World of Warcraft: Wolfheart

by Richard A. Knaak

  He also recalled the fear that he had felt so often when something had threatened his only child. Indeed, fear for Anduin had driven much of Varian’s later life. He now stood as himself, watching his son, then but three, fall from a pony and almost break an arm. Varian again did battle with an assassin who had snuck into the keep and, in what had too much even then reminded the king of his own father’s death, nearly stabbed young Anduin.

  Fear . . . Varian refused to give in to it anymore. Fear would only make him helpless against those things that threatened his son and his kingdom. Merely thinking of all those who might harm Anduin was enough to throw Varian into a rage, just as it had so many times prior. However, even as his anger rose, he again saw himself grabbing Anduin’s arm . . . and was suddenly reminded how that rage and the fear fueling it had sent Anduin from him.

  With that realization, Varian turned on his own rage. Where it had in the past always commanded him, now he sought to seize control of it. His rage could be a powerful, devastating force, and Varian saw that simply giving in to it did him little good overall and usually more harm in the long run. True, it aided him greatly during battle—the only time when he could truly unleash it—but beyond that, it was a double-edged weapon.

  But although the rage no longer commanded him, it also did not abate. Varian felt the struggle within himself. If he allowed the rage to grow, he accomplished nothing, he realized. He would be the same man that Anduin had left.

  And so, Varian held tight to the rage as if it were a horse needing to be broken, and worked to master it. It would no longer aid in further ruining his life; it would have purpose. Varian knew only one purpose too. If battle was the single place where his rage did him any good, then it would be where he would channel that force. He would let it fuel his strength against the dragon Deathwing and the orcs and their allies. . . .

  The rage surrendered to his will. He had broken its hold over him and now it would serve Varian, not the other way around.

  Tranquility . . . balance . . . fury . . . came the voice that was his . . . and now also that of someone whom he did not recognize even though he felt he should.

  The beast must be conquered so that the man may rise. . . . The rage must be the servant for the man to be . . . complete. . . .

  Varian felt his fury growing, but now it did so at his direction. It was now bound to his strength, not his despair. Once again, he felt Tiffin, Anduin, his father, and others who had played loved or vital roles in his life surround him. They had never stopped believing in him, not even his son. He saw that Anduin had done what he had for not only his own sake, but in the hopes that it would enable his father to come to terms with himself.

  The rage filled him. However, because it had been transformed into a weapon instead of remaining simply a manic force, he welcomed it. With it at his command, no foe could stand against him.

  From somewhere, a proud howl echoed. Varian responded to it. He finally knew who called out to him. Goldrinn. Lo’Gosh. The wolf Ancient. Lo’Gosh summoned him to battle. Images again coursed before him of those who would seek to harm the ones under his care, especially Anduin. In this new vision, Deathwing laughed as he landed on Stormwind, the mad leviathan savoring the destruction of both Varian’s home and countless lands as his power over the very earth caused Azeroth to churn. The world still sought to recover from that evil . . . but it was a battle that Varian understood would take time and careful planning to win. For now, there was another, more immediate threat. He knew the face, knew the name, even before this other foe took the place of the dragon in the king’s mind.

  Garrosh Hellscream.

  Thinking of the Horde leader, Varian summoned his rage to the forefront and tested it. It grew as it never could have as merely a destructive force. Now tempered, now shaped, it was greater than it had ever been.

  Lo’Gosh howled again.

  Varian leapt to his feet, awake without having noticed that he had been asleep.

  Genn Greymane no longer sat directly before him, and perhaps that was a good thing, for it allowed the Gilnean monarch, originally standing a few feet away, to jump back as Varian surged forward. Even though Genn retained his worgen form, he still appeared to move as if in a dream to the king of Stormwind. The entire tableau seemed to have slowed down. Varian surveyed the other worgen, and though they were swift to recover from their shock, their movement yet struck him as slightly slower than his own.

  “Goldrinn . . . ,” Genn muttered, staring. “Lo’Gosh . . . his aura . . . it surrounds you so completely. . . .”

  Around them, the ears of the other worgen flattened, but in awe, not fear.

  “Goldrinn truly touches your heart, your soul . . . ,” Genn murmured. “The wolf honors you, and so—so do we. . . .”

  Varian said nothing, but he, too, was at last able to sense what Genn had known from the beginning. The ghost of the great wolf had made him its chosen, its champion.

  And through Goldrinn—Lo’Gosh—and himself, Varian knew what had to be done next.

  “I’ve been reckless, driven by not only bitterness from losing so many things—so many people—of importance to me, but also the fear of losing what little I still cherish, like my son,” Varian said to Genn and the other worgen. “But now I understand. Azeroth needs us. All of you—and me—we are what we’ve become in order to help it. And help it we must. . . .”

  Silence reigned around him. Finally, Genn asked, “What would you have us do?”

  Varian knew of only one thing. “We follow our destiny together . . . and we follow it to Ashenvale.”

  23

  PURIFICATION

  Malfurion stirred. He could not say how long he had been unconscious, only that it had been quite some time. At least a day, possibly more.

  As he slowly became aware of his surroundings, he noticed a more troubling thing. He could barely feel his body. It was as if his dream-form had separated from it, yet the archdruid knew that he remained on the mortal plane, not the Emerald Dream.

  His head suddenly pounded. Malfurion tried to relax, and the pounding eased. That verified what he feared. He was someone’s prisoner, someone who knew something about a druid’s abilities.

  Malfurion cautiously tried to open his eyes. He began with slits first and when that offered no greater pounding, he pushed for more.

  What he saw was that he floated several feet above the ground. Malfurion tried to turn his head, but the pounding returned, this time accompanied by a terrible pain reminiscent of what he had suffered before someone had struck him on the head.

  The archdruid was forced to shut his eyes and relax again. Once things settled, he contented himself with looking ahead and trying to guess more from what his peripheral vision offered.

  His feet were barely visible and spread some distance apart. From that he judged that he was bound between two trunks. Someone had gone to great trouble to secure him, which seemed odd, considering that they could have just slain him and been done with it. The fact that they had not concerned the archdruid.

  He was not far from where he had been caught in the trap. There was no sign of the Sentinels, but Malfurion was of the opinion that they had not survived. Only his power had enabled him to keep from death. Malfurion grew furious at the casual loss of two lives. The Sentinels had perished simply because the pair had been caught at the same time as the archdruid.

  The nearby trees had sought to warn him, but too late. The trap had clearly been a subtle one. Malfurion almost would have sworn that it had been set just for him, or else why would it have been in his path? He regretted now not sending word to Maiev.

  Something moved at the edge of his vision. A moment later it shifted enough in front of him to be none other than Jarod’s sister. Helmet in the crook of her arm, she peered around suspiciously, no doubt seeking Malfurion’s captors.

  He tried to speak, but the pounding returned. Evidently he made some sort of sound, for she looked up at him.

  “So, finally awake.�
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  And with those words, the horrifying truth flashed before the archdruid. Maiev smiled slyly in response to some sign of recognition in his expression.

  “The great and powerful archdruid Malfurion Stormrage,” she announced with deep sarcasm. “The savior of the kaldorei race. . . . ” Maiev spit at the ground below him. “More like the destroyer of all that it stands for. . . .”

  Despite the agony that it caused, Malfurion managed a throaty, “Why?”

  Her brow cocked. “Now that is, I will admit, impressive. You should have been killed by the trap we set, and here you manage to speak coherently. You are stronger than even I had calculated.”

  Maiev looked to the side. Neva and two other Watchers entered Malfurion’s view. They saluted Jarod’s sister, not at all a surprise to the prisoner.

  “All is in readiness,” Neva reported. She glanced Malfurion’s way. “We should deal with him before it takes place, mistress.”

  “No . . . he is good here. No one from Darnassus will come to this area. Our prey will only do so because they think they are beyond threat even now!” She eyed the archdruid. “No . . . he lives for now. I have decided he deserves a special execution.”

  “Your brother—”

  Maiev suddenly glared at Neva. “You know his role. You do not touch him. He will speak for us out of belief in me. Keep him ignorant and forgo your desires for now.”

  Neva silently nodded, for the moment cowed.

  “The fools will be on their way shortly. You lot better get with the rest.” She looked around. “Where is Ja’ara?”

  “Removing that bit of evidence, as you ordered.”

  Maiev snickered. “Good. With those Sentinels dead and gone, there is no one left who knows we sent for the archdruid here.” She glanced Malfurion’s way again. “Get on with it. I am just going to make sure the people’s hero enjoys his agony a bit more.”

  Neva sneered at Malfurion, then led the other Watchers away. Maiev moved just out of the archdruid’s sight.

  Renewed agony coursed through him. Malfurion tried to scream, but now his mouth would not work at all.

  As the agony lessened, Jarod’s sister returned to his view. She now studied him with utter contempt.

  “That is better. Silence is golden. Especially from you. I am so very glad you are awake, Archdruid. Neva wanted you dead and out of the way, but I have always felt you really deserve far more than a short, sweet death. You have committed so many crimes against our people. . . .”

  Although he could not speak, Malfurion tried to relay his thoughts with his eyes. He must have managed, for Maiev shrugged, then answered, “No, I suppose you are blind to everything. Always so caught up in the belief you know best. But if you did, you and Tyrande would not have let those disgusting murderers back among us! There is only one future for the Highborne and it is one you will share!”

  Maiev drew a dagger from her belt. She eyed it fondly. “You see this? This is special. I saved it for your brother, but never got the chance to use it. It was taken from me before I was tossed into the Warden’s Cage in Outland, and I was not able to retrieve it until after his defeat at the Black Temple. I wanted his death to be very slow, so that he would have time to understand why he had to be punished. You and he are twins, all right! Not just by birth, but by arrogance!”

  She threw the dagger. Malfurion watched it fly toward him and expected his end. Yet, at the very last moment, the dagger veered of its own accord and flew past his head.

  “Illidan re-creates the Well of Eternity after all the damnation it caused us! Why? Because he claimed it was for the good of our people! Then he joined the demons, becoming one of them in nature as well as form! Why? Because he again claimed that it was best for our survival to become our enemies and use their own evil against them!” she scoffed. “We know how well that turned out . . . and how false his words always were. . . .”

  Maiev held her hand to the side. The dagger landed in it, handle first. She studied it again, seeming to find it very fascinating. “We could have been saved so much trouble where your brother was concerned, but you worried about him more than the rest of our race. You set him on us, Archdruid, as sure as if you had unlocked his prison yourself . . . and that is only one of your crimes. . . .”

  There was no doubt in Malfurion’s mind that Maiev was mad and had probably been mad for a long time. Adept throughout her life at surviving, she had been clever enough to hide that fact, acting as she knew Tyrande and he expected of her.

  “I learned a number of tricks over the millennia, you know. I could not have survived your brother’s tender mercies if I had not.” Her eyes grew hollow for a moment as she dwelled in dark memories. “Picked up a few gifts like this dagger and learned some abilities necessary to trap demons . . . and Highborne. I have sacrificed so much, but it will all be worth it. I realized that this was the day I was working for, cleansing our people of the Highborne’s taint once and for all and removing your foul influence at the same time. . . .”

  She replaced the dagger, then simply stared at her prisoner for several seconds. To Malfurion, it was almost as if Maiev no longer saw him, no longer believed he existed.

  Jarod’s sister started talking again, only now her tone was more friendly. “I have to leave you now, Malfurion. I have guests I must attend to. Archmage Mordent and his associates are dying to know why I have asked them to come, and I do not want to disappoint them. . . .”

  Malfurion tried to keep her attention, if only for the sake of the Highborne. He knew that her intentions for the spellcasters were of the lethal kind.

  “Do not fret,” she jested. “When I am done with them, I will give you my personal attention. I promise, you will not feel slighted. I have chosen a special place where you will be jailed for your crimes just as your brother was.” Maiev’s tone grew even more contemptuous. “A cozy place where, since you saw so fit to make us mortal, you can gradually rot to death. . . .”

  That said, Maiev performed a mock bow, then departed. Malfurion waited, but she did not reappear in his line of sight. He was definitely alone.

  Throughout the entire time, the archdruid had been trying to find some weakness of which he could make use, but Maiev’s trap was thorough. Yet, he kept trying. He had no choice. It was very clear that Maiev fully intended to slaughter Mordent and several others. The other assassinations had been but tests and taunts. Now she had the confidence that she would be able to take on the leadership of the Highborne.

  The pain and throbbing returned as he struggled, but Malfurion tried to ignore everything but his escape attempt. Maiev might be utterly mad, but the archdruid knew her determination, knew her adaptability. She would not seek to slay the spellcasters unless she felt certain she could succeed. If she felt so, then nothing—absolutely nothing—would stand in her way.

  After all, in her mind, she was only doing her duty for the sake of her people.

  Jarod stopped by the Temple of Elune in search of Malfurion, but the archdruid was not there. With Tyrande surely in Ashenvale by now, the former guard captain had expected to find her mate in the vicinity of the Sisters of Elune, who were most likely to be able to tell the archdruid something of the high priestess’s current circumstances.

  Questioning the attendants on duty availed him nothing. They had not seen Malfurion since the day before. One suggested that Jarod seek him in the Cenarion Enclave, and with nowhere else to turn, the night elf had gone there. However, the druids he met there were equally unhelpful. Their leader often stepped off on his own to commune with the forest. Without any concrete reason to have them search for Malfurion, Jarod had to be satisfied with their assurances that the moment they heard from the archdruid they would alert him to the former officer’s desire to meet.

  Jarod knew that he should just be patient and wait for Malfurion to return from wherever he was, but the same instincts that had saved him during the war and that had recently stirred again now made him suspicious of this timely absence.
It was possible that someone had distracted the archdruid when he might most be needed. However, with no proof, it was up to him alone to find out if that was true.

  Jarod decided to seek Eadrik in the hopes that the Gilnean would either know where Malfurion was or even help the former guard captain locate the archdruid. Eadrik shared Jarod’s concerns on matters such as the murders, and that was why the night elf thought that the worgen might assist him.

  Wary of running afoul of another trap left by the assassins, Jarod veered far more south. He knew the territory well enough by now to know that there was a fair path along there that would lead him to the Gilneans. In addition, Jarod hoped to run into one of those who dealt with Darnassus in the name of their king. Such an encounter might lead to a much quicker answer and save him an unnecessary trek.

  But even well on his way to their encampment, the former guard captain saw no sign of any of the cursed humans. That was a bit unusual, according to what he had learned from others. Generally, there should have at least been one or two of the worgen traveling to and from the capital on official duty.

  As he neared the encampment, Jarod noticed one other odd fact. True, the worgen were silent in the forest, but he should have heard some sound of activity. It was as if they were all asleep . . . or gone.

  But no sooner had he thought that than Jarod sensed he was no longer alone. Impatient with matters, he simply stopped and waited.

  As the night elf hoped, a worgen slipped out from among the trees. In fact, it was the very worgen for whom he had been looking.

  “Eadrik. Good! I wanted to talk with—”

  The worgen signaled him to silence. Jarod obeyed instantly.

  From farther back along Jarod’s path, there came a muffled gasp, followed by a grunt. Eadrik leapt past the night elf, who turned to join him.

  Someone had been tracking Jarod. The night elf realized that he had not even noticed. Whoever it was had been very well trained in moving stealthily.