No… that will not happen… Tyrande insisted to herself. I am a priestess of the Mother Moon… the light of Elune is a part of me…
And as this thought coursed through her, it melted both the ice within her and the fear seeking to dominate her will.
“I am the high priestess of the Mother Moon…” she declared to her shadowy adversaries. “Feel her light…”
The silvery glow filled her tent. The black-and-emerald figures cringed from its glory.
Despite this promising reaction, the night elf did not relax. She opened herself up to Elune. The soft comfort of the Mother Moon enveloped her. Elune would protect her daughter.
The silvery light intensified a thousand times stronger.
With low, hissing sounds, the monstrous assassins dissolved as if truly made of nothing but shadow.
Suddenly, all was black as pitch. Tyrande gasped. The light of Elune was gone, and she was somehow seated on the ground, in a meditative pose. The high priestess shot a glance toward the glaive — it was still by the blankets, where it had been before the intruders had burst in. Or had they? The icy pain in her back returned — or perhaps it was just a chill creeping down her spine. She swallowed, her mouth dry and her heart still racing.
As Tyrande stood up, a guard suddenly burst into the tent.
Masking her emotions, Tyrande met the sentry’s puzzled gaze.
From the other priestess’s expression, she knew nothing about the attempted slaying of her mistress.
“Forgive me,” the guard murmured. “I heard a gasp and feared something had happened …”
“I merely overpracticed and was out of breath.”
The other night elf frowned, then nodded. She bowed at the waist, beginning to depart at the same time.
Something came to Tyrande’s mind. This strange, sinister vision had settled matters in her mind, but if she planned to move independently of Archdruid Fandral’s intentions, then Tyrande first needed to make certain of one thing. “Wait.”
“Mistress?”
“I have a task for you… concerning one of the druids …”
Having been a slave once, Broll Bearmantle found barrow dens too cramped; thus, he slept, as some others did, out in the open in a chosen part of the Moonglade. Hamuul slept a short distance away to his right. There existed a kinship between the pair, as both were somewhat unique in one way or another among those of their calling.
Indeed, other than Varian Wrynn and young Valeera Sanguinar — a blood elf rogue, of all things — Hamuul was perhaps the night elf’s closest friend. It made for a strange — and to many, disturbing — collection of characters, but Broll no longer cared what others thought.
Several troublesome thoughts weighed on the night elf as he lay there — too many to allow him to fall asleep. As the tauren snored next to him, Broll’s concerns focused for a time on Valeera, who had become almost like a daughter to him. As a blood elf, the youngling was addicted to the absorption of arcane magical energy, a path her kind had turned to after the destruction of the high elves’ fount of power, the Sunwell. Broll had almost managed to help her overcome it… but then circumstance had forced Valeera to return to her kind’s ways. They had parted company, at least for a time, shortly before his summons to the convocation. He hoped she was better, but feared that her addiction might have worsened again.
Grunting, Broll tried to calm his mind. At the moment, he could do nothing for Valeera, unless he had help… and that brought his thoughts back to his shan’do. For the first time something occurred to him — or rather, tried to occur to him. The main thrust of it remained just outside of his weary mind’s reach. The druid tried over and over to concentrate enough, but instead, the truth seemed to slip further and further from him. He almost —
There came a sound from among the trees behind him, a hint of something like a gasp of breath.
Father…
The night elf stiffened. Had he heard… her ?
Broll quietly pushed himself up to a sitting position.
Father…
There it was again. He knew that voice better than he knew his own. Broll trembled. It could not be her.
It could not be… could never be… Anessa ?
He glanced at Hamuul, whose snoring remained steady. The sharpeared tauren had noticed nothing. To Broll, that verified that he had only imagined that he had heard —
Father… I need you…
Anessa! Broll gasped. He had heard her!
The druid reacted instinctively, rising up and peering into the woods in search of his daughter. He did not call out, fearful that not only would that alert others to his situation, but also send his beloved daughter running.
But… a part of his mind reminded him… Anessa is dead…
and I’m responsible…
Despite being well aware of that fact, Broll felt his heart beat fast. He took a tentative step in the direction from which he believed the call had come.
Father… help me…
Tears welled up in the otherwise stolid druid’s eyes. He remembered her death and his part in it. The old agony stirred again. Memories of the battle arose anew.
Yes, Anessa was dead…
But she calls me! the most basic part of him insisted. This time, I can save her!
Something shadowy moved among the trees well ahead of him.
Broll veered toward the half-seen form. Suddenly, the druid’s world rippled. The trees twisted as if made of smoke. The indistinct figure grew more distant. The sky became the ground and the ground the sky. Broll felt as if his bones had turned to liquid. He tried to call out to his daughter.
Something moved toward him from the woods. As it neared, it swelled to horrific proportions. Even then, the druid could not make out any distinct features. It almost looked like —
Broll tried to scream… and then woke.
His focus began to return. Slowly, the night elf registered several things wrong with what he last recalled about his surroundings. He did not stand at the edge of the woods, but rather lay on the ground as if still sleeping. Squinting, Broll glanced up. By the position of the bright sun, several hours must have passed.
The songs of birds and the sigh of the wind greeted his ears, but another sound was missing. He looked over his right shoulder and saw Hamuul solemnly gazing back at him. The archdruid was down on one knee next to his shaking friend.
“You are awake, yes,” the tauren remarked, reading Broll’s remaining uncertainty. “Is there something amiss? You look—”
The night elf did not let him finish. “It was a dream. Or rather, a nightmare …”
“A dream… as you say …” Hamuul was silent for a moment, then said, “I awoke sooner than you know, for, this being day and I not a night elf, I but lightly napped. I heard you say something. You mumbled a name,” the tauren went on with some slight hesitation.
“A name close to you.”
“Anessa …” Bits of the nightmare came back. Broll shivered. He had dreamed of his daughter before, but never in such a manner.
The tauren briefly bowed his head again at mention of Broll’s lost child. “Anessa, yes …” He peered up at the night elf. “You are well now, though, Broll Bearmantle?”
“I am good now. Thank you …”
“This was not natural, Broll Bearmantle… no more than your earlier visions… though different from them in all other ways, I think.”
“It was only a bad nightmare, Hamuul.” Broll’s tone told the other druid not to argue that point. “Neither it nor the other instances mean anything .”
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