"— don't know how far we can trust him," the pudgy man was saying. "He did not seem very eager to accede to our wishes."

"Of course not," Kael'thas replied shortly. "I doubt you would be any more open and trusting if you had been through as much as he had. We do not need to trust him, regardless. We only need him to provide us an introduction to Lothar, and to mediate between us and any others. I am sure we can trust him not to undermine our efforts, not to turn against us, and not to withhold any evidence and information we might need. I do not see where we would want or need any more than that."

"This other world, Draenor, that troubles me," Krasus muttered. "If the orcs could pass through that portal, so could others—from either side. We know they had ogres there but have no idea what else to expect. That means they could have even worse creatures waiting eagerly for their chance to enter and then devastate this world. Also, there is nothing to stop the orcs from retreating to their home whenever they feel it necessary. Fighting an enemy with an impregnable home base becomes considerably more difficult, as he can pop out, attack, and then disappear again. We should make finding and destroying that portal our first priority."

"Agreed," said Kael'thas. "Destroy the portal." The others nodded. "Good, that's settled. What else?"

They began talking about something more mundane, schedules for cleaning the Violet Citadel's laboratories, and Khadgar let the scrying sphere fade away, image and all. That had gone better than he had expected. Kael'thas was right, he had gone through a great deal in the past three years, and he had half—expected the Kirin Tor to grow furious with his lack of respect. But they had not said anything at all and seemed to believe his story without any prompting, which certainly made for a pleasant change.

Now he just needed to teleport himself back to Capital City and sleep so that he would be awake enough to be of any use tomorrow.

A week later, Lothar stood in a command tent in southern Lordaeron not far from Southshore where he and Khadgar had first arrived. They had chosen this area because it was central enough to reach any part of the continent quickly, particularly by boat. Outside, his troops marshaled and drilled and slept. Inside, he and the Lordaeron kings and the four men he had chosen for lieutenants clustered around a table and stared at the map laid across it. Lothar had made Uther his liaison to the Silver Hand and to the Church—the Paladins had made surprising progress in their fighting skills and in wielding the Light. Khadgar was both his contact with the magi and his most objective adviser. Proudmoore controlled the navy, of course—it hadn't even been a question. But Turalyon, young Turalyon Lothar had made his second in command. The youth had impressed both him and Khadgar, and had shown himself to be smart, focused, loyal, and hard—working, even if he did still treat Lothar as if he were some legendary figure. Lothar was sure the lad would grow out of that, however, and could not think of anyone better qualified to serve as his right hand. Turalyon was clearly still nervous about such a heavy responsibility, and Lothar had twice been forced to remind him not to jab absently at the map. At least, not with a knife.

They were discussing the same things they had been discussing for a week now—which way the Horde would most likely go, where they might attack, and how to bring the Alliance troops there as quickly as possible, at least without trampling the very fields and crops they had united to protect. Just as Graymane was insisting for the tenth time that the Alliance forces be stationed all around Gilneas's borders in case the orcs somehow appeared there first, a scout burst in.

"Sir, you have to see this, sir!" he shouted, trying to stop his forward momentum, bow, and salute, all at the same time. "They're here!"

"Who's here, soldier?" Lothar frowned. He was trying to read the scout's expression and having a hard time of it, the man was so flustered. He didn't look terrified, however, which meant Lothar could take a deep breath and try to get his own racing heart back under control. Because no terror meant it wasn't the Horde. There was fear on the scout's face, but it was mixed with respect, even awe. Lothar had never seen anything quite like it.

"The elves, sir!" the scout all but shouted. "The elves are here!"

"The elves?" Lothar stared at the scout, trying to process that fact, then turned and glared at the assembled kings. As he had suspected, one of them coughed and looked slightly guilty.

"We need allies," King Terenas explained. "And the elves are a mighty race. I thought it best to contact them immediately."

"Without consulting me?" Lothar was furious. "And what if they have sent an entire army, and suddenly announce they are in control? What if the Horde arrives while we are working to assimilate them into our own forces? You do not conceal details like this from your military commander! It could mean our deaths, or at the very least the deaths of many of our people!"

Terenas nodded soberly. "You are correct, of course," he answered, reminding Lothar once again why he liked the king. Most men were unwilling to accept fault, and often those with authority were even worse about it. But Terenas took full responsibility for his actions, good or bad. "I should have consulted you first. I felt time was of the essence, but that is no excuse. It will not happen again."

Lothar nodded gruffly. "Fine. Let's go and see what these elves look like, then." He marched out of the tent, the others following close behind him.

The first thing Lothar saw as he peeled back the tent flap and stepped outside were his own troops. Their army filled the valley and beyond, stretching across the landscape, and for an instant Lothar felt a rush of pride and confidence. How could anyone, anything, stand against so mighty a force? But then he saw again in his mind's eye the Horde washing over Stormwind, an unstoppable emerald sea, and grew somber again. Still, the Alliance army was many times larger than Stormwind's had been. They would at least give the Horde serious pause.

Glancing past his troops Lothar's gaze came to the shore, and the sea beyond. Proudmoore's ships were anchored all along the coastline, from small fast scout ships to massive destroyers, creating a forest of masts and sails across the waves. But many of them had pulled back from the docks, creating an open channel, and sailing up that space were a cluster of ships such as Lothar had never seen.

"Elven destroyers," Proudmoore whispered at his elbow. "Faster than our own, and lighter—they carry less weaponry but make up for that with speed. An excellent, excellent addition to our forces." The navy admiral frowned. "But so few? I count only four, and eight smaller vessels. This is a single battle group."

"Perhaps more are following them," Turalyon suggested from Lothar's other side.

But Proudmoore shook his head. "That would not be their way," he answered. "They would all arrive together."

"A dozen ships is still a dozen more than we had before," Khadgar pointed out. "And whatever troops they carry as well."

Lothar nodded. "We should go and greet them," he said, and the others all agreed. Together they set out across the valley. Perenolde and Graymane were not used to such exertion and were gasping in minutes but the rest were fit and they moved briskly, reaching the docks just as the first ship glided to a stop beside it.

A tall, lithe figure leaped across, landing lightly on the rough wooden pier. Long golden hair caught the sunlight, and Lothar heard at least one of his companions gasp behind him. As the figure drew closer Lothar saw it was a woman, and a stunning one at that. Her slender features were delicate but strong, as was her lean, willowy body. She wore forest green and oak brown, a strange lightweight breastplate over shirt and breeches and a long cloak with the hood tossed back, and leather gloves covered her arms to the elbow just as boots protected her legs to the knees. A slim sword hung at one hip, a pouch and horn at the other, and across her back were slung a longbow and a quiver of arrows. Lothar had seen many women over the years, some of them as beautiful as this elf approaching them, but he had never seen one who so easily combined strength and grace. He could understand why several of his companions already seemed smitten.