Taking advantage of the ancient’s hesitance, Broll asked a question that had been bothering him. “Gnarl…where are the other guardians?”

The forest dweller’s expression turned grimmer. “Some to the east, some to the north, some to the south. The others…those who remained behind with me…the others sleep and do not wake…” He shook his head. “I hid them safe…but I have grown so tired myself

…I may soon be joining them.”

“What happened?”

Gnarl told them how the guardians — including ancients, night elves, green drakes, dryads, and especially those of the green dragonflight — had been without commands by Ysera for far too long. They had grown concerned. That concern had turned worse when a dryad named Shael’dryn had come to them after fleeing her moonwell. The wells — bound to the magic of nature and the light of Elune — were places of healing for both the land around them and those who drank of their waters. Magi and other spellcasters could even refresh their mana, a gift of the Mother Moon to Azeroth’s other defenders. Shael’dryn had been the one watching over the northernmost.

“I know her,” Broll said with a slight, wry smile. “A jester of words, a lover of puns…”

Gnarl shook his craggy head. “No humor was there in her when she came. She warned of — of attackers in the dark, seeking the wells. The dryad only called them shadows, though she said that they reminded her of something else.”

No one heard the intake of breath from Tyrande, who then asked, “Where is she? It might be wise to speak with her.”

“That is impossible,” the ancient answered. “She has slept for two days now.”

He went on to tell them how, after hearing from the dryad, the ancients and other guardians had then divided up to head to the moonwells and other strategic locations. They had left Gnarl and the others in charge of the portal’s protection.

“There were more than a dozen…all strong, especially the dragons and drakes…and at the time, we did not know yet about the unwaking sleep. That happened only after we divided up and said our farewells…”

“You were played like pieces in a chess game,” Eranikus pointed out, not without some satisfaction at someone else’s mistakes.

“Hmmph!”

Although Gnarl obviously did not care for the dragon’s comments, he did not defend himself and his comrades. Instead, the ancient gestured at the portal. “I will not stand in your way…go, if you think it some good…”

“I am not foolish enough to enter there! That is for these two!”

Now Gnarl did show his contempt, though Eranikus ignored him.

Forgetting the dragon, the woodland guardian said to Broll, “Forest brother, I would go with…but there must be someone here…other than him…”

“That’s understood. I’ll go alone—”

“We go together,” Tyrande curtly interjected.

As ever, there was no arguing with the high priestess. Broll shrugged. “Then let’s get on with it.”

Eranikus moved to the side. The night elves strode toward the glittering energies.

Tyrande exhaled. “It looks so…beautiful.”

“Once, it was.”

“How do we enter?”

“Just walk in,” the druid replied, “and then be prepared for anything.”

“I always am.”

“Fare you well,” Gnarl grated, the ancient raising one heavy hand. “There is still the sense of corruption near…”

“The Nightmare covers much of the Dream,” Eranikus impatiently pointed out. He acted more anxious now that the two were about to enter. “I sense its malevolence more than ever.

Once you are through, I shall depart!”

Broll, in the lead, paused to look one last time to the dragon.

“We thank you for your aid, though.”

“Thank me not for helping you to possible disaster, little night elf!”

Tyrande, peering at the portal, interrupted. “Broll, there is something—”

The portal flared. The emerald energies darkened, then swelled, expanding to encompass the pair.

As the night elves tried to come to grips with what was happening, mocking laughter rang in their ears and a fearsome head that seemed as much mist as real lunged toward them. Like the energies of the portal, the creature was of a dire green shade.

“We’ve been waiting for you…” the dragon said.

The green dragon was not so great in size as Eranikus, but he was large indeed and eager to take the night elves. Broll cast the calming spell that had worked at least in part on Ysera’s consort, hoping to slow the attacking beast.

But for his efforts he received only more of the malevolent laughter. The dragon would have fallen upon him if not for Tyrande, who shoved the druid aside and threw her glaive.

Glowing with Elune’s majesty, the triple-bladed weapon whirled unerringly at its target. The tip cut across the dragon’s snout just above the red region that almost resembled a beard, and though the monster seemed half-insubstantial, a wicked flash of dark emerald energy escaped the cut. The horned dragon arched his neck, more furious than wounded. His wings spread wide, revealing red membrane that contrasted sharply to his overall verdant appearance. Lethon’s fiendish orbs were wide with rage and it was clear that, unlike Eranikus or others of the green dragonflight — who generally kept their eyes shut and observed all through the halfwaking, half-sleeping state — the corrupted behemoth saw quite well.

“You must be taught your places…” the beast hissed as the glaive returned to Tyrande.

“Away from the portal!” Broll ordered. “Retreat from it!”

The pair backed up, trying to return to Ashenvale, but the energies of the portal spread to follow them. No matter how hard they pushed, they could not reach the mortal plane.

Then a mighty figure reached for them. Gnarl, half-submerged in the portal energies, grabbed Tyrande with one huge hand and Broll with the other even as the sinister dragon surged forward.

“You cannot escape… the Nightmare is all around and all within you!”

As he said that, from the very air surrounding the night elves there formed shadow creatures that made Tyrande gasp. Although only silhouettes, they bore the semblances of satyrs, their muscular legs akin to those of furred goats and ending in heavy, cloven hooves and their heads bearing sharp horns that curved back. There were hints of other satyr features, the long tails and beards, the torsos and heads bearing resemblance to night elves.

The outlines of their savage claws were quite clear. That they were shadows added some new dimension of horror to those who had faced the true fiends in the past.

Their numbers increased in rapid order, threatening to overwhelm the trio. Gnarl thrust the night elves behind him, then confronted the shadow satyrs. They leapt upon the ancient with eager abandon. They scratched and tore and bit with ebony fangs and claws. They tore through the hard bark skin. A deep brown sap dribbled from wounds all over the ancient, but Gnarl seemed unimpressed by the injuries he received.

The ancient seized one shadow and squeezed. The silhouette scattered into a thousand pieces of shadow. Gnarl plucked another off of him, then did the same.

But the pieces from the first then gathered again in different places. From the one destroyed shadow was born half a dozen more. The same happened to the fragments of the second.

Yet the ancient had bought his two companions time to plot their own counterattacks. The high priestess threw her glaive. The weapon became whirling death, severing shadow after shadow.

The moonlight surrounding the blades then burned away the cut silhouettes.

As for Broll, he transformed, again taking on an ursine shape.

The huge, dark bear fell upon the shadow satyrs. Claws ripped and tore at the silhouettes, claws aglow with wild, purple flames. The shadows fell by the scores as Broll let his animalistic instincts all but take over.