the great sign that this was their day. The world had been torn asunder, and to survive meant to be able to adapt to its much-transformed lands.
The crewmembers finally had the last cage loaded. Briln watched as they sealed the hull. They had a fair supply of the sleep powder in stock, and there were other threats that were supposed to keep the creatures in line, but the elder orc looked forward to the end of the journey.
Aboard deck, his first mate saluted. “Everything’s secured, Captain! All set to sail on your word!”
“Get us going, then,” Briln growled. “The sooner we get this cargo to Garrosh, the sooner it becomes the Alliance’s trouble. . . .”
The other orc grunted agreement, then turned to bellow Briln’s command. In short order, the ship pulled away from the dock.
The winds whirled madly and thunder crashed. A storm was brewing, the last thing the fleet needed. Still, the captain thought it nothing compared to what the Horde’s enemies would soon face. Briln stared beyond the dark, swirling waters, imagining the fleet’s destination, imagining what his cargo would do once Garrosh had it under his reins.
And for a moment, Briln almost pitied Ashenvale’s defenders, almost pitied the night elves.
But then . . . they were only night elves. . . .
1
THE WOLF
Tyrande Whisperwind knew that the world could never be mended. Deathwing, the great black dragon, had forever changed the face of all Azeroth in a manner even more terrifying in some ways than the Sundering—when the world’s lone continent was savagely split apart. The high priestess, who had survived that epic event some ten thousand years ago, had never imagined that she would have to live through anything so brutal again.
To those few who might have been unfamiliar with her race, the night elf, her midnight-blue hair falling below her shoulders, seemed barely more than two decades old, rather than ten thousand years. However, her glittering, silver eyes were filled with the wisdom of so much experience. There were some very fine lines near those elegant eyes, but they were more the result of troubled times during the past ten millennia than from age.
Tyrande strode through the lush Temple Gardens, the centerpiece—though geographically more west of the center—of Darnassus and composed of several islets of varying size filled with the most exquisite of flora. The light of a full moon shone down upon the gardens and with what appeared particular favor upon her. That it did so disturbed neither Tyrande nor any who happened by the high priestess. After all, it was a normal sight already familiar to those who knew the solemn figure.
She had hoped that out here she would be better able to think, to come to some conclusion concerning the weighty matters upon her. As high priestess, Tyrande generally sought guidance and peace from the goddess Elune, also called the Mother Moon, from a place of quiet meditation in the temple directly to the south. However, even the calm of the perpetually moonlit sanctum of the Sisterhood—the heart of Elune herself, some called it—had no longer proven enough. Thus, she had hoped the tranquil gardens might suffice where the temple had failed.
But although the gardens in some ways embodied the spirit of the Mother Moon even more than the temple, it was not enough to calm the high priestess this night. Tyrande could not keep from constantly worrying about the upcoming summit. The time of the gathering was fast approaching, and already she and the archdruid Malfurion Stormrage—her co-ruler and mate—wondered whether the event would prove worth anything at all.
The Alliance faced a revitalized Horde now led not by the seemingly conflicted Thrall, who might have kept the peace for the sake of both sides, but rather by a new, much more ambitious warchief. Garrosh coveted the great forests of Ashenvale, though he would hardly stop with them should they fall to his warriors.
Despite, as an archdruid, being more concerned with the wilds of Azeroth and having absolutely no ambitions toward politics, Malfurion had done what he could to help maintain unity in the Alliance. However, Tyrande and Malfurion both knew that the Alliance’s future did not and could not rely upon him. It was time for someone who could be more dedicated to that goal. That was thus one of the points of this summit Tyrande and Malfurion had put together, to see if through the talks someone would arise who could best guide those assembled forward in this new