delayed reaction.

  “You two — you are to marry?”

  “Please do not sound so shocked.” The high priestess smiled. “I believe that I have waited long enough for him to come to his senses.”

  “And I believe you should have long found someone with more sense than me,” Malfurion, sounding stronger, returned. Now holding her free hand, he said to the other male, “Well, Broll Bearmantle, will you stand with me?”

  “There are surely others—”

  “Many good souls, but I choose you.”

  The druid bowed his head. “Then, I’m honored. I only pray that I will not make a mistake.”

  His shan’do laughed. “You can make no greater mistake than I did by leaving her so often throughout the millennia, my friend.”

  “When will the ceremony take place?”

  Without meaning to, both Malfurion and Tyrande answered simultaneously. “As soon as possible.”

  Although Darnassus did not in some regards present the most practical of places to hold such a ceremony, there was no other place that would have been more appropriate. With Malfurion Stormrage leader of the druids and Tyrande Whisperwind not only high priestess of Elune but monarch of the night elves, they could only choose the capital.

  Long before the eve of the ceremony, the two had already quickly settled any question as to their roles — or rather, Tyrande had. Malfurion knew Tyrande was the best leader his people could have and made no claims in that direction. However, she insisted that there could be no other choice but for the two to rule side-byside, equal in all things where their race was concerned. She remained high priestess of the Temple of Elune and he the lead archdruid, but now those two stations would have closer ties, which would only benefit the night elves in general.