Four days later, Doomhammer and his chieftains looked down from a foothill that stood between the last mountain peak and the start of the great forest. The rest of the Horde was massing behind them, weary from the climbing and marching but shaking off fatigue now that their next target lay before them. But none were as excited as the forest trolls.

"We be goin' now?" Zul'jin looked eagerly at Doomhammer, who nodded.

"Yes, go now," the Warchief agreed. "Bring the fight to the elves. Spare no one and nothing." The forest troll leader grinned and tilted his head back to let loose a strange warbling cry. Another forest troll appeared immediately, just beyond where the two leaders stood, moving as silently and suddenly as a ghost. A third dropped from the rocks overhead to stand beside him, and another beside that one, and more after them, until the small valley behind the hill was filled with the tall, lanky forest creatures. There were far more than Doomhammer remembered Zul'jin bringing with him, and his surprise must have shown because the forest troll leader grinned through his everpresent scarf.

"Found more," he explained, laughing. "Witherbark tribe. They be joinin' us."

Doomhammer nodded. He was not particularly afraid of them, though the trolls were taller than him. He had faced bigger and stronger foes before and always he had been the one to walk away. Besides, in the months since forging their alliance Zul'jin had impressed him. The forest troll was a clever one but he also had honor. He had promised his people's aid to the Horde and would not go back on that. Doomhammer was willing to risk his life on that belief.

Of course, the fact that the forest trolls apparently hated these high elves certainly helped. The trolls had been all in favor of turning north toward Quel'Thalas, and had been almost frantic to breach the elven forest and begin finding and attacking the elves themselves. Doomhammer had insisted they wait, however. He wanted the rest of the Horde properly in position before the trolls struck. And Zul'jin had managed to keep his brethren in line, even though he was just as eager to strike as they were.

But now the time for waiting was over. With a howl Zul'jin leaped forward and raced down the hills. He did not slow as he struck the edge of the forest but jumped up into the trees, springing easily from limb to limb. The rest of his people followed him, bounding into the trees and disappearing from view, with only the rustle of leaves and the occasional growl to mark their presence. But Doomhammer knew they would make their way deep into the massive forest, seeking elves and killing any they found. Soon the forest's defenders would know about the trolls' invasion and would rush to meet them.

And that would keep the elves busy, too busy to check their borders for other threats.

Doomhammer signaled, and the rest of the Horde swept over the hill as well, marching steadily across the narrow strip of grassland and at last reaching the first row of trees.

"Now, Warchief?" a nearby orc warrior asked, axe at the ready. Doomhammer nodded, and the warrior turned back to the tree beside him, its trunk thick from age and smooth as silk, its leaves rich and green and smelling of nature and life and bounty—and with a mighty swing the orc chipped a large splinter of bark and wood from its trunk. Then he swung again, expanding the chip.

"No no!" Doomhammer snatched the axe from the startled warrior, shoving him back. "Do not approach it at an angle, but straight on," he instructed. He pulled the axe back, bunching his muscles, and then swung with all his force, imbedding the axe partway through the trunk. Then with a mighty wrench he retrieved the weapon and struck again in the same spot, deepening the wound. A third blow saw the axe almost through to the other side, only a small portion of wood and bark remaining. Doomhammer pulled the axe back, angling it upward as he did so its head pushed upward on the trunk, and the tree tipped and fell, snapping that remaining section from its own weight and momentum. The ground shook as the tree hit, and leaves and berries flew everywhere.

"There, like that." He tossed the axe back to the warrior, who nodded and moved to the next tree in line. A second warrior was already stepping up to the felled tree, axe in hand, ready to begin the task of chopping the great tree into smaller segments.

Beyond him more warriors were about the same task. Carrying supplies for an army as large as the Horde was a hopeless task, so instead they took what they needed from the lands they had conquered. And the wood from these trees would keep the Horde's fires burning for weeks. Perhaps even months. The fact that every tree they cut down deprived the elves of additional protection only made the task sweeter.

Doomhammer was leaning upon his hammer, watching the work progress, when he saw motion from the corner of his eye. A short, heavy—set orc with a bristling beard was heading toward him, scarred face twisted in an expression Doomhammer wasn't sure he liked. Gul'dan was excited about something.

"What is it?" Doomhammer demanded before the chief warlock had reached him.

"Something you should see, mighty Doomhammer," Gul'dan replied, sweeping into a low bow. Cho'gall chuckled and aped the gesture behind him. "Something that could aid the Horde greatly."

Doomhammer nodded and swung his hammer up onto his shoulder, gesturing for Gul'dan to precede him. The warlock turned and led both Doomhammer and Cho'gall back around, perhaps a hundred feet from where he had stood. Here stood a massive stone, forcing a gap in the trees. Its rough surface was carved with runes and even Doomhammer, who had no gift at all for the supernatural or spiritual, could feel the power radiating off this crude monolith.

"What is it?" he demanded.

"I do not know exactly," Gul'dan answered, stroking his beard. "But it is very powerful. I believe these Runestones, for there are others spaced evenly around the forest's edge, serve as a mystic barrier."

"They did not stop us," Doomhammer pointed out.

"No, because we used nothing more than our own hands and feet and blades," Gul'dan replied. "I believe these Runestones restrict the use of magic within, most likely allowing only the elves' own magic to function. I have tried tapping my magic here and I cannot, but if I move ten paces away, toward the hills, my spells return."

Doomhammer eyed the large hunk of stone with a new appreciation. "So we take them and set them around our enemies and they cannot cast spells," he mused, wondering how many orcs it would take to move the monoliths, and how they would transport them.

"That is one approach, yes," Gul'dan agreed, his tone clearly saying what he thought of such an idea. "But I have another in mind, my warchief. If you will indulge me a moment." Doomhammer nodded. He did not trust Gul'dan, not at all, but the warlock had proven useful with the creation of the death knights. He was curious what the stocky orc had in mind now.

"These stones contain immense magic," Gul'dan explained. "I believe I can harness that power for our own purposes."

‘What do you mean?" Doomhammer demanded. He knew better than to give Gul'dan free rein. No, he wanted specifics.

"I can use these to create an altar," Gul'dan replied. "An Altar of Storms. By channeling the energy from these stones, I can transform creatures. We will make them more powerful, more dangerous, though they may suffer some disfigurement."

"I doubt any orc will let you experiment upon him a second time," Doomhammer pointed out sharply. He still remembered quite clearly the night Gul'dan had offered the so—called Cup of Unity, the Chalice of Rebirth, to every chieftain in the Horde, and to any warriors they deemed worthy. Doomhammer had not trusted the warlock, even then, and when Blackhand had invited him to drink he had refused, saying he did not wish to take away from his chieftain by sharing such power with him. But he had seen what the liquid had done to his friends and clanmates. It had made them larger and stronger, yes. But it had also turned their eyes a glowing red and their already greenish skin a vivid green, signs of demonic taint. And it had driven them all mad with bloodlust, with rage, with hunger. It had turned the once—noble orcs into animals, crazed killers. Some of the orcs had regretted their transformation later, but by then it was of course too late.