The scout seemed about to ask another question, then thought better of it. Instead he saluted again and darted back up the cliff, disappearing over the rise at a run. Doomhammer nodded. At least they would have the Bleeding Hollow warriors beside them when they stood to face the humans again. Kilrogg was a clever old warrior, still powerful despite his years, and his clan was fierce and warlike. Between the Blackrock and the Bleeding Hollow they would still be more than a match for the Alliance.

"We cannot fight them. Not with our full force."

Doomhammer stared at Kilrogg as the older chieftain shook his head, his face glum but resolute.

"What? Why not?" Doomhammer demanded.

"The dwarves," Kilrogg replied curtly.

"The dwarves?" At first he thought the chieftain meant the gryphon—riders, but Aerie Peak was far from here. He could only be referring to the dwarves that lived here in the mountains. "But we crushed their armies and routed them from their citadels."

"From all but one," Kilrogg corrected, glancing up so both his good eye and the dead, scarred one stared at Doomhammer. "We have not been able to crack Ironforge, and I have lost many good warriors in each attempt."

"Then leave it," Doomhammer insisted. "We do not need it now. We must turn on the humans before they can cross the land bridges and mass on this side of the channel. Once we have destroyed their army we can fall upon Ironforge and rip it open, then station our own warriors there while we march north again to finish our conquest there."

But Kilrogg shook his head. "The dwarves are too fierce to leave at our backs," he stated. "I have fought them many times these past few months, and I tell you true, if we let them they will boil from their fortress and fall upon us like angry wasps. Each time we crushed one of their citadels the survivors fled to Ironforge and it took them in—I can only guess how deep its levels run, but the whole of the dwarf nation lurk within it and await a chance for revenge. If we do not guard that place and keep them too busy to emerge we will face not one army but two."

Doomhammer paced, considering this new information. He trusted Kilrogg's judgment, but that meant they would not have enough warriors to stand against the Alliance here and hope to win. He would need to keep moving.

"Stay here," he told Kilrogg finally. "Keep as many warriors as you need to hold the dwarves and harry the humans. I will lead the rest to Blackrock Spire, where we can make our stand from within its sturdy walls." He glanced at the older chieftain. "If you can, bring your warriors there afterward. Perhaps you can fall on the humans from behind. Or perhaps more of our people will appear, either from the sea or from the Dark Portal." He straightened. "But Blackrock Spire is our strongpoint. If we cannot defeat the humans there we cannot hold them anywhere, and this war is lost."

Kilrogg nodded. For a second he eyed the Horde warchief, and when he spoke it was more softly than Doomhammer had ever heard the grizzled old chieftain. "You made the right choice," Kilrogg assured him. "I too know the depths of Gul'dan's treachery. He would have taken us back to the days before the Portal opened, when we were nearly mad with rage and hunger and desperation." He nodded. "Whatever else happens, you have given our people back their honor."

Doomhammer nodded back, feeling a sudden respect and even affection for the one—eyed chieftain he had always feared and disliked. He had always considered Kilrogg a brutish, savage warrior, more interested in glory than in honor. Perhaps he had been wrong all these years.

"Thank you," he said finally. There was nothing more to say and so he turned and walked away, back toward his own clan. There were orders to hand out, and another march to begin. Possibly the last.

CHAPTER TWENTY

"Turalyon!"

Turalyon glanced up at the shout, unable to believe his ears. But there, riding toward him, was a large man in full armor. The lion symbol of Stormwind glittered gold on his battered shield, and the hilt of a massive sword rose above one shoulder.

"Lord Lothar?" Amazed, Turalyon rose from his seat by a campfire and stood staring as the Champion of Stormwind and Commander of the Alliance reined in his horse. Then the older man had dismounted and was clapping him on the back.

"Good to see you, lad!" He could hear the genuine affection in Lothar's voice. "They said I'd find you here!"

"They?" Turalyon glanced around, still confused by his leader's sudden appearance.

"The elves," Lothar explained, pulling off his helm and running a hand over his balding pate. He looked tired but pleased. "I ran across Alleria and Theron and the others as I was turning north. They told me what had happened in Capital City and that you had brought the rest of the army this way, pursuing what's left of the Horde." He clasped him about the shoulders. "Good job, man!"

"I had a lot of help," Turalyon protested, pleased but discomfited by his hero's praise. "And, truth to tell, I'm not entirely sure what happened." He and Lothar sat down again, the older man gratefully accepting some food and a wineskin from Khadgar, and Turalyon explained. He had been as surprised as anyone when the bulk of the Horde forces had turned away from Capital City and marched rapidly south. Then he had received a report from Proudmoore about the naval battle and its outcome. "The rest of the Horde wasn't strong enough to stand against us, especially with King Terenas pounding them every time they approached the city's walls," he concluded, "and their leader must have known it. So he retreated. We've been chasing them ever since."

"He may have been waiting for those orcs to return from the sea," Lothar commented, gnawing on a hunk of cheese. "When they didn't he must have known he was in trouble." He grinned. "Besides, closing the mountains behind him meant no escape route, and no reinforcements from there either."

Turalyon nodded. "You heard about Perenolde, then?"

"Aye." Lothar's expression turned grim. "How a man could turn against his own race I'll never understand. But thanks to Trollbane we don't have to worry about Alterac any more."

"And the Hinterlands?" Khadgar asked.

"Orc—free," Lothar replied. "Took us a while to find all of them—some had burrowed in deep, even carved out homes beneath the ground, where they could disappear when we chased them—but we got them at last. The Wildhammers are still patrolling to make sure, of course."

"And the elves are heading back to Quel'Thalas to clear it as well," Turalyon added. "The orcs seem to have left the forest but the trolls may still be hiding among the trees." He grinned as he thought about Alleria and her kin and their attitude toward the forest trolls. "I would not want to be them when they and the rangers meet again." He glanced around. "But where are Uther and the other Paladins?"

"I sent them up to Lordaeron," Lothar answered, draining the wineskin and tossing it aside. "They'll make sure that region's safe again, and then they'll follow after us." He smiled a little. "Uther may be upset if we don't leave him anyone to fight."

Turalyon nodded, imagining how his zealous fellow Paladin would react to discovering he had missed the end of the war. And though the orcs were still numerous it felt as if the war was winding down. He had thought they were all finished there by Capital City, but when the bulk of the Horde had left it had changed everything. And the Horde had been growing smaller and more desperate ever since.

"They may try to hole up here in Khaz Modan," Khadgar was saying, but Turalyon shook his head. He was pleased to see Lothar doing the same. "They'll have the dwarves to reckon with if they do," the Champion explained. "Ironforge still stands unconquered, and the dwarves will be twitching for a chance to take the fight back to the orcs and reclaim their mountains for good."