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."
Alleria cursed again. He was right, of course. She knew that. But that didn't stop her from wanting to run full—speed, not caring about potential obstacles. She had seen the Horde, seen what it could do. She knew the dangers it posed. And now it was heading for her home! And her people had no idea such a danger was approaching!
"Just get them moving!" she snapped at Turalyon, and sprinted ahead, scouting the path. She half—hoped she would come across a few trolls or orcs, but knew they were still too far ahead for her to see. The Horde had a significant lead on them right now, and if those human soldiers could not move beyond their current snail's pace it would only increase!
"She's worried," Khadgar said quietly as they watched Alleria disappear from view.
"I know," Turalyon replied. "I can't blame her. I'd be worried too, if the Horde was heading toward my home. I was when we thought they would march toward Capital City, and that's as close to a home as I've had these past ten years or more." He sighed. "Plus she's only got half the Alliance army at her back. And only me to command it."
"Stop selling yourself short," his friend warned. "You're a good commander and a noble Paladin, one of the Silver Hand, the finest in Lordaeron. She's lucky to have you."
Turalyon smiled at his friend, grateful for the reassurance. He only wished he believed it. Oh, he knew he was decent enough in combat—he'd had sufficient training, and their first clash with the Horde had proven he could translate that into real fighting skill. But a leader? Before this war he had never had to lead anything, not even prayers. What did he know about leading anything?
True, as a boy he had been forward enough, often devising the games he and his friends played or commanding one of their mock—armies when they played at war. But once he'd joined the priesthood all that had changed. He had taken orders from the senior priests, and then after they had brought him to Faol he'd followed the archbishop's instructions. Upon joining the ranks of the first Paladins in training, he had fallen under Uther's guidance, as had they all—Uther had a powerful personality that did not brook dispute. He was also the oldest of them, and the closest to the archbishop.
Turalyon had been surprised Lothar had not chosen Uther as his lieutenant, though perhaps he felt the older Paladin's faith might make it difficult for him to interact with less pious men. Turalyon had been honored and shocked to be granted such a rank, and kept wondering what he could have done to deserve it. If he did deserve it.
Lothar seemed to think so. And the Champion of Stormwind had enough experience and wisdom to know. He was an incredible warrior and an amazing leader, someone the men followed automatically, the kind of man who demanded respect and obedience from everyone who met him. Already Alliance warriors called him "the Lion of Azeroth," from the sight of his shield flashing through the orc ranks at Hillsbrad. Turalyon wondered if he'd ever have even a portion of that presence.
He also wondered if he'd ever have a fraction of Uther's piety. And of his faith, or the powers that bestowed.
Turalyon believed in the Holy Light, of course. He had since he was a small child, and serving in the priesthood had brought him closer to that glorious presence. But he had never felt it directly, not its full strength, just glimmers of its attention or the outpouring of its effect on another. And after seeing the Horde, and facing them in battle, he found his faith weaker than ever.
The Holy Light, after all, resided in every living being, in every heart and soul. It was everywhere, the energy that bound all sentient beings together as one. But the Horde was terrible, monstrous. They did things no rational being could do; depraved, horrible things. They were truly beyond redemption. And how could such creatures be part of the Holy Light? How could its brilliant illumination reside within such utter darkness? And if it did, what did that say about its strength, that its purity and love could be so overpowered? But if it did not, if the Horde was not part of the Holy Light, then it was not universal, as Turalyon had been taught. And what did that mean about its presence and its strength, and about the relationship of every being to every other being?