Richard A. Knaak - Stormrage

Tyrande quickly threw her glaive, which sliced the nearest root. The effort left her gasping, but she did not falter.

Malfurion reached into his dwindling stock of herbs and powders. He cast a fine spray of green spores at the encroaching roots.

As the spores touched, the archdruid encouraged their activity.

Small, burrowing tendrils blossomed from each. The spores began drilling into the roots.

The roots writhed as hundreds of holes developed. One root dropped. From several of the holes dripped the thick, bloodlike fluid.

But that same fluid filled the holes in the remaining roots. The tiny, parasitic plants were cast out, their forms now shriveled.

Futile…it is all futile… Xavius echoed in his head. Everything is becoming Nightmare…

It was true. No matter where Malfurion sought out some hope,

some help, he found none. King Varian’s army was losing. Broll could not be found, and lost with him was the orc. Ysera was unconscious, and Alexstrasza’s control over the one portal was slipping. The Nightmare was everywhere, both in the Emerald Dream and Azeroth. It was all lost —

Malfurion let out a roar…but one of anger, not despair.

“You nearly had me again, Xavius!” he shouted at his devious foe. Despair and fear were the greatest weapons of the Nightmare. Xavius — no doubt with the power of the ancient evil to reinforce his will — had fed Malfurion’s uncertainties well. “But no more!”

Tyrande gripped his shoulder. Her love amplified Elune’s gifts to him. Glaring at his unseen foe, the archdruid called upon the two realms, seeing if they could grant him just a bit more strength.

He felt the additional energies flow into him. Malfurion focused his will.

The sky crackled with lightning, which struck the upturned soil.

The roots slithered back into their holes…

In Stormwind City, Orgrimmar, and other embattled capitals, the winds picked up with a directed force, striking those that were a threat and leaving untouched the sleeping fighters made defenseless by Malfurion’s need for them in the Emerald Dream.

Yet the archdruid did what he could to protect those victims of the Nightmare who now unwittingly served it. They were buffeted together, packed so tight that they could bring no harm to each other.

Yet the shadow satyrs, the mists, and the corrupted still assailed the dwindling defenders. And even though the living puppets had been pushed back, their nightmares had substance in the Emerald Dream and even upon the mortal plane. Xavius’s power had grown that terrible.

Sweating from effort, Malfurion fought against all those aspects of his foe. Winds arose everywhere, even the Emerald Dream.

Whether shadow or corrupted, the Nightmare’s servants were held from advance.

But still it was not quite enough.

“It will never end unless I go to him!” Malfurion informed Tyrande. “I must strike at the heart of the darkness…Xavius is the key…without him, even the ancient evil behind his foul work cannot hold the Nightmare together…”

The high priestess eyed the satyrs and the roots, which had not given up their attempts to reach them. Only Malfurion’s constant efforts kept them at bay. Tyrande hefted her weapon of moonlight.

“Very well…let us begin…”

“You are not coming with—”

“I will follow you. You cannot do this alone and you know that. It is beyond merely you.”

She had the truth of it. It was not for him alone to either save the world or fail. Surrendering, Malfurion turned to face their enemies.

“I do not deserve you.”

“No, you don’t,” she replied with a forced chuckle.

Inhaling, the archdruid stretched forth a single hand.

Wind and lightning attacked. Now rain also joined them.

The satyrs retreated. The roots sought in vain to avoid the lightning and three were left burning hulks.

A way opened.

“Now!” Malfurion became a cat again. Tyrande mounted. The archdruid raced on at breakneck speed, leaping atop and over the ruined landscape. Satyrs lunged, only to have claws, entire limbs, and even heads lopped off by the skilled priestess’s flying glaive.

Malfurion trampled others who sought to bar his path, clawed those who stood their ground, and bit through the torsos of yet more.

Roots constantly sought for his legs or to snag Tyrande from his back. Malfurion twisted out of their reach and Tyrande severed more than one grasping tip. The path grew slick, but his claws better caught purchase than the satyrs’ cloven hooves. The landscape sped by.

And, finally, something ominously familiar broke through the mist ahead. It was still far from the pair and yet so gigantic. Indeed, Malfurion realized that it was far taller than most normal trees and that its branches, seemingly empty of life from this distance, stretched along the horizon. It was not Teldrassil nor any of the Great Trees…but it was a thing of titanic proportions.

And as twisted as the shadow had been, it failed to fully reveal the dread majesty of the true tree. There were hundreds, thousands of smaller branches, all as wicked as the great ones and as the pair approached, they were at last able to perceive that there were leaves. Yet unlike the World Tree’s corrupted leaves, these were long, arched, and to Malfurion’s heightened gaze, very much shaped like a reaper’s sharp sickle. Moreover, as Malfurion brought himself and Tyrande nearer yet, it became evident that both the leaves and the tree itself were not black, as first it had seemed…but the same deep red color of the “sap” that flowed through.

It was not the tree into which a much younger Malfurion had transformed his adversary thousands of years ago. That one had been a symbol of renewal, something that would bring life where Xavius sought death. Malfurion had meant to return to it after the war in order to see to its growth, but then had thought it lost with Zin-Azshari.

But how did this abomination remain hidden from us?

Malfurion wondered, then thought of the ancient evil lurking behind Xavius. It surely had extended much of whatever power it had in Azeroth to shield the tree from everyone’s senses.

The dark force behind the Nightmare Lord must have been able to reach Xavius shortly after Malfurion had left the new tree, for what it had become had surely taken many millennia. It showed the insidious patience of not only the former counselor, but his monstrous master. Only when it had been powerful enough, dread enough, had there been no more concern for hiding the truth of its presence.

As if a tremendous wind gusted, the branches suddenly moved as one toward where the pair raced. Despite the great distance still separating the tree from them, the branches stretched closer and closer…

And were nearly upon them.

Malfurion sensed the ground move again. Growling a warning to Tyrande, he threw them to the side. The roots shot up just where they had been, spearing so high that they nearly collided with the foremost branches.

A sinister swishing sound cut through the air. The archdruid twisted in mid-jump. More than a dozen smaller branches passed within inches of them, each covered in the long sickle leaves.

Malfurion did his best to avoid all, but two caught him.

The leaves sliced into his skin and he heard Tyrande gasp.

The cat spun. The path behind briefly filled his gaze. There was now a wall of roots cutting off the two from any escape and satyrs were eagerly spilling through the one gap left.

Xavius had wanted them to come to him.

“Beware!” Tyrande shouted. Her glaive sliced through three branches before the deadly leaves could touch the duo.

Malfurion made a decision. He was still in contact with the others, still trying to guide them. The strain was tremendous, but the archdruid knew that he needed to do even more.