Genn had followed . . . and the worgen had followed him.
Varian would recall little of the run through the forest. He only knew deep inside that somehow he ran faster than should have been possible, that he seemed to outrace time itself. The spirit of Goldrinn fueled him, the great wolf’s fury touching his heart and enabling Varian to push on and on toward his destination.
At last, sensing something, he drew to a halt as Genn and the worgen came up behind him. Genn blinked, sniffed the air again, and muttered a single word that verified Varian’s suspicions: “Horde . . .”
That word encompassed so many smells, so many aspects, of the enemy. Varian himself could smell the muskiness of the orcs and the tauren, the sweat of many trolls, the decay of the Forsaken, the smoke of many fires, and the stench that could only be attributed to goblin machines.
The other worgen raised their snouts as they, too, smelled the nearness of the enemy. Varian led them a bit closer and they caught their first glimpses of the battlefield.
At that point he had drawn Shalamayne and, seeing what he and the worgen must do, had thrust the sword forward and shouted a war cry.
The worgen had howled with him, and Genn, glancing Varian’s way, had seen the aura around the king of Stormwind radiate stronger than ever. The snarling visage of Goldrinn had loomed over the wolf Ancient’s champion.
Varian had leapt into the fray, the worgen spreading out as he had bidden them. The first of the Horde had been brought down with almost ridiculous ease, so disbelieving had they been of the sight.
Now, as the worgen spread out into the main battlefield, Varian decided on his next course of action. He wanted dearly to find Garrosh Hellscream, but such a personal battle had to take second place to the more imminent disaster.
“To me!” he roared to the nearest worgen. Without looking to see who followed, he ran—yes, ran, despite so much distance already crossed—and headed for the lead magnataur.
A shaggy tauren saw him and moved to intercept. The heavy axe created a dust cloud as it drove into the ground where Varian should have been. However, the king had moved far more swiftly than his bullheaded adversary had calculated. Varian was already to the side of the much bulkier, taller warrior. With Shalamayne, he slashed across the tauren’s torso, cutting so deeply that the tauren was dead before he fell.
The Horde ranks no longer charged forward. They were already painfully aware of a new and powerful enemy in their very midst. Yet, the orcs and their allies were not used to the fluid movements of the worgen. Underestimation of the lupine attackers led to many Horde deaths in the first few moments.
That was not to say that worgen did not perish. The Horde had not thrived without being able to adapt. Two orcs combined to catch a worgen between them. What one axe failed to strike, the other caught in the spine. Other worgen dropped with bolts through their chests or throats.
But the Horde suffered much greater. Not only was this a foe that they had never met before, but it came at them from the side, forcing them to face both the west and north at once. After all, Tyrande and Shandris were not so slow-witted as not to realize that they once again had hope. Even with the magnataur still wreaking havoc, they managed to re-form some of their lines and counterattack.
But all of this Varian only vaguely registered as his view swept from the field to his prey. The bull had turned his attention to this new enemy of his masters. A huge hand grabbed at a worgen and, while not succeeding in snatching him up, did inadvertently swipe the unfortunate Gilnean, sending him hurtling to his death.
Two orcs attacked Varian, but a worgen leapt at one, pulling the green-skinned warrior to the ground, where they struggled. The worgen’s claws tore through the throat of the orc.
Varian dodged the swing by the second orc, came under his shield, and thrust Shalamayne through the orc’s midsection. Pulling the sword free, the king then had to jump to the side as one back leg of the magnataur came down.
The gigantic creature turned. However, the magnataur were not built for speed. They did not need to be: they were so huge that they covered distance readily. However, in close combat, Varian at least had the advantage in mobility, as long as he avoided the feet or the hands. That, though, would avail him nothing in the long run, and he had no intention of merely running.
As the behemoth instinctively turned after him, Varian moved toward the hind leg again. He came within reach.
“Varian Wrynn!” roared a voice the king recognized. “Varian Wrynn, I challenge you! Turn and meet your doom!”
Varian whirled. Garrosh Hellscream, Gorehowl raised high, grinned as the two faced one another.
The human said nothing, his expression answer enough for the orc. They converged, the axe wailing as the two weapons clashed and sparks flew. The force of their strike sent both combatants stumbling back a few steps.
The warchief grinned ominously. “Such a weapon! With Gorehowl, it will make the finest comrade an orc could wield!”
“Shalamayne prefers the taste of orc blood,” Varian replied. “Yours especially. . . .”
He lunged.
The orc deflected his strike, the blade and the axe head again sending up a shower of sparks. Garrosh swung. The human countered. Again and again, the two champions found themselves as evenly matched as their fabled weapons.
“I’ve waited for this moment!” Garrosh grinned. “Our fight in Ulduar was too brief and without satisfaction, especially since I did not then have Gorehowl to match against your sword. . . .”
“My sentiments exactly!” The king deflected another strike by Gorehowl, both fighters forced to squint as sparks from the clashing weapons flew at their eyes. “I promise not to disappoint you this time . . . except when I take your head. . . .”
The orc laughed. “Your skull will have a place of honor on the gates of Orgrimmar!”
He swung Gorehowl low, seeking to catch Varian by surprise and disembowel the human. The king turned Shalamayne down and, though the angle was awkward, kept the axe from his torso.
Ignorant of the battle waging below him, the magnataur continued his turn as he hunted for the puny human. Varian saw the great leg sweeping toward them. He rolled back as Garrosh, not yet aware of the danger, readied another blow from the wailing axe.
The leg struck the orc. It was only a glancing blow, but it was enough to send Garrosh sprawling.
Unable to see what happened to Garrosh after that, Varian chose to sheathe Shalamayne. He watched as the magnataur settled in place for a moment. When that happened, Varian jumped at the leg.
The moment he grabbed hold of the magnataur’s fur, the monster roared and tried to shake him loose. But before the behemoth could, another figure clung to the other hind leg. The worgen began his climb at the same time as Varian, creating a distraction for the king.
A second worgen jumped onto the same leg as Varian. Several more quickly did the same. They were for the most part those he had commanded to follow him, but who had become momentarily separated by the battle.
Gritting his teeth, Varian pulled himself up. The first part of his plan had come into play, but now he had to follow through. Without the aid of claws, Varian still reached the back of the magnataur long before the first worgen.
The magnataur twisted as much as his upper torso would allow him. His hand came agonizingly near Varian, who drew Shalamayne and cut at the fingers. He was rewarded with the behemoth snatching the bleeding hand back, which allowed several of the worgen to make it to the king.
There was no need for words. The worgen knew their task. Like ants, they raced up and around the magnataur and, wherever their blades, maces, and other mundane weapons proved too unmanageable, began rending the flesh with their claws and even biting. The thick, tough hide of the gigantic creature protected at first, giving the magnataur the chance to try to brush off some of the vermin on him. A half dozen worgen went spilling off the beast, some managing to land well or snag hold of a leg, but others plummeting to their deaths.