Doomhammer watched as the two boats beached upon the island's north shore. Rend leaped ashore at once, followed more slowly by a troll whose hair was knotted into braids. A long scarf was wrapped around the troll's neck and lower face, and Doomhammer grinned with delight. It was Zul'jin himself!

"They were penned and chained," Rend reported, stopping only a few feet from where Doomhammer stood. "The humans were careless, assuming the only threat in the forest was the one they had already captured." The Black Tooth Grin chieftain laughed. "No one who saw us lived."

"Good." They watched as the troll leader approached. He looked the same as the last time they had met, and Doomhammer could tell from the troll's expression that he remembered their encounter as well.

"Your warriors saved us," the forest troll acknowledged, stepping up beside Doomhammer and giving him a nod, a greeting among equals. "They were too many, ya, an' used torches ta hold us at bay."

Doomhammer nodded. "I am pleased to aid a fellow warrior," he said. "When I heard you had been captured I sent my warriors at once."

Zul'jin grinned. "Your leader be sendin' you?"

"I am leader now," Doomhammer replied, his own grin widening.

The troll considered this. "Your Horde still seekin' to conquer the world, ya?" he asked finally.

Doomhammer nodded, not daring to speak.

"We be aidin' you, then," Zul'jin announced after a moment. "As you aided us. Allies." He extended his hand.

"Allies." Doomhammer clasped it. His mind was already awhirl with possibilities. Between the trolls and the Horde and the new forces Zuluhed was binding to the Horde's will, nothing would stand in their way.

CHAPTER FIVE

Two days after the first meeting, Lothar found himself back in the Lordaeron throne room with the continent's rulers. Khadgar had accompanied him again, and Lothar was glad of the lad's presence. Terenas was a kindly host and a good man, as were some of the other monarchs, but the young wizard was the only one Lothar had known from Azeroth. Even though the young man was not native to Stormwind his presence reminded Lothar of home.

Home. A place that no longer existed. Lothar knew he would have to accept that at some point. It still seemed unreal for now. He kept expecting to turn and see Llane laughing, or look up and watch a pair of gryphons gliding by, or hear the sound of his men martialling in the courtyard. But all that was gone now. Their friends were dead. Their home had fallen. And he vowed to keep this land from following it into darkness, even if it cost his life.

Right now he thought it more likely to cost him his sanity. Lothar had never had much patience for politics, and had watched amazed over the years as Llane placated this noble and that one, easing arguments, diffusing conflicts, settling disputes, all the while never favoring any one over the other or letting personal interests interfere with affairs of state. It was all a game, Llane had told him over and over again, a game of positioning and influence and subtle maneuvering. No one ever really won, not for long, and the goal was simply to maintain the strongest position possible for as long as possible.

From what Lothar had seen, this continent's monarchs were experts at the game. And being forced to deal with them, supposedly as an equal, was driving him to his wit's end.

After lunch that first day, they had returned to the throne room for more discussions. Everyone seemed to accept the idea that the Horde would come, even that too—smooth Perenolde. Now the question was what to do about it.

It had taken the rest of the day to convince everyone that a unified army was the only answer. Terenas had agreed at once, fortunately, as had Trollbane, and Proudmoore had taken little coaxing. But Perenolde and Graymane had been more difficult. Lothar wasn't surprised at Perenolde's reluctance. He'd known similar men back in Stormwind, smooth and silky and nasty and always out for themselves at any cost. More often than not they had turned out to be cowards. Perenolde was probably afraid of battle personally and extended that to his subjects, many of whom were no doubt braver than he was. Graymane was a surprise, however. The man certainly looked the warrior, with that powerful frame and his heavy armor. Nor had he stated that he would not fight. But he had been quick to suggest other options every time the talk had turned back toward war, and Perenolde of course had insisted on examining each suggestion in great detail. It was only after Proudmoore and Trollbane all but accused Graymane of cowardice that the burly man had agreed an army was their own recourse.

The second day had been more of the same. They had settled on the idea of war, at least, but now there were the logistics of cooperation to consider. Which armies would supply what troops, where they would be stationed, how they would be supplied—details Lothar had dealt with himself for years but only for one nation's military. Now they were dealing with five, not counting any Stormwind survivors he could muster, and each king had his own ideas and his own methods.

And of course the biggest question was the one of command.

Each king seemed to feel he should have command of the unified army. Terenas pointed out that Lordaeron was the largest kingdom with the most troops, and also that he was the one who had summoned the rest of them. Trollbane claimed to have the most actual fighting experience, at looking at the gruff mountain king Lothar believed him. Proudmoore mentioned the power of his navy, and the importance of ships for troop transport and supplies. Graymane's was the most southern of the kingdoms, and he seemed to feel that meant he should have command because his lands would be the first overrun if the Horde approached on foot—even though that wasn't true, since Stromgarde actually was foremost along the path the Horde would take from Khaz Modan to Dun Modr and on. Perenolde suggested that brute force alone was not enough but that the commander should have intelligence, wisdom, and vision, all of which he felt he possessed in abundance.

And then there were the two non—kings, each a leader in his own right. Archbishop Faol, whose followers included most of the people from all the kingdoms combined, and Archmage Antonidas, who essentially ruled a single city but whose people's powers likely matched the strength of any army they could muster. Fortunately the two men, the one short and friendly and the other tall and stern, were not interested in control of the army. They had both played a moderating influence, keeping the kings focused on the fact that the Horde would come whether an army was ready to face them or not, and reminding the monarchs frequently that an army without a single leader was useless no matter its size.

Lothar had watched the discussions with a mixture of amusement and horror, leaning more toward the latter as he himself was drawn more frequently into the conversations. At times he was called upon as the resident orc expert. Other times they wanted his opinion as an outsider. A few times they had even left a deciding voice to him, pointing out slyly that his family had been the original rulers of this land and thus in some sense he should have some ancestral rights to that effect. Half the time Lothar couldn't tell if they were mocking him or admiring him, and he knew several of the kings wanted something from him but that something seemed to change from moment to moment. He would be much happier when these discussions were over and done and he could return to the rest of the Stormwind refugees and try to assemble at least a small force to add to the army's might.

As he waited for King Terenas to call the morning council to order, however, Lothar realized the other monarchs were watching him closely. Some, like Trollbane, were doing so openly. Others, like Perenolde and Graymane, were more subtle about it, sneaking glances now and again. Lothar wasn't sure what was going on but he didn't like it.