Pleased with himself, Turalyon glanced up just in time to see a second troll step out onto a nearby branch. Its eyes were narrowed in hate and its spear was pulled back to throw. Turalyon knew at once that the weapon was aimed at him, and that he was not strong enough to block it or fast enough to dodge it. He prepared himself for the worst, closing his eyes and listening for the sound of the flying spear against the rising wind.

Instead he heard a strange, shrill shriek, mingled with a deep bellow then a massive thunderclap, and behind that a cry of sudden pain. Opening his eyes again Turalyon saw an amazing sight. The troll was falling from its perch, hands still clutching at the side of its face, which appeared to be crushed. Above it hovered a majestic creature, one Turalyon had heard of but never seen before. It was built like a lion, with the same tawny fur, but instead of a feline head it had a fierce bird's visage, the beak wide and emitting the shriek he had already heard. Its front legs ended in deadly talons but its rear legs had thick cat—like pads and a long tail swayed behind it. Great wings were flared out along its sides, and feathers covered its head and trailed off along its shoulders. And a man rode it like a steed.

No, not a man, Turalyon saw, though of course he already knew. He had heard of the Wildhammer dwarves, though he had not met one before. Taller and leaner than their Bronzebeard cousins, the Wildhammers were still shorter and stouter than a man, with heavy chest and thick corded arms. They wielded stormhammers, like the massive weapon even now returning to this dwarf's hand, and clearly that had caused the troll's demise.

The dwarf saw Turalyon looking at him and grinned, raising his hammer in salute. Turalyon raised his own hammer in return, then spurred his horse forward and targeted another orc. With the dwarves circling overhead he no longer worried about an attack from above, leaving him free to concentrate on the Horde. The orcs, on the other hand, had to worry about attacks from every direction except beneath their feet, leaving them confused and unnerved. And as Lothar had hoped the trees forced the orcs to move in small groups instead of a single mass, allowing the Alliance soldiers to pick them off one cluster at a time.

Hours later, Kurdran welcomed the human leaders into his home. Their commander was a big man, even bigger than most, with a good dwarf—like beard and a long braid even if the top of his head was almost bare. He carried himself like a warrior born, and Kurdran could tell the man had seen more than his share of battles, yet those blue eyes remained alert and the golden lion head on his shield and breastplate still gleamed. The younger one, woefully unbearded, seemed less sure of himself, but Zoradan said he'd seen him use that big hammer almost as well as a dwarf. There was something else about the lad, a sense of calm, that reminded Kurdran of his shaman. Perhaps the lad was a shaman himself, or otherwise in touch with the elements or the spirits? Certainly the third one, the violet—robed man with the short, scruffy white beard but the young man's walk, he was a wizard, that was plain enough. And then there was the elven lass, lovely and strong and lithe, as they all were, with her green and her bow and her laughing eyes. Kurdran had rarely met such interesting people, and he would have been happy to do under any circumstances. Right now he was even more pleased to make their acquaintance.

"Greetings, laddies—and lass!" he told them, gesturing to the chairs and stools and cushions scattered around the room. "Ye are welcome indeed! We feared those greenskins—the ones you call orcs—would overrun our homes, they were so many! But your arrival put an end to that, and together we'll be driving them from the Hinterlands! I am in your debt."

The big warrior sat on a stool near Kurdran's own chair, idly adjusting the massive sword slung across his back. "You lead the Wildhammers?" he asked.

"I am Kurdran Wildhammer," Kurdran replied. "I am chief thane, so aye, they will go where I lead."

"Good." The warrior nodded. "I am Anduin Lothar, former Knight of Stormwind and now commander of the Alliance forces." He explained about the Horde, and about Stormwind's fate. "Will you join us?"

Kurdran frowned and tugged at his moustache. "You say they be out to conquer all the land?" Lothar nodded. "And they came in great black iron boats?" Another nod. "Then they have been through Khaz Modan," he decided, shaking his head. "We've not heard from our kin in Ironforge for many weeks. I had wondered why. This explains it."

"They conquered the mines and used the iron ore to make those ships," the wizard said.

"Aye." Kurdran bared his teeth. "We Wildhammers have had many quarrels with the Bronzebeard clan over the years—it is why me people left Khaz Modan at all. But still they are our cousins, our kin. And these foul creatures, this Horde, attacked them. And now it has attacked us. Only your timely aid saved us from suffering our cousins' fate." He pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. "Aye, we will join you! We must be striking back at these orcs, until this Horde canna threaten anyone!" He stood and extended his hand. "Ye have the Wildhammers' aid."

Lothar stood as well, and gravely accepted the clasp. "Thank you," was all he said, but it was enough.

"At least we have driven them from the Hinterlands," the clean—faced youth pointed out. "Your home is safe."

"That it is," Kurdran agreed. "For now. But where will these orcs be going next? Will they turn back toward the Hillsbrad? Or up toward Capital City? Or be heading north to join the rest o' their foul kin?"

Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say, for suddenly his new allies were all leaping to their feet. "What did you say?" the elven lass demanded. "About the north?"

"That they might join the rest o' their kind?" Kurdran asked, puzzled. She nodded quickly and he shrugged. "My scouts say we saw but a fraction of this Horde here. The rest turned north, skirting our forests, and continued on toward the mountains." He studied their faces. "Ye didna know this?"

The clean—faced youth and the mage were shaking their heads, but already the older warrior was cursing. "It was a feint!" he said, almost spitting the words. "And we fell for it!"

"A feint?" Kurdran frowned. "Me home was at risk! This was no mere ploy!"

But this Lothar shook his head. "No, the threat was real," he agreed. "But whoever commands the Horde is smart. He knew we would step in to aid you here. He took the rest of his forces north, and left a portion to slow us down. Now he's got distance on us."

"And he's heading for Quel'Thalas!" the elven lass cried. "We have to warn them!"

Lothar nodded. "We'll rally the troops at once and set off again. If we move fast—"

But the lass cut him off. "There's no time!" she insisted. "You said yourself the Horde has distance on us. We've lost days already! And gathering the troops will only slow us down further." She shook her head. "I'll go myself."

"No." The voice was quiet but the tone brooked no resistance. "You'll not go alone," Lothar told her, ignoring her glare. "Turalyon, take the rest of the cavalry and half the troops. You're in charge. Khadgar, you go with him. I want the Alliance present to help defend Quel'Thalas." He turned back toward Kurdran, who was impressed. This man knew how to lead! "There will still be orcs here in the forest," he warned, "and we can't risk letting them get behind us as well as before us. We'll stay and make sure the forest is completely clean, then we'll move forward and rejoin the others."

Kurdran nodded. "I thank ye for your aid," he replied formally. "And when the Hinterlands are once again secure, my warriors and I will be accompanying ye north to deal with the rest of this Horde."