Richard A. Knaak - Stormrage

The ground crawled with the dark vermin of the Nightmare.

“See what I’ve brought you…” Lethon said to the mist.

A huge portion of the mist melted into the putrefying figure of Emeriss. The other dragon grinned at the prisoners he displayed.

“So wholesome…so untouched…” she cooed. “Won’t it be fun twisting them?”

“You know what the master desires.”

Emeriss did not look pleased with being reprimanded. “Of course I do!”

Tyrande listened to all this with growing dismay. Yet her concern was more for the others and for Malfurion, wherever he now was.

She was certain that he was doing what he could to battle the Nightmare, although with Alexstrasza now also a slave to Xavius, the chance of victory seemed nil.

Or was the Life-Binder truly a slave? Tyrande recalled the image and also recalled the deviousness of the Nightmare. The vision had been too fleeting. Why hide it from them? Why quickly obscure Alexstrasza from their sight?

Unless…the image of the imprisoned red dragon had been an illusion designed to drain her and the others of hope?

The high priestess clenched her fist. Not for the first time, she had fallen prey to the Nightmare.

“The ax first,” Lethon ordered.

The corrupted dragon’s words caught Tyrande’s attention and she found herself wondering why the weapon had remained in the orc’s hands this long. More important, surely Xavius should have taken it from Thura as soon as the group stood before his shadow.

After all, being what he now was, the Nightmare Lord would surely not want any of his foes to wield it near him.

Again, Tyrande thought of the vision of Alexstrasza. Everything was designed to create despair in the defenders…perhaps in great part because of this very weapon.

Emeriss stared at the orc. Thura tightly gripped the ax, clearly unwilling to part with it. She brandished the blade at the dragon, who, it was interesting for Tyrande to note, made certain not to come within striking distance.

It has to be! the high priestess decided.

“That little plaything will not help you!” Emeriss hissed. The dragon continued to eye Thura, whose hands began to shake.

“The ax is mine!” the warrior growled.

“No longer…” Lethon interjected, joining Emeriss in staring at Thura.

The orc’s eyes shut. Trembling, she dropped to one knee. Her hands shook violently, but still she did not release the ax.

The high priestess knew what they were doing to Thura. They were assailing her with the dream-based abilities of their kind.

Thura was suffering personal nightmares over and over, all in an attempt to get her to release the weapon.

The weapon…

“Lucan…the ax…” Tyrande quietly urged.

He glanced at her, saw the direction of her gaze and, despite a hint of uncertainty, moved.

Tyrande reached into her heart and prayed to Elune, touching upon what had made her first desire to become one of the Mother Moon’s acolytes. She remembered the softness, the beauty of the moon’s light upon her and how she knew that with it she might be able to help others.

The silver glow materialized above her.

“Little fool!” Emeriss hissed at her. Lethon snarled and also turned to the night elf.

Lucan grabbed Thura. The orc understood immediately what the human intended.

Man and orc faded away as Lucan pulled them both from the Nightmare to Azeroth. Yet, just before they did, the shadow of a branch passed over them. None, not even the high priestess, noticed it.

Tyrande still remained. She had never had any notion of escaping with the others. She had needed to remain the distraction for the other two. The dragons had been too confident in their power and too focused in their desire to strip Thura of the ax.

Those had both been in her favor in seeking freedom for the orc and Lucan.

But a terrible force struck her. Tyrande fell among the bugs, who quickly swarmed over her. She batted them away, only to then find Emeriss’s pus-covered head looming before her.

“Thank you for doing your part…” the monstrous behemoth chuckled.

Lethon joined her in their sinister merriment. As Tyrande pushed herself up, she saw that while her companions had indeed made good their flight, something had been left behind.

“Your effort was invaluable!” Lethon mocked. “The distraction broke the orc’s concentration and loosened her grip just enough at the right moment…when she and the human were between realms…”

Half-covered in eager vermin, the ax that had once belonged to Brox lay a few yards ahead of Tyrande.

And over it hung the shadow of a skeletal branch.

No one protested Malfurion’s decision. All trusted in him. What they did not entirely trust was that which lay before them, that which had been crafted at their ignorance.

The portal rose from what had been the back of Fandral’s lair. It was not as huge nor as intricate as those others created to reach the Emerald Dream, but the fantastic energies swirling within marked it as functional…and thus a ray of hope as far as Malfurion was concerned.

“How could he have had this made without us knowing?”

demanded one druid.

“There was much to distract all of you,” Malfurion said with apology, thinking of all that his search in the Emerald Dream had caused. “But be thankful for one thing; the portal is still open…”

Broll eyed it warily. “But will it stay open for what you intend?”

“I — will see — to it, that it does.”

Even Malfurion was astounded to hear the Life-Binder announce this. Even more surprising was how Alexstrasza now appeared. She strode among the druids in her elven form, small licks of flames darting from her long, crimson tresses. She walked as a queen and as a mother, giving looks of trust and faith to the druids as she passed among them. Though Ysera was their patron, Malfurion and the rest acknowledged without hesitation their respect for Alexstrasza.

“Great Life-Binder, this is not—” Malfurion began.

“Do not question.” The fiery figure stepped toward the portal.

“Even now, the Nightmare senses that the portal of its pawn is discovered.”

Alexstrasza did not stop until she stood before the swirling energies. The Life-Binder stared into the portal.

The fiery glow about her body intensified. It shot forth into the portal. There was a flash of flame within and all there were aware that if something had stood on the other side, it would have been utterly incinerated.

“Nothing will come through and nothing will seal up this last portal from the other side,” she declared in a tone that did not brook disagreement. “The portal will stay open, Malfurion Stormrage…I will see to it. It is that important.”

The archdruid nodded grimly. “Then, there’s no more reason to hesitate! Hamuul! Your help — and yours, also, Broll — I think I’ll need! As for you others, you know what you must do…”

The druids began dividing up for their appointed tasks. Many gathered near the portal. Others took to swifter forms and quickly departed the enclave.

Malfurion sat down in the midst of the druids’ grove, with Hamuul and Broll kneeling on each side of him. Malfurion shut his eyes, but before he began his meditation, he said to the pair, “I will need all your strength and your wariness. I apologize for the danger I may put you through.”

The tauren snorted and Broll growled, “I fought as a gladiator for years, but rather would I fight at your side like this!”

Grateful for their loyalty and sacrifice, Malfurion withdrew into himself. He needed to reach out to some of those others who might stand with them — assuming any were left. It would demand another tremendous sacrifice from each and possibly only make the Nightmare’s victory that much more complete.