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.
19
Silverwing
Silverwing Outpost had had no news in two days from the nearest other outposts, and that worried Su’ura Swiftarrow. She had come from Silverwing Grove at the behest of the outpost’s commander, only to find that the other officer had been slain in an ambush shortly before Su’ura’s arrival. The ambush had also taken out the second-in-command. Su’ura had not intended to stay, but the only other Sentinel officer was too inexperienced.
She had dispatched two hippogryph riders, one to the next nearest outpost and the other to Commander Haldrissa. From one of the two there should have been some word. Either that, or the riders should have returned with warning of some catastrophe.
But the riders had not returned and Su’ura suspected that they would not. Silverwing Outpost was on its own in the battle against the Horde.
She strode along the edge of the outpost, eyeing the mist that was fast rising. It could not be blamed on Fallen Sky Lake to the south, not when it was coming from Horde-held lands.
A low rumble of warning rose up from behind her. She did not show any surprise, aware of what kept pace with her.
“Easy,” Su’ura said to the huge black nightsaber with her. The beast wore golden brown armor with purple gems over its head and sides. The night elf herself was also fully armored, as were all those on duty, though her shoulder areas were more decorated with fine gold bands over the silver. Those who thought the armor more ornamental than useful had discovered, if they were orcs or other foes, that it protected her quite well while she was gutting them.
The hoot of an owl seized her attention as the growl of the nightsaber had not. The outpost commander looked up to the roof of the main structure, where a soot-colored owl perched. The bird peered into the forest ahead, then abruptly abandoned its position. It descended to a waiting Su’ura, who stretched out her arm so that it had a place to alight.
“What is it, Hutihu?” she asked grimly. “Where?”
In response, the owl hooted once, then swiveled its head slightly toward a particular part of the forest. Su’ura followed its gaze expectantly.
The sentries at the outpost’s edge stiffened as a figure slipped out of the brush. They only calmed when it was clear it was one of their own . . . so to speak.
The figure who returned to Silverwing belonged to a group that was not exactly favored by most Sentinels, but it had its uses, and in Su’ura’s eyes some members had more than proven their loyalty. In fact, the one approaching now was so trusted by Su’ura that she had risen up to a level of command, now serving as supply officer.