Night of the Dragon (wow-5)

by Richard A. Knaak

  "It was all that I could do to thrust myself into the nearest chamber. I burst through, still in my true form, and crawled without care from one cavern to the next. I needed heat to revive my body. Incredible heat. Yet, the only source that I could sense close enough to reach felt like so little. However, I had no choice. I went there, forcing the change to this body when the tunnels proved too narrow...."

  He had not even paid any attention to what lay all around him, his suffering mind only knowing that, despite the heat seeming so little, there were pools of molten lava within sight. Dragons were not, by nature, generally found diving into lava and, had he stayed in much longer, he would have eventually burned to death. However, it said something for the critical state of his life that this was the only way that he could quickly recuperate. Aided by what magic he could muster, the incredible heat revived him far swifter than normal means could have.

  "But the trick is to know when to escape the pool. I was originally so undone that I nearly overstayed. I had thrust up twice to call as secretly as I could to any who knew me as friend, for I knew that I would unfortunately need help yet. I expected another, either one of the dwarves or a draenei—"

  "Iridi?"

  His brow arched. "Ah? You have met. Yes. She seeks not one impossible quest, but two. She hopes to either free or destroy a nether dragon—"

  "Yes... and also take from a blood elf a staff that he stole from a friend's murdered corpse." Vereesa's expression turned cold despite the nearby pool. "But Zendarin Is mine and no one else's...."

  He studied her face in concern. "A personal quest, a personal feud. I will not ask you why, but remind you of the folly of such."

  "You are hardly one to judge that," the ranger curtly replied, standing. She glanced around at the monstrous display. "And what do you make of this? Is this left over from Deathwing or his children?"

  "No... this is the obsession of the mother of Nefarian and Onyxia, an obsession whose depth I have only just begun to appreciate... and fear. How long she must have collected these eggs, collected them and then corrupted each—no doubt with the aid of the accursed, still malevolent Demon Soul—for her own foul desires! And how—and how much effort she must have gone through—to move them here to Grim Batol after my own kind had abandoned their guarding of it."

  "You think she and this were not here already?"

  "She—she could not have been here, done all this evil, and not be noticed by those keeping sentinel. No, Sinestra has only recently come to this forlorn place, but she has—has settled in very, very, well!"

  He did his best to push himself up. Vereesa quickly aided him when it became clear that he was about to drop again. "Thank— thank you. I am growing stronger by the moment, though I hope never to go through that again. That is more the way of the Earth-Warder, Deathwing's lot. But fire in any form is a valued part of life and that enabled me to do what I did." The dragon mage scowled at the many eggs. "And, as a servant of life, this hideous mockery of it—" Krasus gestured at one of the swollen eggs."— fills me with such rage that I could destroy this chamber and all in it with little regard for my own destruction!"

  Vereesa looked aghast, fearing that he would follow through on his dire notion. She saw herself perishing with him, leaving her children and Rhonin without her and Zendarin able to go hunting the twins at his leisure. Much as she, too, thought that this cavern deserved razing, she was selfish enough to want to at least protect her family first.

  But Krasus shook his head. "No, that I cannot do just yet. That would leave Sinestra to still plot. She has the nether dragon at her mercy and one abomination already born. She may find another blue or red dragon—magic and life—to further her creation's horrific powers—"

  "Why would she even need to do that? She has eggs from your flight and likely ones stolen over the generations from even the blues, rare as they are. She could raise her own."

  "The raising would require more trouble, and she would need a mature adult, well into their power for years, to even hope to achieve what she desires. Sinestra has patience, but not in all things. Besides, there have been many generations in which she herself has had to hide as much as plot." He smiled slightly as something else became apparent. "And there are few enough eggs of the other flights. They would be more valuable to her than her own... which is surely what all these black flight eggs are."

  "All from one dragon alone?"

  "It looks like so many, but these have been salvaged over many centuries...." He shook his head. "The tremendous range of years Deathwing and his blood use for some of their plots ever amazes me...."

  Vereesa shivered. "Do we destroy them one by one, then? The two of us together—"

  "Would take far too long. I am still weak, young one, and I think I know why...." Krasus gestured further into the bizarre cavern. "And if I am correct, we need to go that way now."

  Wondering what could be of such greater importance to the dragon mage, Vereesa aided him in heading in the direction indicated. As they left the vicinity of the eggs, the heat from the pools began to take over, so much so that it grew harder for the high elf to breathe.

  The area also took on a more crimson cast, the pools now the only source of light. While she had usually trusted Krasus in the past, the ranger began to wonder if he actually knew where he was.

  The cowled figure suddenly groaned. "Yes..." he gasped. "We are very close." "Close to what?"

  But Krasus did not clarify, instead peering at something ahead. Even with the eyes of a high elf, Vereesa could not see what it was until several more unsteady steps.

  The glow was barely perceptible at first, only a slight, golden glimmer. It emanated from a chamber whose entrance was a crack that, when finally reached by the pair, had to be entered one at a time and sideways.

  Krasus hesitated. “I will go first...but I need you to follow quickly after. I do not know how well I will be able to withstand what is in there."

  "What is it?"

  He looked back at her as he began to slip through. "One of my nightmares..."

  And with that, the dragon mage vanished into the chamber. Aware that Krasus was not one to overstate a situation, the ranger immediately followed after. She pressed her back against the rock and slid from the previous cavern, wondering what she would find.

  "It is as I suspected and feared," Krasus whispered, staring at what lay ahead. "And it made only too much sense, especially with her."

  Even as he spoke, Krasus started to lose his legs. Vereesa quickly leapt to his side and helped him right himself.

  The dragon mage swore with a vehemence the ranger had never before heard from him. She could see the bitterness in his face, a bitterness focused in great part, Vereesa knew, at himself.

  Her gaze turned to a small platform carved from the very stone of which the mount was composed. Set atop it was the source of the glow... a horrific artifact that she recognized despite its odd state.

  "One shard I had," Krasus rasped. "Another tiny one I found. Of the rest, I saw nothing and feared nothing of... but only she could resurrect even this much of that abomination... only Deathwing's consort could even dream of trying to recreate any aspect of the Demon Soul..."

  NINETEEN

  Grenda did not notice Vereesa's disappearance until well into the trek to freedom. When she did, the dwarf debated calling for a halt, then decided against it. The ranger had made her own choice; Grenda had to concern herself with her own people's well-being.

  This did not mean that she only intended to lead them out of Grim Batol. After all, the Bronzebeards had come to the mount on a mission. Grenda sought an exit, yes, but she was also on a lookout for anything relating to the goings on in the dire place.

  And, at last she found just that. The chamber was huge and in it was a sight both fearsome and striking.

  The great beast bound by magical strands could only be the cause of the great roars of anguish that the Bronzebeards had heard on and off over the recent days. It was like n
o dragon that she had seen and appeared more apparition than substance.

  "What're they doin' with that thing?" muttered one dwarf near her.

  "Something foul," remarked another.

  Grenda shushed them both. As concerned as she was about the imprisoned beast and the purpose for that situation, the female dwarf also needed to study the chamber's layout.

  The first things she noticed were the five skardyn taking care of various tasks in the vicinity of the dragon. They seemed greatly engrossed in their efforts, almost as if their lives depended upon it. After the dragon and them, the next point of interest to her was a long ridge running along the side of the cavern, one that she saw ledto another passage that, to her best estimation, had to lead to some exit.

  Grenda came to a decision. First and foremost, she needed to get the band outside. They had some weapons, true, but mostly pikes and whips, not their favored axes or short swords. They were also worn and beaten. Better to escape, then send word to the king of what they had discovered. They had gathered enough information that those with sharper minds would likely be able to put two and two together and come up with the complete picture.

  "We go for that passage," she ordered the others. There was no disagreement; Grenda was their leader now and her commands would be followed as if she were Rom.

  Rom. She wondered what had happened to him, where his body lay. They would probably have to pass near where the others had perished; perhaps among them she might discover his corpse.

  If there's any way to bring you back for burial. I'll do it, she swore to his shade. Although Grenda could not even admit it to herself, she had fallen in love with the veteran fighter. It had started as admiration for his deeds and reputation, turned to respect as she had followed him on this mission, and became much more the longer she had been around him and learned of the dwarf behind the legend.

  Grenda gritted her teeth. With only five skardyn about and none of them near the ridge, it was time for action, not regrets. She waved two of the others up to her.

  "On my mark, you move as quickly as you can to the other side. Keep low, keep running."

  They nodded, then braced themselves for her signal. Grenda glanced from one skardyn to another, watching where their attention lay.

  "Go now!"

  The two warriors scurried forth. Grenda watched with anxiousness as the pair wended their way along the ridge. The two made it a quarter of the way, then half, then two-thirds... and, at last, to the other side.

  By that time, she already had two more ready. As soon as the first two were nearly across, the dwarven commander sent them.

  In sets of two, her band crossed, but much too slowly for Grenda. Each second, she waited for one of the skardyn to look up, but they never did. Where all the others were, Grenda did not know. She wondered whether they were hunting the high elf or the draenei, who no one had seen in almost as long a time as they had Rom.

  As she thought of the others, Grenda sent two more of her people on. However, they had barely gotten a third of the way when the escapees were finally noticed...but not by those below.

  The skardyn who sounded the alarm had crawled out of one of the openings well above, one which no Bronzebeard would have been able to use. The scaly creature climbed along the high cavern wall like a spider. It had quickly seen the two fighters racing along and had opened its mouth to let out a guttural shriek that sounded as if from the grave.

  The other skardyn immediately turned to stop the escapees. Worse, others began pouring out of holes everywhere, no longer reminding Grenda of spiders but a legion of poisonous ants.

  "Everyone across! Now!"

  The rest raced forward, Grenda taking rear guard. She wielded one of the pikes, which now felt highly ungainly as she sought to reach the other passage. The dwarf took some solace in the fact that most of the skardyn would not be able to reach the ridge before the party left the cavern. There was also the benefit that neither the whips nor the pikes would be of any use until that moment—

  A small object whistled past her head. At the same time, one of those just before Grenda let out a cry and toppled off the ridge to the floor far below. Grenda could see that he was already dead long before his body hit.

  She glanced at the wall next to her, where the object had struck and stuck. It was a tiny stone ball with spikes at least two inches in length. Grenda knew the material from which it had been carved and understood immediately how deadly it was even for a dwarven skull.

  Another of her people let out a howl and fell. This time, though, the body lay sprawled on the ridge, blocking the path.

  There was no time for niceties. "Shove her off!" Grenda shouted. "Do It!"

  The dwarf next to the body knelt to do just that—and another spiked ball caught him in the throat. He fell into the corpse and both slipped from the ridge.

  The skardyn were using a device that looked almost like a tiny crossbow. Grenda recognized the weapon from historical records. The dwyar'hun—the name literally meant "star bow" in the older dialect, the spiked ball being the "star"—had been used by Bronzebeards long ago, too, but had eventually been discarded. The skardyn still apparently favored this weapon, though.

  The one disadvantage to the dwyar'hun was that, while the skardyn could apparently cock it using one hand and their teeth—a necessity when one was clinging to a cavern wall—only one ball could be loaded at a time and that slowly, as it required manipulation by the same hand. Indeed, the salvo that had slain three of her number was all but over and the dwarves now had at least some breathing space before the next possible shot.

  But that momentary respite was quickly shattered as those at the other passage began piling together instead of moving on. The reason for that was soon evident; another group of skardyn had come from elsewhere to block the path. More adept with their particular weapons, they were forcing the escaped prisoners back to the cavern... and certain doom.

  However, the Bronzebeards would not go down easily. They used the pikes and whips as best they could and managed some well-struck blows themselves. Grenda's remaining brother used his pike to shove one climbing skardyn down atop another, sending both to the rock floor far below. Another dwarf, this one armed with a whip, caught a skardyn above as it crawled from a nearby hole. The lash circled one arm enough so that when the dwarf pulled, his target lost hold.

  Unfortunately, the Bronzebeards still could not break through. Grenda looked back, wondering if the rest should retreat.

  Skardyn burst out of the other passage. The dwarves were trapped between them on a narrow ridge where, one way or anotherthey would be picked off until they either surrendered or perished.

  And then, to the utter surprise of everyone—but especially the skardyn—a new menace materialized near the captured dragon, a menace of the likes Grenda could only imagine out of her nightmares.

  A raptor... raptors...

  Grenda counted two, then three, then four or more. She could swear that they literally popped into existence, for what else would explain their sudden, impossible presence in here of all places.

  The raptors faced away from the dragon, striking at the nearest skardyn with wild abandon. Caught off-guard, the nearest skardyn perished in a quick ripping of flesh.

  And as the reptiles turned the battle to utter chaos, a more familiar figure appeared near the bound leviathan: Iridi, the draenei, but not alone. With her was a human who bore the look of a wizard, a human with thick, red hair.

  Grenda knew of only one wizard with red hair and although there might be more, she had to assume that there was only one daring—perhaps foolhardy—enough to leap into Grim Batol. Rom had told her the stories of the human, and the ranger had mentioned him, too, albeit in a much more intimate manner.

  Rhonin Dragonhead had come to their rescue.

  But that was not quite the case, Grenda thought the next second. First, he could not have known that they would be here at this moment. In Grim Batol, yes, but not here. Indeed, both he an
d the priestess looked far more concerned with the unsettling dragon than anyone else. Iridi was working feverishly at one of the crystals that marked each end of the strands holding the massive prisoner in place. The female dwarf understood that they were trying to release the behemoth.

  She thought them both insane, but had to assume that they knew something that she did not. What mattered more to her, though, was the sudden turn of events. With the skardyn now forced to take on not one but two zealous foes—and a wizard besides—she had hopes for her people's survival.

  Then, from one of the lower passages, half a dozen dragonspawn led by a drakonid charged toward Iridi and Rhonin. A raptor materialized next to one of the dragonspawn and immediately attacked. Grenda noticed that Rhonin had gestured at the same time. He looked determined, but weary, and she knew that he had already spent himself much to create this fantastic scenario.

  Two more of the raptors turned to attack the newcomers. A dragonspawn with an ax cut down the first, but then the second closed with the four-legged giant.

  A heavy figure suddenly dropped down on the female dwarf. Captivated by the events below, Grenda had forgotten to watch her own back. The skardyn pressed down on her, trying to push the dwarven commander off the ledge.

  Grenda twisted, managing to turn on her back. The monstrous countenance of the degenerated Dark Iron loomed inches from her own face. The sharp teeth tried to snap at her nose.

  "You—are—one filthy—beast!" she snapped. Her left arm collapsed, as if weak. The skardyn—it was Impossible to tell whether the scaly thing was male or female—hissed in anticipation, a hiss that ended in a choking sound as the skilled Bronzebeard warrior slipped her left hand under its guard, formed a strong edge with the fingers, and jammed them into his squat, short throat.

  The skardyn pulled back as it tried to breathe. Grenda used her body to shove the gasping fiend off both her and the ridge.