"Y—you are Lord Doomhammer?" the man stammered, shrinking back from him slightly. "You speak Common?"

"I am Orgrim Doomhammer, chieftain of the Blackrock clan and warchief of the Horde and I know your tongue," Doomhammer confirmed. "And you, human? You sent me that message?"

"I am," the man replied, tugging at his hood as if to make sure it still concealed his face. It was of fine cloth, Doomhammer saw, and richly embroidered along the hems. "I thought it might be best if we met before any…unpleasantness occurred." He spoke slowly, as if to a child.

"Very well." Doomhammer glanced around, making sure the human had not brought assassins, but if so he was unable to scent or hear them. He had to take the risk that this human really had come alone, as his strange message had claimed.

"I had not expected a human to contact me," Doomhammer admitted quietly, crouching so he could study the man more easily. "Especially in such a manner. Is that how you humans communicate? By use of trained birds?"

"It is one method, yes," the man replied. "I knew none of my people would be able to get close enough to convey a message to you and was not sure how else to reach you, so I sent the bird. Did you kill it?"

Doomhammer nodded, unable to hold back the grin that crossed his face. The man started and broke into a sweat at the sight. "We did not realize it was a messenger until we found the parchment tied to its leg. By then it was too late. I hope you did not want it back."

His companion waved the apology aside with one slender gloved hand. His hand shook but his voice was almost steady. "It was only a bird," he pointed out. "I am more interested in preventing a much larger number of regrettable deaths."

Doomhammer nodded. "So your message said. What do you want from me?"

"Assurances," the man replied.

"Of what sort?"

"I want your word, as a warrior and a leader, that you will keep your warriors in check," the man answered. "No killing, raiding, razing, or other atrocities here in the mountains. Leave our cities and villages intact and do not hound or hunt our people."

Doomhammer considered this, idly rubbing his hammer's head with one hand. "And what do we gain in return?"

Now the man smiled, a cold expression meant no doubt to be friendly but seeming only conniving. "Free passage," he answered slowly, letting the two words hang in the still night air.

"Oh?" Doomhammer tilted his head, indicating that the man should continue.

"You and your warriors seek to cross the mountains and invade Lordaeron," the man pointed out. "These peaks are treacherous, and it is easy for those who know them to combat much larger forces. Your Horde might still win through, but only with heavy losses. And then you would be weakened in your battle against Lordaeron and its defenders." He smiled again and leaned back against the rock, clearly pleased with his reading of the situation, and his ability to alter it. "I can make sure this region's defenders stay clear of your army," he said confidently. "I will even show you which paths to take to cross the distance more rapidly. Your Horde can pass through the mountains quickly and unopposed."

Doomhammer considered this. "You will clear the way for us," he said out loud, "in exchange for our leaving your lands unharmed in return?"

The man nodded. "That is correct."

Doomhammer stood and stepped forward, until he was less than two feet from the man. This close he could make out some of the stranger's features beneath the hood, and they were narrow and elegant and calculating despite his obvious fear. The man reminded him of Gul'dan in some ways, clever and out for his own gain, but most likely too cowardly to betray a stronger force. "Very well," he said finally. "I agree. Show me the quickest path through these mountains and I will lead my warriors through at speed, without stopping for plunder. When we conquer this land I will place my protection around these mountains, that none may violate them. You and yours shall be safe."

"Excellent." The cloaked man smiled and clapped his hands together like a child. "I knew you would be reasonable." He pulled a rolled—up parchment from his belt and handed it to Doomhammer. "Here is a map of this area," he explained. "I have marked this valley to help orient you."

Doomhammer unrolled the map and studied it. "Yes, this is very clear," he said after a moment.

"Good." The man watched him a second. "I will return to my own people, then," he said after a pause.

Doomhammer nodded but did not say anything, and after a moment the man turned and walked quickly away, ducking back between the rocks and carefully working his way down the cliff beyond the valley. For a moment Doomhammer considered going after him. A single quick blow would finish such a man, and he already had the map. But that would be dishonorable. One of the things he hated about his own people, about what they had become, was their lack of honor. Before, on Draenor, they had been a noble race. But Gul'dan's treachery had changed all that, making them little more than bloodthirsty savages. Doomhammer was determined to restore his race's pride and purity, and that meant following a strict code of behavior. The man had treated with him in good faith, and Doomhammer would not betray that. He would follow the path the man had marked, and if it proved quick and the human troops did not block them he would honor his half of the agreement.

With a shake of his head Doomhammer rerolled the scroll and stuck it in his own belt, then turned back to toward the trail he had used to reach this valley. He would summon his lieutenants once he returned and show them the route they would take.

"You summoned us, your Majesty?" General Hath, the commander of Alterac's forces, stood at the half—opened door to the map room. Perenolde could see the other army commanders behind the stout general.

"Yes, come in, General, officers," Perenolde said, trying to keep his voice calm beckoning them in. "I have just received some new information about the Horde and its movements, and wished to share it with you."

He saw Hath and a few of the others exchange quick glances, but they said nothing as they followed him over to the impressive tapestry—map covering the far wall. It showed Alterac from edge to edge, with towns and forts picked out in silver thread and the castle itself in gold.

"I have it under good authority," Perenolde began, "that the Horde is indeed heading toward us." Several of the officers gasped. "They apparently plan to invade Lordaeron, and have chosen to cross the mountains and approach Capital City from the north side."

"How far away are they?" Colonel Kavdan asked urgently. "How many of them are there? What sort of weapons are they carrying?" Several of the others were murmuring behind him.

Perenolde held up a hand and the officers fell silent. "I do not know how far away they are," he answered, "though I suspect a day, perhaps two, no more. I have no idea of their numbers, but certainly from all reports they are a formidable force." He smiled, though he knew it was weak. "That, however, is no longer our concern."

General Hath straightened. "Not our concern, your Majesty?" he asked, his breath setting his thick graying mustache aflutter. "But we are part of the Alliance, and have pledged ourselves to battling the Horde together."

"The situation has changed," Perenolde informed him, aware that he was sweating heavily—and that his officers had noticed. "I have reconsidered our options, and have decided to realign ourselves in the conflict. Alterac is no longer a part of the Alliance, effective immediately." He took a deep breath. "Believe me, we are far better off this way."

The officers all looked surprised. "How do you mean, your Majesty?" Kavdan asked.