Varian let the orc attack anew, and when the swing pulled Briln so that his lost eye best faced the human, Varian drove Shalamayne into his adversary’s chest.
Briln dropped his weapon as Varian pulled Shalamayne free. The orc fell to his knees. Still glaring at Varian, he gasped, “My . . . magnataur . . . my . . .”
The captain crumpled, and Varian swung Shalamayne behind his own back.
A shock ran through his body as the blade met metal. Half kneeling, he spun and blocked a second swing. Both times an inhuman wail preceded the clash.
“I knew you’d deflect both,” Garrosh rumbled in honest admiration as he loomed over Varian. “You would not be who you are if you could not. . . .”
“I’d be dead,” Varian answered lightly. “I’d be you.”
The warchief chuckled . . . and attacked.
Shalamayne and Gorehowl bit at one another once, twice, three times. Their wielders brought them together so quickly that, rather than sparks, it was as if lightning played over the human and the orc.
Varian stumbled over a corpse. Garrosh chopped downward, intending to cleave him in two. The king rolled to the side, came up, and lunged.
Now it was Garrosh’s turn to retreat. He kept Gorehowl up, saving his throat twice, then used the hefty reach the axe provided him to stave off Varian until the orc was able to regain his footing.
Once more, sword and axe joined together. Garrosh sought to catch the blade with the curve of Gorehowl’s head, but Varian withdrew the point at the last moment. He then tried to drive under the warchief’s defenses, only to have the orc block Shalamayne with the flat of the axe.
“You only delay the inevitable!” shouted Garrosh. “The day of the Alliance is at an end! The Horde is Azeroth’s future!”
“The Horde should fear the end of day! With the end of day comes the night . . . and with the night comes the worgen . . . ,” Varian retorted.
The gap that had separated them from the other combatants around them closed at that moment. Warriors locked in desperate combat flowed into the pair, pressing them into one another. The eyes of the human and the orc met long, and both saw death in the other’s gaze.
“Pray to your spirits,” the king flatly stated.
“I shall do so. You’ll need a proper guide to the afterlife, human. . . .”
With a roar, Garrosh shoved as hard as he could. Varian slammed into those behind him. The warchief cut a savage arc, Gorehowl’s mournful cry sending those closest scattering again.
Varian cut off the cry with Shalamayne, first deflecting the axe, then using a twist of his wrist to enable the sword to bring the orc’s weapon to the side.
With his fist, Garrosh hammered the human’s shoulder. Varian gritted his teeth as his bones shook. Seeking to stop the attack, he brought his blade between his shoulder and the pounding fist.
The warchief swung at his other, now-unprotected shoulder.
Varian tossed Shalamayne to his other hand, then tilted the blade toward Gorehowl. But although he kept Gorehowl from crushing his shoulder, the axe still cut across the upper arm. The king grunted in renewed pain as he shifted away.
Shalamayne avenged him quickly. Varian had long ago learned to wield his sword with either hand, although one would always be favored over the other. Garrosh reacted too slowly to the fact that his human foe could handle Shalamayne well even now. The tip of the sword drew a red line along the warchief’s chest just below the throat.
Suddenly another axe entered the fray. One of the Kor’kron had reached the struggle and, in keeping with his duties, sought to protect Garrosh. The guard threw himself bodily toward Varian, his unexpected intervention leaving the king in desperate straits.
Another Kor’kron came at Varian from the opposite direction. Their axes were not Gorehowl, but they were well bloodied and wielded by expert hands. The Kor’kron slashed and swung, pushing Varian back.
Garrosh growled angrily at his guards, but his words were drowned by the battle. Both Kor’kron looked upon Varian with malevolent eagerness: with his death they would not only serve their warchief but also bring acclaim upon themselves.
The lord of Stormwind read their reflexes, recognized their moves. He let one guard press ahead of the other. As the first Kor’kron’s anticipation of striking the fatal blow rose, Varian shifted his grip on Shalamayne and threw it like a spear.
Caught unawares by the unorthodox maneuver, the foremost guard left himself open. The force of Varian’s throw sent the blade deep into his foe.
Before the second Kor’kron could make sense of matters, Varian had snatched away the dying guard’s axe. With the full force of his might, he swung at his other adversary’s leg.
The axe all but separated the limb. Screaming, the orc fell to one side.
Varian plucked Shalamayne free, then skewered the wounded Kor’kron.
Why Garrosh had not pursued his two guards became evident as the orc buried Gorehowl in the skull of a riderless nightsaber. The cat did not die immediately, its sharp claws seeking one last time to tear the orc to shreds. But with agility more remarkable due to his broad form, Garrosh evaded the feline’s paw, then moved in and for a second time let Gorehowl bite into the nightsaber’s skull.
The warchief turned his dripping axe to Varian. Without a word the pair renewed their duel. Blood from those who had gotten in their way splattered the human and the orc, but neither paid attention to anything but the other.
Horns sounded. Alliance horns. They grew more dominating, though Garrosh did not notice that. What he did notice was that his breathing was growing more ragged. He had expected to slay Varian Wrynn by now and raise the human’s severed head for all the hapless Alliance to see. Because of that, he had exerted himself harder than he usually did.
But this human has come an impossible distance! the orc angrily reminded himself. He should be the weary one! He should be unable to even lift his sword. . . .
Varian, though, looked as fresh of energy as he had when first they had met. The human’s eyes remained unwavering.
Garrosh realized that he had far underestimated the human. This king possessed the fury of an orc and, through him, the defenders seemed to have gained that fury as well.
And only then did the warchief truly see that the stories he had heard about Varian Wrynn were true. Lo’Gosh did smile with favor on this human . . . and why not? They were of a kind. Here was one who had the heart of a great and determined hunter, a great and determined warrior.
The heart . . . of a wolf.
I have been a fool! the warchief knew then. I should’ve planned an even greater, more brutal thrust! With such a leader, the Alliance may even take eastern Ashenvale back!
Unmindful of what went on in his adversary’s thoughts, Varian further pressed his attack. He saw Garrosh give ground and knew that the orc did not do so as part of some sinister strategy. The advantage had turned to Varian’s.
Varian slashed. It was an attack a weary Garrosh knew that he could parry, but his arm moved a fraction slower than it was wont.
Shalamayne dug into the upper arm, striking tensed muscle.
Garrosh’s entire arm shook. The warchief’s grip momentarily failed. Gorehowl slipped from his twitching fingers and fell to the ground.
Varian pulled back to strike—and an ear-shattering roar overwhelmed both fighters. Varian and Garrosh looked up to see another magnataur come rushing down on them. Worgen scurried over his body as he sought to escape their savage attacks. The worgen had taken Varian’s tactics to heart and had improved on them, for as the behemoth reached the pair, his ravaged front legs gave out and he pitched forward.