so that the man may rise. . . . The rage must be the servant for the man to be . . . complete. . . .
Varian felt his fury growing, but now it did so at his direction. It was now bound to his strength, not his despair. Once again, he felt Tiffin, Anduin, his father, and others who had played loved or vital roles in his life surround him. They had never stopped believing in him, not even his son. He saw that Anduin had done what he had for not only his own sake, but in the hopes that it would enable his father to come to terms with himself.
The rage filled him. However, because it had been transformed into a weapon instead of remaining simply a manic force, he welcomed it. With it at his command, no foe could stand against him.
From somewhere, a proud howl echoed. Varian responded to it. He finally knew who called out to him. Goldrinn. Lo’Gosh. The wolf Ancient. Lo’Gosh summoned him to battle. Images again coursed before him of those who would seek to harm the ones under his care, especially Anduin. In this new vision, Deathwing laughed as he landed on Stormwind, the mad leviathan savoring the destruction of both Varian’s home and countless lands as his power over the very earth caused Azeroth to churn. The world still sought to recover from that evil . . . but it was a battle that Varian understood would take time and careful planning to win. For now, there was another, more immediate threat. He knew the face, knew the name, even before this other foe took the place of the dragon in the king’s mind.
Garrosh Hellscream.
Thinking of the Horde leader, Varian summoned his rage to the forefront and tested it. It grew as it never could have as merely a destructive force. Now tempered, now shaped, it was greater than it had ever been.
Lo’Gosh howled again.
Varian leapt to his feet, awake without having noticed that he had been asleep.
Genn Greymane no longer sat directly before him, and perhaps that was a good thing, for it allowed the Gilnean monarch, originally standing a few feet away, to jump back as Varian surged forward. Even though Genn retained his worgen form, he still appeared to move as if in a dream to the king of Stormwind. The entire tableau seemed to have slowed down. Varian surveyed the other worgen, and though they were swift to recover from their shock, their movement yet struck him as slightly slower than his own.
“Goldrinn . . . ,” Genn muttered, staring. “Lo’Gosh . . . his aura . . . it surrounds you so completely. . . .”
Around them, the ears of the other worgen flattened, but in awe, not fear.
“Goldrinn truly touches your heart, your soul . . . ,” Genn murmured. “The wolf honors you, and so—so do we. . . .”
Varian said nothing, but he, too, was at last able to sense what Genn had known from the beginning. The ghost of the great wolf had made him its chosen, its champion.
And through Goldrinn—Lo’Gosh—and himself, Varian knew what had to be done next.
“I’ve been reckless, driven by not only bitterness from losing so many things—so many people—of importance to me, but also the fear of losing what little I still cherish, like my son,” Varian said to Genn and the other worgen. “But now I understand. Azeroth needs us. All of you—and me—we are what we’ve become in order to help it. And help it we must. . . .”
Silence reigned around him. Finally, Genn asked, “What would you have us do?”
Varian knew of only one thing. “We follow our destiny together . . . and we follow it to Ashenvale.”
23
PURIFICATION
Malfurion stirred. He could not say how long he had been unconscious, only that it had been quite some time. At least a day, possibly more.
As he slowly became aware of his surroundings, he noticed a more troubling thing. He could barely feel his body. It was as if his dream-form had separated from it, yet the archdruid knew that he remained on the mortal plane, not the Emerald Dream.
His head suddenly pounded. Malfurion tried to relax, and the pounding eased. That verified what he feared. He was someone’s prisoner, someone who knew something about a druid’s abilities.
Malfurion cautiously tried to open his eyes. He began with slits first and when that offered no greater pounding, he pushed for more.
What he saw was