Varian threw himself back. With his good hand, Garrosh risked life and limb to seize Gorehowl. As the shadow of the plummeting magnataur rushed over him, he leapt.
The stricken monster rolled to one side, but the worgen only clambered to safer ground, then resumed their relentless shredding. The hind legs kicked wildly, forcing Varian to back farther away.
Garrosh pushed himself to his feet. He searched for the human, but the struggling magnataur blocked his view.
Rage refueling his strength, the warchief began running to the back of the beast. He would find Varian Wrynn again and this time there would be a decisive—
“Warchief!” Another of his Kor’kron stepped in front of him. Garrosh tried to shove the fool aside, but suddenly other hands seized him.
“Beware!” shouted another guard. Two others stepped in to protect their leader as several worgen atop the magnataur took interest in fresher meat. “Get the warchief away!”
As some of his personal guard battled the worgen, a furious Garrosh roared, “Release me, you damned fools! I must find him! I will have his death . . . and claim the sword!”
“The battle is lost!” the first Kor’kron dared to say. “We must get you from here before we’re overrun!”
Garrosh rewarded the speaker with the back of his hand. As blood dribbled down the guard’s mouth, the warchief roared, “The next coward to speak such lies loses his dishonorable head!”
“No lies!” proclaimed another. Several heads bobbed in agreement. “All but one magnataur are down. Our lines have disappeared. On our south, we are among the enemy already. You but have to look and see. If I lie, my head is yours!”
“Mine also!” said the first, with the rest following suit.
Such offers were not given lightly, not with the great possibility that Garrosh would accept. The warchief frowned, then surveyed what he could of the struggle.
It took no imagination to quickly see that they were right. The banners of the Sentinels could be seen edging closer. His own warriors’ banners were little in view, and most of those could be seen farther and farther east. The rest lay no doubt trampled under the enemy’s feet.
“No! I will find him even if I must fight every foe on the field! I will not lose. . . . ” He tried to go in hunt of Varian again, only to have his own guards seize him and begin to drag him to safety.
“We will win Ashenvale yet,” the lead Kor’kron assured him as the guards continued their struggle to save Garrosh.
“The warchief himself says that one battle is not a war!” reminded another. “We will take Ashenvale! We swear it, Warchief. . . .”
Garrosh fought with himself to accept what they said. They were repeating what he had always proclaimed to them. Yet, the reality was bitter to swallow . . . especially after the unfinished duel with Varian Wrynn.
He shook free of his fearful guards, but, to their relief, headed to the mounts to which they had been steering him. In their wake, the battle still raged, though it was clear that the Alliance continued to gain ground.
“Sound the horns,” Garrosh ordered. “Sound the retreat.”
A relieved guard signaled a trumpeter, who did as commanded. As the hated sound reverberated in his mind, Garrosh mounted. He swung Gorehowl once, listened to it wail as he did, then hooked it onto a brace on his back. Just before Garrosh urged his mount on, he looked over his shoulder to where the first elements of the Horde were abandoning the lost cause.
“It is but a battle,” the warchief finally agreed. “Only a battle. Ashenvale is our destiny. . . . ” Garrosh envisioned again the realm he would build and, in envisioning it, once more knew that it would happen.
He led them off, already making plans. This was not over . . . not until he had won. . . .
And not until Varian Wrynn was dead.
Varian watched the riders fade in the distance, aware that he could have pursued but had chosen not to do so.
Genn Greymane found him near the great corpse of the magnataur who had separated the human from the orc. The worgen leader’s fur was slick with blood and other gore, as was that of every other of his people.
“You let them go . . . ,” the king of Gilneas muttered. “I saw you come around and watch the orcs take their warchief and all but carry him off. He fought them so much, we could’ve easily caught up and taken them. This would’ve all been over.”
Varian continued to watch even after he could no longer see Garrosh. He shook his head as he replied, “Would it have? Not at this point. No . . . sometimes you have to let the prey run for a while. Then . . . then you’ll know when the right time does come.”
Genn’s ears flattened as he tried to accept what Varian said. He was saved the trouble by the sudden arrival of a contingent of Sentinels led by both the high priestess and General Shandris.
“Varian Wrynn,” Tyrande greeted, smiling. “Elune finally reveals her miracle.”
“‘Her miracle’?” Genn cocked his head. “No, my lady, Elune might have some part in this—as surely Goldrinn has—but both would without a doubt give the greatest credit to another!” He extended a clawed hand toward Varian. “A warrior now in balance with himself, a leader now in harmony with the needs of those he commands!” The worgen leader turned to the others. “Varian Wrynn!”
As the worgen leader shouted out the name, the other Gilneans began to pick it up. At first they murmured the name, but as their enthusiasm rose, they repeated it louder and louder. “Varian Wrynn! Varian Wrynn!”
Having already rallied to that name as a battle cry, the Sentinels and the other Alliance fighters readily joined in again. Varian Wrynn did not enjoy such acclamation, but he understood the need for those cheering him to have this outlet. Varian only prayed that it would die down soon.
If he hoped for help from the high priestess, he did not find it there. Still smiling, Tyrande nodded to Genn and said, “You speak right indeed.” She bowed her head to the uncomfortable Varian, raised her hand, and said loudly, “Hail to you, King Varian! Hail to you, savior of Ashenvale . . . and perhaps Azeroth as well. . . .”
29
To Forge a Future
Under the guidance of General Shandris, new and better-situated outposts were quickly arranged along the eastern edge of the territory under Sentinel protection. A much more tempered Denea was given command of one of these, and Su’ura Swiftarrow, while still battlemaster for Warsong Gulch, was promoted to replace the late, honored Haldrissa. A commission was also offered to Illiyana Moonblaze, but she preferred no higher rank, as it would mean more responsibility—and less independence.
The Horde had shored up its defenses beyond the river, but the Alliance had reclaimed Silverwing and quickly rebuilt it. The Sentinel outpost had been made the staging ground for supplying the Alliance’s counterattack. Tyrande blessed the restored Silverwing in the name of Elune before she and Shandris returned out of necessity to Darnassus.
They did not return alone.
“It is a wonder we were able to call them all back,” Malfurion commented as they watched the other representatives of the Alliance gathering for a new summit. “I commend you, my love.”
“Do not commend me. With the Horde still active in Ashenvale, it is more necessary than ever that we all come together. Garrosh will not sit long. He bides his time: that is all.”
“It still took much to get them to come. I know that they had already agreed to send troops to Ashenvale, but we both understand that there is more involved if we hope to keep the Horde in check for more than a short time.” He hugged her. “As I said, you are to be commended.”
She accepted his hug, only after that explaining, “But it was not I who truly convinced them . . . it was Varian.”