Turalyon nodded, wishing once again that Lothar was here. The Champion would know how to handle this situation properly. But he was not, and so Turalyon was forced to muddle through as best he could. "I thank you, and your people," he told Sylvanas finally. "We welcome you and all your kin into our Alliance. Together we will drive the Horde from this continent, from your lands and ours, that we may afterward live in peace and cooperation once again."
Anything else he had planned to say was interrupted by a squawk overhead and the sudden fluttering of wings. Turalyon ducked, as did Khadgar, and Theron reached for his sword, but the descending creature was far smaller than a dragon, and covered in feathers and fur rather than scales.
"Sorry, lad," Kurdran Wildhammer said as he landed Sky'ree just beyond them, causing the horses to shudder and stamp their feet in dismay. "We tried, but those dragons are simply too big and too powerful for the handful o' us to face. Give us time and we'll be finding a way to face them in the sky and beat them down, but right now they've got the upper hand."
Turalyon nodded. "Thank you for your efforts," he told the dwarf leader. "And for your aid earlier. It saved many lives." He glanced around him. Khadgar, Alleria, Sylvanas, Lor'themar Theron, and Kurdran Wildhammer. These were good people, and good lieutenants. He suddenly did not feel so alone, or so self—conscious. With them at his side, perhaps he could be a leader, at least until Lothar returned.
"We need to get our people out of here," he told them after a moment. "We will return and free Quel'Thalas from the Horde, but right now we need to regroup and wait. I suspect the Horde is not going to stay here for long. They have some other goal in mind."
But what, he wondered. They had taken the forest, and driven the elves from their home. They had attacked Aerie Peak, and crushed Khaz Modan. Where would they strike next?
He tried to think of it from the orcs' point of view. If he were them, and was handling their campaign, where would he go? What was the single biggest remaining threat?
Then it hit him. The biggest threat was the heart of the Alliance itself. The place where it had all started. He glanced at Khadgar, who nodded, clearly thinking the same thing.
" Capital City!" It made sense. From Silvermoon, which stood at the northern tip of Quel'Thalas, the orcs could march over the mountains and directly into Lordaeron, emerging not far from Lordamere Lake and Capital City itself. The city had few defenders left, King Terenas having sent most of his men with the Alliance. Fortunately marching over the mountains would mean making their way across Alterac first, and while Perenolde had not been the most stalwart member of the Alliance he would certainly rally his forces against an invasion of his own lands. But the orcs could overwhelm Alterac through sheer numbers and then swarm down out of the mountains to strike the city.
"From Lordaeron they could spread down across the rest of the continent," Alleria pointed out. "And if they left a force here they would have two points of origin. They could blanket the land with orcs in weeks."
Turalyon nodded. "Now we know what they are planning," he said, sure they were right. "Which means we need to find a way to stop them." He glanced at the raging fires beyond. "But not here. Get the men back into the hills proper, and we will meet and discuss this further." Then he wheeled his horse around and cantered away from the forest, trusting his lieutenants to see his orders carried out. And unwilling to look any more at the majestic woods burning behind him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Let's go!" Doomhammer shouted. "Get your gear and get moving!" He watched the warriors for a moment, as their chieftains shouted and shoved and punched to get them ready, then turned back to Gul'dan, who stood waiting patiently nearby. "What?" he demanded.
"My clan and I will remain here for a time," Gul'dan replied. "I have other plans for the Altars of Storms, plans that will aid the Horde in its conquest."
Doomhammer frowned. He still did not trust the short, ugly warlock. But he had to admit that the two—headed ogres had proven immensely useful in the battle to take Quel'Thalas. True, those cursed dwarves and their gryphons had interfered, and cost him several of the creatures, but without the ogres they might not have broken the Alliance lines and been able to regroup. Finally he nodded. "Do what you must," he told Gul'dan. "But do not take too long. We will need every advantage if we want to conquer Lordaeron quickly."
"I will not delay," Gul'dan assured him, grinning. "You are right—speed is of the essence." The way he said it troubled Doomhammer, but just then Zuluhed came running up and the chief warlock slipped away from Doomhammer's penetrating gaze while he was listening to the latest report about the forest's remaining defenders.
"We cannot breach their defenses," the Dragonmaw chieftain was saying. He looked more angry than apologetic. "Even the dragons can do nothing," he insisted, shaking his head. "Their fire washes over the city but does not touch it, and their claws are repelled by an invisible barrier they cannot break."
"It is the Sunwell," Gul'dan commented, turning back to take part in the conversation. "The elven source of magic. It gives them immense power."
Of course the warlock would know about such a thing, Doomhammer reasoned. "Is there any way to destroy it, or drain it, or tap it for ourselves?" he asked.
But Gul'dan shook his head. "I have tried," he admitted. "I can feel its power but it is of a kind unfamiliar to me, and I cannot touch it." He scratched at his bristly beard. "I suspect only the elves can gain its power, for it is tied to them and this land."
"Can you use the Altars to break their defenses?" was Doomhammer's next question.
Gul'dan grinned again. "That is one of the things I am attempting," he replied. "I do not yet know if it will work, but the Altars are crafted from the elves' own Runestones, which were originally powered by the Sunwell. I may be able to use that link in reverse, sending my own magic into their power source and either destroying it or wresting it away from them." It was clear which one the warlock would prefer, and Doomhammer disliked the idea of placing such potency in his hands. But that would still be better than leaving it to these strange, silent, deadly elves.
"Do what you can," he told Gul'dan again. "But breaching the city is secondary. We cannot get in right now but they cannot get out, either." He turned back to Zuluhed, who stood waiting. "The same goes for your dragons. We may need them, particularly if the Alliance has more warriors waiting at Capital City. If you have not managed to break their barrier after a few more days, leave it and send your dragons to join the rest of the Horde." He glanced at Gul'dan, who had already walked beyond hearing range. "And make sure he and his warlocks accompany you."
Zuluhed grinned. "I will drag him with us if I have to order a dragon to snap him up and carry him in its belly," he promised.
Doomhammer nodded. Then he left the Dragonmaw chieftain to speak with his dragon riders, and went to make sure his own Blackrock warriors were ready to set out toward their next target.
It was another two hours before the Horde finally moved out. Gul'dan and Cho'gall watched as the waves of orc warriors marched from Quel'Thalas, tramping over the charred remains of the trees that had fallen to the dragons' flames. Fully a third of the forest had burned, and that stretch was littered with soot and ash and the stray leaf that had crisped but not yet crumbled. The warriors had camped there, feeling more comfortable in the open air than under the remaining trees even if the ground was littered with bits of bark and leaf and nut, and now clouds of soot rose from the many feet stomping back across and toward the foothills and the mountains beyond. Doomhammer strode at their head, his long legs eating up the distance, his weapon bouncing slightly against his back and legs as he walked. He did not look around, clearly confident that he was in no danger whatsoever.