Varian cocked his head as if to say he took no insult from the high priestess’s departure. The lord of Stormwind then continued, “The benefit that an ally such as Gilneas offers us is obvious. While our skills in combat more than match those of the orcs and their allies, there’s always been a hunger that the Horde has thrived upon that we—so civilized—no longer seem to have. The worgen offer us that righteous hunger to overcome all obstacles in battle, to keep the Alliance from splintering or merely sitting back as the orcs take one land after another. . . .”
Genn’s eyes widened, and even Malfurion could not help but feel his hope stir at such a speech.
“I considered damned long and hard on this, I promise you,” Varian told all. “Such an ally can help us easily hold the Horde’s ambitions at bay, maybe even push them back!” The king indicated Genn and the Gilneans. “An ally of such honor, of such courage, I’d be more than pleased to fight beside!”
His words brought cheer. Even the worgen could no longer restrain themselves, several of the younger ones giving out short howls.
Varian now turned his attention to Malfurion. “Archdruid! You called before for a vote by acclamation, a vote I interrupted! My apologies for letting that happen! I’d meant to ask to speak sooner. . . .”
Smiling, Malfurion answered, “I would be happy to call for it again, King Varian—”
“That won’t be necessary.” The human monarch’s expression went through a stunning transformation. A dark cast spread over it as Varian eyed Genn Greymane.
Varian spat in the Gilnean’s direction.
“Calling for it again would be a waste of time,” the lord of Stormwind snarled at his counterpart below, “for I’d never give consent to allow these mongrels into the Alliance!”
Shouts of consternation erupted, especially among the worgen. The one that was Eadrik took a step toward Varian, but Genn grabbed the young warrior’s shoulder and pulled him back. The two worgen bared their teeth at one another, Eadrik quickly becoming cowed.
“Honor and trust! These are what the Alliance needs, not these beasts that even when they paraded as men were lacking in both! What happens if they choose to cut themselves off once more? Will they even bother to give us warning? Can we trust them even to do that?” Varian snapped his fingers, and his retinue joined him on their feet, Anduin the last and most hesitant. “As I’ve already said to many, I find nothing worthy, nothing honorable, in this pack of hounds . . . and so I will never vote aye to their admission back into the fold!”
And with that, Varian led Stormwind out of the summit as chaos erupted among the other representatives and Malfurion Stormrage watched all his hopes crumble before his eyes.
15
Choices
“Everyone! Remain seated, please!”
The crowd, though, did not hear the archdruid. Everywhere, the various factions of the Alliance argued with one another as to what had just happened and what it meant to the summit as a whole. The voice of one night elf was easily drowned out by such a din.
But Malfurion Stormrage was more than merely a night elf and more than merely a druid.
Deafening thunder shook the assembly, and a single brilliant bolt of lightning right before the archdruid’s position guaranteed that all attention returned to him.
“You know my feelings on this situation,” he said to them. “And I can assure all of you that this is not over.”
No one argued, although in many eyes he read disagreement. Malfurion looked to Genn Greymane to reassure him, only to find that the worgen had slipped out as swiftly and silently as the wolves they resembled.
Concealing his own dismay, the archdruid pressed: “I will attend to this matter. For the moment, I call for a vote to end the summit for today and invite all representatives and their retinues to partake of the splendor of Darnassus.”
“Sounds like a good notion tae me! Me throat’s parched from all this politickin’,” Kurdran bellowed. “If it means gettin’ some ale an’ food faster, it’s got me vote!”
The dwarf’s lusty response eased the situation, and the vote to end for the day passed without further question as to whether there would be a second day.
As the assembly dispersed, Malfurion summoned one of the Sentinels flanking his and Tyrande’s seats. “Did the high priestess inform you as to why she had to leave?”
“No, Archdruid.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“The temple, I believe.”
Malfurion thought for a moment. “Please take a message to her. Tell her that I will be there as soon as I can, but that I must go speak with the king of Stormwind. Tell her that he voted against Gilneas, but I believe there is still hope. Do you have that?”
“Yes, Archdruid!”
“Go now, then!”
The Sentinel saluted sharply, then rushed off. Malfurion took a breath, using the moment to organize his thoughts.
The vision insists that Varian is the one, the archdruid thought with much frustration. Perhaps he is, but the vision does not have to deal with his obstinacy! He must be convinced . . . or, despite visions, the Alliance must find someone else!
A determined look crossed his features. Varian Wrynn would listen.
He went in pursuit of Stormwind’s bitter king.
Malfurion likely felt betrayed, and Varian could not blame him, but the night elf had been presumptuous to think that he could convince the lord of Stormwind to change his mind. The king of Gilneas had much blood on his hands—human blood. Where had he been when Lordaeron had beseeched others for aid during the Third War? True, Stormwind had not directly participated in the war, but it had been a strong supporter of the Alliance. Stormwind had also been going through much more turmoil at that time . . . and Varian had been at the heart of most of that turmoil. Already a king at eighteen due to his father’s assassination, he had been trying to oversee the kingdom’s reconstruction when he had been politically outmaneuvered after his wife’s death by the foul sorcery of Lady Katrana Prestor . . . who, in truth, had been the black dragon Onyxia. And when Varian had sailed at Lady Jaina’s suggestion to Theramore for a summit, he had been kidnapped and subsequently lost his memory.
No, Varian felt that he could not be blamed for Stormwind’s inability to do more for the Alliance. Genn had been his own man and fully in charge when he had refused to answer the call more than once. He had built his damnable wall to seal off Gilneas; then, during the Third War, he had not deigned to contribute so much as a token force. That last affront had been too great even for some of his own people, who had taken up the challenge themselves and formed the valiant Gilneas Brigade.
Varian felt no satisfaction for what he had said, but neither did he have any remorse. Genn Greymane had only gotten what he had much too long deserved.
“Tomorrow we sail home,” he informed the others as they neared their quarters.
“Father—”
“Not now, Anduin.”
In what was an uncustomary anger, the prince waved off the rest of the party. Those assigned to guard the royal family’s quarters hesitated, but Anduin stared them down until they, too, left. They all knew that look. They had seen it often in the father but never in the son, until now.
Ignoring what Anduin was doing, Varian entered their quarters. He seized the bottle of night elven wine he had started just before the summit and drank from it.
“Where’re you, Broll?” Varian muttered. The one thing that he had hoped would come of this fiasco of a gathering was a short reunion with the brawny druid who had fought beside him as a gladiator. Broll, though, was on some mission for Malfurion, yet another reason for the king to be annoyed with his hosts.