World of Warcraft: Wolfheart

by Richard A. Knaak

  The archdruid looked grim. “Show us.”

  Tyrande gave orders to one of her senior priestesses to take care of the guests. That problem dealt with, she and Malfurion followed the others from the vicinity of the banquet.

  Maiev and the Sentinels headed directly for the temple.

  “My decision,” the Watcher informed them. “I thought it best.”

  “You did right,” the high priestess acknowledged.

  In one of the lesser-used inner chambers, they at last came across two Sentinels guarding a night elf–size form covered in cloth.

  “Who?” Tyrande finally asked, unwilling to wait even long enough for the makeshift shroud to be drawn away.

  Maiev removed her helmet and tucked it under her arm. Jarod’s sister stared directly at Malfurion. “A Highborne. The one, I am told, you were informed went missing.”

  One of the Sentinels uncovered the face. As Maiev had said, it was a Highborne. Malfurion knew immediately which one too.

  “Thera’brin . . . ,” the archdruid rasped. “Where was he discovered?”

  “Not all that far from where I and the other Watchers practice,” Maiev responded with a scowl.

  Tyrande looked grave. “He did not die by accident, did he?”

  Maiev reached down and pulled the cloth further. The savage gaps just under the Highborne’s chin greeted the shocked duo. “Only if he decided to slit his own throat twice—the second for pleasure, I assume”—she straightened—“and made sure that a missive we found with him remained pinned to his body when he fell.”

  She spoke in a clinical tone, as if describing the general shape and appearance of a stone rather than the murder of one of their own. It did not at all surprise either Malfurion or Tyrande to hear her speak so: Maiev was ever precise, ever to the point, when performing her duties.

  “What did this note say?” the archdruid demanded, a new chill running through him.

  Maiev was prepared. She handed him a ragged piece of parchment stained in great part with the unfortunate Thera’brin’s blood. On it had been scrawled in what also appeared to be the mage’s bodily fluids a message written in a long-disused style of night elf script that stirred memories of the days when Zin-Azshari was still the capital and the evil of Queen Azshara was as yet unknown.

  Suffer Not Traitors . . .

  “We knew that there would be those who would never forgive them,” Tyrande said.

  “But we thought that they would listen to reason, at least up to the point of not going through with such a heinous act.” The archdruid returned his gaze to Maiev. “Found near where you practice?”

  “Yes. Either someone thought him a gift or they decided that the Watchers could be blamed.”

  Her declaration was not without merit. Maiev and her Watchers were among the many uncomfortable with the thought of the Highborne’s eventual return to the fold.

  “This will not remain a secret,” Tyrande said. “And should not.”

  Malfurion agreed. “More important, we must find the assassins and deal with them before this grows worse. The timing can be no coincidence! This is not just about the Highborne; this is meant to cause chaos during the summit.”

  “You are right, my love. I will ask Shandris—”

  Suddenly kneeling before Tyrande, Maiev bent her head and declared, “Let me uncover the culprits! I know the facts better than any! I have investigated the body for all clues and studied the area in which it was found! There is nothing more anyone else could do. Give this matter to me! I swear I will do all in my power to see that those who would seek to foment unrest among our kind will be dealt with!”

  Tyrande looked to Malfurion, who nodded. The high priestess gently put a hand on Maiev’s shoulder. The kneeling night elf looked up, gaze intent.

  “I can think of few more dedicated to our people and their needs. Take command of this investigation, Maiev, and do it with my blessing.”

  Some of the Sentinels did not look entirely pleased with this choice but held their peace.

  Maiev looked as if Tyrande had granted her the greatest desire of her life. She rose and saluted the pair. “I will see this through, whatever sacrifice it must take!”

  “I insist you take care, Maiev.”

  Jarod’s sister grudgingly nodded, but her eyes did not show agreement. Both Tyrande and Malfurion were aware how focused Maiev could be when set upon a mission. In this case they needed that focus, and thus neither said more to discourage the warden from following through as she might need.

  “The Highborne will want Thera’brin’s body returned,” Malfurion commented. “I think it best if I lead that effort. They already believe that the rest of us would rather see them wiped from the face of Azeroth; this will hardly improve their disposition.”

  “Do as you say.” The high priestess touched his cheek. “But take care around them.”

  “You know that I will.”

  Maiev bowed her head again. “With your permission, I will begin this hunt immediately.”

  Tyrande nodded. Replacing her helmet, Maiev silently departed.

  “I will send four Sentinels with you when you go to the Highborne,” Tyrande informed her husband. “They will act as bearers for the body.”

  “Let me seek the aid of some of my calling. It might not be wise for the Highborne to be confronted by armed fighters just now.”

  She saw the wisdom in his choice. “Are you going to leave immediately?”

  “Not just yet. I wish Velen’s opinion on this and some other matters. I had not expected his arrival, but it may be that it was fortuitous. We will need his steady demeanor to keep temperatures from boiling over once all know of the murder. Every distrust among the various factions will suddenly rise to the forefront.”

  It was decided that the Sentinels would remain on guard here for as long as needed. Tyrande also summoned another pair of priestesses versed in the preserving arts to do what they could to maintain the freshness of the body.

  Aware that they could not let the Highborne wait long before being told of the discovery, the archdruid and the high priestess quickly returned to the banquet. They had feared that their absence might have caused a wariness to settle over the other participants, but, to their relief, everyone still seemed at ease. Part of that likely had to do with Velen, who had departed his seat to speak with the Dark Irons. What matter there was that would bring the draenei and the dwarves together, neither night elf could say, but Velen had somehow managed not only to keep Drukan distracted but also to make him feel cheered.

  “The Light truly works in amazing ways,” Malfurion murmured to his wife.

  “And Velen is clearly schooled in the art of diplomacy.” Tyrande hesitated as she saw another Sentinel approaching. “More news . . .”

  The Sentinel saluted and immediately said, “High Priestess, Stormwind has arrived.”

  The news brought both relief and concern to Malfurion and his mate. Tyrande asked, “How long ago?”

  “When I left with this news, they had just disembarked. I searched for you here, but could not find you.”

  The high priestess eyed her husband. “The attendants on duty at the portal have orders to guide the party to their quarters, but I should go and greet Varian. . . .”

  To their other side, Genn Greymane’s voice suddenly rose above the din. He had an audience that consisted of most of Kurdran’s party. Genn, clearly much more relaxed due to not only the acceptance the others had shown but also the dwarven ale he had just finished downing, had begun regaling the others with some of his past battles against the Horde.

  “The key was to keep our front united,” the king was saying as Malfurion and Tyrande moved on toward Velen. “Split us apart, and we’d all be crow food! Each man knew that to falter would mean his comrades dying for his mistake, and none would have that! We let out the Gilnean battle cry—”

  “Consisting of a pleading for mercy so great the orcs no doubt turned from the lot of you in disgust,” said
a mocking voice.

  The effect of the words on Genn Greymane was immediate. He leapt up from the table, in his fury sweeping aside the food and drink before him without care to where or upon whom it landed. A dark cast fell upon his features, and for a moment he seemed to swell and even begin to change.

  “Who dares spout such a monstrous slur upon me and Gilneas? Who?”

  His outraged gaze swiftly pored over each and every person seated there, seeking the culprit. Most simply stared back, as stunned as he at the savage pronouncement. A few looked about anxiously.

  And a few, such as Malfurion and Tyrande, looked from Genn Greymane to the direction from where the speaker actually stood. Malfurion took a step toward the commanding figure, but the high priestess stayed him with a hand.

  The king of Gilneas caught their movement. He followed their eyes to his accuser.

  “You . . .”

  “And having swayed the orcs so eloquently, you no doubt did as all brave Gilneans do so well: skulked away and hid until the battle was over. . . .”

  Genn clearly desired to lunge for his counterpart’s throat. His hands grasped at the air as if already crushing in the windpipe. Yet, somehow he managed to stay his ground and simply growl.

  For his reaction, he received nothing but a look of contempt from the newcomer, who then, with a much more polite manner, turned to the banquet’s hosts and bowed.

  “High Priestess Tyrande. Archdruid Malfurion. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” Varian Wrynn calmly remarked.

  11

  DARKENED HEARTS

  “Never—never have I nor any of my warriors acted so basely!” Genn declared, visibly struggling with himself. “The bravery of Gilneas—”

  “‘Bravery’?” Varian Wrynn cut in. Tall, commanding, his features handsome in a brooding manner, the king of Stormwind was to his own people already a hero out of legend. He had, in point of fact, lived a remarkable and dangerous life that had not only for years separated him from those he most loved, but also left him for a time bereft of his memory. His trials made for rousing tales that bards could sing before swooning ladies. And his two long scars, one running across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and the other descending down the left side of his face from the forehead to the cheek—both legacies of the several times he had barely escaped death—only added more flavor to those stories . . . stories for which Varian himself had no taste whatsoever. “The definition must be different in Gilneas from what it is in most other lands . . . the very opposite, I’d say.”

  The insinuation that Genn and his people were utter cowards proved too much for the elder monarch. His expression darkened. Some of those in his retinue growled low and seemed ready to move toward Varian, but Genn staved off their advance with a sharp glance.

  Malfurion moved to intervene. “King Varian! We had no news of you and your retinue arriving below. . . .”

  “I preferred it that way,” the former gladiator answered, acting now as if Genn did not even exist. Varian shoved aside an unruly lock of dark brown hair. The eyes of a hunter surveyed each and every person in sight, Varian Wrynn ever instinctively marking those around him by their potential threat.

  The archdruid purposely stood between the pair. “And your son? Is Anduin with you?”

  “Naturally.” Varian said it with such an absolute tone that Malfurion felt slightly foolish for asking, though many monarchs would have left their only heirs in the supposed safety of home rather than bring them on any sort of journey.

  The king briefly tilted his head back. The night elf looked beyond Varian to where four members of the king’s personal guard flanked a slightly shorter figure dressed in the regal blue and gold of Stormwind. Prince Anduin, his own blond hair cut short, bowed his head to the archdruid. He wore a high-collared shirt covered by mail that was in turn draped by the golden lion head crest of his kingdom. The prince was not armed save for a dagger at his belt, but with so many guards in Stormwind’s party, his safety would have been ensured in almost any place, much less Darnassus.

  In contrast to his father, who was every bit the fighter, Anduin was a studious youth. Moreover, there was an aura of selflessness that reminded Malfurion of only one other person present. Without thinking, Malfurion glanced over his shoulder at Velen.

  To his surprise, the Prophet’s eyes registered the same intense interest in the human boy. Velen sensed exactly what Malfurion did . . . perhaps more.

  Genn was taking long, deep breaths that were designed to bring his temper back under control. Varian looked unimpressed by the other king’s efforts.

  The archdruid continued to try to defuse the tension between them. “King Varian. Forgive us for not being there to greet you! You, your son, and your companions are welcome to join the banquet immediately if you wish! Your seats await you, and food and drink will be shortly coming—”

  “I’m not inclined to stay here,” the monarch of Stormwind bluntly replied. “I sailed to Darnassus for the sake of the Alliance, not him.” He indicated Genn. “If it’s all the same to you, Archdruid, the journey was a tiring one, so I think I’ll retire already. . . .”

  Genn moved toward his counterpart again. In a lower tone he said, “Varian . . . let us talk. I did what I thought was best for my people; you must understand that! I never realized the full folly of my arrogance when I chose to build the wall and what it would mean, cutting off Gilneas from the outside. . . .”

  Varian’s gaze never left the archdruid. He said nothing to Genn.

  This only stirred the king of Gilneas to further effort. “I swear an oath that we will be as brothers to all other members of the Alliance, that we will give aid in whatever manner needed! Gilneas will not shirk its duty! There will be no more loyal member, especially to its fellow human realm, Stormwind—”

  “Stormwind wants no such brother at its back!” Varian burst out.

  “Varian . . . ” Malfurion murmured.

  The younger king’s body shook from fury. He lowered his gaze, staring bitterly at Genn from under his brow. “I didn’t ask to wear the mantle of responsibility, to become the bearer of humanity’s standard! It was enough to rule Stormwind and protect my son! But I did it because I had no choice! Who else was there? Not Gilneas! Stormwind, with Theramore at its side, has had to face the dangers . . . and now you want to come in under our wing and pretend you’ll stand with us this time?”

  “We will stand—”

  “You needn’t worry yourself, Greymane! Stormwind and I have done without you, without Gilneas . . . and certainly without the worgen . . . and we’ll continue to do so! What you truly desire is redemption for your traitorous crimes, which you’ll not get from me!”

  “Gilneas was a sovereign nation. We seceded during a time of peace, not war, and for good reasons. You know that. As for the coming vote—”

  However, Varian turned his back on the other human. “Excuse me, Archdruid and High Priestess. I will see you later. . . .”

  Before Malfurion could even respond, Varian whirled back the way he had come and stalked off. In his wake followed his retinue.

  Malfurion looked at Tyrande, who had already signaled a pair of priestesses to hurry after King Varian. As she focused in Malfurion’s direction, her eyes widened.

  A low, animalistic snarl escaped from where Genn stood. The archdruid immediately returned his attention to the human.

  Genn bared his teeth in a feral grin that stretched far beyond where human limits should have allowed. His body swelled. . . .

  And then, again, the human regained control of himself.

  “F-Forgive me, Archdruid,” the sweating figure muttered. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve.”

  “I suggest you return to your seat and—”

  “No. No, I can’t.” Genn gestured to Eadrik and the other Gilneans. With Genn in their lead, the party silently departed for the forest.

  The other guests murmured among themselves. Tyrande indicated for the musicians to play aga
in, but it was clear that the banquet would soon be winding down. The confrontation had eradicated the hopeful mood of the participants, a situation that Malfurion would have to work hard to correct.

  However, as he turned to discuss this with his mate, he noticed that one member of Stormwind’s party had not left: Anduin, who was at this moment quietly speaking with Velen.

  As the night elves approached the pair, they heard the draenei saying, “ . . . and what you know of the Light is indeed true, but that is only the slightest of its many facets, young Anduin! To fully appreciate the wonder of the Light, you must look at it from the perspective that best lets you see its full place in the universe and how it may become part of our very being! Such requires patience and learning. . . .”

  “I can do that, but what I want—”

  “Prince Anduin!”

  Two of the king’s personal guard had returned. Their flushed faces and hurried movements bespoke of the intense reprimand their monarch had no doubt given them upon discovering that his son was not with the party. The two burly soldiers barged past the night elves and came at their prince from opposing sides.

  The one who had called to the prince—a hardened veteran with a nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once in battle—reached for Anduin, who did not hide his frustration as he rose to face the guards. “Prince Anduin! Your father was most upset when he discovered that you’d neglected to follow us! The king has commanded that you come immediately!”

  Anduin looked as if he were ready to snap something at the unfortunate guards—who all knew were only doing their duty and likely feared being punished—but held back. With a resigned nod, the prince joined his two keepers. He briefly turned to face the night elves and the others, bowing to each group. Only then did he silently gesture to the two anxious men to lead him to his father.

  “Young Anduin has a quiet strength,” Velen commented once the boy was gone. “A pity his father seeks to cage him as he does himself.”

  “Varian nearly lost him more than once,” the archdruid remarked. “His fear that Anduin might vanish or be taken is not unfounded.” Malfurion frowned deeply. “Nor are his harsh words to Genn Greymane, I am sorry to say.”