Guilt swelled up within him, guilt such as he had not felt before.
Not for the first time, Malfurion saw in his mind all the trials through which he had put Tyrande and how over and over she had stood steadfast in her support of him. He also recalled those few precious times when they had been allowed peace and seclusion.
Malfurion especially treasured the building of the night elves’ first new capital after the War of the Ancients. Through his druidic skills and her prayers to Elune, they had fashioned a great, living pergola at the center outwardly honoring their peoples’ new beginning, but also secretly marking their own deep relationship. The oaks had been encouraged to grow intertwining with flowered vines circling around each part, then Elune’s power, through her high priestess, had gifted them with a soft, white-blue glow that made the pergola radiate a sense of calm to whoever passed underneath it.
It was a small thing, a minor thing in the measure of their titanic struggles through the ages, but perhaps that was why Malfurion cherished it so much. It was something they had done together for simple, pure reasons. They could have done much, much more together, if not for him. She should have forever rejected him for all the long absences he had so callously taken over the many millennia…but she had not. Despite all her other duties — and they were extraordinary — Tyrande had always been there waiting.
And now she would die because once again his duties had taken precedence over her.
“Not this time…” the archdruid rumbled. “Never again!”
Hands clenched, Malfurion summoned up as best he could the innate forces that he and Ysera had together gathered to help her escape. A maelstrom of energies rose up from the ground, while others descended from the hidden sky.
The ground swelled. A forest of green burst up, enveloping both the front lines of the satyrs and Tyrande. However, where the fiends were swallowed up, the high priestess was softly carried aloft by the sudden growth, then guided by sprouting branches toward her love.
In devouring all he could from the land around him, Xavius had left small dried seeds from his many victims, things so inconsequential that the Nightmare Lord had not even noticed them. But Malfurion’s druidic powers had found them, no matter how deep or long they had been buried. The archdruid had not only resurrected their potential, he had unleashed it.
Where the forest had been gentle with Tyrande, it had dealt sharp, harsh death to many of the satyrs. Dozens hung pierced, impaled, for Malfurion had no time for niceties. They had perished swiftly; that was the best he could give them.
Yet still more came and Malfurion, fearing that they would still reach his beloved, asked of Azeroth more of its power. He reached out to Teldrassil and even Nordrassil and, to both his relief and tremendous gratitude, they, in turn, gave as he needed…even though Nordrassil still struggled to recover from the last war with the Burning Legion.
Trebling in intensity, the wind shrieked loud and long. A score of satyrs were blown into the deadly forest, joining their fellows. At last their ranks hesitated. This was not the easy victim that their “god” had promised; this was the accursed one in strength as they could not believe.
But in Malfurion’s eyes, this hesitation was not enough. They had threatened Tyrande. He swept them back from where they stood and brought Tyrande nearer.
But at that point the high priestess called to him, “Worry not about me! The others need you more!”
Malfurion did not lessen his efforts to protect her, but he understood her meaning. Indeed, the very fact that he had considered her life and hers alone of the most importance filled him with a renewed sense of his own life, not the one that he had dedicated to his world. He had found new strength in protecting that thing most precious to Malfurion Stormrage the night elf, not the great archdruid of legend.
As he had done with Azeroth, a steeled Malfurion now extended his will into the Emerald Dream and sought to draw more of its essence in order to help stave off the Nightmare. When the Emerald Dream gave to him as he asked, he was relieved. With its added energies, the archdruid swept back the mists before Varian’s dreamform army. The green fields grew anew.
Yet, of more significance, not only did the shadow creatures fighting Varian’s force fade as the mist did, but so, too, did the dream slaves. No longer did the defenders also battle the images of their former comrades and loved ones. Like the shadows, it was as if they had never existed.
A sensation coursed through Malfurion as the last happened, a sensation of utter calm. He knew its source, knew that Tyrande prayed to Elune to let the high priestess’s love in turn act as not only shield for Malfurion, but also new resolve to aid him further.
The calm and the love with which Tyrande touched his heart gave Malfurion the impetus to push even further beyond what he had expected to be his limits. This time the archdruid extended his will into Azeroth and the Emerald Dream simultaneously.
It worked. With Tyrande’s presence and power reassuring him within, rather than feel overwhelmed, the night elf actually found himself stronger and more refreshed as the two realms added more to his attack.
He could not also help but finally turn his thoughts to Ysera, certain that she also remained an integral part in enabling him to cope with such power. But, to his astonishment, the gargantuan dragon was still in a dangerous state of exhaustion and pain and certainly not aware enough to have been of any aid.
The discovery jolted Malfurion. The revelation meant that it was only he and Tyrande who kept the Nightmare at bay here. That should have been impossible —
The thought vanished as the ground under his forest churned.
The new trees and other remarkable plants that he had urged to fruition were undermined.
Gargantuan red roots tore at the area, heaving up trees and satyrs alike. Several of the trees went flying toward the archdruid.
Transforming to cat form, Malfurion nimbly leapt to avoid the deadly rain. As he moved past Tyrande, she jumped atop. Although the high priestess was very weary, she continued to use Elune’s gift to protect them as best she could. Moonlight blinded the satyrs pouring through the gaps made by the roots and kept the nearest of the roots themselves at bay, if for a few critical moments.
The archdruid brought her to a place of temporary safety, then reverted. “You need to leave.”
“Be sensible! Where would I go? All Azeroth is under siege! If the end is to come, then, by Elune, I will be with you at the last! We have lost too much time together!”
“And all of it my doing,” agreed Malfurion.
“That’s not what I—”
The ground thundered again. More roots shot up near their feet.
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…