The Sundering wwotat-3

by Richard A. Knaak

  “That is true. I have considered some ancient spells, but none so far that I believe will have much success. I will attempt them, and if they fail, I will then have to — ”

  “I think I can do it,” Malfurion interrupted. “I think I can find him through the Emerald Dream. I don’t believe he’s sealed himself off from it as the palace has done.”

  Krasus looked quite impressed by the druid. “You may very well be right, young one…” He considered further. “But even if he has made such an error, there is, of course, the danger that Neltharion will still sense you. He did, as you mentioned earlier, try to track you inside the Dream.”

  “I’ve learned to be more careful. I’ll do it. It’s the only way to save her — to save us.”

  The cowled figure placed a gloved hand on Malfurion’s shoulder. “We will do what we can for her, too.”

  “I’ll start immediately.”

  “No! You need rest first. For her sake as well as yours, you need to be at your best. If you make a mistake or are discovered by him, all will be lost.”

  Malfurion nodded, but in his disappointment, there was now some hope, however slight. True, Neltharion might be prepared, but the dragon was obsessive, single-minded. His megalomania might work against him.

  “I’ll do as you say,” he told the mage. “But there’s also one other thing I’ve got to do, then. There’s someone I need to speak with who may better my chances.”

  Krasus bowed his head in agreement and understanding. “Cenarius. You need to speak with the forest lord.”

  Four

  She had not been fed, but Tyrande did not yet feel hunger. Elune still filled her with the moon goddess’s love, nourishment enough for anyone. How long that would last, however, was an important question. The dire forces raised by the demons and the Highborne grew with every passing moment and, in addition, the priestess sensed some other, darker presence as well. It did not seem a part of the Burning Legion’s plan, but worked alongside it.

  Perhaps such a notion was only the first sign of coming madness, but Tyrande could not help wondering if the demons were being manipulated just as they were manipulating the queen.

  Someone worked on the door. Tyrande’s brow furrowed. She had heard no marching. Whoever was out in the corridor had come in utter silence. Moreover, she realized that the guards had grown extremely quiet over the past several minutes.

  The door slid open. Tyrande tried to think who would come in such secrecy.

  Illidan?

  But it was not Malfurion’s brother who slipped inside. Rather, it was the noble who acted as Azshara’s chief handmaiden. The other night elf glanced up with guarded eyes at the captive, then turned to make certain that the door closed without a sound. As she did, Tyrande could not but help notice no guards visible outside. Were they simply out of sight or entirely gone?

  Looking at her, the handmaiden smiled. If it was meant to comfort Tyrande, it did not entirely succeed.

  “I am Lady Vashj,” the newcomer reminded her. “You are a priestess of Elune.”

  “I am Tyrande Whisperwind.”

  Vashj nodded absently. “I have come to help you escape.”

  Tyrande instinctively thanked the Mother Moon. She had misjudged Vashj, thinking her a jealous sycophant of the queen.

  Stepping as close as she could, Vashj continued, “I’ve taken a talisman that can open the sphere around you and release you from the demon’s spell. You can also use it to ward off their notice, as I have.”

  “I… am… grateful. But why risk this?”

  “You are a priestess of Elune,” returned the other female. “How could I do otherwise?” Vashj revealed the talisman. It was a grotesque, black circle with tiny, cruel skulls lining the edge. From the center thrust up a six-inch point with ebony jewels at the base.

  Tyrande sensed both its magic and its evil.

  “Be prepared,” the handmaiden commanded. “Obey me in all things if you hope to no longer be the demons’ prisoner.”

  She reached up and touched the point to the green sphere.

  The jewels flashed. The diminutive skulls opened their macabre jaws and hissed.

  The sphere was sucked into the tiny maws.

  Tyrande felt the spell holding her dissipate. She suddenly had to twist in the air to keep from falling face first. The priestess landed on the stone floor in a crouched position. To her surprise, Tyrande felt no pain from the landing, Elune’s touch still protecting her.

  Vashj glanced with frustration at her. With the sphere gone, Tyrande now faintly glowed with moonlight arising from within. The handmaiden shook her head.

  “You must not remain like that! It will give you away once out of this cell!”

  Closing her eyes, Tyrande prayed to her goddess, thanking the Mother Moon for her protection but assuring her that this was now for the best. At first, however, it seemed as if Elune paid her no mind, for she felt the protective spell remain fixed.

  “Hurry!” Lady Vashj urged.

  Eyes still shut, Tyrande tried again. Surely the Mother Moon understood that now the very gift she had bestowed upon her servant risked the priestess.

  At last, Elune’s presence began to recede —

  And a sense of imminent threat overwhelmed Tyrande.

  She opened her eyes to see Vashj thrusting at her throat with the sinister talisman. The daggerlike protrusion would have ripped a wide, lethal gap — if not for the war training all priestesses received. Tyrande’s hand came up just in time to shove the point aside. She felt a stinging on her skin, but had managed to keep Vashj from even drawing blood.

  Azshara’s servant, her expression as monstrous as those of the skulls, sought to tear out Tyrande’s eyes with her free hand. The priestess raised her armored knee, catching Vashj in the stomach. With a gasp, the other night elf fell back, the talisman rolling to the side.

  Tyrande leapt at her, but Vashj was also swift. She rolled over to where the talisman had landed. Tyrande, crouching, tried to pull her back, but the treacherous handmaiden already had the demonic artifact in her clutches.

  She spewed unintelligible words of an overt dark tone as she pointed the talisman.

  The sphere suddenly reformed around Tyrande. At the same time, the priestess felt Elune’s protection return, though small good it did to help her escape the bubble. Tyrande beat against the sphere, but to no avail.

  Rising, Lady Vashj glared bitterly at her nemesis. “It would have been better for you if you had taken the point! You will never be Her most favored! I am and always will be!”

  “I don’t want to be favored by the queen!”

  But Vashj seemed not to understand this. Eyes on the talisman, she hissed, “I thought this would work, but I will have to think of something else! Perhaps words in the Light of Light’s ear, convince her that you are not to be trusted! Yes, that might do the trick!”

  Tyrande ceased trying to convince the handmaiden of her lack of desire to serve Azshara. Clearly, Vashj was quite mad and would hear nothing that contradicted her notions.

  A sound from without made Vashj spin to the door. “The guards! They will be back from their ‘distraction’!” Looking back at the prisoner, she pointed the talisman again. “Everything must be as it was!”

  Once more, Tyrande’s arms rose, invisibly binding at the wrist. Her feet clamped tight together.

  “Would that I knew more about this piece!” Vashj spat. “I know it could likely slay you with but the right command…”

  The sounds without drew nearer. Secreting the talisman in a fold in her garments, Azshara’s attendant made for the door. As she slipped out, she looked one last time at Tyrande.

  “Never hers!” And with that, Vashj vanished into the hall.

  The guards reappeared barely moments later. One peered through the mesh grate in the door and eyed her for far longer than necessary. What she could make of his expression indicated that he was disturbed by her presence. Vashj had clearly not acted alone.


  As for Tyrande, she could do nothing but berate herself for a chance lost. It should have been obvious to her that Vashj could not be trusted, but Elune had taught that one should look for the best in others. Yet, if Tyrande had acted with more caution, perhaps she could have caught the handmaiden off-guard. Instead of being again trapped here, at least then the priestess could have tried to sneak out of the palace.

  “Mother Moon, what do I do?” She was aware that there were limits to the goddess’s ability to intervene. It was miracle enough that Elune had protected her so.

  Malfurion’s visage came to mind, both comforting Tyrande and making her fret. He would not give up trying to save her. He would come for her, regardless of the danger to himself. In fact, she was well aware that Malfurion would be willing to sacrifice himself if it meant her freedom.

  And it seemed, Tyrande Whisperwind thought with growing despair, that there would be nothing she in turn could do to prevent him from doing so.

  The small copse of woods was the best Malfurion could do in terms of finding a peaceful place from which to try to reach Cenarius. The druid sat cross-legged on the ground, glancing again at the pitiful foliage around him. The Burning Legion had not reached this place, but their taint had stretched for enough to affect the life here. The trees already sensed the doom approaching and slowly prepared for it. Most of the wildlife had fled. Silence reigned.

  Trying to ignore all that, Malfurion shut his eyes and fixed on the demigod. He reached out, calling to Cenarius and trying to picture the deity in his thoughts.

  And to his surprise, the demigod responded immediately. An image formed of the forest lord, a huge figure who towered over night elves, tauren, furbolgs, and even the demons. At first glance, he had some similarity to Malfurion, for his face and torso were like those of a night elf, albeit much brawnier and more weathered. Yet, beyond that, Cenarius was a creature like none other. Below his waist, he had the body of a gigantic, magnificent stag. Four strong legs ending in hooves supported his ten-foot frame. They gave him the speed of the wind and a nimbleness no animal could match.

  Cenarius had eyes of pure gold and a moss-green mane flowing down his shoulders. In both it and his full beard grew twigs and leaves. Atop his head — and exactly, Malfurion noted with a start, where his own nubs grew — the forest lord had a glorious pair of antlers.

  I know why you’ve summoned me, the demigod said.

  Is there anything I can do to counteract and outmaneuver the black dragon’s magic?

  He is cunning, insanely so, Cenarius replied, his mouth never moving. He was but an vision upon which the druid could focus, nothing more. The true forest lord was miles away. But there are things I know of dragonkind that he may not realize.

  Malfurion did not press on how Cenarius might know these things. From what he had learned, the deity was likely the offspring of the green dragon, Ysera — She of the Dreaming — whose kind most inhabited the Emerald Dream. That the great Aspect might have taught her son its innermost secrets would not have surprised the night elf.

  The Emerald Dream has layers, Malfurion. Levels upon levels. She of the Dreaming discovered these through experience. The Earth Warder likely will not know of them. You may be able to use such a path to circumvent his defenses and keep from his attention for a time.

  This was something unexpected. Malfurion’s hopes rose. Should he succeed in this, perhaps he could use such a method to infiltrate the palace.

  But he had to concentrate on one matter at a time. While his heart yearned to rescue Tyrande, the fate of all his people — and the tauren, Earthen, and others — was of far more consequence. She would have been the first to tell him so.

  It did not make his feeling of guilt any less.

  Can I learn quickly how to do this? he asked of the demigod.

  You, yes. It is all only a matter of perspective… see…

  The image gestured… and around the pair an idyllic landscape appeared. It was without imperfection. Malfurion recognized hills and valleys that in the mortal plane had been ravaged beyond recognition by the Burning Legion. The Emerald Dream was as the world had been upon its creation.

  The druid looked, but saw nothing he had not already experienced previous.

  You note the culmination, but even perfection comes in stages. Behold…

  Cenarius reached down, his hand gigantic as it touched the pristine world. The forest lord seized a bit of field — and seemed to flip the entire landscape over.

  It vanished as he released his grip and in its place was again a primitive Kalimdor, but a Kalimdor in which some new, subtle differences from the previous landcape could be seen. Hills were not as large in some places and a river Malfurion knew did not flow into quite the same region as before. There was a small mountain chain where plains should have existed.

  Before the creation, there was the growth, the testing, the earlier stages. This is one.

  It was and was not the Emerald Dream. The druid recognized immediately that this was a place of limited scope — and, therefore, use — a Kalimdor that would not enable him to reach every location existing on the mortal plane.

  Yet… Cenarius believed it could help him with the black dragon.

  The looming figure of the woodland deity pointed off in the distance. Walk it as you would the other, Malfurion, but remain clear of its edges. It is an incomplete place and to wander off it could mean being lost in an endless limbo. I speak of this from dread experience.

  Cenarius said no more, but his meaning was clear. If Malfurion lost his way, there would be no rescue.

  Despite that dread knowledge, the night elf was determined to continue on. How do I return?

  As you always have. Seek to follow your way back to your physical self. The path will become known to you.

  All so simple… providing one had the training as he did.

  Cenarius’s image began to fade. Malfurion stopped him.

  The others, he said, referring to the forest lord’s fellow demigods. Have you been able to convince them?

  Aviana has spoken alongside me. The die is cast. We must now only decide how.

  Malfurion barely checked his disappointment. He had been pressing for the demigods to take a more active part in the host’s desperate efforts and, while Cenarius had just indicated that his fellows had agree to do so, now they would debate the manner. With such beings, that debate might last long past the struggle. Kalimdor could be an empty, dead shell before then.

  Fear not, Malfurion, the forest lord said, smiling knowingly. I shall endeavor to hasten their decision.

  The druid had left open his innermost thoughts, a beginner’s mistake. Forgive me! I meant no disrespect! I —

  Cenarius, already fading, shook his antlered head. He pointed a finger — a finger which ended in a gnarled talon of wood — and concluded, There is no disrespect in trying to urge those suffering from sloth to fulfill their duties…

  With that, the stag god vanished.

  The druid had expected to return to his body and inform the others of what he had learned, but the unfinished landscape Cenarius had revealed to him already lay open. Malfurion feared that if he took the time to first return to the mortal plane, it might prove more difficult than the demigod believed for him to find his way back to this version of early Kalimdor.

  Unwilling to check his impulse any longer, he leapt. As with the path Malfurion usually took, the hazy, emerald light still pervaded everything. In truth, he could not tell any difference between one place and another save for the occasional variation in features.

  Over hills and valleys and plains, Malfurion flew. From Krasus he knew the general direction where the dragons tended to live. Obviously, the Earth Warder would not maintain his sanctum so near the others, but Krasus had assured him that the ancient race were creatures of habit. If the druid began his hunt near the ancestral grounds, there was a good chance he might discover something.

  The land below became more mountainous, yet, these peaks w
ere neither the perfectly pointed ones of his past journeys into the dream realm nor were they the weathered ones of the mortal plane. Instead, they were, as Cenarius had hinted, unfinished. One peak literally lacked its northern face, the earth and rock looking as if some great knife had sheered it off. Malfurion could see the veins of minerals and bits of cavern within. Another peak had a peculiar crown that made it appear as if someone had been molding it like clay but had lost interest.

  Tearing his eyes from such fascinating displays, the druid inspected the area as a whole. This was definitely part of the dragon lands. Now all he had to do was find some trace of Neltharion.

  As with from the other level, Malfurion probed with his senses for the black dragon’s particular trace. He detected others and quickly identified Ysera and one he believed to be Alexstrasza. Other, fainter traces Malfurion determined to be from lesser dragons and, therefore, not of interest.

  Moving slowly along, the druid searched in every direction. With each failure, he began to wonder if perhaps Neltharion had not been so naive after all. Perhaps, the black leviathan was more familiar with this plane than Cenarius knew and had shielded himself. If so, Malfurion could wander forever and not find a single hint.

  He suddenly halted. A trace that he had offhandedly rejected as belonging to a minor dragon suddenly caught his attention again. It had a familiarity to it that should not have been possible. Malfurion focused on it…

  The facade peeled away almost immediately. Neltharion’s trace lay revealed to the druid. Spells that likely would have kept the Earth Warder hidden from anyone on either the mortal plane or even in the Emerald Dream had proven almost laughably weak here. However, Malfurion tried not to grow overconfident. It was one thing to track the black dragon, another to keep from his notice no matter on what plane. The madness inflicting Neltharion had given him an extreme paranoia that had augmented his higher senses. Even the slightest mistake by the druid might mean discovery.

  With the need for utmost caution in mind, Malfurion followed the trace. It took him further on, toward a region where the landscape became more vague, more undefined. Recalling Cenarius’s warnings concerning the edges, the druid slowed.