"There, like that." He tossed the axe back to the warrior, who nodded and moved to the next tree in line. A second warrior was already stepping up to the felled tree, axe in hand, ready to begin the task of chopping the great tree into smaller segments.
Beyond him more warriors were about the same task. Carrying supplies for an army as large as the Horde was a hopeless task, so instead they took what they needed from the lands they had conquered. And the wood from these trees would keep the Horde's fires burning for weeks. Perhaps even months. The fact that every tree they cut down deprived the elves of additional protection only made the task sweeter.
Doomhammer was leaning upon his hammer, watching the work progress, when he saw motion from the corner of his eye. A short, heavy—set orc with a bristling beard was heading toward him, scarred face twisted in an expression Doomhammer wasn't sure he liked. Gul'dan was excited about something.
"What is it?" Doomhammer demanded before the chief warlock had reached him.
"Something you should see, mighty Doomhammer," Gul'dan replied, sweeping into a low bow. Cho'gall chuckled and aped the gesture behind him. "Something that could aid the Horde greatly."
Doomhammer nodded and swung his hammer up onto his shoulder, gesturing for Gul'dan to precede him. The warlock turned and led both Doomhammer and Cho'gall back around, perhaps a hundred feet from where he had stood. Here stood a massive stone, forcing a gap in the trees. Its rough surface was carved with runes and even Doomhammer, who had no gift at all for the supernatural or spiritual, could feel the power radiating off this crude monolith.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"I do not know exactly," Gul'dan answered, stroking his beard. "But it is very powerful. I believe these Runestones, for there are others spaced evenly around the forest's edge, serve as a mystic barrier."
"They did not stop us," Doomhammer pointed out.
"No, because we used nothing more than our own hands and feet and blades," Gul'dan replied. "I believe these Runestones restrict the use of magic within, most likely allowing only the elves' own magic to function. I have tried tapping my magic here and I cannot, but if I move ten paces away, toward the hills, my spells return."
Doomhammer eyed the large hunk of stone with a new appreciation. "So we take them and set them around our enemies and they cannot cast spells," he mused, wondering how many orcs it would take to move the monoliths, and how they would transport them.
"That is one approach, yes," Gul'dan agreed, his tone clearly saying what he thought of such an idea. "But I have another in mind, my warchief. If you will indulge me a moment." Doomhammer nodded. He did not trust Gul'dan, not at all, but the warlock had proven useful with the creation of the death knights. He was curious what the stocky orc had in mind now.
"These stones contain immense magic," Gul'dan explained. "I believe I can harness that power for our own purposes."
‘What do you mean?" Doomhammer demanded. He knew better than to give Gul'dan free rein. No, he wanted specifics.
"I can use these to create an altar," Gul'dan replied. "An Altar of Storms. By channeling the energy from these stones, I can transform creatures. We will make them more powerful, more dangerous, though they may suffer some disfigurement."
"I doubt any orc will let you experiment upon him a second time," Doomhammer pointed out sharply. He still remembered quite clearly the night Gul'dan had offered the so—called Cup of Unity, the Chalice of Rebirth, to every chieftain in the Horde, and to any warriors they deemed worthy. Doomhammer had not trusted the warlock, even then, and when Blackhand had invited him to drink he had refused, saying he did not wish to take away from his chieftain by sharing such power with him. But he had seen what the liquid had done to his friends and clanmates. It had made them larger and stronger, yes. But it had also turned their eyes a glowing red and their already greenish skin a vivid green, signs of demonic taint. And it had driven them all mad with bloodlust, with rage, with hunger. It had turned the once—noble orcs into animals, crazed killers. Some of the orcs had regretted their transformation later, but by then it was of course too late.
Gul'dan smiled as if he knew what his warchief was thinking. And perhaps he did. Who knew what strange powers the warlock now possessed? But he only replied to Doomhammer's words, not the thoughts behind them.
"I will not use an orc to test these altars," Gul'dan assured him. "No, I will use a creature that can benefit from even more strength but will barely notice any reduction to intellect." He grinned. "I will use an ogre."
Doomhammer considered that. They did not have many ogres but the ones they did control were easily worth ten times their weight in other soldiers. To make them even stronger—that would definitely be worth the risk. "All right," he said at last. "You may build one of these Altars. Let us see what happens. If it works I will supply you with more ogres, or any other race you wish." Gul'dan bowed low and Doomhammer nodded, his mind already onto other logistics as he turned away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Faster, damn you! Move faster!" Alleria struck her thigh with one fist, as if that motion could somehow spur the troops to more speed. She paced them for a moment, then sped up, unable to move that slowly for long. Within minutes she had passed the long line of men and caught up with the cavalry again. Automatically she glanced around, searching for the short blond hair near the front. There!
"You need to pick up the pace," she snapped at Turalyon as she slid between the other horses and moved alongside him. The young Paladin started and flushed, but right now she could not take her normal pleasure in his reaction. There was no time for such foolishness!
"We're moving as fast as we can," he told her calmly, though she noticed he glanced behind him to gauge the troops' speed anyway. "You know our men cannot match you for speed. And armies always move more slowly than individuals."
"Then I'll go on myself, as I should have from the start," she insisted, tensing to sprint past the horses and deeper into the forest.
"No!" Something in his voice stopped her, and she cursed under her breath. Why couldn't she disobey him? He didn't have the same presence as Lothar, and she was cooperating with the Alliance army at her own volition, not from any orders. Yet when he did actually command her she found herself unable to resist. Which didn't mean she couldn't argue.
"Let me go!" she insisted. "I need to warn them!" Her heart twisted again at the thought of her sisters, her friends, her kin being caught unawares by the Horde.
"We will warn them," Turalyon assured her, and she could hear the certainty in his voice. "And we will help them stand against the Horde. But if you go by yourself you will be caught, and killed, and that…will not do anyone any good." It had sounded as if he'd meant to say something else, and she felt a sudden surge of—was that joy? — in her chest, but had no time to wonder about it.
"I am an elf, and a ranger!" she insisted hotly. "I can disappear into the trees! No one can find me!"
"Not even a forest troll?" She turned and glared at the wizard, who was riding on Turalyon's far side. "Because we know they're working with the Horde," he continued. "And we know they're almost your equal in woodcraft."
"Almost, perhaps," she conceded. "But I am still better."
"No one would deny that," Khadgar agreed diplomatically, though she could see the grin lurking behind his calm. "But we don't know how many of them are out there, between us and your home. And ten of them would more than make up for your superior skill."