Before the Storm

by Christie Golden

  “I don’t deserve that, but thank you.”

  He folded his hands on the table and looked at her piercingly. “So what changed your mind?”

  “Parqual Fintallas approached me and said that they—they needed me now. That it was time. I didn’t know what he meant at first, but then I realized they were defecting. I had a choice: support them, reveal who I was, and get them and others to safety, or disavow them and get them killed.” She looked away. “But I got them killed anyway.”

  “You also almost started a war,” Anduin said, his voice hard. “You could have been responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands. Do you understand that?”

  She looked chagrined. “I do now,” she said. “I was never taught how to rule, Anduin, because no one expected me to. I never formally studied politics or strategy. So when I got out there…”

  “You just followed your heart,” Anduin said, his anger turning to sorrow. “I understand that. But a ruler doesn’t always have that luxury.”

  “No. I am not yet ready to rule. But I wish to serve the people of Lordaeron. They are my people, and now I am like them. It feels…right.” She smiled. “I’ll learn. And from the archbishop, I’ll learn what it’s like to be…this. To be undead yet walk in the Light.”

  It should have been harrowing. It should have been ghoulish. But as Calia Menethil, changed but still herself, gazed at the king of Stormwind, all Anduin could think of were the naaru’s words: Calia was freed forever from the nightmares that had haunted her.

  And he was glad.

  It was the only comfort on one of the bleakest days he had ever known.

  Velen had advised Anduin to go to the Netherlight Temple, speak with Saa’ra, and listen to what the naaru said. Then, Velen had suggested that Anduin would be able to greet his people on the docks and “Light willing, know what to say to help their wounded hearts.”

  The draenei had been right.

  When the ships had come into Stormwind Harbor, Anduin was there to meet them but not to welcome them home. He was there to take them back to the Arathi Highlands.

  He brought with them the carvers of tombstones and the diggers of graves. The people of Lordaeron—of the Undercity—would not be left to rot, forgotten in a damp green field. Anduin had invited those who wished to return to stay on the ship; others were welcome to go back to their homes.

  Most stayed.

  Now he walked among them, watched but undisturbed by the Forsaken who manned Galen’s Fall near Thoradin’s Wall, as they identified, spoke words over, and buried those who had been brave enough to try to move past prejudice and fear. Anduin listened as humans told their stories about the fallen as the Forsaken were, at last, laid to rest.

  Velen might deflect compliments about his wisdom, but Anduin knew better. This was healing. This was respect. When they buried Jem, Jack, and Jake—Anduin did not think he would ever forget their names—Emma broke down. Philia was there, slipping an arm around her to support the older woman, her own eyes red with weeping.

  “They’re gone now, every one of them,” Emma said. “I’m all alone.”

  “No, you’re not,” Philia said. “We’ll help each other.”

  * * *

  —

  Genn had returned to the Arathi Highlands with Anduin. He still hadn’t had a chance to talk to the boy, and he wasn’t about to let him return without accompanying him. Now he listened as Philia and Emma comforted each other, and watched as Anduin, clearly deeply moved, strode a few paces away.

  Genn stepped up beside him.

  “I knew cats were quiet, but you wolves are almost as stealthy,” Anduin said.

  Genn shrugged. “We know how to move to suit the task,” he said.

  “So I am discovering…repeatedly.”

  “I’ve gotten to know you rather well over the last few years,” Genn said, ignoring the jab. “I’ve watched you grow up—a harder task for you than it ought to have been. But nothing is easy in this world, it seems.”

  “No,” Anduin agreed. His blue eyes roamed the field. “Not even keeping peace for a single day.”

  “You should know by now that peace is one of the hardest things in this or any world to keep, my boy,” Genn said, not unkindly.

  Anduin shook his head in sorrow and disbelief. “I can’t blot out the images of the Desolate Council running as fast as they could to what they thought was a future with their loved ones. I feel responsible. For them. And for them,” he said, gesturing to the living still moving on the field.

  “Sylvanas killed her own people, Anduin,” Genn reminded him. “Not you.”

  “Rationally, of course I know that. But it doesn’t matter. Not in my bones. And not here.” Anduin placed a hand on his chest for a moment, then let it fall. “Those who fell on this field did so because King Anduin Wrynn of Stormwind had promised them they would be safe as they reunited with their loved ones. And they died because of that promise. Because of me.”

  The bitterness in his voice was like acid. Genn, who had never heard it from him before, fell silent. After a time, Anduin spoke.

  “You’ve come to lecture me, obviously. Go ahead. I deserve every word.”

  Genn sniffed and rubbed his beard for a moment, his eyes on the horizon. “Actually, I’ve come to apologize.”

  Anduin’s head whipped around, and he didn’t bother to hide his shock. “Apologize? What for? All you did was warn me against this.”

  “You told me to watch. So I did. I listened, too.” He pointed at an ear. “Wolves have excellent hearing. I watched the interactions. I saw tears. I heard laughter. I saw fear give way to joy.”

  He kept his gaze on the people of Stormwind honoring their dead as he continued to speak.

  “I saw other things, too. I saw a Stormwind guard head out onto this field. He spoke with a Forsaken woman—his wife or his sister, perhaps. But finally he shook his head and walked away from her, back to the keep.”

  Anduin’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, but he remained quiet.

  “The Forsaken lowered her head and stood for a moment. Just…stood there. And then, very slowly, she walked back to Thoradin’s Wall.”

  Now Genn faced Anduin. “There was no violence. No…anger, or hate. Not even hard words, it seemed. And while those happy reunions were remarkable, extraordinary, it struck me that this was even more important. Because if humans and Forsaken could meet, with so much emotion involved, and disagree—dislike or even be repelled by one another—and simply walk away…”

  Greymane shook his head. “All I’d seen from the Forsaken was treachery, deceit, and a hunger to end life.” I watched my boy die in my arms, giving his life to save mine, he thought but did not say. “I saw ghastly, shambling monstrosities descend upon living beings with no desire other than to snuff out that light of life. I’d never seen what I saw that day. I never thought I could.”

  Anduin listened.

  “I believe in the Light,” Genn stated. “I’ve seen it, benefited from it, so I have to. But I’ve never really felt it. I couldn’t feel it from Faol. I just saw what I viewed as a gut-wrenching travesty—an old friend, dead, animated like some sort of joke. Spouting things that couldn’t possibly be true.

  “And then he said something that was true. Too true. It cut like a blade, and I couldn’t bear that.”

  Genn took a deep breath. “But he was right. You were right. I still think what was done to the Forsaken against their will was horrifying. But it’s clear to me now that some of them haven’t been broken by it. Some of them are still the people they once were. So I was wrong, and I apologize.”

  Anduin nodded. A smile crossed his face fleetingly, then was gone. It was clear he was still burdened with guilt and stubbornly wouldn’t relinquish the pain of it. Not yet.

  “You were right about Sylvanas,” Anduin said, that cold
bitterness lingering in his voice. “Light knows, I wish I’d listened.”

  “I wasn’t right about her, either,” Genn said, startling Anduin for the second time in as many minutes. “Not entirely. I knew she couldn’t let this go by without doing something. I thought she’d attack us. Not her own people.”

  Anduin winced and turned away. “She may have killed them, but I promised the Desolate Council safe passage. Those deaths are on my conscience. They will haunt me.”

  “No, they won’t,” Genn said. “Because you kept your end of the bargain. No one realized how poorly Sylvanas Windrunner could deal with anything that wasn’t complete and utter obeisance. If you ask me, the Desolate Council signed their own death warrants simply by existing as a governing body. She’d have done something to them sooner or later. Their ghosts, if Forsaken can have ghosts, won’t haunt you, my boy. You did something wonderful for them.”

  Now Anduin did turn to Greymane, looking him full in the eye. “Answer me this: Would it have been enough for you, Genn? To see your son one more time and pay for that one encounter with your life?”

  The question was utterly unexpected, and for a moment Genn was taken aback. Old pain shot through him, and he tightened his jaw. He didn’t want to answer, but there was something in the youth’s face that would not let the older man refuse.

  “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes. It would have.”

  And it was true.

  Anduin took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded at Genn.

  “Nonetheless, it is a tragedy, and it’s done any chance of peace great harm. It’s destroyed the prospect of working together with the Horde to heal the world. Azerite will continue to threaten the balance of power. It’s hurt the Alliance, too. Sylvanas used a moment that could have been a true turning point as a chance to eliminate people whom she viewed as her enemies. And she did it so smoothly, so well, that I can’t even call her on it. She didn’t break her word. Calia was a would-be usurper. I can’t ask Stormwind to go to war because the warchief of the Horde chose to execute individuals she will now paint as traitors. So she gets away with it. She’s won. She eliminated the opposition, killed the rightful heir to Lordaeron, and did it all while looking like a noble leader for not attacking the Alliance and starting a war.”

  Genn said nothing. He didn’t need to. He simply stood next to Anduin and let the young king sort it out on his own.

  The minutes passed, and then, finally, Anduin spoke.

  “I will never, ever stop hoping for peace,” he said. His voice trembled with leashed emotion. “I have seen too much good in too many people to paint them all as evil and worthy of slaughter. And I will also never stop believing that people can change. But I realize now that I’ve been like a farmer expecting to harvest crops from a poisoned field. It’s simply not possible.”

  Greymane tensed. The boy was leading to something.

  “People can change,” Anduin repeated. “But some people will never—never—desire to do so. Sylvanas Windrunner is one of those.”

  He took a deep breath. Sorrow and grim resolve made him look older. Genn had seen similar expressions on the faces of those who had been tasked with a heartbreaking duty.

  When the boy spoke, Genn was glad of the words but saddened by his need to say them.

  “I believe,” said Anduin Llane Wrynn, “that Sylvanas Windrunner is well and truly lost.”

  This book is dedicated to three who have championed it and striven to make it even better:

  Tom Hoeler, my editor at Del Rey, Cate Gary, my editor a few steps away, here at Blizzard, and Alex Afrasiabi, creative director of World of Warcraft.

  Thank you all so very much for your love for the characters and the world, for your attention to both little details and the big picture, for exploring this path with me, and for wanting to make Before the Storm the best book it could possibly be.

  This is the first Blizzard novel I have started and finished as a formal employee. My experience of being able to instantly ask any question and have it answered, sitting in on meetings that determined the far-flung future of Azeroth, and being surrounded by the energy of creation and its amazingly talented creators permeates this book.

  Shout-out to some of the remarkable people I work with regularly and who help make “going to work” more like “coming home”: Lydia Bottegoni, Robert Brooks, Matt Burns, Sean Copeland, Steve Danuser, Cate Gary, Terran Gregory, George Krstic, Christi Kugler, Brianne Loftis, Timothy Loughran, Marc Messenger, Allison Monahan, Justin Parker, Andrew Robinson, Derek Rosenberg, Ralph Sanchez, and Robert Simpson.

  BY CHRISTIE GOLDEN

  WORLD OF WARCRAFT

  Lord of the Clans

  Rise of the Horde

  Beyond the Dark Portal (with Aaron S. Rosenberg)

  Arthas: Rise of the Lich King

  The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm

  Thrall: Twilight of the Aspects

  Jaina Proudmoore: Tides of War

  War Crimes

  Warcraft: Durotan: The Official Movie Prequel

  Warcraft: The Official Movie Novelization

  Before the Storm

  STARCRAFT

  The Dark Templar Saga, Book One: Firstborn

  The Dark Templar Saga, Book Two: Shadow Hunters

  The Dark Templar Saga, Book Three: Twilight

  StarCraft II: Devils’ Due

  StarCraft II: Flashpoint

  STAR WARS

  Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Omen

  Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Allies

  Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension

  Star Wars: Dark Disciple

  Star Wars: Battlefront II: Inferno Squad

  ORIGINAL NOVELS

  On Fire’s Wings

  In Stone’s Clasp

  Under Sea’s Shadow

  Instrument of Fate

  King’s Man & Thief

  A.D. 999 (as Jadrien Bell)

  STAR TREK

  Star Trek Voyager: The Murdered Sun

  Star Trek Voyager: Marooned

  Star Trek Voyager: Seven of Nine

  Star Trek: Voyager: The Dark Matters Trilogy, Book 1: Cloak and Dagger

  Star Trek: Voyager: The Dark Matters Trilogy, Book 2: Ghost Dance

  Star Trek: Voyager: The Dark Matters Trilogy, Book 3: Shadow of Heaven

  Star Trek Voyager: No Man’s Land

  Star Trek Voyager: What Lay Beyond

  Star Trek Voyager: Homecoming

  Star Trek Voyager: The Farther Shore

  Star Trek Voyager: Spirit Walk, Book 1: Old Wounds

  Star Trek Voyager: Spirit Walk, Book 2: Enemy of My Enemy

  Star Trek The Next Generation: Double Helix: The First Virtue (with Michael Jan Friedman)

  Star Trek: Hard Crash (short story)

  Star Trek: The Last Roundup

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHRISTIE GOLDEN is the award-winning New York Times bestselling author of fifty-four novels and more than a dozen short stories in the fields of fantasy, science fiction, and horror. Her media tie-in works include launching the Ravenloft line in 1991 with Vampire of the Mists, more than a dozen Star Trek novels, several movie novelizations, the Warcraft and World of Warcraft novels Rise of the Horde, Lord of the Clans, Arthas: Rise of the Lich King, and War Crimes, Assassin’s Creed: Heresy, as well as Star Wars Battlefront II: Inferno Squad, Star Wars: Dark Disciple, and the Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi novels Omen, Allies, and Ascension. In 2017, she was awarded the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers’ Faust Award and named a Grandmaster in recognition of over a quarter century of writing. She currently works full-time for Blizzard Entertainment, where she gets to hang out in Azeroth to her heart’s content.

  christiegolden.com

  Twitter: @ChristieGolden

  Find Christie Golden on Facebook
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