Night of the Dragon (wow-5)

by Richard A. Knaak

  The air crackled. The sorceress's dark locks rose. The veil also lifted, revealing clearly her savagely-burnt profile. The full lips ended in charred flesh that outlined the permanent smile of a skull. Underneath the upper edge of the veil, the ear proved to be little more than a shriveled bit of skin over a hole.

  She raised her hands high, Zendarin matching her actions perfectly. They continued to throw their combined power into the egg as the sorceress tore more and more of the nether dragon's essence from him.

  The nether dragon's struggles grew more violent. Futile as his attempt was, it still managed to shake the entire cavern. A huge stalactite cracked free, plummeting to the floor far below. A skardyn too slow to register what was happening was crushed underneath it, a death unworthy of notice or even significance to either spellcaster.

  Zzeraku—the blood elf remembered the nether dragon calling himself—shimmered, seeming ready to melt into mist. Yet, the strands holding him prisoner did not permit the Outland beast to even escape to death. They held Zzeraku mercilessly, tightening further at the mistress's silent command.

  More and more of the nether dragon's magic—and essence, in fact—poured into the swollen egg, where it continually intertwined with that of the two spellcasters. Zendarln almost expected the egg to explode, so out of proportion had it grown....

  And, indeed, one side suddenly developed a crack.

  But this did not enrage or frustrate either, for, the next moment, it was clear that the crack was not due to their work, not directly. Rather, the cause could be found within... a cause eager now to be free.

  The egg was hatching.

  In the glow of the ensorcelled egg, the face of Zendarin's companion was more monstrous to behold than even those of the skardyn. An inhuman quality filled her expression... not surprising, as the sorceress was no more human—indeed, even less so—than the blood elf.

  "Yes... my child..." she murmured, almost sounding motherly. "Yes... come to me..."

  Another crack developed next to the first. A fragment of the shell fell away—

  From within, an eye peered out... an eye such as neither had ever seen.

  An eye, despite this being the birth, that spoke of cunning, of evil... far, far more ancient.

  The bay that separated the lands of Lordaeron, and Dalaran in particular, from where Grim Batol lay, was wide, but should have taken Korialstrasz no more than five hours to cross. Yet, only midway out, the red dragon was forced to land upon a small rock formation jutting out of the turbulent water and perch upon it like a sea gull while he rested. Korialstrasz could only assume that the sorcerous shaft's crystal head had weakened him more than he had expected.

  But he had little opportunity for recuperation, for suddenly a storm assailed him, a tempest of such abrupt violence that the crimson behemoth instantly gave up all notion of rest. Dragging himself into the air, he instead continued on his way.

  But the elements were clearly against him, for the storm only worsened. As powerful as he was, Korialstrasz was yet tossed about like a leaf. He immediately headed toward the clouds, thinking to fly above the storm, but though he fought hard to reach them, they stayed well overhead.

  And that at last warned the red giant that this storm was not so natural after all.

  Rather than struggle to reach the unreachable, Korialstrasz tried a more direct flight toward Grim Batol. The moment he did, the wind exploded from that direction, buffeting him so hard that the dragon felt as if he had struck a mountain.

  He did not believe in happenstance. This was a spell, yes, though whether directed at him in particular or merely to hunt a dragon was a question he had no time to answer. What mattered foremost was escaping it.

  Logic suggested that he fight magic with magic... and yet, Korialstrasz was not so certain of the wisdom of that. Yet, he could think of no other immediate course. Thus, steeling himself against the raging storm, the red dragon struck at the dark clouds.

  No sooner had he done so than he was attacked by a raging hurricane tenfold stronger than before. A barrage of lightning pounded him, and the gale force winds turned the dragon upside down. He could see little past his snout, for the rain fell in a pounding torrent.

  And even as Korialstrasz struggled against vertigo, he was painfully aware that it was his own power that had now multiplied the storm's effect... just as the mysterious caster had no doubt intended.

  Around and around, the dragon spun. The clouds became the sea beneath and the sea the sky. Korialstrasz saw no choice; he could not reach those clouds. There remained but one alternative, even ifit was likely the one his unseen adversary wished him to take.

  Arcing, Korialstrasz dove into the swirling waters.

  He was certain of his error the moment that he submerged, but could not look back. Even despite his keen eyesight, Korialstrasz could see little. The waters of the vast bay turned to black only scant yards beneath him, again, no natural thing. A monster several times his size might be rising up to swallow him and the dragon would not see it.

  Some dragons were born to the water, but red dragons were very much creatures of the sky, however well they could swim. Korialstrasz could hold his breath for more than an hour, assuming nothing tried to force that breath from him. Still, the sooner he was back in the air, the better.

  Voices began whispering in his head.

  A new wave of vertigo overwhelmed Korialstrasz. He could not tell the depths from the surface. The dragon immediately thrust upward, but instead of the storm, all that greeted him was a blackness that chilled to the soul.

  And the voices grew stronger, chanting in a tongue Korlalstrasz thought that he should know. He fought against their seductive call, aware that each moment he remained caught in their snare made his hopes of surviving monumentally lesser.

  Now, there was only the darkness. The deep waters squeezed at Korlalstrasz's lungs, which made the crimson leviathan wonder if he had been submerged longer than he thought. There was no sense of time, no sense of place... only the chanting voices.

  Iwill not be undone by this! the dragon swore. He imagined another countenance, that of his beloved queen and mate, Alexstrasza. Yet, her image was faded, and growing more so, a dangerous sign.

  But that only served to make him more determined. Summoning his strength, Korialstrasz cast a desperate spell.

  Light erupted around him, searing away the darkness of the depths.

  In it, the dragon beheld the source of his troubles... naga.

  He knew their origins, knew them because he was, to his mind at least, in part to blame for their creation. Once, they had been of the night elf race, the Highborne who had served the mad queen, Azshara. When the source of their great power, the fearsome Well of Eternity, had imploded due to the efforts of a few staunch defenders but especially the young druid, Malfurion Stormrage, it had sucked the great capital of the night elves to the bottom of a newly-created sea. With the city had gone Azshara and her fanatic followers, supposedly to their doom.

  It would not be until millennia later that Korialstrasz and the world would discover that a mysterious force had transformed those trapped beneath the waves into something worse.

  The incredible explosion of light had caught the naga completely unaware. Several swirled about in utter confusion, stunned by the spell's intensity. As naga, they no longer much resembled elves of any sort. The females upon whom Korialstrasz now set his baleful gaze had some vague similarities remaining, mostly in their slimmer, upper torsos and their faces, which retained the long, narrow design of night elves. They were even beautiful, if in a monstrous way. Yet, no elven race sported four wicked arms that ended in long, taloned fingers, nor did any have the wide, veined fins of gold that blossomed sharply from the head all the way down to the naga's tall.

  And tails were all there were below the waist, for long gone were the sleek legs. The lower halves were those of massive serpents, segmented and scaled. They twisted back and forth constantly, giving the naga swiftness and
incredible maneuverability in the water.

  The males had degenerated even more than the females, their heads low and reptilian, with teeth that jutted out from both the top and bottom of the long maw like a crocodile. Their eyes were deep set and narrow, and their crests and fins, which jutted as sharply as spears in places, were of a darker gold and brown shade. Their torsos were less in contrast to their serpentine lower bodies, being also scaled and segmented. Even their arms, massive compared to most creatures their size, were covered so.

  There had developed, over the generations, many tribes of naga, but these aqua and black scaled fiends with their golden fins were of a type of which Korialstrasz knew nothing, save that they were clearly both powerful and of evil mind. That was all he needed to know. Naga in general had no love for those who lived above the surface, but these had gone well out of their way to set a tremendous trap.

  For what reason it might be, Korialstrasz had no time to consider. The light began to fade, and the naga regrouped.

  But now that he could see them, it was a simple matter for the dragon to strike with both his paws and his tall, bowling over the sinister creatures. Several went sinking into the blackness below, but some desperately sought to rework the spell that had nearly done In the behemoth.

  Korialstrasz's body flared a bright red. The water around him suddenly boiled. In his mind, he heard the naga shriek as the heat struck. Two males in the forefront were caught full on, their bodies swelling monstrously as they burned red.

  A buzzing filled the dragon's head. He looked below to his right, where a female with all four arms raised toward him glowed with magic of her own.

  It was a simple matter for him to increase the heat that his body radiated. The female naga fled just before she, too, would have been boiled. The buzzing ceased.

  But Korialstrasz's lungs suddenly ached, and he felt the impulse to breathe. He needed air and he needed it without delay. With desperate strokes, the red dragon pushed himself upward.

  The surface seemed so far away that the fear that he was still swimming down instead of up crossed his air-starved mind, but he had no choice but to continue the direction he had chosen.

  The strain on his lungs grew horrific. If he could just take a single breath...

  His head shoved above the water. However, even as Korialstrasz filled his starving lungs, he continued to push himself above the sea. Magic and wings greater in span than some other dragons were in length threw him well into the sky.

  A sky that, though still overshadowed, no longer stormed.

  Despite the naga threat yet high, Korialstrasz was forced to hover for several seconds as he worked to regain not only his breath but his senses. The clouds remained thick, but the sea itself had grown calm, even deathly silent.

  A mass of squirming tentacles broke the surface, snaring the dragon by the tall and hind legs and seeking the wings.

  Letting out a roar, Korialstrasz immediately focused on the spot from which the tentacles had sprouted and exhaled sharply. The torrent of flame he unleashed was not as strong as he hoped, but it did make the monster beneath unbind one of his legs.

  But the rest of the tentacles still tugging at the red giant threatened to pull him under. Korialstrasz beat his wings. He was no ordinary dragon, even if he was not an Aspect. The naga's pet would soon discover that.

  And so, incredibly, rather than the sea creature dragging Korialstrasz down, he slowly but inexorably pulled the tentacled monster from the depths. First there came a sharp beak, a savage mouth able to bite into pieces the largest warships. Then came a long, tubular head with two unblinking black saucers for malevolent orbs.

  A kraken.

  How the small band of naga had gotten such a creature into the bay, he did not know. Still, what mattered most was that the monstrous beast weighed heavy on Korialstrasz. The dragon lost momentum. The sea grew near again.

  There was no choice. Near to collapse though he was, Korialstrasz exhaled one last time with all the force left to him.

  Unhindered by the sea, his powerful blast broiled the kraken. The sea monster let out a chilling shriek as it released its grip and plunged back into the water. The wave it created rose as high as Korialstrasz's tall before subsiding.

  The huge red did not rejoice. Indeed, it was all he could do to keep conscious. Despite his horrific weakness, though, Korialstrasz quickly shoved himself in the direction of his goal. Even as short as the distance remaining was, he did not know if he could reach landfall before his remaining strength failed him. Yet, all he could do was try.

  All he could do was hope....

  The waters remained still as the gigantic red dragon dwindled in the distance, remained still until a single naga head emerged to watch the vanishing leviathan.

  The female naga's slanted eyes stared unblinking until Korialstrasz was no more than a distant dot just above the horizon. At that point, a second head, that of a fearsome male, thrust up. The scales on the right side of the male's head were torn near the jaw, the result of the most peripheral of wounds caused by the dragon's sweeping tail. Ignoring his wound, the male peered intently in the direction the female had.

  "The deed is done..." she murmured in a grating voice. "We will be spared...."

  Nodding, the male grinned. The female followed suit, revealing her teeth to be no less sharp, no less savage, than her companion's.

  The two naga submerged.

  FOUR

  The foreboding landscape rising before her on the horizon was called Khaz Modan. The hooded draenei had no reference as to the name's origins, but the mere sound of it made her steel herself. She knew that orcs inhabited this region, but so, too, did dwarves. Both were races of which she knew. And for her sake, if it came to a confrontation, the mage hoped that it would be with one of the underdwellers, not the green-skinned warriors. The dwarves, at least, were allies.

  At first, there was no sign of the island settlement for which she hunted, but gradually some shapes materialized on the distant shore. The most prominent of those was the thick, stone wall on the far end of Menethil Harbor that she had already learned protected most of the town from inland incursions. Then, taller structures and huge, shaggy trees made themselves visible through the dissipating morning fog.

  One building in particular caught her gaze. Rising above all else, the four towers of Menethil Keep watched over the settlement like stern guardians, their coned tops reminiscent of warriors' helmets. Within their ranks, the almost cathedral-like structure of the main building stood only a story shorter, but was much broader.

  And as Menethil Harbor took form before the lone figure, she knew that the sentries in turn were very likely catching sight of her.

  Sure enough, only minutes later a ship turned out to meet her. The crew was mostly human, although there were a few daring dwarves aboard as well. Dwarves in general did not do well with the sea, having a tendency to sink like rocks if they fell in, but currenttimes demanded bravery of a different sort.

  As the ship reached her, a human leaned over to study the lone intruder. His bearded face stretched into a look of surprise.

  "My lady," he grunted. "Not often we get one of your folk in this particular land... and certainly not by such means as I see before me." The man leaned closer, revealing for the first time that he wore a tarnished breast plate marking him as an officer. Despite his beard, he was young for his rank, as young as she possibly. The violence of the past few wars had reduced the number of capable veteran warriors on both sides.

  "I seek only landfall, nothing more, from Menethil Harbor," she replied. "Will you permit that?" The priestess did not add that, one way or another, she would achieve that landfall regardless of his answer.

  Fortunately, the officer appeared a man of common sense. Draenei were allies; why should one not be allowed entrance to an Alliance stronghold? "You'll be having to answer a few questions once there, but other than that, there's no reason I can see to bar you, my lady."

  He had a m
an toss down a rope ladder near her boat. A hirsute sailor scrambled down to take command of the sailboat while another held the ladder in place as the draenei climbed up.

  "Welcome aboard the Stormchild, temporarily ensconced in Menethil Harbor." Up close, the lead human looked even younger. His eyes were a bright, almost innocent blue, but something about them yet told her that he had already become a seasoned fighter, rather than some young noble commissioned because of his bloodline. "I am its erstwhile captain, Marcus Windthorne...."

  He made a sweeping bow, but ever kept his eyes on her. Those eyes invited—nay, insisted—she likewise introduce herself. The draenei immediately saw that Marcus Windthorne was not someone easily made a fool, that despite his innocent-seeming eyes.

  "I’am called Iridi."

  He accepted the short reply. "My lady Iridi. There is someone you seek in Menethil Harbor?"

  Her head turned almost imperceptibly side-to-side. "No. My task is beyond this place."

  "Beyond this place are the Wetlands, fraught with threat. Little more."

  "That is the direction I must go."

  He shrugged. "I've no reason to stop you, and if those who command Menethil Harbor have no reason, your doom is your own to decide, my lady."

  He bowed to her, then turned to the task of command. The Stormchild veered about and headed back to the settlement.

  Iridi left the bartered boat in the hands of Captain Windthorne, the vessel having served its purpose but of no more use to her. On shore, several dwarves met her, at their head one with a particularly thick, lengthy beard. He and the rest of his band all wore well-honed battle axes strapped to their backs.

  "Name's Garthin Stoneguider," he rumbled after she had introduced herself. Garthin performed a perfunctory bow that greatly contrasted with the sweeping one made by the human captain. "Not many draenei hereabouts. None, in fact, lady."