Richard Knaak - Wolfheart

“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. . . .”

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.”

“Varian?”

Before she could say more, both noticed a figure standing quietly in the shadows to their side. When he realized that they saw him, he finally stepped forward. It was Jarod, his wounds recently healed by the Sisters of Elune. However, despite now being in excellent condition again, the expression on his face was akin to a man who had just learned that he was to die.

“High Priestess, forgive me . . . if you can.”

“I will not forgive you for calling me high priestess, Jarod Shadowsong . . . I am Tyrande to you. As for what I think you are apologizing for, do not.” Her own expression saddened. “I am more at fault here than anyone. Poor Maiev! I should have seen how the madness was slowly consuming her! I am only grateful that you and my husband were able to prevent further catastrophe!”

“But she escaped.”

“And no one holds that against you, Jarod,” Malfurion interjected. “Especially us.”

He stood straighter. “Nevertheless, I swear to both of you that I will find her. She must be brought to justice and it must be by me.”

“Just be careful that you do not begin to follow the same path of obsession your sister did,” Malfurion cautioned.

“I understand what you say. I will be careful in that regard, but I will not shirk from my duty.”

The high priestess acquiesced. “No one can deny you that right, and you have proven your abilities, Jarod . . . which brings me to my first point. Not all of the Watchers were surely aware of Maiev’s plot, and from among those proven innocent I intend to have a new leader appointed. However, the Watchers will play a different role than what we need from you, Jarod.”

“Me? I do not understand.”

“Once, you ably commanded warriors—and even demigods —in battle for us. With my husband’s agreement, I would have you lead a new security force, one designed to deal with troubles . . . such as Maiev.”

“I am honored . . . and will gratefully accept.”

“Shalasyr would be very proud of you, Jarod,” the high priestess added.

He tried to reply, but could not find his voice. Shalasyr’s face filled his thoughts, and, for a moment, Jarod forgot that Tyrande and Malfurion stood before him.

“I . . . like to think so,” he finally answered. “I can only hope so. She was so much more full of life than me. She should have been the one to live on.”

“The choice is not ours. How we honor those who have passed on with the way we continue our lives is.”

“You sound like Shalasyr.”

The high priestess put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “In regards to Maiev, Shandris will assist you in choosing from among the Sentinels some possible candidates for your new force.”

“I thank all three of you.”

“We will talk more after this.”

“I will not let you down.” Jarod bowed, then quickly stepped away.

As Tyrande and Malfurion headed toward the summit, Malfurion leaned close and whispered, “Sending him to Shandris? What are you doing?”

“Thinking of the future . . . ,” she replied with a thoughtful smile, “and when the time is more appropriate for them.”

He held back any further comment as they entered among the representatives. Malfurion noted the swiftness with which the last emissaries sat and knew that it could only mean that Varian Wrynn had arrived.

Sure enough, Tyrande surreptitiously touched his hand. He glanced her way and in doing so found Varian striding to his place among the others as if he were not the one who had succeeded in bringing them together again. The king of Stormwind sat down, then looked to Malfurion.

The archdruid took his cue. Stepping forth, he raised his staff. Silence filled the gathering.

“We thank you for coming here and again being our guests,” he told them as Tyrande stood next to him. “With the events in Ashenvale, time has grown more precious, and so, if there is no objection, there is one among you who would speak and who, I believe, should be heard.” With one hand, he indicated Varian. “I present to all of you, King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind. . . .”