"If they are so dangerous, why did the wizards there not deal with them?" Graymane demanded. "Why did they not use their magic to end the threat?"
"Because the orcs possess magic of their own," Antonidas countered. "Potent magic. Most of their warlocks are weaker than our own wizards, at least from what my fellows reported, yet they have far greater numbers and can work in unison, something my own brethren have never found easy." Khadgar was sure he heard some bitterness in the old archmage's voice, and understood it well. If there was one thing every member of the Kirin Tor valued, it was his independence. Getting even two wizards to work together was difficult enough—the thought of managing more than that was almost beyond imagining.
"Our wizards did fight back," Lothar explained. "They helped turn the tide of several battles. But the archmage is correct. We lacked the numbers to stand against them, magically as well as physically. For every orc spellcaster killed, another rose to take his place, and two more beside him. And they traveled with raiding parties and smaller armies to protect them from more mundane dangers, lending their magic to increase the power of the warriors around them." He frowned. "Our greatest wizard, Medivh, fell to the Horde's darkness. Most of our other wizards were lost as well. I do not think magic alone will turn them back." Khadgar noticed that Lothar did not mention how or why Medivh had died and appreciated the warrior's tact. This was not the place for such revelations. He did not miss the sharp glance Antonidas directed his way, however, and suppressed a sigh. At some point soon, the ruling council of the Kirin Tor would demand a full explanation. Khadgar knew they would not be satisfied with less than the truth. And he suspected withholding anything could prove deadly to them all, since it tied so closely to the Horde's presence and early activities.
"I find it strange," Perenolde's soft purr cut through the conversation again, "that a stranger to our shores should be so concerned for our survival." He glanced at Lothar with what looked suspiciously like a smirk and Khadgar resisted the urge to set the oily king's beard alight. "Forgive me for treading upon fresh wounds, sir, but your own kingdom is gone, your king dead, your prince little more than a boy, your lands overrun. Is this not so?" Lothar nodded, grinding his teeth—presumably to keep from snapping the arrogant king's head off. "You have brought word of this threat to us, for which we are grateful. Yet you speak repeatedly of what we must do, how we must unite." He made a great show of looking around the chamber. Varian was not there—Terenas had taken him in, treating the still shaken prince as a member of his own household, and both he and Lothar had agreed that the boy should not have to deal with additional scrutiny right now. "I do not see anyone else from your kingdom here, and you have said yourself that the prince is but a boy and the lands a conquered territory. If we were to consider your suggestion and unite, what could you possibly add to the assembly? Beyond your own martial prowess, of course."
Lothar opened his mouth to respond, fury evident in every feature, but he was cut off again. By King Terenas, surprisingly enough.
"I will not have my guest insulted so," Lordaeron's ruler announced, the steel plain in his voice. "He has brought us this news at great personal peril and has shown nothing but honor and compassion despite his own personal grief!" Perenolde nodded and half—bowed a silent if mocking apology. "Further, you are wrong to think him alone or invaluable," Terenas continued. "Prince Varian Wrynn is now my honored guest, and will be so until such time as he chooses to depart. I have pledged myself to aiding him in regaining his kingdom." Several of the other monarchs murmured at that, and Khadgar knew what they were thinking. Terenas had just renounced any claims he might make to Stormwind and warned the other kings that Varian had his support, all in a single statement. It was a clever move, and his respect for Lordaeron's king rose still higher. "Sir Lothar has brought with him others from his kingdom," Terenas continued, "including some soldiers. While their numbers are not significant when compared to the threat we face, their experience in dealing with the orcs firsthand could be invaluable. Many more still wander what was Stormwind, confused and unguided. These may rally upon hearing their Champion's call, giving us additional numbers. Lothar himself is a seasoned commander and tactician, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for his personal abilities." He paused, and glanced at Lothar in what looked curiously like a question. Khadgar was intrigued to see his companion nod. The Champion and the king had met several times while waiting for the other monarchs to arrive and Khadgar had not been privy to all their discussions, but now he wondered what exactly he had missed.
"Finally, there is the question of his being a stranger." Terenas smiled. "Though Lothar himself has not graced this continent with his presence before now, he is far from a stranger, for he has strong ties to this land and to our own kingdoms. For he is of the Arathi bloodline, indeed the last of their noble line, and thus has as much right to speak at this council as any of us!"
The revelation caused a stir among the other kings, and Khadgar also looked at his companion with new eyes. An Arathi! He had heard of Arathor, of course, as had everyone in Lordaeron—it had been the first nation on the continent, long ago, and the people there had formed strong ties with the elves. Together the two races had fought against a massive troll army at the foot of the Alterac Mountains, and together the two races broke the troll threat and shattered the troll nation forever. The Arathorian Empire had prospered and expanded before finally, years later, collapsing into the smaller nations that covered the continent today. The Arathor capital, Strom, had been abandoned for the lusher northern lands, and the last of the Arathi had disappeared. Some stories claimed they had gone south, past Khaz Modan, into the wilderness of Azeroth. Strom had become the center of Stromgarde, Trollbane's domain.
"It is true," Lothar announced in ringing tones, his eyes daring any man to call him a liar. "I descend from King Thoradin, the founder of Arathor. My family settled in Azeroth after the empire collapsed, and founded a new nation there, which became known as Stormwind."
"So you have come to claim sovereignty over us?" Graymane demanded, though his face showed he did not believe it.
"No," Lothar assured him. "My ancestors surrendered any claim upon Lordaeron long ago, when they chose to depart. But I still have ties to this land, which my people helped conquer and civilize."
"And he can still call upon ancient pacts for aid," Terenas pointed out. "The elves swore to support Thoradin and his line in times of need. They will still honor that commitment."
That drew appreciative glances and whispers from several, and Khadgar nodded. Suddenly Lothar was more than just a warrior or even a commander in their eyes. Now he was a potential ambassador to the elves. And if that ancient, magic—wielding race chose to ally with them, suddenly the Horde did not seem nearly as unstoppable.
"This is a great deal to take in," Perenolde commented dryly. "Perhaps we should give ourselves time to consider all we have heard, and all that must be done to protect our lands from this new threat."
"Agreed," Terenas said, not even bothering to ask the others their opinion. "Food has been set out in the dining hall, and I invite all of you to join me, not as kings but as neighbors and friends. Let us not discuss this matter over our food, but mull it to ourselves, that we may approach it more clearly after we have digested both the food and the danger that lay before us."