Wolfheart

18 The Chase

The high priestess exhaled sharply as the last of the Alliance representatives departed. She had spent every moment discussing Ashenvale’s needs with the others and had at last managed to gain as much as she had hoped from them. In return, Tyrande had promised what she could of increasing Darnassus’s support for various requirements of the allies’ homelands. She had also worked to manipulate various deals between the different factions, achieving more in a few desperate hours than in months of negotiation.

But will it be enough to save Ashenvale? she wondered as she paused to drink some water.

One of her attendants entered. “General Shandris seeks an audience.”

The fact that Shandris had not simply walked in meant that she understood how hard the high priestess had been working on matters. The general was obviously concerned that her adopted mother might not be up to dealing with one more situation.

She had underestimated Tyrande. “Send her in, of course.”

Shandris bowed her head as she entered. “Forgive me if this is a bad time—”

“This is an appropriate time. You come with a status report?”

“Yes. I think that we can get a fleet off by tomorrow midday. Our swift-response force makes that possible.”

“A force you put together for just such an occasion,” Tyrande said with pride. Months prior to the Cataclysm, Shandris had proposed the prepared and prearranged force in view of elements of the Horde already battling with the night elves in Warsong Gulch. Six ships capable of carrying a full contingent of Sentinels, mounts, and supplies were put on constant call, with everything cycled on a monthly basis to keep all fresh and ready.

And now they were needed.

“I but followed your lead,” Shandris pointed out. “You mentioned previously that, after past events, we needed to be ready rather than reactive.”

“What about additional strength?” the high priestess asked, not wishing to take any credit for what she fully believed was Shandris’s accomplishment.

“Four more ships can sail within a week.”

“That is good news. I hope I have some for you. I have been able to secure assistance from the rest of the Alliance in one form or another. Most will offer military might; others supplies.”

Shandris smiled savagely. “The Horde will rue their ambition.”

“Perhaps . . .”

“Something you know? A vision from Elune?”

The high priestess shook her head. “No. No more visions. Merely a . . . feeling . . . on my part.”

“And not a good one. What is it?”

“The Horde knows full well that we can muster strong reinforcements. They must be following a strategy unlike any previous.”

Shandris was not impressed. “Whatever they have in mind, I will be ready for it.”

Tyrande put a motherly hand on Shandris’s shoulder. “You know my faith in you is absolute. But I have come to a decision. I will be joining you. I will be leading this expedition.”

The other night elf did not show any disappointment, only understanding. “You also had to make promises to some of our allies, promises that require you to go to Ashenvale to see them through.”

“Your ‘eyes’ are as good as ever. I only agreed to most of that a little bit ago.”

“It makes sense, especially if we need to keep them from arguing among themselves.” Shandris held up a parchment that she had brought with her. “As I thought anyway that it would be the case, I have got all you need jotted down here. Might be good if we go over it.”

The high priestess smiled proudly. “Thank you, Shandris.”

“Thank me if we survive this.” The younger night elf moved to the table and spread the parchment open. It proved much larger than it had first appeared, and there was hardly an empty space upon it. Shandris had made the most use of the parchment, and with necessity. The reinforcing of Ashenvale required great consideration . . . and all of it quickly.

And as Tyrande bent over the parchment and started to listen to her adopted daughter, she prayed to the Mother Moon that there would be time enough.

Varian caught wind of the worgen long before he saw the first. He knew that they could not smell his scent yet, for the wind blew toward him. The king also knew that they did not hear him, either, despite their acute senses. The curse might have given the Gilneans heightened senses, but they had not had the years to hone them as he had. They were still basically who they had been, while he had a lifetime of experience.

Those who accompanied Genn included other surviving members of the nobility, male and female. However, in addition, favored officers and Genn’s own personal staff and guards would also be included in the “royal” hunt. Aside from Genn, the guards would be the ones that Varian would have to watch out for most. Although the Gilnean monarch was their first priority, in what was considered a safe land the soldiers would also probably have some leeway in pursuing the prey. That meant that Varian would actually be competing against several rivals . . . which suited him just fine.

Varian had only one real reason for following. Malfurion’s plot had had the opposite effect. Varian had decided to take the archdruid’s suggestion and use it to embarrass Genn in front of his own people. The Gilneans would see that their vaunted leader was still a failure who would only bring them to further ruin.

The idea that, by shaming Genn, Varian wanted to assuage his own sense of failure had crept into the lord of Stormwind’s mind, but he had quickly and soundly buried that thought deep. All that mattered was putting the king of Gilneas in his place.

A sleek form darted among the trees to his left. One of the younger worgen. Varian used the momentary observation to judge the creatures. The worgen moved more fluidly than he had first estimated, but the king saw flaws of which he could take advantage.

The worgen glanced back at him. Initial surprise gave way to a reaction Varian found odd. The long ears of the other hunter straightened and Varian had the sense that not only was the worgen studying him, he was also seeing something that was not readily apparent to the king. The worgen briefly ducked his head low as he ran, a sign that Varian had recognized among Genn’s followers as one of respect for a pack member of higher status.

The young worgen vanished among the trees, but not because he outpaced the lord of Stormwind. Varian ran as quickly and with as much litheness as his momentary companion. He bared his teeth as he imagined the nearby pack pursuing its prey, and increased his pace in order to better his chances of joining the chase before it was too late. He knew that the pack would not hunt too far apart from one another. Their lupine tendencies would make the worgen follow certain traits that Varian understood very well.

Genn Greymane would rue his audacity, the younger monarch decided with much satisfaction. Better if he had stayed in hiding, something he’s good at.

The brush ahead shook. Varian immediately froze.

A doe rushed past him. She was small, barely adult. Varian could smell her surprise and fear. He almost fired, then held off. He had no time for his own hunt, no matter how much the urge to give chase swelled within him. What Varian wanted was to follow Genn’s prey and show that he could take it even when his rival knew that he was there.

Varian slipped behind a tree just as another worgen burst through in pursuit of the doe. The king recognized the worgen’s markings: Eadrik. Genn’s servant moved with more assurance than the other male Varian had seen, not a surprise. Genn would have the best around him, as any monarch would.

Eadrik paused. The worgen sniffed the air. Varian watched as the other hunter turned his direction.

A slight movement in the opposite direction caught Eadrik’s attention. The doe, acting only on her instincts and unable to meld those with common sense, had chosen an inopportune time to begin running again.

The worgen lunged after her. Varian waited for a moment, then stepped from the tree. If Eadrik was here, the lord of Stormwind considered, then his master could not be far.

The bow once again ready, Varian moved in the direction from which Eadrik had come. The worgen hunted as a pack to a point. Being also men, those like Genn would seek their individual kills.

Varian retraced Eadrik’s path, moving through the brush as readily as the worgen. His eyes constantly surveyed the vicinity and his ears and nose sought signs of his prey.

And at last he saw a worgen who could only be the Gilnean king. Genn flung himself after a massive boar with tusks so sharp and strong that, if the animal turned to face the worgen, Genn would truly risk death. At the moment, though, the boar thought only of flight.

Genn, however, was fast gaining. He ran sometimes on only his legs, but other times used his hands too. With a litheness that Varian had not even seen from the much younger Eadrik, the veteran ruler closed on the boar.

Having measured the situation, Varian entered the fray. Although without the “benefit” of the curse, he moved with all the skill and pace of one who had survived more critical struggles than surely all the worgen combined. Yet, it was more than merely the reflexes of a former gladiator that served Varian now. Another force guided him, drove him in among the worgen as if he were one of their own and not simply a man. Others in the past had called him Lo’Gosh . . . and, at that moment, that name was more true of him than the one with which he had been born.

Growls greeted him as he moved out into the open. Two raven-black worgen—one a female with a narrower snout—leapt toward him from the trees beyond Genn. Their appearance did not surprise Varian. He had already marked them as guards.

Ahead, Genn’s ears pricked up as he heard the warning growls. He glanced to his side and saw Varian with the bow.

Varian purposely ignored his rival, instead following the boar’s trail. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Genn’s sudden understanding of just what the lord of Stormwind intended.

With a challenging growl, Genn pulled up. Only then did Varian also stop.

“So . . . ,” snarled the worgen. “You’ve come to prove yourself my better after all?”

“I’ll always be your better, Genn.”

“Rubbish! You can only imagine the powers that the curse has given us, powers beyond mere humans, powers—”

“Powers to outbrag anything,” interjected Varian. “At least, that’s all I’ve seen thus far!”

The other two worgen neared. Genn angrily waved them off. “Don’t know why I ever sought your approval for our people! If the rest of the Alliance chooses to follow you down your doomed path, then so be it!”

Varian ignored the insults. “My quarry’s running hard. You can stay and blather all day if you like, but I’m moving on. I’ve a meal to catch.”

“Your quarry? You jest!” Genn sniffed at his opponent. “You think you can take him from me? Listen to me, Varian Wrynn! The curse more than heightened our senses. We see things that no normal human can. Some call you Lo’Gosh, though that they use a Taur-ahe title for you I find ironic. Still, it is but another name for Goldrinn, as we have come to know our patron spirit since our transformation. I saw the aura of that spirit around you the first moment you arrived at the banquet, and even though you gave every indication of crushing our hopes then, I still held out for our chances because I could see his touch upon you as if it were your own skin. . . .”

Although he showed no sign of it, Varian was briefly unnerved by Genn’s revelation. He had gratefully accepted the name when given to him, but had always thought it just an honor. Now Genn claimed that the wolf spirit’s essence or something touched Varian.

Ignorant of the effect of his words, the king of Gilneas went on, “But even if Goldrinn has blessed you, you’re still Varian Wrynn . . . and that’s why you stand as much a chance of taking my prey as you do lifting the Greymane Wall with your bare hands. . . .”

And with that, Genn Greymane rushed off after the boar.

Varian followed without hesitation. He saw that Genn had some advantage in speed, but if the king of Gilneas indeed thought his rival less adept at the hunt than the worgen, it was because he had not seen Varian in pursuit of prey. Instincts that no ordinary man possessed overtook the lord of Stormwind again. He smelled not only the scents of the worgen but, even through those many smells, that of the boar. Sharp hearing differentiated between the sleek, subtle sounds of the worgen moving through the forest and the more rushed charge of the huge animal they chased. Varian eyed the landscape before him, instantly understanding the lay of it. He altered his path from that of his rival and rushed toward the south, then turned again.

As he had estimated, the land rose up against Genn, slowing him a few precious seconds. Barely breathing hard, Varian scurried down the other side. He knew from so many past hunts that the boar would be in need of a pause, and he had a very good notion of roughly where.

An exhilaration filled Varian as he pursued the hunt, an exhilaration that had nothing to do with besting Genn. He felt more alive than he had in months. The pain of Anduin’s abrupt departure still remained, but the constant exertion, the need to keep his attention focused so hard on the quarry, enabled Varian to better tolerate the terrible loss.

He spotted a shape far ahead that was no worgen. The huge boar stood frozen, either hoping that its stillness would keep it hidden from the hunters, or simply finding itself unable to choose what to do next.

The boar suddenly moved.

Varian swore under his breath. The boar was racing up toward where Genn would likely appear. Somehow, Varian had spooked the creature even from so far away. It was not typical of his hunts, and to the younger king, now was the worst possible time for him to make such a mistake.

But Varian did not give in to defeat. He still had the chance to outwit his rival. More important, the bow gave him an advantage in distance, assuming that he utilized his skill to its utmost.

Varian rushed up behind the boar. Twice he almost had his shot. The second time, the boar turned in a direction that the veteran hunter had not expected. It forced the animal to scramble over unsteady ground, providing both pursuers a better chance of catching up.

Sure enough, a worgen materialized a moment later . . . but not on the path from which Varian expected Genn. It was one of the younger ones, a dark brown male with the tip of one ear missing. Evidently his own hunt had led him back this direction and now he stalked after prey that he did not know had been chosen by his master . . . and Varian.

The boar twisted as it struggled up a hill. The young worgen closed on the animal. Of Genn there was yet no sign, but Varian had to assume that he would be there at any moment.

He aimed. A good shot—a very good shot—would down the boar before the young worgen could catch it.

At that moment the boar turned on the worgen. Caught by surprise, the Gilnean did not move out of the way in time. The gargantuan boar used its tusks and snout to toss its one pursuer to the side. The worgen crashed against a tree, stunned by the collision.

The animal’s decision gave Varian the shot he desired. He aimed . . . and then held back. The boar chose then to turn and continue its flight.

“And this is how you hunt?” mocked Genn’s voice.

Varian turned to find the other king racing up to him. Behind Genn came several others, including Eadrik. The gathered worgen sniffed the air in the direction of the fleeing boar.

“Sometimes you need to let the prey run,” Varian replied.

“That makes no sense!”

The lord of Stormwind had no interest in explanations. “Shall we continue?”

Before Genn could answer, Varian ran again. He heard a growl from his rival, then the soft sound of the pack following. Varian was not concerned that the other worgen had joined in. He knew that they would leave the hunt to their lord. This was still a contest between the two rulers.

Varian picked up the boar’s trail. He admired the beast’s stamina and strength. In some fashion, he related to its struggle. Varian intended to honor his quarry and make certain that the carcass would not go to waste. That would be a true insult to an admirable adversary.

The boar rushed toward thick brush that possibly promised escape. Certainly it would be harder for either Varian or Genn to chase the animal into it without being slowed. The boar was better designed to push through.

Then from another direction came a new worgen. Belatedly, Varian recognized him as the young one with the missing ear tip.

The boar let out an unsettling snort. It fought to stop in its tracks. Caught by surprise, the young worgen landed in front of rather than atop his intended prey.

The boar charged back the way it had come, seemingly ignorant of the fact that it raced toward more of its pursuers. Another startled worgen leapt aside just as sharp tusks would have gored his leg. The light brown hunter landed on all fours and readied himself for another lunge.

Out of the thick brush behind him burst a bear.

The huge black beast stood on its hind legs and roared, revealing a maw wide enough to envelope a man’s head and sharp, yellowed teeth more than capable of ripping that head free. The bear loomed over the startled worgen, its long, thick claws more than a match for those of the Gilnean.

The wind was the reason that no one had picked up the other predator’s scent. It had been blowing toward the bear, which, perhaps because of its tremendous size, had not been deterred by the worgen’s presence. For the young, impetuous Gilnean, that meant that the hunter had now become the prey.

Instinct commanded Varian, who immediately fired. However, the bear turned as he did and the arrow struck the shoulder.

The wound more outraged the ursine beast than slowed it. It continued to focus on the nearest enemy. The young worgen moved too slowly to dodge the heavy paw. The blow sent the Gilnean tumbling, although unfortunately not far enough to keep him safe from the bear.

Another arrow already nocked, Varian fired. The second shot also struck, this time in the upper chest. However, the bear’s thick hide and strong muscle were enough to keep the creature from being badly wounded.

As the second bolt hit, another worgen suddenly leapt into the struggle. He threw himself in front of the fallen one, then howled a challenge to the bear. The looming beast roared back at the worgen. Huge teeth snapped at the brave Gilnean.

Despite the threat, Genn Greymane stood his ground.

Behind him, two others seized the stunned hunter and dragged him off. This seemed to further infuriate the wounded bear, which reached for the lone defender with both huge paws.

The worgen jumped above the paws, either of which would have landed a killing blow. Using the bear’s own foreleg as a boost, the lupine hunter dove for his adversary’s thick throat.

Claws raked at the area just below the bear’s jaw. Blood splattered the worgen.

The bear roared in pain now. Yet, that pain also fueled its incredible strength. One foreleg caught the worgen as he sought to leap back. The bear fell upon its attacker.

Varian had come to a decision, albeit one most men would call mad. Alone against the bear, he would have eventually downed the beast with a shot to the throat or the eye. However, the confrontation with the worgen had made his shots more difficult since he did not want to cause any harm to them. Therefore, the bow was of no use.

Letting the bow simply drop free, the lord of Stormwind drew his knife and, with a howl worthy of a worgen, threw himself forward. Bloodlust drowning out attention to anything else, the bear saw only Genn, just as Varian had hoped.

The human landed atop the hulking animal. Without hesitation, Varian jammed the knife into the muscular flesh.

The struggle caused his aim to be off. Instead of the neck, he caught the shoulder blade. The tip of the knife snapped off, leaving an angled edge.

Worse for him, he had now become the center of the ursine behemoth’s attention. The bear straightened, nearly dislodging Varian. The huge beast twisted, trying to free itself of the annoyance clinging to its back.

It was all Varian could do to hold on. Even the rippling of the bear’s muscles shook him like an earthquake. The king also gripped the broken knife, the end of which still had some use as a weapon—if Varian did not fall.

A snarl that was not the bear’s filled Varian’s ears. Genn Greymane again jumped up, his claws seeking the furious animal’s throat. As the bear sought to shake both of them off, the two monarchs’ eyes met and Varian realized that Greymane was trying to distract the beast enough for the lord of Stormwind to strike again.

The thick forelegs wrapped around Genn. Roaring, the bear sought to bite the worgen’s face off.

Varian saw his chance.

The broken edge forced him to use every bit of his strength to shove the knife into the bear’s neck. Many men would have failed to drive the weapon deep enough, but not only did Varian have the might, he also had the knowledge—from too many gladiatorial bouts—of just where the softest part of the neck was.

The bear’s jaws were inches away from closing on Genn’s face.

Varian drove the knife deep, nearly shoving it in to the hilt.

The bear roared louder than ever, but this time there was a strained note to it. Agony did what the beast could not accomplish before: both rulers were tossed off as if nothing.

The stricken animal turned around. Varian, sprawled on the ground, stared up at the gigantic creature. The bear could still kill him.

But instead, the animal tried to reach with its paws for the knife. Claws that could shred a man could not even properly grasp the hilt. The bear slapped at the source of its pain several times, its breathing getting more ragged by the moment.

Exhaustion and blood loss sent the bear crashing down on all fours. It rocked back and forth, still trying to twist its head around enough to bite out the knife.

A figure moved in from the other side. Varian heard the familiar sound of tearing flesh.

The bear let out a moan and fell on its left side, its throat now torn out.

A worgen stood above the dead animal, blood and bits of meat still dangling from the end of his claws. The worgen looked at Varian.

Varian nodded to Genn. The other king had done the correct thing. Neither of them bore any malice toward the bear. The creature had only been following its instincts and it had been its misfortune to come across the hunters. That it could have easily killed not only the two of them but also the unfortunate young worgen was simply part of the risk when hunting.

Genn offered a gore-soaked hand to Varian. Varian had heard long ago that the king of Gilneas had been raised not to accept the hand of anyone, to always stand on his own, and at first the lord of Stormwind thought to decline the offer. Then he remembered all his counterpart had promised and was doing to rejoin the Alliance.

Varian took the hand. Genn helped him up . . . and then the two men held their grips a moment longer, two hunters acknowledging one another’s skills.

Turning to the bear, Varian studied his counterpart’s strike.

“A quick killing blow,” he complimented Genn.

“I simply finished your work,” the Gilnean ruler returned. “The kill is yours. The hunt is yours.”

Varian shook his head. “Hardly. I was hunting a boar.”

“A man who hunts a rabbit and brings down a deer is applauded. A man who hunts a boar and brings down a bear should be acclaimed.”

And with that, Genn looked to the sky and unleashed a powerful howl, a howl that honored both the kill and the one who made it. His call was taken up by the other worgen, all saluting the skills of the king of Stormwind.

Genn finally finished, the howls of his followers ending with his. He faced his counterpart again.

Only . . . Varian was no longer there.