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WOLFHEART
Don’t Miss These Other Tales in the
WORLD OF WARCRAFT®
THRALL: TWILIGHT OF THE ASPECTS
by Christie Golden
THE SHATTERING: PRELUDE TO CATACLYSM
by Christie Golden
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ARTHAS: RISE OF THE LICH KING
by Christie Golden
NIGHT OF THE DRAGON
by Richard A. Knaak
BEYOND THE DARK PORTAL
by Aaron Rosenberg & Christie Golden
TIDES OF DARKNESS
by Aaron Rosenberg
RISE OF THE HORDE
by Christie Golden
CYCLE OF HATRED
by Keith R. A. DeCandido
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BOOK ONE—THE WELL OF ETERNITY
by Richard A. Knaak
WAR OF THE ANCIENTS:
BOOK TWO—THE DEMON SOUL
by Richard A. Knaak
WAR OF THE ANCIENTS:
BOOK THREE—THE SUNDERING
by Richard A. Knaak
DAY OF THE DRAGON
by Richard A. Knaak
LORD OF THE CLANS
by Christie Golden
THE LAST GUARDIAN
by Jeff Grubb
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First Gallery Books hardcover edition September 2011
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Interior art by Alex Horley.
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Knaak, Richard A.
World of warcraft : wolfheart / Richard A. Knaak. — 1st Gallery Books hardcover ed.
p. cm.
I. Title.
PS3561.N25W67 2011
813'.54—dc23
ISBN 978-1-4516-0575-4
ISBN 978-1-4516-0577-8 (ebook)
For all the adventurers everywhere . . .
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue Northrend
Chapter 1: The Wolf
Chapter 2: Incursion
Chapter 3: Jarod Shadowsong
Chapter 4: The Message From Ashenvale
Chapter 5: Bitter Reunions
Chapter 6: Storm at Sea
Chapter 7: Into the Forest
Chapter 8: Arrivals
Chapter 9: A Final Farewell
Chapter 10: The Banquet
Chapter 11: Darkened Hearts
Chapter 12: The Horde Strikes
Chapter 13: Jarod’s Hunt
Chapter 14: The Worgen
Chapter 15: Choices
Chapter 16: A Messenger’s Resolve
Chapter 17: Into the Forest
Chapter 18: The Chase
Chapter 19: Silverwing
Chapter 20: Departures
Chapter 21: A Line Drawn
Chapter 22: Ritual
Chapter 23: Purification
Chapter 24: Ashenvale at War
Chapter 25: Valor
Chapter 26: Maiev
Chapter 27: The Horde Ascendant
Chapter 28: The Sword and the Axe
Chapter 29: To Forge a Future
Notes
Further Reading
The Battle Rages on
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to again gratefully acknowledge those folks who have consistently been there to offer their expertise on the background for this and previous novels. Thank you to Publishing Lead Mick Neilson and Senior Story Developer James Waugh, plus Evelyn, Sean, Tommy, Joshua, George, Gina, and everyone else at Blizzard who’s lent a helping hand. Also to Glenn Rane for another fantastic cover!
And how could I not also thank all those who work on World of Warcraft in whatever capacity to make it the ultimate online gaming experience? You may be behind the scenes, but without you guys in the trenches, this success could not be possible.
Naturally, my appreciation to Chris Metzen for his creative guidance and for introducing me to Azeroth.
On the publishing side, as ever thanks to those at Simon & Schuster who helped guide the process there—Ed Schlesinger and Anthony Ziccardi.
Lastly, thanks to all of you who continue to enjoy these adventures in Azeroth!
—Richard A. Knaak
PROLOGUE
NORTHREND
Twin rows of straining, green-skinned warriors tugged on taut, broad ropes as they dragged a colossal wheeled cage slowly up the wide ramp leading into the last of the ships. Despite Northrend’s eternal winter, the muscular orcs sweated heavily from effort. Their broad-jawed faces contorted with each new heave of the ropes.
Guards stood alongside the ramp, torches in one hand, ready weapons in the other. With steely brown eyes they watched not the workers but rather the great covered cage. The cube-shaped structure towered over them, its outer covering consisting of a great tarp sewn from goatskin. There were no gaps in the tarp, no hint from the container as to just what the cargo was.
But there was a clue, revealed simply in the fact that the orcs themselves maneuvered the cargo. Desolate as the port was, it did have work animals such as the horned, reptilian kodo beasts, strong creatures more than capable of taking the places of the struggling orcs. There was even a trio of mammoths, generally used for transporting several riders at once. Yet, not only were those animals excluded from the effort, but they had been moved decidedly far from the vicinity of the docks. Even there, they stirred anxiously, the kodo beasts flaring their nostrils and the mammoths waving their trunks as all the animals stared in the direction of the ships.
With a tremendous howl, the winds abruptly picked up to storm strength. Weather in Northrend had only one consistent factor . . . that it was foul. But there were many levels of foul, and the docks shook as the waters of the cold sea suddenly churned with great waves. Ship hulls groaned as every vessel rocked hard.
From deep within some of the ships, there came horrendous roars and banging. On deck, crewmembers
rushed to the hatches leading down to the holds. Stern veteran mariners and warriors looked anxious.
The last ship also rocked . . . and the gangplank twisted. It dipped to one side, spilling several startled guards and throwing the workers into a tangle.
The cage shifted. At the last moment, the orcs on the teetering ramp kept the container from falling. However, no sooner had they managed that than it began to shake from within. A roar identical to those emanating from the ships but much deeper echoed through the dank port. Something within began pulling at the tarp.
Guards rushed up from the port. Those still astride the gangplank fought desperately to maintain their balance. One failed, instead tumbling into the chill waters between the dock and the ship.
From the shoreline, the fleet captain—a one-eyed veteran mariner called Briln, whose body bore numerous intricate tattoos marking his journeys—raced toward the side of the gangplank and shouted, “Get that cage straightened! Don’t let it fall! Get those weapons ready! Where’s the powder? If that cage is damaged—”
The cage beneath the tangled tarp rattled. The dim illumination of the wind-blown torches was insufficient to reveal what was happening, but the nerve-scraping wrenching of metal gave Briln enough warning.
“Spears up front! Hurry, you offal! The right side of the cage!”
Two guards either more impetuous or more foolish than the rest moved in closer. From his angle, Briln could not make out everything that happened next, but he saw enough.
The foremost orc prodded the cage with his spear. The next instant, something snagged his weapon and tugged both it and him through a tear in the tarp.
As that happened, the second orc instinctively lunged forward to aid his vanishing comrade.
Something thick darted through the tear.
The orc was too slow to realize his danger. He was plucked from the gangplank as if weighing nothing. Before his fellows could reach him, the massive appendage crushed the guard’s torso—flesh, bone, plate armor, and all. The gore splattered those farther back.
The hand threw the limp, ruined body aside, then retreated into the covered cage. From within, there immediately came a cry from the first warrior, apparently left alive for the moment.
Orcs with long, thick spears quickly lunged toward the spot as Briln raced up to join them. Two guards thrust, but the captain knew that it was already too late.
Shrieks that almost stopped him in his tracks echoed through the Northrend port. The utter fear in those cries could be felt as well as heard. There was little that could shake an orc’s resolve or even draw up in one anything resembling terror, but what had been captured at already so much cost was more than capable.
A horrific crushing sound punctuated the shrieks. The orcs near the opening stepped back as something liquid sprayed them. A ghastly stench immediately followed, filling their noses.
“Spears! Spears!” Briln roared again as he neared. The captain looked up. The torchlight enabled him to see the rip in the tarp and the bent bars. Those bars had been forged strong; even with all his might, the gargantuan beast had been unable to do more than pull the bars just a little farther apart. Unfortunately for the two guards, that had been quite sufficient.
“Where’s the powder?” Briln demanded to no one in particular.
Another orc finally rushed up with a burlap sack the size of a thick fist. He also wore a coarse cloth over his mouth and nose and handed one just like it to Briln, who used the two strings attached to the piece to secure it to his own face. The mask was merely a precaution. Nothing from the sack should have ended up in either Briln’s nose or mouth, but there was no sense in taking unnecessary chances.
The captain was tempted to let the other orc do the task, but then he seized the sack himself. From within the nearby cage, sickening ripping sounds continued.
“Cover me!” The captain positioned himself, then studied the gap carefully. Although he had lost the one eye years ago in battle in Kalimdor against the Alliance forces commanded by the human Admiral Proudmoore, Briln still prided himself on his expert aim.
Taking a deep breath behind the cloth mask, the scarred orc tossed the pouch toward the gap.
The wind gusted, and for a moment Briln was filled with fear that the sack would miss entirely. However, it just barely made the edge of the rip, then fell into the obscured cage.
A moment later the captain heard a small, soft thump. The beast within let out a distrusting rumble. There was the sound of chewing. A slight mist of powder exited the tear, but not enough to concern the orcs. The wind carried away what little escaped, dispersing it.
Inside the covered cage, something heavy and moist dropped. Briln knew it to very likely be what was left of the guard. Despite that, the sound gave the captain more hope that his plan had succeeded.
A confused grunt arose from the shrouded creature. Suddenly, the cage shook harder. Inside, a huge form slammed against the bent bars. Heavy breathing arose near the tear in the tarp, but nothing could be made out clearly in the tear itself.
The breathing became labored, exhausted. The orcs heard stumbling.
Then there came a violent thud. The cage shuddered and almost slipped again. Only the strength of nearly two dozen struggling orcs kept that from happening.
Briln and the others waited several tense moments, but there was no renewed movement or sound. With caution, the captain approached the covered cage. Becoming more daring, he prodded the tarp.
Nothing happened. Briln exhaled in relief, then turned to the others. “Load that thing aboard, then get those bars bent back and that hole covered with something! Better make sure that there’s always a sack of that herb concoction the shaman gave us ready to sprinkle on the thing’s food! We can’t afford this on the seas!”
The other orcs moved to follow his orders. The captain studied the silhouettes of the other ships. Each contained such a cage. The new warchief Garrosh had commanded that this venture be completed, regardless of the cost in seeing it done. Briln and the others here had not questioned that cost, either, for all would have readily perished for the legendary overlord of the Warsong offensive. Garrosh’s deeds were epic and retold over and over in the Horde. He was also the son of the late Grom Hellscream and had been an advisor to Thrall, the orc leader who had freed their people from captivity.
Yes, no matter how many lives it had already cost and would likely cost by the time the fleet reached its destination, it was all worth it to Briln and the others. The Horde was at last within grasp of its destiny. It had the vitality, the drive, that this altered Azeroth deserved. Those who had held power so long in the world had become decadent . . . too weak and soft. The Horde—and especially the orcs—would finally stake its claim on the more lush regions that it needed not only to survive but finally to thrive as it had long deserved.
This recent Cataclysm, so Garrosh had impressed upon his people, was the great sign that this was their day. The world had been torn asunder, and to survive meant to be able to adapt to its much-transformed lands.
The crewmembers finally had the last cage loaded. Briln watched as they sealed the hull. They had a fair supply of the sleep powder in stock, and there were other threats that were supposed to keep the creatures in line, but the elder orc looked forward to the end of the journey.
Aboard deck, his first mate saluted. “Everything’s secured, Captain! All set to sail on your word!”
“Get us going, then,” Briln growled. “The sooner we get this cargo to Garrosh, the sooner it becomes the Alliance’s trouble. . . .”
The other orc grunted agreement, then turned to bellow Briln’s command. In short order, the ship pulled away from the dock.
The winds whirled madly and thunder crashed. A storm was brewing, the last thing the fleet needed. Still, the captain thought it nothing compared to what the Horde’s enemies would soon face. Briln stared beyond the dark, swirling waters, imagining the fleet’s destination, imagining what his cargo would do once Garrosh ha
d it under his reins.
And for a moment, Briln almost pitied Ashenvale’s defenders, almost pitied the night elves.
But then . . . they were only night elves. . . .
1
THE WOLF
Tyrande Whisperwind knew that the world could never be mended. Deathwing, the great black dragon, had forever changed the face of all Azeroth in a manner even more terrifying in some ways than the Sundering—when the world’s lone continent was savagely split apart. The high priestess, who had survived that epic event some ten thousand years ago, had never imagined that she would have to live through anything so brutal again.
To those few who might have been unfamiliar with her race, the night elf, her midnight-blue hair falling below her shoulders, seemed barely more than two decades old, rather than ten thousand years. However, her glittering, silver eyes were filled with the wisdom of so much experience. There were some very fine lines near those elegant eyes, but they were more the result of troubled times during the past ten millennia than from age.
Tyrande strode through the lush Temple Gardens, the centerpiece—though geographically more west of the center—of Darnassus and composed of several islets of varying size filled with the most exquisite of flora. The light of a full moon shone down upon the gardens and with what appeared particular favor upon her. That it did so disturbed neither Tyrande nor any who happened by the high priestess. After all, it was a normal sight already familiar to those who knew the solemn figure.
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