"Milady," Lothar called out when she was still a few paces away. "Welcome. I am Anduin Lothar, commander of the Alliance of Lordaeron."
She nodded, covering the remaining distance and stopping only a handspan away. From here he could see the pointed ears poking up through her hair, and the wide, emerald—green eyes that slanted up at the corners. "I am Alleria Windrunner, and I bring you greetings from Anasterian Sunstrider and the Council of Silvermoon." Her voice was lovely, musical and rich, and Lothar suspected it was pleasant even in anger.
"Thank you." He turned and gestured to the men gathered around him. "Allow me to present the kings of the Alliance, as well as my lieutenants." After introductions had been made, he turned to more serious matters. "Forgive my bluntness, Lady Alleria," he said, drawing a smile from her at the title, "but I must ask—is this all the aid your people can muster?"
That brought a frown from her. "I will tell you straight, Lord Lothar," she replied, glancing around to make sure no others were listening. Several other elves, both men and women, had left the ship now and were clustered at the far end of the pier, clearly awaiting Alleria's permission to move closer. "Anasterian and the others were little concerned at the reports you sent. This Horde is far distant from us and seems intent upon conquering human lands, not our own forests. The council members feel it is better to leave this conflict to the younger races, and merely strengthen our own borders to prevent any additional incursions." Her eyes narrowed, showing what she thought of such a decision.
"Yet you are here," Khadgar pointed out. "Surely that means something?"
She nodded. "The missive from King Terenas" — she nodded in his direction—"informed us that you, Lord Lothar, were the last of the Arathi bloodline. Our ancestors pledged eternal support to your King Thoradin and all his kin. Anasterian could not deny that obligation. He has sent this battle group to acknowledge the debt."
"And you?" Lothar asked, noticing she had only mentioned the ships.
"I am here of my own accord," she announced proudly, tossing her head back in the same way he had seen spirited stallions do when challenged. "I am a ranger, and chose to bring my own detachment and offer our aid freely." She glanced beyond Lothar, her eyes roaming, and he knew she was studying the army spread out behind him. "I sensed this conflict was far more serious than my own rulers realized. Such a war could easily spread to us all, and if the Horde is as vicious as you say our forests will not remain inviolate for long." She turned back and met Lothar's gaze, and he could see that for all her beauty this was a strong woman used to battle. "We must stop them."
Lothar nodded. "I agree." He bowed. "Well, you are welcome here, milady, and I thank your lords for their token support. But I am far more grateful for your presence, and that of your rangers." He smiled. "We were just discussing our next move, and I would be pleased to hear your opinion. And once your people are settled I will ask you to send them scouting, that we may be sure the enemy is not yet upon us."
"We need no rest," Alleria assured him. "I will send them at once." She gestured, and the other elves approached. Each was garbed as she was, and moved as quietly, though to Lothar's eyes they lacked her singular grace. Alleria spoke with them, her words fluid and musical and completely foreign to Lothar, and the others nodded and then flitted past them with a brief nod, disappearing at a run off the docks and through the valley. Within minutes they had vanished from sight.
"They will scout and report back," Alleria explained. "If the Horde has come within two days' march of here, we will know of it."
"Excellent." Lothar ran a hand absently over his bare forehead. "If you would care to accompany us back to the command tent, then, milady, I will show you what we know thus far and we will hear your thoughts on the matter."
She laughed. "Of course. But you will have to stop calling me ‘milady' if you want me to pay proper attention. It is Alleria, nothing more."
Lothar nodded and turned, leading her off the docks. As he did he caught a glimpse of Turalyon's face and suppressed a grin. Now he knew where the gasp had come from.
Two days later, Lothar found he had nothing to smile about. Alleria's scouts had returned, as had Proudmoore's, and both had the same news to share. The Horde had taken Khaz Modan and used the dwarven mines to craft ships of their own, massive ungainly vessels of iron and timber that moved awkwardly but could carry thousands of orcs in their deep holds. These ships had carried the Horde swiftly across the water, and they had indeed aimed at the southern coast of Lordaeron. Not as far as Graymane's domain, however. It looked as if the Horde would come ashore in the Hillsbrad region, halfway between here and Gilneas. If the Alliance moved quickly, they could be there waiting when the Horde arrived.
"Gather the troops!" Lothar bellowed. "Leave everything nonessential—we can send people back for it later, if we survive! Right now we need speed more than anything else. Go! Go!" He turned to Khadgar as his other lieutenants ran from the command tent to muster their own troops, the kings right beside them. "And so it begins," he told the young—old wizard.
Khadgar nodded. "I thought we would have more time," he admitted.
"So did I," Lothar agreed. "But these orcs are impatient to conquer. That may be their downfall." He sighed. "At least, I hope so." He stared at the maps of Hillsbrad a moment, trying to envision the coming battle, then shook his head. There were things to do, many of them. And the battle would come soon enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"A re we ready?"
Turalyon gulped and nodded. "Ready, sir."
Lothar nodded and turned away, frowning, and for a second Turalyon worried the expression was because of him. Had he given the wrong response? Had Lord Lothar wanted more detail? Was there something else he was supposed to say or do?
Stop it, he warned himself. You're panicking. Again! Calm down. You're doing fine. He's frowning because we're about to go into battle, not because you've disappointed him.
Forcing himself not to think about it any more, Turalyon gave his gear one more inspection. The straps of his armor were all good and tight, his shield was steady on his arm, his warhammer was slung from the saddle—horn. He was ready. As ready as he could be.
Looking around, he studied the other figures nearby. Lothar was talking to Uther, and Turalyon envied both men their poise. They looked slightly impatient but otherwise completely calm. Was that just something you picked up as you got more experience? Khadgar was looking out over the plain, and must have sensed Turalyon's gaze because he turned and gave him a weary smile.
"Nervous?" the mage asked.
Turalyon grinned despite himself. "Very," he admitted. He had been raised with the typical sense of respect but wariness toward magi but Khadgar was different. Perhaps it was because they were near the same age, though the mage looked decades older. Or perhaps it was simply that Khadgar didn't hold himself above non—magi the way Turalyon had seen other wizards do. They had struck up an easy conversation that first day, after Archbishop Faol had introduced all of them, and Turalyon had found himself liking Khadgar. He liked Lothar as well, but was in awe of the Champion's experience and martial skill. Khadgar was probably more powerful personally, but somehow he was more approachable, and he and Turalyon had become fast friends. He was the only one Turalyon felt safe telling about his fears.