As the captain — no, former captain, the spellcaster had to remind himself — mounted, a new transformation seem to overcome him. A grim determination spread across his onceinnocent countenance. He urged his night saber on, quickly pushing ahead of Rhonin and the others.

The horn sounded again. The wizard noted that it was a night elven horn. One of Jarod’s first commands and the one that had proven he had the nobles’ backing was to blend the host and its allies better. No longer were Huln’s and Dungard’s people off to the one side. Now, each element of night elf military had its own contingent of outsiders whose skills augmented, not detracted. Even the furbolgs had their part to play, strengthening wedges and using their clubs to crack the skulls of any Fel Guard who tried to reach the valued sorcerers and archers further back.

Many of the changes were simple or subtle and it amazed Rhonin that he had not thought of them himself. However, now something had come to truly test the revamped host. A ploy no one could have expected from Archimonde.

Yet, as they neared, it was not quite a battle that they confronted, but rather a confusion. Night elves sought to bring weapons into play, but the tauren and Earthen that Rhonin saw appeared to have no interest in playing any part in their own defense. They stood idly by as their allies frantically tried to fill the gaps that they created by their inaction.

“What by the Mother Moon are they doing?” Jarod demanded to the air. “They’ll undermine everything! I finally had the nobles convinced of their necessity.”

Rhonin started to answer, but just then he became aware of something far beyond the line. The enemy was even closer than he could have imagined. The wizard made out hulking forms, winged creatures, and a vast variety of ominous shapes that he, who had faced the Legion in the future, still could not identify.

Oddly, they moved almost at a walking pace and from them Rhonin heard no bloodcurdling calls. There were giants among them, too, giants that dwarfed any demon of which the wizard was familiar. The winged forms did not remind him of Doomguard and although there were other flying horrors among the Burning Legion, he could not recall any matching those approaching.

Jarod reined his night saber to a halt near a tauren that turned out to be none other than Huln. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you fighting?”

The tauren leader blinked and looked at Jarod as if the questions made no sense. “We will not fight these! It would be unthinkable!”

A pair of Earthen nearby echoed his words with stern nods. Jarod at first looked dismayed, then his expression turned resolute.

“Then, we will fight them ourselves!” he growled, riding past the tauren.

But Rhonin had grown very suspicious concerning the reasons for the allies’ reticence. “Wait, Jarod!”

“Master Rhonin, not you, too?”

The oncoming horde was now close enough that the wizard could make out some individual features… enough to verify for him that he had been correct in calling the night elf back.

“They’re not the Legion! They’ve come to join us, I’m sure of that!”

He was even more certain when he saw that which lead them, a towering creature moving on four swift legs and atop whose shaggy head was a rack of magnificent antlers. The gargantuan being was followed closely by scores of creatures resembling satyrs in that their upper torsos were like those of night elves, but their lower bodies were instead those of fauns and they were all young, beautiful females. They seemed almost as much plant as animal, their skin covered in sleek, green leaves. While more delicate-looking in some ways, there was that about their demeanors that made him suspect that any foe would regret confronting them.

Already caught up in their preparations, the soldiers paid this figure no mind. Rhonin realized that a catastrophe of great proportions would quickly take place if he did not put a stop to things.

“Jarod! Ride up with me, quick!”

With the night elf in tow, the crimson-tressed wizard urged his mount past startled soldiers. Jarod caught up to him, shouting, “Are you mad? What are you doing?”

“Trust me! They are allies!”

The figure in the lead suddenly loomed over them. Startled, Rhonin barely reined in time.

“Greetings, Rhonin Redhair!” boomed the antlered being. The female figures eyed the wizard with curiosity. “We come to join the fight for our precious realm…” He studied Jarod Shadowsong. “Is this the one with whom we must coordinate our actions?”

The human glanced at his companion, who sat openmouthed. “He is. Forgive him! I find myself a little astounded by your coming as well… Cenarius.”

“Cenarius…” muttered Jarod. “The forest lord?”

“Yes, and I believe he’s brought some august company with him.” Rhonin added, peering beyond the mythic guardian.

It was as if the tales of his childhood had come to life… and, indeed, perhaps that was the most apt description. Rhonin and the night elf gazed up — often high up — at giants known only from the dreams of mortals. For all his height, the forest lord was dwarfed by some of his companions. A pair of twin, bearlike creatures like veritable mountains flanked Cenarius, one eyeing Rhonin with particular interest. Beyond them and only slightly smaller, a being resembling a wolverine with six limbs and a serpentine tail eagerly surveyed the distant battlefield. His breath came in hungry pants and his massive claws raked the ground, creating massive grooves.

Towering over almost everything else was a humongous, tusked boar with a mane of sharp, even deadly thorns. A name came unbidden from Rhonin’s early studies… Agamaggan… a demigod of primal fury…

Some were not so overwhelming, but were no less stunning. There was a beautiful yet dangerous-looking bird woman around whom flocks of avians abounded. A tiny red fox with a sly yet gnomish visage scurried between the legs of the giants and darting around many of the demigods were minute, sword-wielding men with butterfly wings… pixies of a sort.

A shape pure white flashed by at the edge of the wizard’s gaze. He immediately sought out the source, but found nothing. Yet, an image remained burned in his thoughts, that of a huge stag with antlers that seemed to reach the heavens…

And on it went. Male figures with hooded faces and whose flesh — what little there was visible — was oak bark. Hippogriffs and gryphons fluttered in the air and creatures resembling giant stick bugs with humanoid forms swayed patiently in the wind. Further on, there were scores of other unique figures, some of whom the wizard would have been hard-pressed to describe even while staring at them — but all of whom bore marked resemblance to some particular aspect of the natural world.

And even from where he stood, Rhonin could sense the energies surrounding each, the natural forces of the world embodied by those created first to protect it from harm.

“Jarod Shadowsong…” the wizard managed. “May I introduce to you the demigods of Kalimdor… all of them.”

“At your command,” Cenarius added respectfully, his front legs falling to a kneeling position. Behind him, the others followed suit in their own manner.

The new leader of the host swallowed, unable to speak.

Rhonin took a quick look behind himself. Everywhere, soldiers, tauren, furbolgs, Earthen, and more watched the tableau in awe. Most now recognized that these newcomers were beings of tremendous age and power… all of whom were now acknowledging Jarod as the one from whom they would take their cues in battle.

Cenarius rose, eyeing the night elf as one did an equal. “We await your word.”

And to his credit, the former Guard captain straightened, replying, “You are all very welcome, elder one. Your strength is greatly appreciated. With any luck, we have a chance, a good chance, of surviving.”