A violet flicker from the corner of his eye distracted Khadgar, and he turned—and struggled not to gape. Striding into the throneroom was a legend. Tall and cadaverously thin, with a long, gray—streaked brown beard and mustache and matching bushy eyebrows, his bald head covered by a gold—edged skullcap, was the Archmage Antonidas. In all his years in Dalaran Khadgar had seen the Kirin Tor leader only twice, once in passing and once when they informed Khadgar they were sending him to Medivh. To see the master wizard now, openly taking his place beside the other rulers, looking every inch as regal as any monarch, filled Khadgar with awe and a surprising wave of homesickness. He missed Dalaran, and found himself wondering if he would ever be able to return to the wizard city. Perhaps after the wars were over. Assuming they survived.
Antonidas had been the last to arrive, and when he reached the area just before the dais Terenas stood and clapped his hands—the sound reverberated and conversations died away, as everyone turned their attention toward their royal host.
"Thank you all for coming," Terenas began, his voice carrying easily across the room. "I know the request seemed sudden, but we have matters of grave import to discuss and time seems to be of the essence." He paused, then turned to the man standing on the dais beside him. "I present to you Anduin Lothar, Champion of Stormwind. He has come here as a messenger and more, perhaps a savior. I think it best if I let him tell you himself what he has seen and what we may expect soon ourselves."
Lothar stepped forward. Terenas had provided him with fresh clothing, of course, but Lothar had insisted on keeping his armor rather than trading it for undamaged Lordaeron gear. His greatsword still rose above one shoulder, a fact Khadgar was sure many of the monarchs had noticed, but it was the Champion's face and words that caught their attention right from the start. For once Lothar's inability to hide his emotions worked to his advantage, letting the assembled kings see the truth in his words.
"Your Majesties," Lothar began, "I thank you for attending this meeting, and for listening to what I have to say. I am no poet or diplomat but a warrior, so I will keep my words brief and blunt." He took a deep breath. "I must tell you that my home, Stormwind, is no more." Several of the monarchs gasped. Others paled. "It fell before a Horde of creatures known as orcs," Lothar explained. "They are terrible foes, as tall as a man and far stronger, with bestial features, green skin, and red eyes." This time no one laughed. "This Horde appeared recently and began harassing our patrols," Lothar continued, "but those were just their raiding parties. When their full force marched we were astounded. They literally have thousands, tens of thousands, of warriors—enough to cover the land like a foul shadow. And they are implacable foes, strong and cruel and merciless." He sighed. "We fought them as best we could. But it was not enough. They besieged our city, after wreaking havoc across the land itself, and though we held them back for a time they finally breached our defenses. King Llane died at their hands." Khadgar noticed Lothar did not say how. Perhaps mentioning the half—orc assassin they had trusted as a scout and ally would weaken his recounting. Or perhaps Lothar simply did not want to think about it. Khadgar could understand that. He didn't want to dwell on the matter either—he had considered Garona a friend, and had been saddened by her betrayal, even though he had been with her when they saw a vision of it, back in Medivh's tower. "As did most of our nobles," Lothar was continuing. "I was charged with seeing his son and as many people to safety as possible, and with warning the rest of the world what had happened. For this Horde is not native to our land, not even to our world. And they will not be content to control a single continent. They will want the rest of the world as well."
"You are saying they are coming here," Proudmoore commented, more a statement than a question, when Lothar paused.
"Yes." Lothar's simple response sent a ripple of surprise—and perhaps fear—through the room. But Proudmoore nodded.
"Do they have ships?" he asked.
"I do not know," Lothar replied. "We had not seen any before now, but then we had not seen the Horde itself until this past year." He frowned. "And if they did not have ships before, they certainly have them now—they raided all along our coastline, and while they sank many vessels others are simply missing."
"We can assume, then, that they have the means to cross the ocean." Proudmoore did not look surprised by this, and Khadgar guessed the admiral had already assumed the worst. "They could be sailing toward us even now."
"They can march over land as well," Trollbane growled. "Don't forget that."
"Aye, they can indeed," Lothar agreed. "We first encountered them to the east, near the Swamp of Sorrows, and they crossed all Azeroth to reach Stormwind. If they turn north they can cross the Burning Steppes and the mountains and come upon Lordaeron from the south."
"The south?" That was Genn Graymane. "They shall not pass us! I will crush any who attempt landfall on my southern coast!"
"You do not understand." Lothar looked and sounded weary. "You have not faced them, and so their numbers and strength are difficult to comprehend. But I tell you now, you cannot stand against them." He faced the assembled monarchs, pride and grief clear on his face. "Stormwind's armies were great," he assured them softly. "My warriors were trained and seasoned. We had faced the orcs before and defeated them. But that was merely their vanguard. Before the Horde itself we fell like addled children, like old men, like wheat." His voice was flat, his words carrying a ring of grim certainty. "They will sweep across the mountains and across your lands and across you."
"What do you propose we do, then?" That was Archbishop Faol, and his calm voice soothed the tempers Khadgar saw ready to erupt. No one liked being called a fool, especially a king, and especially not in front of his peers.
"We need to band together," Lothar insisted. "None of you alone can withstand them. But all of us together…might."
"You say this threat is coming, and I would not dispute it," Perenolde commented, his smooth voice cutting across the other kings. "And you say we must band together to end the threat. Yet I wonder, have you tried other methods to resolve the matter? Surely these…orcs…are rational beings? Surely they have some goal in mind? Perhaps we can negotiate with them?"
Lothar shook his head, his pained expression showing just how foolish he found this discussion. "They want this world, our world," he answered slowly, as if talking to a child. "They will not settle for less. We did send messengers, envoys, ambassadors." He smiled, a grim, hard smile. "Most of them came back in pieces. If they came back at all."
Khadgar saw several of the kings murmuring to each other, and from their tone suspected they still did not understand the danger they all faced. He sighed and began to step forward, wondering even as he did why they would listen to him any more than they had to Lothar. Yet he had to try.
Fortunately, another moved forward as well, and though he also wore robes rather than armor this new figure carried more authority by far.
"Hear me," Antonidas cried, his voice thin but still powerful. He raised his carved staff high and light burst from its tip, dazzling the other men present. "Hear me!" he demanded again, and this time all turned and quieted to listen. "I have received reports before now of this new menace," the archmage admitted. "The wizards of Azeroth were first intrigued and then terrified by the orcs' appearance, and sent many letters with information and a request for aid." He frowned. "I fear we did not listen as well as we might have. We appreciated their danger but thought the orcs little more than a local nuisance, confined to that continent. It seems we were wrong. But I tell you that they are dangerous—many I respect have confirmed this. We disregard the Champion's words at our own peril."
"If they are so dangerous, why did the wizards there not deal with them?" Graymane demanded. "Why did they not use their magic to end the threat?"
"Because the orcs possess magic of their own," Antonidas countered. "Potent magic. Most of their warlocks are weaker than our own wizards, at least from what my fellows reported, yet they have
far greater numbers and can work in unison, something my own brethren have never found easy." Khadgar was sure he heard some bitterness in the old archmage's voice, and understood it well. If there was one thing every member of the Kirin Tor valued, it was his independence. Getting even two wizards to work together was difficult enough—the thought of managing more than that was almost beyond imagining.
"Our wizards did fight back," Lothar explained. "They helped turn the tide of several battles. But the archmage is correct. We lacked the numbers to stand against them, magically as well as physically. For every orc spellcaster killed, another rose to take his place, and two more beside him. And they traveled with raiding parties and smaller armies to protect them from more mundane dangers, lending their magic to increase the power of the warriors around them." He frowned. "Our greatest wizard, Medivh, fell to the Horde's darkness. Most of our other wizards were lost as well. I do not think magic alone will turn them back." Khadgar noticed that Lothar did not mention how or why Medivh had died and appreciated the warrior's tact. This was not the place for such revelations. He did not miss the sharp glance Antonidas directed his way, however, and suppressed a sigh. At some point soon, the ruling council of the Kirin Tor would demand a full explanation. Khadgar knew they would not be satisfied with less than the truth. And he suspected withholding anything could prove deadly to them all, since it tied so closely to the Horde's presence and early activities.
"I find it strange," Perenolde's soft purr cut through the conversation again, "that a stranger to our shores should be so concerned for our survival." He glanced at Lothar with what looked suspiciously like a smirk and Khadgar resisted the urge to set the oily king's beard alight. "Forgive me for treading upon fresh wounds, sir, but your own kingdom is gone, your king dead, your prince little more than a boy, your lands overrun. Is this not so?" Lothar nodded, grinding his teeth—presumably to keep from snapping the arrogant king's head off. "You have brought word of this threat to us, for which we are grateful. Yet you speak repeatedly of what we must do, how we must unite." He made a great show of looking around the chamber. Varian was not there—Terenas had taken him in, treating the still shaken prince as a member of his own household, and both he and Lothar had agreed that the boy should not have to deal with additional scrutiny right now. "I do not see anyone else from your kingdom here, and you have said yourself that the prince is but a boy and the lands a conquered territory. If we were to consider your suggestion and unite, what could you possibly add to the assembly? Beyond your own martial prowess, of course."
Lothar opened his mouth to respond, fury evident in every feature, but he was cut off again. By King Terenas, surprisingly enough.
"I will not have my guest insulted so," Lordaeron's ruler announced, the steel plain in his voice. "He has brought us this news at great personal peril and has shown nothing but honor and compassion despite his own personal grief!" Perenolde nodded and half—bowed a silent if mocking apology. "Further, you are wrong to think him alone or invaluable," Terenas continued. "Prince Varian Wrynn is now my honored guest, and will be so until such time as he chooses to depart. I have pledged myself to aiding him in regaining his kingdom." Several of the other monarchs murmured at that, and Khadgar knew what they were thinking. Terenas had just renounced any claims he might make to Stormwind and warned the other kings that Varian had his support, all in a single statement. It was a clever move, and his respect for Lordaeron's king rose still higher. "Sir Lothar has brought with him others from his kingdom," Terenas continued, "including some soldiers. While their numbers are not significant when compared to the threat we face, their experience in dealing with the orcs firsthand could be invaluable. Many more still wander what was Stormwind, confused and unguided. These may rally upon hearing their Champion's call, giving us additional numbers. Lothar himself is a seasoned commander and tactician, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for his personal abilities." He paused, and glanced at Lothar in what looked curiously like a question. Khadgar was intrigued to see his companion nod. The Champion and the king had met several times while waiting for the other monarchs to arrive and Khadgar had not been privy to all their discussions, but now he wondered what exactly he had missed.
"Finally, there is the question of his being a stranger." Terenas smiled. "Though Lothar himself has not graced this continent with his presence before now, he is far from a stranger, for he has strong ties to this land and to our own kingdoms. For he is of the Arathi bloodline, indeed the last of their noble line, and thus has as much right to speak at this council as any of us!"
The revelation caused a stir among the other kings, and Khadgar also looked at his companion with new eyes. An Arathi! He had heard of Arathor, of course, as had everyone in Lordaeron—it had been the first nation on the continent, long ago, and the people there had formed strong ties with the elves. Together the two races had fought against a massive troll army at the foot of the Alterac Mountains, and together the two races broke the troll threat and shattered the troll nation forever. The Arathorian Empire had prospered and expanded before finally, years later, collapsing into the smaller nations that covered the continent today. The Arathor capital, Strom, had been abandoned for the lusher northern lands, and the last of the Arathi had disappeared. Some stories claimed they had gone south, past Khaz Modan, into the wilderness of Azeroth. Strom had become the center of Stromgarde, Trollbane's domain.
"It is true," Lothar announced in ringing tones, his eyes daring any man to call him a liar. "I descend from King Thoradin, the founder of Arathor. My family settled in Azeroth after the empire collapsed, and founded a new nation there, which became known as Stormwind."
"So you have come to claim sovereignty over us?" Graymane demanded, though his face showed he did not believe it.
"No," Lothar assured him. "My ancestors surrendered any claim upon Lordaeron long ago, when they chose to depart. But I still have ties to this land, which my people helped conquer and civilize."
"And he can still call upon ancient pacts for aid," Terenas pointed out. "The elves swore to support Thoradin and his line in times of need. They will still honor that commitment."
That drew appreciative glances and whispers from several, and Khadgar nodded. Suddenly Lothar was more than just a warrior or even a commander in their eyes. Now he was a potential ambassador to the elves. And if that ancient, magic—wielding race chose to ally with them, suddenly the Horde did not seem nearly as unstoppable.
"This is a great deal to take in," Perenolde commented dryly. "Perhaps we should give ourselves time to consider all we have heard, and all that must be done to protect our lands from this new threat."
"Agreed," Terenas said, not even bothering to ask the others their opinion. "Food has been set out in the dining hall, and I invite all of you to join me, not as kings but as neighbors and friends. Let us not discuss this matter over our food, but mull it to ourselves, that we may approach it more clearly after we have digested both the food and the danger that lay before us."
Khadgar shook his head as the monarchs nodded and began moving toward the door. Perenolde was a wily one, that was certain. He had seen that his fellow rulers' support was swinging toward Lothar and had found a way to regroup. Khadgar suspected the Alterac king would announce after lunch that he had reconsidered and that clearly Lothar's idea had merit. That way he could avoid losing face or being forced into a junior position in the upcoming alliance, which it seemed the kings would likely agree upon soon.
As he followed the monarchs from the room, Khadgar noticed a movement above and off to one side. Turning he caught a brief glimpse of two heads peeking out from one of the upper balconies. One was dark—haired and solemn, and he recognized Prince Varian. Of course the Stormwind heir would want to know what took place in this meeting. The second head was fair—haired and younger, a mere boy, standing back far enough that Varian probably did not realize he had a shadow. The boy saw him looking and grinned before disappearing behind the balcony's back curtain.
So, Khadgar thought to himself. Young Prince Arthas also wants to know what his father and the others are planning. And why not? All Lordaeron would be his one day—provided they could keep the Horde from overrunning it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Doomhammer was speaking with one of his lieutenants, Rend Blackhand of the Black Tooth Grin clan, when a scout came running up. Though the orc warrior clearly had news to import, he stopped several paces from them and waited, catching his breath, until Doomhammer glanced in his direction and nodded.
"Trolls!" the orc scout announced, still gasping. " Forest trolls, a full war party, by the looks of it!"
"Trolls?" Rend laughed. "What, are they attacking us? I'd thought they were smarter than ogres, not dumber!"
Doomhammer had to agree. The one time he had encountered forest trolls he had been impressed and a little disquieted by their cunning. Though the trolls were taller than orcs they were leaner and more agile, particularly in the forests, which made them a significant threat within such places. Crossing the waters to reach this island, however, did not match what he had seen of their behavior.
Tides of Darkness (world of warcraf) Page 4