"We should give it to them," Turalyon commented, pausing as both Lothar and Khadgar turned to give him their full attention. "We can detour to Ironforge if the orcs aren't going there themselves, and use the gryphon riders to keep tabs on the Horde's path. If we free the dwarves, they can hold the mountains, preventing any chance of the orcs returning this way. They'll also hunt down any orcs still hiding among the peaks."

Lothar nodded. "It's a good plan," he said with a smile. "Let the troops know, and we'll begin our march in the morning." He stood and straightened slowly. "For me, I need sleep," he explained, sounding a little annoyed at himself. "It was a long ride, and I'm not as young as I was." But he favored Turalyon with a serious glance before turning away. "You've handled yourself and the troops well was I was gone," he said. "As I knew you would." Lothar paused, and a look of mixed sorrow and respect crossed his face. "Llane," he said softly. "You remind me of him. You have his courage." Turalyon stared, unable to respond.

Khadgar stepped up beside Turalyon as the older warrior walked away. "Looks like you've won his respect after all," the mage teased him. He knew how much Turalyon valued the Champion's good opinion, and how he'd worried that he would fail the Alliance commander.

"Shut up," Turalyon said absently, shoving Khadgar lightly. But he was smiling as he arranged his own bedroll, collapsed upon it, and closed his eyes, trying to get a little rest before they moved out again.

"Attack!" Lothar shouted. He had his greatsword out, its golden runes catching the sunlight as they charged up the wide path curving around the snow—topped mountain peak. Near the top of the peak the rock had been planed and polished and carved into a massive wall, complete with windows that pierced the stone far above. Set into that wall atop a short flight of stairs were a pair of truly gargantuan doors, easily fifty feet high, the image of a mighty dwarven warrior chiseled into their face. Above the doors soared a majestic arch, and within it was engraved the image of a heavy anvil. It was an awe—inspiring sight, the entrance to Ironforge.

The heavy doors were closed fast, of course, and no other entrances or openings were visible. Which did not stop the orcs from pounding against both that portal and the rocks around it, trying in vain to batter down the dwarves' ancient defenses.

It was these orcs Lothar and his soldiers targeted now as they reached the top of the path and emerged onto the wide snowy ledge facing those colossal doors. The orcs spun around, surprised—they had been so busy with their own attack that between that and the winds that whipped past the peak they had not heard the Alliance 's approach. Now they tried desperately to bring weapons to bear against this new enemy, but the first row of orcs were mowed down before they could even turn around to face their attackers.

"Do not let up!" Lothar shouted, his sword lopping off one orc's arm and then splitting another up the middle. "Drive them back against the rocks!" His men raised their shields accordingly and advanced steadily, using swords and spears to strike at any orcs that tried to breach their line and otherwise content to move them bodily back against the very edifice they had been trying to breach.

But, as Lothar had hoped, the dwarves were well prepared. The mammoth black doors swung open with only a faint sigh and short, sturdy fighters in heavy mail poured through the opening, hammers and axes and pistols at the ready. They fell upon the orcs from the rear, and between them and the humans the orcs were quickly cut down.

"Our thanks," one of the dwarves proclaimed, singling Lothar out. "I am Muradin Bronzebeard, brother to King Magni, and the dwarves of Ironforge are in your debt." His thick beard's hue matched his name, and his axe was notched from many battles.

"Anduin Lothar, Commander of the Alliance," Lothar introduced himself, offering his hand. Muradin's grasp was as strong as he'd expected. "We are happy to help. Our goal is to rid all our lands of the Horde and their influence."

"Aye, as it should be," Muradin agreed, nodding. He frowned. " Alliance? It was you who sent missives to us months ago, from Lordaeron?"

"Indeed." Lothar realized King Terenas must have sent messengers here as well as Quel'Thalas. The king of Lordaeron had apparently left no potential ally untouched. "We have banded together for this common cause."

"And whither are ye bound now?" a second dwarf asked, stepping close enough to join the conversation. His face was less lined than Muradin's but he had similar features and a matching beard.

"My brother Brann," Muradin explained.

"We are following the remainder of the Horde," Lothar answered. "Many of them have already fallen to us, both on land and by sea, and we now seek to vanquish the rest and end this war."

The brothers looked at each and nodded. "We'll be accompanying ye," Muradin announced. "Many of our kin will be after combing these mountains, reclaiming our ancestral strongholds and making sure no orcs remain within Khaz Modan." He grinned. "But we'll bring some lads and join your Alliance to make sure these orcs dinna trouble any of us again."

"We welcome your help," Lothar said honestly. He had met dwarves once or twice before, back in Stormwind, and had always been impressed by their strength and endurance. And if these Bronzebeard dwarves were as good in combat as their Wildhammer cousins, a contingent of them would be valuable indeed.

"Good. We'll be sending someone to inform our brother, and to catch up to us with supplies." Muradin shouldered his axe and glanced around. "Which way did the Horde go?"

Lothar glanced at Khadgar, who grinned. Then he shrugged, smiled, and pointed south.

"They be heading to Blackrock Spire," Kurdran announced, hopping down from his gryphon near where Lothar and his lieutenants sat in a ring around a small campfire. He and the other Wildhammers with them had been scouting and had just returned to report.

"Blackrock Spire? You're sure?" Muradin asked. Turalyon had noticed that the Wildhammers and the Bronzebeards did not get along well. No, that wasn't quite fair. They were like quarrelsome siblings, he thought—they liked each other but could not resist arguing and trying to show each other up.

"Of course I'm sure!" Kurdran snapped, and Sky'ree cawed a soft warning beside him. "I followed them, didn't I?" Then a sly look came over his face. "Or would you rather be seeing for yourself?" Muradin, and Brann beside him, blanched and stepped back a pace, drawing an evil chuckle from Kurdran. The Bronzebeards were as fond of flying as the Wildhammers were of going underground, which was not at all.

"Blackrock Spire," Lothar mused. "That's the fortress on the mountain summit?" The others nodded. "A strong position," he admitted. "Good vantage all around, solid fortifications, easy to defend from the surrounding mountains, probably easy to control the routes in and out." He shook his head. "Whoever their leader is, he knows what he's doing. This won't be easy."

"Aye, and it be cursed as well," Muradin added. "Well, it is," the dwarf continued when the others looked at him, though Turalyon noticed both Brann and Kurdran were nodding. "Our Dark Iron cousins" — he paused to spit as if their very name was distasteful—"built that fortress, but something far darker lives there now, beneath the surface." He and the other dwarves shuddered.

"If there were something else there, it didn't disturb the orcs," Lothar pointed out. "They'll fall back there, and getting past their defenses will be a problem."

"But we can do it," Turalyon surprised himself by saying. "We have the numbers and the skill to take them down."