After several long hours, the World Tree materialized ahead.

Fandral banked and the flock descended… and Broll stealthily fell back, veering upward. Beating his wings as hard as he could, the transformed night elf surged higher and higher. The great trunk of Teldrassil was like an impossible barrier ever before him, yet the druid pressed on.

And then… the enormous crown welcomed him. Broll the bird darted in among its vast branches.

Part of what looked to be the foliage itself moved. Though he only glimpsed it for a mere second, the long, thrusting tusks, the massive, woodlike form, and the leafy coat were enough for the druid to recognize it as an ancient, one of the primal beings who not only protected the World Tree and the night elf realm, but also taught Darnassus’s warriors the darker side of nature and how to use it in combat.

The ancient did not appear to notice Broll in turn, which was to the druid’s preference. While not of any physical danger to him, he feared the being might inadvertently tell Fandral of Broll’s presence.

Though the reason for that would eventually become known to the archdruid, Broll desired that it be later rather than sooner. For by then, he would be long gone.

And, if things did not work as Broll intended, very likely dead.

The druid adjusted his path to avoid other, more cunning sentries hidden among the branches. The Sentinels, Darnassus’s armed force, guarded Teldrassil’s crown. They were led by the zealous Shandris Feathermoon, who was totally devoted to her ruler.

There were few more capable or experienced than Shandris, whom Tyrande had rescued on the battlefield during the initial conflict against the Burning Legion so long ago. Shandris had been an orphaned child, one of so many. Under the high priestess’s tutelage, she had risen to become one of the race’s most skilled warriors.

It made for perfect logic that Shandris would be Tyrande’s chosen servant for this crucial mission. The high priestess would trust no other with such a desperate mission. Indeed, Broll was honored to be among her chosen servants.

Sensing that he was near his destination, Broll pushed aside all other thoughts. Barely a wing beat later, the storm crow burst through the foliage… and into the area of the capital known as the Cenarion Enclave.

As with so much of Darnassus, it was impossible to see that this sacred place was part of a city built atop a tree itself. Tall trees — oaks and ashes especially — lined the enclave. Each tree bore mystic runes shaped from the very bark. Within the circular grove created here, a handful of unique structures molded from both living trees and carefully shaped stones represented the usual gathering place for convocations. The largest of these served as the new residence of Fandral Staghelm.

The storm crow did not head directly for the archdruid’s sanctum, instead alighting on a branch that allowed him to overlook the area. The Cenarion Enclave radiated a sense of tranquility — and it was indeed a restful place — but it was not without its own guardians, especially those set into place by Fandral himself.

Broll fluttered to another branch deep enough to avoid being detected from anything within the enclave and yet near enough to the archdruid’s sanctum. He had to make his incursion swift, but cautious.

All looked calm, but as Broll studied the green and crimson edifice, he noted the fine strings of vines crisscrossing it. Cocking his head, he eyed the tiny buds running along the vines. They were a subtle indication of just what plant decorated the building… and the only hint of Fandral’s cunning. Even most of the other druids would have proven hard-pressed to identify it.

Twisting his head, the storm crow plucked a feather from his body. Ignoring the slight twinge of pain, Broll took to flight, drifting high above the vines. He dropped the feather.

The feather drifted onto a bud, which opened immediately. From it burst a sappy substance that encased the feather, causing it to drop to the ground with a thud. The sap had quickly hardened.

There were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of such little buds.

With such numbers, they could easily cover Broll with a similar prison, leaving him trapped until Fandral returned.

Broll surveyed the vines, watching. A few small bees darted past the buds unhindered.

The storm crow let out a small but triumphant sound, then fluttered down to the ground. He made certain to keep away from the archdruid’s sanctum.

Once on the ground, Broll returned to his true form. He wasted no time, murmuring under his breath. The druid did not speak words, but sounds that all had a sharp, buzzing tone to them.

A moment later Broll heard more buzzing. Continuing his own sounds, he watched as bees began to gather before him. They flew around him, seeming more curious than anything else.

The druid changed the tempo of his spellwork, and the swarm immediately reacted. The bees flew en masse toward the vinecovered structure.

Broll transformed into a storm crow again and followed behind the bees, whose numbers continued to swell even as he joined them. They were all here in response to his call, which he had broached as an invitation. The bees congregated where the night elf now indicated, a thick part of the vines surrounding a window opening.

It would have been impossible for Broll to dart through the window, even if he had raced as fast as the wings would let him.

However, the bees now clustered over the buds, seeking in vain the blossoms that they had been told were there. Broll regretted the subterfuge, but had not had any other choice.

The moment that it appeared all the buds were occupied, the druid dove for the window. As he reached it, he saw some of the buds move. However, the bees’ presence prevented them from unleashing their imprisoning sap.

His avian bulk barely fit through, but fit it did. Broll alighted on the floor, then reverted to his normal self. He knew where Fandral kept what he sought, and knew that the archdruid would not think anyone audacious enough to commit the offense Broll now intended.

Paying no attention to the rest of his surroundings, Broll went straight to a chest woven from steelgrass. While outwardly appearing to be soft, when used in such a manner, steelgrass was as strong as metal. A normal night elf would have been unable to either cut through it or pry open the bound lid, but Broll was familiar with Fandral’s methods, both of them having been taught closely by Malfurion. Indeed, Broll had learned a few things that he believed even Fandral did not know.

Placing his hands close together, the druid tested the weaving of the chest. He felt the binding spells Fandral had used and the manners by which the archdruid had had the steelgrass shape itself.

The strands sealing the lid unbound. Broll hesitated, then opened the chest.

The Idol of Remulos stared back at him, the dragon figurine seeming almost eager at his arrival.

The battle bloomed again in his thoughts. He saw the demons of the Burning Legion, and their commander, the pit lord Azgalor. Broll once more watched helplessly as the idol slipped from his grasp, then was cut by the demon’s blade.

And again he saw those unleashed and corrupted forces envelop the only one still standing at his side. His daughter.

Anessa’s death had not been an easy one. She had been burned horribly, her flesh withering before his eyes —

Broll gritted his teeth as he forced the pain of his failure back.

He dared not let his emotions take control of him. He had the statuette; that was what mattered most now… that and Malfurion’s fate.

There had been a chance that Fandral might have disobeyed Remulos and summoned the statue back to him. But Fandral had indeed heeded the Moonglade’s guardian and thus enabled Broll to achieve his goal here. The night elf gingerly removed the figurine, admiring not for the first time its surreal majesty. For a moment, he marveled that such an exquisite work could have also been the source of great evil. Of course, the idol had since been “cleansed”; perhaps that made the difference.