He tried to do what in the past seemed to work only when he was not trying. Yet there had been one or two recent moments when his conscious desire had enabled his unique ability to work for him.

The slaves of the Nightmare fell upon the helpless group —

Lucan and the party vanished.

They materialized in the Emerald Dream, the last place to which Lucan wanted to return. He felt certain that the Nightmare would be upon them there as well.

The others began coming out of their personal nightmares. They looked tired and momentarily disoriented.

Lucan was the only one to note the shadow suddenly covering them. He looked up.

“What do you want of me now?” Eranikus growled.

Hamuul Runetotem was not alone. Naralex, with whom Shandris was familiar, stood with the tauren.

His presence was enough to confirm the general’s suspicions that they were the ones responsible for her imprisonment. She slipped out of Hamuul’s grip and drew a dagger.

But Hamuul moved swiftly and surely against her attack. He thrust a hand out and deflected the dagger’s path, but not without some injury to his extremity.

Ignoring the blood, the tauren barreled into her. As he did, he said under his breath, “You must stop this or he will certainly notice us, Shandris Feathermoon!”

“Who?” she quietly demanded.

“A traitor in our midst! A traitor who threatens all Darnassus and beyond!”

He stopped. Hamuul and Naralex peered at one another in grave concern.

“He knows …” the night elf druid muttered.

“Quickly! Stand between us!” Hamuul ordered Shandris. As some inner sense warned her to obey, the two druids began to transform into birds.

From the ground erupted long vines that sought to ensnare the trio. Shandris severed two with her dagger, then fended off more.

Hamuul had sought to fly up, but the tauren was caught by two other vines. As they snared his wing, what at first appeared as flower buds sprouted from the tips.

The buds opened…revealing wicked thorns that acted like teeth.

The tauren would have been bitten, but Naralex used his beak to bite through the vines. The tops dropped, yet the respite was only momentary, for, as with those that Shandris had cut, these two grew new roots.

Hamuul squawked something to Naralex. The transformed night elf immediately seized Shandris by her shoulders and carried her aloft.

But as they rose, something else fell upon them from the branches above. They were shadowy forms that seemed to sprout from the leaves themselves. Naralex, intent on bringing his charge to safety, flew right into their midst.

One of the shadow creatures thrust an ethereal hand into Shandris. She shrieked as a chill touched her very soul. The Sentinel commander lost her grip on the dagger. Her body shook.

Whatever her suffering, though, Naralex’s was far greater. The shadow creatures swarmed all over him, tearing at the storm crow with wild relish.

Naralex’s flight faltered. He tried to shake off his attackers, but when that failed, the druid veered toward the ground closest to the path out of the enclave.

He released Shandris from his talons the moment that he was close enough to avoid her being harmed by the drop. Still reeling from the horrific chill, she dropped to her knees.

A roar echoed in her ears. Hamuul, once again in his true shape, had seized several vines and with his great strength now tore them loose. However, rather than toss them aside, he threw them up into the air.

An emerald sheen surrounded them. Each snapping tendril shrank rapidly.

A moment later the seeds to which they had reverted dropped harmlessly around the tauren.

Unfortunately, as this happened, the shadow creatures also converged upon Hamuul. The tauren thrust a hand into one pouch and then flung the contents at the nearest.

Although his attackers seemed without substance, the brown powder the archdruid used landed on them as if the fiends were solid. Moreover, it had a devastating effect. The shadow figures twisted and contorted. They began to shrink and change shape.

Their doom was accompanied by a chorus of monstrous hisses.

Hamuul’s eyes widened. The shadows had been reduced to leaves. This had not been the intention of his spell. The tauren could only fathom that the leaves represented the true nature of their attackers.

“No…” he rumbled. “It cannot have gone that far…”

But his distraction cost the tauren. Another of the shadows thrust its hand through his back. As the horrific cold encased his soul, another shadow struck through his chest.

The tauren fell to his knees. His eyes glazed over.

Shandris saw him fall, but could do nothing. She started to throw her glaive —

Branches reached down and seized her. Some tore her weapon from her. The rest bound her tight.

Another, heavier branch struck the Sentinel hard on the back of the head, knocking her out.

Naralex let out a mournful squawk as he collided with the ground.

At first glance, it appeared that he was being physically shredded to pieces, but each bit that the shadows tore away faded as they flung it aside.

The night elf resumed his normal shape. Gasping, he collapsed and lay still.

From the trees calmly emerged another druid. He stared at the frozen tauren, then at the stunned Sentinel.

“I’m sorry,” Fandral Staghelm honestly told them, though they were not conscious enough to hear him. “You must believe me that I am.”

The lead archdruid walked among the shadows, who moved respectfully out of his way. Fandral went to Naralex, who lay unmoving.

Leaning down, Fandral touched the other night elf’s neck.

“Still alive…”

Rising, Fandral eyed the party with disappointment.

“Something will have to be done with you.” He considered, a smile coming to his face. “Valstann will know just what! My son will have the answer…”

He started back to his sanctum without another glance at

Shandris, the tauren, or Naralex. The shadow creatures surrounded the trio but did not touch them. Instead, the branches that held the priestess drew her up among the dark, leafy crowns.

Others seized Hamuul and Naralex and carried them after her.

When that was done, the shadow creatures straightened. As one, they dissipated, their essence also rising up among the trees, where they reverted to their dormant form…the very leaves of Teldrassil.

The mists extended out even far into the sea. Malfurion could not believe its thickness. He beat his wings harder as the wind began to pick up. A gale was brewing, a gale that the archdruid was certain was taking shape only due to his presence.

Malfurion did not know what he planned — not completely — but some sense drove him toward the island where his people had chosen to make their new home. There was an urgency building within him that there was at least one key to the catastrophe engulfing two worlds.

A full-fledged hurricane struck.

Despite his awareness that it was brewing, its full intensity startled even Malfurion. He was thrust back as if he were nothing.

Lightning raged, some of it striking perilously near. The archdruid found himself hurtling away from the still-shrouded island.

More bolts nearly struck him. It was not by luck that they did not.

Whatever power had forged this fury desired to hit Malfurion; only the night elf’s instincts kept that from happening.

His anxiety swelled with the tempest’s strength. Each passing moment led Azeroth and all those he loved, especially Tyrande, toward doom. Yet, try as he might, Malfurion could barely save even himself. Again the archdruid wondered at Ysera’s seemingly foolish sacrifice. She thought him more valuable to both realms than her —