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."