“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 welclass="underline" 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.