Richard A. Knaak - Stormrage

“No… I was not like Malfurion. I had… I had a vision …”

“A vision? How can that be?”

The night elf considered. “No. Not quite a vision. It was as if…

as if Azeroth… or something else… were trying to warn me …”

Realizing that he now needed to confide in someone, Broll quickly and quietly told the tauren what he had experienced.

Hamuul’s nostrils flared often as the tale was told. As was common when one of his kind was unsettled or excited, the tauren also snorted more than once.

“We should pass this on to the others,” Hamuul suggested when Broll was finished.

Broll shook his head. “Fandral won’t see it as anything more than anxiety… or maybe madness. To him, Teldrassil is the key… and he is probably right.”

“But your visions — now twice seen, as you say — must be of significance, Broll Bearmantle.”

“I’m not so sure… if there’s truth to what I saw… whatever I saw… why am I the only one to see it?”

The tauren mulled this over for a moment, then replied, “Perhaps you were the one best suited …”

“The best suited for what?”

“Though I have been honored to rise to archdruid, Azeroth yet contains many mysteries the answers to which I do not know. The answer to your visions is something I suspect you will discover on your own as Azeroth desires it …”

The night elf frowned, then nodded. With nothing more to add to their secret discussion, they hurried on to catch the others.

However, as they journeyed, Broll glanced surreptitiously at the tauren, a great wave of guilt washing over the night elf.

He had left out one thing from his visions… or from the last to be precise. Just before Hamuul had stirred him from the sinister tableau, Broll had finally come to recognize the figure that appeared almost as a guardian against the evil raining down on him…

It was the Idol of Remulos.

“The mangy curs must be holding out in the lowest shafts,” Marshal Dughan growled to his men as he peered through the eye slits of his helmet into a deep passage of the Jasperlode Mine. A spray of dust caught in his throat, and he turned and spat on the ground. “I think it’s safe to call a momentary halt.”

The sounds of clanking armor echoed off the mine’s walls as the marshal’s fifteen men relaxed their guarded stances. But Zaldimar Wefhellt, a fair to middling mage from Goldshire who had accompanied the group on their quest, maintained his position with eyes fixed on the dark tunnel.

“I told you to stand down,” Dughan snapped.

The gray-haired, bearded mage ambled toward the others.

Although he was well respected in Goldshire, Zaldimar would not have made a name for himself in one of the capital cities. Still, though the group of men Dughan had scrounged together was strong enough to defeat the mongrels on their own, he was sure the mage’s spells would help bring about a swift and merciless execution.

Located in the northern foothills of Elwynn Forest, Jasperlode Mine had been one of the crucial supply points for the raw metal ore needed for weapons and armor. But with so many pressures on Stormwind, the number of military forces guarding the forest’s mines had dwindled to nil, and Jasperlode and the rest had become horribly infested.

Unchallenged, the kobolds — long-snouted, whiskered humanoids who were generally more annoying than dangerous — had moved back into the area. They were not skilled fighters, nor were they particularly bright, but they bred like rabbits and existed in large numbers… but not for long, if Marshal Dughan had his way. He had made major progress over the past few weeks; between Jasperlode and Fargodeep Mine further southwest, he could not begin to count how many he had already slain, so constant had the hunt become.

Dughan removed his helmet. Broad-faced with cropped hair, a thick mustache, and a goatee, he had done his share of fighting in his younger days. Elected as marshal after the mysterious death of his predecessor, Dughan had, over the past few seasons, brought and kept order and peace to Goldshire by clearing out not only the kobolds, but wild wolves and bears, bandits, the fishlike murlocs, and more.

But now, the kobolds had returned.

“Those vermin are going to fight tooth, nail, hammer, and ax when we come upon them,” Dughan said, “but they’ll also be cramped together in some narrow places… and that’s where you come in, Zaldimar…”

The mage, his purple and blue robes immaculate despite the dust that caked the rest of the party, nodded gravely. “A series of arcane blasts would be the most effective course—”

Dughan cut him off with a wave. “Spare me explanations. Kill, wound, and panic as many as you can before we need to wade in. Can you do that?”

Zaldimar nodded. Dughan replaced his helmet, then signaled the group on. He chopped at several thick webs obscuring part of his path, remnants from the huge mine spiders that generally preyed on anything foolish enough to enter and, especially, on kobolds.

Indeed, cutting one web sent an old kobold skull dropping to the floor, where its rattling echoed throughout the mine.

Dughan swore. The kobolds might already have suspected the men’s presence, but now he’d given them confirmation.

Several of the men coughed from the dust, which seemed thicker than usual. And it did not take long to discover why. One of the side shafts — a passage that would have led to a secondary exit for the miners — had collapsed. Several tons of rock, earth, and shattered wooden braces met the marshal’s intent gaze.

“An accident,” Zaldimar proclaimed. “I warned them they were putting too much stress on that area when last we came down here to clean out kobolds.”

“Never mind,” Dughan said. “What matters is it makes our task simpler.”

Zaldimar nodded. There were limited directions the kobolds could have gone. The only exits were now cut off. A confrontation was only moments away…

They came upon a corpse, but not one they expected. It was a mine spider, one the size of a large dog. With its poison and other weapons, it was more than capable of trapping a kobold… and possibly a human.

This one had been hacked to pieces. In the dim illumination, the marshal could see several sets of prints.

“The kobolds are getting smarter, it seems. They’re ganging up on the spiders to wipe them out.”

“Something to think about,” Zaldimar commented.

Nodding gruffly, Dughan tightened his grip on the spiked mace.

With his free hand, the marshal instinctively dusted off his tabard.

The fierce gold-and-blue lion’s head on his chest once more shone prominently. He gave the order to move forward again —

Far in the darkness ahead, a gravelly voice muttered and a second, anger-tinged voice followed.

A brief flame — like that from a candle — materialized further down… then was quickly doused.

“Zaldimar …” Dughan whispered.

The mage stepped to the forefront. He raised his hands and gestured.

A purple light flared, accompanied by a pulsating sound. The arcane blast darted down the tunnel toward where the brief flame had been.

A moment later it struck… then struck again… and again. The mine shook. Dust and small fragments of rock pelted the fighters and the marshal cursed the mage’s carelessness.

The passage ahead was briefly filled with a purple aura so bright that Dughan had to shield his eyes. From the other end came a chorus of growls.

The marshal blinked as his eyes adjusted.

“By the king!” Dughan gasped.

The passage was packed wall to wall with kobolds. There were more rat-faced fiends than any of the reports had indicated — far more. Suddenly, Dughan’s trained force appeared very lacking.