a pocket dimension within the Emerald Dream, where they lay in a taming sleep under the tree Daral’nir.
That was supposed to have been the end of the tragic matter—and it would have been, if not for the human archmage Arugal. Under the orders of a desperate Genn seeking aid against the Scourge outside Gilneas’s great wall, the mage had pulled the worgen to the kingdom . . . and once the curse of the worgen had entered, it spread through the populace swiftly.
Yet, the Gilneans had discovered the means to control their feral nature and turn what had been evil into—at least to a point—a force to benefit themselves in regards to not only the Alliance but also the eventual liberation of their homeland.
“We are Gilneas,” Genn Greymane rumbled, his voice still distinctly his own, albeit now with a guttural addition to it. “We are the worgen. . . .”
The king howled.
The sound was not meant to disturb or frighten, only to again point out the power of him and his people. In that, it served well, for even the dour Dark Irons looked with great respect and interest at the might of the worgen.
As Genn’s howl reached its crescendo, the others with him added their voices. Yet, even that paled when from beyond the summit, from deep within the forest, other worgen voices answered the call.
Their combined howl lasted but a scant few seconds, yet that was long enough for the moment to burn into the memories of most there. As Genn ceased—and his people near and far immediately did the same—the king of Gilneas concluded, “We humbly submit ourselves before our brethren for full membership in the Alliance. . . .”
No one responded at first, so unsettling was the sight. Rising, Malfurion pointed at the worgen. “A few of you know the old tales of the worgen and their ferocity! You know the stories of their unthinking evil! To both you and those unfamiliar with the stories, what stands before you has little link to either legends or the past! These fighters of Gilneas have tamed the curse! That which was once a deadly threat is now forevermore a force for good, a force for the Alliance!”
The archdruid’s words rang throughout the assembly. Genn and the worgen waited as the emissaries digested both what Malfurion had said and, more importantly, what they had just witnessed.
Murmuring rose among the representatives, and they quickly became more animated.
Kurdran suddenly rose. “Wildhammer welcomes the strength o’ the worgen . . . and o’ Gilneas!”
Tervosh immediately followed. “Theramore seconds that welcome!”
At these pronouncements, applause burst from many sections of the gathering, applause for Gilneas. Several of the emissaries and members of their parties saluted Genn’s people in one manner or another.
Tyrande, touching her husband’s hand, took command of events again. “You have witnessed the might of Gilneas and heard its request to enter back into the Alliance!” the high priestess called, echoing Malfurion’s sentiments. “I say that, after seeing this display and if there are no objections, we shall begin a vote for approval immediately!”
The high priestess let her gaze sweep over the assembly, focusing no longer on Stormwind than she did any other faction. There was no objection, and even Varian seemed in a reasonable mood.
“I call for a vote by acclamation!” the archdruid next proclaimed, following the course of action that they had discussed previous to the gathering. “A single voice to acknowledge the welcome of the worgen into the Alliance! All those in favor—”
The chorus of ayes began to resound, their enthusiasm matching that of the worgen’s earlier howl. Malfurion and Tyrande glanced down at Genn, who gave them a grateful look in turn.
And then, from where the contingent of Stormwind sat, King Varian silently stood.
The effect was immediate. The shouting died. The two night elves and Genn stared at Varian, whose face revealed nothing of his intentions.
“Members of the Alliance, my good night elf hosts, I’d like to speak.”
Even Prince Anduin appeared uncertain as to what his father planned, although he did not seem worried, only curious.
Tyrande signaled for attention, then said, “Stormwind has asked to speak. Please go on, King Varian.”
The ex-gladiator and slave brooded for a moment. Finally he said, “Everyone knows that there’s no love lost between Stormwind and Gilneas. Everyone knows why.”
Utter quiet fell upon the assembly. Genn’s expression was unreadable as he waited for Varian to go on, but his ears lay flat in concern.
A Sentinel suddenly stood behind the high priestess. Tyrande touched