"I need to get to Silvermoon," Alleria said, more to herself than to them. "My parents are there, and our elders. I need to help them!"

"And what will you do?" Turalyon asked, his words coming out harsher than he'd intended, though at least it snapped her out of her grief long enough to look up at him. "Do you have a way to combat these flames?" He gestured at the forest, where the dragons were now diving and wheeling like bats at play, spreading flames with every pass. As far as the eye could see now, Quel'Thalas was burning. The smoke seemed a solid wall of gray above the elven homeland, and its shadow reached them on the foothills and cast darkness behind them, across the mountains. Turalyon was sure they could see the conflagration in Capital City.

Alleria shook her head, and he saw tears streaming down her cheeks. "But I have to do something," she all but wailed, her normally lovely voice hoarse with anger and pain. "My home is dying!"

"I know. And I understand." Reaching down, Turalyon rested one hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "But going in there now would only spell your death. Even if you could get to the river, it must be boiling from all that heat. You'd die, and that would not help anyone."

She looked up at him. "My family, the lords—will they be all right?" He could hear the desperation in her voice. She wanted, perhaps needed, to believe they survive.

"They're powerful magi," Khadgar pointed out. "And while I've never seen it, I understand the Sunwell is a source of immense power. They'll shield the city from harm. Even the dragons won't be able to touch them." He sounded completely certain, though Turalyon saw his friend quirk one eyebrow at him, as if to say, "at least I hope so."

Alleria nodded, though she was clearly still shaken. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You are right. My death now would accomplish nothing." Turalyon suspected she was trying to convince herself of that. She glared at the dragons fluttering and soaring beyond. "But theirs would. The entire Horde's would. Especially the orcs." Her green eyes narrowed, and Turalyon saw something there he had not seen in her before. Hatred. "They brought this destruction upon us," she spat. "And I will see them suffer for it."

"We all will." Turalyon looked up as another elf strode toward them. He was dressed in full war gear, his armor beautiful and graceful but clearly functional and covered in blood and gore. At his side hung a long sword and a deep green cloak fluttered behind him. He had removed his leaf—patterned helm and dark brown eyes shone beneath glossy hair the color of the corn—silk. And his expression mirrored Alleria's own.

"Lor'themar Theron," Alleria introduced him, "one of our finest rangers." Then she turned and smiled briefly as a second elf approached, this one a tall woman with a similar cloak and features much like Alleria's own, though her hair was a shade darker. "And this is my sister, Sylvanas Windrunner, ranger—general and commander of our forces. Sylvanas, Lord Theron, this is Sir Turalyon of the Silver Hand, second in command of the Alliance forces. And Khadgar of Dalaran, mage." Turalyon nodded and Theron returned the gesture, a show of respect among equals.

"Most of my warriors escaped the inferno," Theron told them brusquely. "We cannot breach the flames, however. And so we are trapped without, while our families are trapped within. Now we know how the fire spread through the forest so quickly and from so many directions." His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. "But we cannot linger on such thoughts," he announced, his words directed at Alleria and perhaps himself as well. "We are here, and we must do what we can to succor our people as quickly as possible. And that means destroying the forces threatening them."

"Your commander, Anduin Lothar, sent word to us once before, asking for our participation in this Alliance," Sylvanas stated, looking up at Turalyon. "My leaders chose not to respond beyond a token show of support." Her gaze flickered to Alleria, and something like a smile crossed her face. "Though some of our rangers took it upon themselves to lend aid to your cause." Then she sobered again. "But my elders realized their error when the trolls and orcs invaded our lands. For if Quel'Thalas is not safe from incursion, what is? They ordered me to assemble our warriors and march to meet you, and to render such aid as we could." She bowed. "We would be proud to join your alliance, Sir Turalyon, and I hope that our deeds henceforth will compensate for the tardiness of our involvement."

Turalyon nodded, wishing once again that Lothar was here. The Champion would know how to handle this situation properly. But he was not, and so Turalyon was forced to muddle through as best he could. "I thank you, and your people," he told Sylvanas finally. "We welcome you and all your kin into our Alliance. Together we will drive the Horde from this continent, from your lands and ours, that we may afterward live in peace and cooperation once again."

Anything else he had planned to say was interrupted by a squawk overhead and the sudden fluttering of wings. Turalyon ducked, as did Khadgar, and Theron reached for his sword, but the descending creature was far smaller than a dragon, and covered in feathers and fur rather than scales.

"Sorry, lad," Kurdran Wildhammer said as he landed Sky'ree just beyond them, causing the horses to shudder and stamp their feet in dismay. "We tried, but those dragons are simply too big and too powerful for the handful o' us to face. Give us time and we'll be finding a way to face them in the sky and beat them down, but right now they've got the upper hand."

Turalyon nodded. "Thank you for your efforts," he told the dwarf leader. "And for your aid earlier. It saved many lives." He glanced around him. Khadgar, Alleria, Sylvanas, Lor'themar Theron, and Kurdran Wildhammer. These were good people, and good lieutenants. He suddenly did not feel so alone, or so self—conscious. With them at his side, perhaps he could be a leader, at least until Lothar returned.

"We need to get our people out of here," he told them after a moment. "We will return and free Quel'Thalas from the Horde, but right now we need to regroup and wait. I suspect the Horde is not going to stay here for long. They have some other goal in mind."

But what, he wondered. They had taken the forest, and driven the elves from their home. They had attacked Aerie Peak, and crushed Khaz Modan. Where would they strike next?

He tried to think of it from the orcs' point of view. If he were them, and was handling their campaign, where would he go? What was the single biggest remaining threat?

Then it hit him. The biggest threat was the heart of the Alliance itself. The place where it had all started. He glanced at Khadgar, who nodded, clearly thinking the same thing.

" Capital City!" It made sense. From Silvermoon, which stood at the northern tip of Quel'Thalas, the orcs could march over the mountains and directly into Lordaeron, emerging not far from Lordamere Lake and Capital City itself. The city had few defenders left, King Terenas having sent most of his men with the Alliance. Fortunately marching over the mountains would mean making their way across Alterac first, and while Perenolde had not been the most stalwart member of the Alliance he would certainly rally his forces against an invasion of his own lands. But the orcs could overwhelm Alterac through sheer numbers and then swarm down out of the mountains to strike the city.

"From Lordaeron they could spread down across the rest of the continent," Alleria pointed out. "And if they left a force here they would have two points of origin. They could blanket the land with orcs in weeks."

Turalyon nodded. "Now we know what they are planning," he said, sure they were right. "Which means we need to find a way to stop them." He glanced at the raging fires beyond. "But not here. Get the men back into the hills proper, and we will meet and discuss this further." Then he wheeled his horse around and cantered away from the forest, trusting his lieutenants to see his orders carried out. And unwilling to look any more at the majestic woods burning behind him.