And now the dragon was descending upon them. And more were right behind it, streaks of crimson dropping from the sky.
The red dragons were not just the color of flame. Smoke curled from their nostrils and sparks shot from their mouths as they breathed, brighter even than the sunlight gleaming off their claws and along their wings and tails. The smoke and sparks increased as Turalyon stared.
And he suddenly realized what was about to happen.
"Pull back!" he shouted, slapping Khadgar's arm with his shield to get the mage's attention. "Have everyone pull back!" He waved his hammer overhead, hoping that would get both his own people and the elves' attention. "Pull back, everyone! Away from the forest! Now!"
"Away from the forest?" Alleria asked sharply, glancing up at him. He hadn't even realized she was still beside him, which showed how stunned he had been. "Why? We're winning!"
Turalyon started to explain, then realized there probably wasn't time. "Just do it!" he shouted, seeing the surprise on her face. "Tell your people to fall back toward the hills. Hurry!"
Something in his voice or expression convinced her, and she nodded, raising her bow and trying to signal the other elven warriors. Turalyon left her to it and turned away, grabbing the first Alliance officer he found and relaying his orders again. The officer nodded and started shouting and shoving, turning his troops around while bellowing for other officers to do the same.
There was nothing else Turalyon could do. He wheeled his own horse around and kicked it into a gallop, racing for the hills. Then he heard a strange sound, like a sudden burst of wind or a loud exhalation from a big man, and glanced over his shoulder.
The first dragon had swooped down, wings outspread, and opened its mouth wide. And from that mouth poured flames, great waves of flame that spread across the forest's front edge. The heat was intense, sapping every bit of moisture instantly, and the forest seemed to waver like a mirage in the sun's glare. Trees blackened in an instant, crumbling to ash despite being soaked minutes before, and smoke rose from them, thick black smoke that threatened to block out the sun again. The flames did not die, either—in some places they had licked trees farther back, not enough to destroy them completely but enough to ignite them, and now the flames were spreading, dancing from tree to tree. It was almost hypnotic, and Turalyon had to force himself to turn back around and watch where his horse was going. But soon he had reached the foothills and swung his mount back around, watching the horrible devastation.
"Do something!" Alleria yelled, appearing beside him again as he sat on his horse and squinted against the light and the heat. She pounded on his leg with her fists. "Do something!"
"There's nothing I can do," Turalyon pointed out, his heart breaking at the grief throbbing in her voice. "I wish there was!"
"Then you do something," the elven ranger demanded, turning to Khadgar as he rode up beside them. "Use your magic! Put out the flames!"
But the old—seeming mage shook his head sadly. "There's too much fire for me to combat it all," he explained softly. "And I've already drained myself for the day summoning that storm earlier." He said the last part bitterly, and Turalyon felt for his friend. It wasn't Khadgar's fault that he'd put out the first wave of fires only to have these far worse blazes appear now.
"I need to get to Silvermoon," Alleria said, more to herself than to them. "My parents are there, and our elders. I need to help them!"
"And what will you do?" Turalyon asked, his words coming out harsher than he'd intended, though at least it snapped her out of her grief long enough to look up at him. "Do you have a way to combat these flames?" He gestured at the forest, where the dragons were now diving and wheeling like bats at play, spreading flames with every pass. As far as the eye could see now, Quel'Thalas was burning. The smoke seemed a solid wall of gray above the elven homeland, and its shadow reached them on the foothills and cast darkness behind them, across the mountains. Turalyon was sure they could see the conflagration in Capital City.
Alleria shook her head, and he saw tears streaming down her cheeks. "But I have to do something," she all but wailed, her normally lovely voice hoarse with anger and pain. "My home is dying!"
"I know. And I understand." Reaching down, Turalyon rested one hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "But going in there now would only spell your death. Even if you could get to the river, it must be boiling from all that heat. You'd die, and that would not help anyone."
She looked up at him. "My family, the lords—will they be all right?" He could hear the desperation in her voice. She wanted, perhaps needed, to believe they survive.
"They're powerful magi," Khadgar pointed out. "And while I've never seen it, I understand the Sunwell is a source of immense power. They'll shield the city from harm. Even the dragons won't be able to touch them." He sounded completely certain, though Turalyon saw his friend quirk one eyebrow at him, as if to say, "at least I hope so."
Alleria nodded, though she was clearly still shaken. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You are right. My death now would accomplish nothing." Turalyon suspected she was trying to convince herself of that. She glared at the dragons fluttering and soaring beyond. "But theirs would. The entire Horde's would. Especially the orcs." Her green eyes narrowed, and Turalyon saw something there he had not seen in her before. Hatred. "They brought this destruction upon us," she spat. "And I will see them suffer for it."
"We all will." Turalyon looked up as another elf strode toward them. He was dressed in full war gear, his armor beautiful and graceful but clearly functional and covered in blood and gore. At his side hung a long sword and a deep green cloak fluttered behind him. He had removed his leaf—patterned helm and dark brown eyes shone beneath glossy hair the color of the corn—silk. And his expression mirrored Alleria's own.
"Lor'themar Theron," Alleria introduced him, "one of our finest rangers." Then she turned and smiled briefly as a second elf approached, this one a tall woman with a similar cloak and features much like Alleria's own, though her hair was a shade darker. "And this is my sister, Sylvanas Windrunner, ranger—general and commander of our forces. Sylvanas, Lord Theron, this is Sir Turalyon of the Silver Hand, second in command of the Alliance forces. And Khadgar of Dalaran, mage." Turalyon nodded and Theron returned the gesture, a show of respect among equals.
"Most of my warriors escaped the inferno," Theron told them brusquely. "We cannot breach the flames, however. And so we are trapped without, while our families are trapped within. Now we know how the fire spread through the forest so quickly and from so many directions." His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "But we cannot linger on such thoughts," he announced, his words directed at Alleria and perhaps himself as well. "We are here, and we must do what we can to succor our people as quickly as possible. And that means destroying the forces threatening them."
"Your commander, Anduin Lothar, sent word to us once before, asking for our participation in this Alliance," Sylvanas stated, looking up at Turalyon. "My leaders chose not to respond beyond a token show of support." Her gaze flickered to Alleria, and something like a smile crossed her face. "Though some of our rangers took it upon themselves to lend aid to your cause." Then she sobered again. "But my elders realized their error when the trolls and orcs invaded our lands. For if Quel'Thalas is not safe from incursion, what is? They ordered me to assemble our warriors and march to meet you, and to render such aid as we could." She bowed. "We would be proud to join your alliance, Sir Turalyon, and I hope that our deeds henceforth will compensate for the tardiness of our involvement."