But then a worgen managed the first tear in the magnataur, his success followed immediately by another. The bull howled in rage and shook back and forth. With his stocky build, especially his elephantine lower half, the magnataur could no more jump than the mammoth that part of his body resembled. Instead, he abruptly reared up on his hind legs, seeking with the unexpected motion to dislodge his attackers. Two worgen fell free, but Varian and the rest managed to maintain their grips despite this surprise.
More worgen joined those swarming the magnataur. They clambered over his back, his neck, and some of the most daring even tore into his chest. Alone or even if only a dozen or so, they would have been mere annoyances . . . but now they began to take a toll. The bull’s rage took on a hint of frustration, then pain, as he bled from more than two dozen wounds.
Shalamayne proved even better than ordinary swords and claws at cutting through the rough hide. His feet braced, his balance careful, Varian slashed again and again, opening ravines in the magnataur’s back.
Another angry bellow caught his attention. The next nearest magnataur had finally chosen to aid the bull. It was not out of any loyalty between the monsters, but rather a sense of survival. The other magnataur had realized that anything that could potentially harm their leader could next turn on the others.
Varian grinned. The reason for his grin became instantly apparent as more worgen suddenly crawled up the legs of the oncoming magnataur. No longer interested in assisting the dominant bull, the other behemoth tried in vain to clear his own hide of the rapidly increasing numbers of lupine invaders.
A battle horn blowing an Alliance signal made Varian look to the night elves’ lines. Without the magnataur in direct conflict with them, the Sentinels were able to even better regroup. What had been a rout was now more of a balanced battle again.
Varian planned to take it further than that. The worgen, heedless of their danger, did not flinch from attacking the other magnataur. Others of the great pack continued their rush into the midst of the Horde forces and, from the monster’s back, Varian could see the swath of death that the Gilneans had already made through the enemy.
The bull suddenly began to move toward the deeper forest. Varian knew what he planned: the magnataur intended to either seize a partial tree trunk and try to knock the worgen off, or begin rubbing against the standing trees in the hopes of doing the same.
Varian returned to one of the hind legs. There, he found, of all Gilneans, Genn Greymane. “Why are you here?”
“To make sure what you want done is done!” the other monarch roared back.
Varian was actually pleased to see him. “The other hind leg! We need to get down lower while he’s distracted!”
Genn looked puzzled until Varian made a cutting motion. The worgen then smiled. “I’ll take the lead with them!”
They separated without another word. Varian sheathed his sword, then began his descent. What he planned could not have been done until now. The magnataur needed to be focused on the worgen as a whole, not a few who climbed down now instead of up.
As he reached the point he desired, Varian drew Shalamayne. He glanced at the other hind leg. Despite the creature’s movement, the worgen easily clung to the limb. Genn had just reached the same level as Varian.
Without hesitation, and with his other hand and his legs holding him as best they could, Varian Wrynn used Shalamayne to cut as deep and wide a wound as he could in the back of the magnataur’s leg.
The beast roared in sudden agony. It stumbled to the side, nearly dislodging some of the worgen elsewhere. Varian hoped for the best for the brave Gilneans as he readjusted his aim and, instead of slashing, drove Shalamayne deep.
The effect was instantaneous. The bull’s leg collapsed. Sword gripped tightly, Varian threw himself free.
He landed a short distance from the crippled leg. Blood dripped out of the wound, but that was not why the leg could not hold any longer: Varian had expertly severed the tendon.
The magnataur tried to keep moving, but the damaged limb slowed him too much. It gave Genn and the worgen on the other leg the opportunity they needed. With the lord of Gilneas guiding the others, the worgen thoroughly tore into the same area that Varian had. Genn cut deep with his longsword through what his claws could not rend. Already in terrible pain from the first leg, the magnataur belatedly tried to reach back and grab the Gilneans.
With one final cut, Genn finished the tendon. He howled sharply, then jumped from the ruined appendage.
Warned by Genn, the rest of the worgen fled the wounded magnataur. As the last of them leapt to safety, the struggling giant, in the act of trying to seize the king of Gilneas, lost his balance as the second leg gave out.
With an almost mournful roar, the dominant bull tumbled onto his left side. His collision with the ground created a shock wave that tossed many of the combatants in the vicinity from their feet.
But it was not over yet. Varian cried out a wordless challenge and bounded onto the struggling behemoth. He ran toward the head even as worgen once more swarmed the rest of the body.
With fingers still bleeding from Varian’s earlier strike, the magnataur swatted at whatever worgen he could reach. Some of the most eager of the worgen fell prey to the swinging hand, but Varian dodged it, then raced up past the shoulder to the neck.
The fearsome visage twisted in his direction, the magnataur’s long, curving tusks sweeping toward Varian and nearly succeeding where the hand had failed. The baleful eyes glared at the puny human who had caused him so much pain. Varian felt the muscles leading to the arm move and knew that the wounded magnataur had come to realize that this was prey finally within easy reach.
With the hand rushing to him, Varian held Shalamayne downward with both hands and stepped off the neck.
As he dropped, he took the sword and jammed it into the soft part of the throat.
The fabled blade cut through as if the flesh there were water. The magnataur’s life fluids drenched Varian as he continued a drop slowed only by how long it took Shalamayne to cut through.
A great gurgle escaped the bull. The behemoth thrashed about, in his death throes threatening to do to Varian what he could not before.
A furred form seized Varian before the arm could crush him. He and his worgen rescuer rolled in a heap, Shalamayne flying a short distance away.
Varian picked himself up. He discovered only then that his rescuer was none other than Genn. The worgen leader lay stunned. Varian knelt by his side and discovered that Genn had struck his head hard. Blood matted the fur there.
Genn’s eyes opened. He stared up at Varian.
“Such fury! Small wonder you are Goldrinn’s chosen champion. . . . ” The worgen leader blinked, his humanity quite evident in his eyes despite his furred form. “I feared for a moment that we’d lose you due to your impetuousness.”
“Your people almost lost you instead.”
“A small price to pay. The worgen have found you. We have found our place through you.”
Varian looked for his sword. “Our place may be the grave. This battle isn’t over.”
Genn sought to rise, then winced and sat back again. He took a deep breath, then tried once more. This time, the worgen leader succeeded.
Varian retrieved Shalamayne, but as he looked up again, he saw something amidst the chaos of the battlefield that made him bare his teeth.
“Don’t follow me, Genn.”
“What—”
Not waiting around to explain, Varian charged back into the struggle. An orc saw Varian and foolishly tried to take him. The lord of Stormwind barely noticed as Shalamayne sank deep in the orc’s chest. A second warrior fell as quickly and just as unnoticed.