Beyond the Dark Portal

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"Don't worry — we're still on the right track," Khadgar felt compelled to say as the group stopped for a rest and to drink some precious water. They needed the reassurance.

They had traveled north from the orcish citadel, skirting the savage coastline to the east. The ground had remained consistent with what they had seen near the portal itself, though less severe: cracked earth, gray, dusty soil, withered plants and trees. They had passed patches of greenery here and there, but most of Draenor was dreary and desolate and bitter.

Now the ground around them had grown more un­even, its dips and rises more significant, and wind whipped by on all sides. Most assuredly a mountain range, but like none he'd ever seen. Stone spikes pro­truded from the cliff walls around them, jutting out­ward in every direction as if the peaks themselves were hungry for blood. The rock was a dull reddish brown, too, the color of dried blood, and the sky seemed a vivid scarlet in comparison. It was one of the most un­welcoming places he'd ever encountered, and he sus­pected the shudder that passed through him had as much to do with that as with the sharp winds knifing among the spikes.

Idly, Khadgar reached out to touch the nearest spike, but stopped just short of actual contact — perhaps tempting the fates was not the best plan. "The skull is not far," he said again.

"You're certain?" Turalyon asked.

"Oh, trust me, I'm certain." He could sense its pres­ence in his head without even searching now, a dull pulse just behind the eyes that almost became visible when he squeezed them shut. Definitely close.

"Good," Turalyon replied, hefting his hammer and eyeing the spikes. "I've had enough of this place."

"I think we—" began Khadgar, but Alleria lifted a commanding hand for silence.

"Listen!"

Khadgar strained to hear, but his ears were not as sharp as an elf's. Moments passed; all he heard were the winds. And then — there it was, a sort of flapping sound, like wings, but somehow sharper than those of any bird he knew. The only creature he'd ever encoun­tered that made a noise like that in flight was —

"Dragon!" he shouted, grabbing Turalyon and yank­ing his friend down as he dove to the ground himself. Just behind him he heard an angry roar and a hiss.

White-hot pain blossomed in his arm, and even as he sucked in his breath at the agony he heard more hiss­ing. There was a smoking hole in his sleeve, and a nasty-looking burn in his arm below that. The hissing was the sound of something eating away at the rocks below them as well. Magma. Krasus had said that black dragons spat magma.

Glancing up, Khadgar saw several small dark forms flit among the spikes and then rise and swoop back around. "Shields up!" Turalyon shouted, rising to his feet, "and weapons at the ready! They're not fully grown dragons — We can take them!"

Turalyon was right. The creatures attacking them were no larger than the horses, perhaps six feet long, but with a wingspan wider than that. They had small heads and only a few spikes along their back, and Khadgar real­ized that these must be an immature form. Drakes, he remembered Krasus calling them once. Yes. drakes.

"Drakes — young dragons," he warned Turalyon, rais­ing his staff as the black drakes circled for a second at­tack. "Not as strong as their parents, but still dangerous."

Turalyon nodded, but his focus was on the attacking creatures. He was back in his element now, and had set­tled at once into the military commander mind-set.

"Archers, fire at will!" he shouted. Beside him Alleria began loosing arrows at the small, agile creatures. One of her shots took a drake through the throat, the power of her longbow propelling the shaft clean through the dragon youth's lighter scales, and the thing reared up, clearly in pain. A second arrow pierced its eye and brain, and it fell to the ground with a croak and lay still.

That heartened the soldiers, and they swung with enthusiasm, swatting at the young dragons and duck­ing to avoid the creatures' small but sharp claws and the fist-sized gobbets of lava they spewed. The drakes shot past them, then banked, circling back. There were fewer of them now — several of their fellows lay dead among the spikes.

Turalyon turned to say something else to Khadgar — and stopped, toppling without warning and catching himself just in time to avoid being impaled upon the nearest duster of stone spikes. Everyone was stagger­ing about, trying to keep their footing, as the ground it­self danced beneath them.

"What in the name of the Light?" Turalyon asked, his words jarred out of him; then he was staring back and to the left of Khadgar.

Afraid to see but terrified of not knowing, Khadgar glanced behind himself.

And almost fell over from shock.

The creature pounding through — not around but through — the stone spikes was monstrous even com­pared with an ogre. It stood easily twice as tall as those giant creatures, its skin as thick and rough as rock, sweeping designs carved into its arms and shoulders. A ridge of dark spikes ran like a miniature mountain range down its back, and more spikes protruded from its shoulders and upper arms. But the face — the face was perhaps the most horrific thing of all. It resembled that of an ogre, but was far more intelligent. The crea­ture had no tusks but its teeth were long and sharp and yellowing, its cars pointed and tufted, and its single eye glaring and glowing — and fastened on them.

"Intruders!'' the behemoth shouted, the force of his cry cracking stone all around them. "Crush them!"

More figures emerged from the stone thicket to the east and west. These were ogres of the same type — and size — that Khadgar had encountered before, and they snarled and growled and laughed as they moved to­ward the Alliance soldiers.

"Wait!" Khadgar shouted. To his relief, the things ac­tually paused. Thank the Light, he had the means to at least converse with them. "We meant no offense!"

"Offense? You live, that is offense!" The creature roared and continued to advance.

"Whatever you're telling him, it isn't working," Tu­ralyon muttered. "And damn it, here come the drakes again."

Khadgar never thought he'd be happy to see drag­ons, but when the drakes circled back right at that mo­ment for another attack, he wanted to thank them. The ogres and their master were completely distracted when the drakes began spitting magma at both groups, and turned their attention to the assault from the skies. They raised massive conical clubs — Khadgar realized at once that they were simply using spires they'd broken off the mountain itself. Khadgar realized an opportunity when he saw one. "The drakes!" he cried. “Attack the drakes!"

Alleria stared at him for a moment, and Khadgar knew what she was thinking. This would be a perfect time to flee, to let the drakes attack the ogres and their strange leader for them. But Turalyon grinned and nodded; he'd gotten it. Now the Alliance members, too, focused on the flying reptilian creatures, setting to them with sword and arrows. But their efforts were fee­ble compared with what the ogres did to the drakes. The ogres easily smashed the beasts out of the sky and then stomped on them, crushing the immature drag­ons beneath their massive feet.

Their oversized leader killed a drake as well, but it didn't bother with a club — instead it simply reached up, catching a charging black drake as easily as Khadgar had once caught an apple a friend had tossed to him. The colossal beast held the drake in one hand, its thumb and forefinger pinning the young dragon's wings together as it struggled to get free. Then the beast brought the drake to its mouth, tilted its head back, and engulfed the scaled body in a single fierce bite, chewing a few extra times to get the rest of the wings into its cav­ernous mouth before finally swallowing.

"That was…" Turalyon started, but he couldn't find words to encompass what he'd just seen. He low­ered his sword and lifted his visor, barely aware of his actions. "You… those…"

The creature peered at him. "Dragons come. You not run, but could have. You stay and fight — helped us." There was a bit of astonishment in that earth-deep voice, Khadgar could well understand it. He was will­ing to bet that few had willingly risked themselves to help the ogres before. His heart lifted slightly; things were going exactly as he'd hoped.

"No, we do not run. We are not your enemies. We only wish—"

Khadgar had just drawn breath to continue to nego­tiate the tentative truce when the ground began to sud­denly shake again, and the creature glanced back the way it had come. It hunched in upon itself, arms wrap­ping protectively around its broad chest, and a strange sound emerged from its hideous mouth, half snarl and half whimper. Watching it, Khadgar would have sworn this beast, which had just all but swallowed a dragon whole, looked frightened.

He shuddered to think what could scare such a thing.

That question was answered a few minutes later, when a second monstrous beast strode from the moun­tains. This creature was even larger than the first one, and had more stone spikes protruding from its back and arms. Its skin was redder than that of the other, its one eye so pale it was almost white all the way across, and its teeth were longer and sharper.

That white eye held great intelligence, and it fastened upon Khadgar and Turalyon and the other humans. "Who you?" it demanded. “And why you still live?" "We are only passing through," Khadgar stam­mered. The great being's eye narrowed in skepticism. "We aren't your enemies. Just let us go and we'll—"

"No." The finality of the single word was chilling. "You leave, you speak. Speak of gronn. Speak of Gruul." The giant being thumped his chest. "Horde come. No, best you die. Secret stay safe. Gronn stay safe."

Turalyon glanced at the first creature he'd been con­versing with, hoping for help, but Khadgar could tell they would not get any there. The massive being had curled in upon itself after the rebuke, looking like nothing so much as a recently punished child. And that, he realized, was exactly what it was. The second crea­ture was its parent and this was the baby. The thought made him shudder.

"We will keep your secret! We helped the — the gronn with the dragons! This one can tell you so himself!"

The giant that had called itself Gruul scowled and glanced around, apparently only now noticing the black drake corpses scattered around the mountain­side. "You dragon-killers?"

"Yes," Khadgar answered desperately.

But Gruul was not so easily tricked. He tilted back his monstrous head, his fang-filled mouth gaping open — and laughed. The deep peals shook the walls around them and sent several small spires shattering to the ground.

"Kill baby dragons, maybe," it said, still grinning. "We do that. Not need help. No, you die."

"Wait!" Khadgar cried. "What do you want help with?" They could probably take down more than drakes, if they absolutely had to.

Gruul sobered at once. "You too weak. You cannot help."

"Maybe we can. Ask."

Gruul was silent, then he said in a somber voice, "Blackwing Greatfather."

It took Khadgar a second to figure out what Gruul meant. His eyes widened, he burst out, "Deathwing? You want us to kill Deathwing?"

"What?" cried Turalyon. "Deathwing? Here?"

"And they want us to kill him?" Alleria chimed in.

Khadgar was as shocked as they. They'd known the black dragons had allied with the Horde, and had seen several of them dart through the portal to Draenor, but he'd assumed it was only lesser members of the dragonflight, not the dragonflight patriarch… their "great and terrible sire…" himself!

"He left some black dragons behind as guards for the orcs at the citadel," Turalyon muttered. "But he brought the rest of them up here, to these mountains."

Khadgar nodded, then realized Gruul was still watching them expectantly

He took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. "Yes. Of course. Do not worry — We can handle Deathwing," he told the gronn with forced as­surance. "He won't be a problem for us." He did his best to ignore the stunned silence radiating from his friends and prayed Gruul couldn't see the sweat drip­ping off his brow, or that if he didб he didn't understand its significance.

Gruul nodded, a grotesque smile splitting his mas­sive lips. "Good," he announced. "Foolish, but brave! Gruul like." He peered down at them. "Now prove it." He gestured, his enormous hand lifting to indicate a peak not far away. "Deathwing," the gronn explained. "Kill. Help gronn rid mountain of pests. Then… you pass." His smile shifted down to a scowl that revealed all his fangs. "Tell no one!"

Khadgar nodded. "Agreed." He hoped his voice didn't sound quite so quivery to Gruul as it did in his own ears.

Gruul turned and began making his way across the mountainside. The massive gronn didn't bother search­ing for a path, he created one, his heavy feet shattering stone and leaving a wide, cracked trail through the stone spires, which broke off against his thick skin. The smaller gronn hurried to follow its parent, and the ogres — Khadgar was horrified to realize he now thought of them as "small," even though they were twice his own height — shuffled along behind their two oversized leaders. Grimly Khadgar followed. A thought occurred to him. Deathwing was here … and the skull was in this direction… . He paused for a second, closing his eyes, and then he grinned.

"What are you doing?" Alleria whispered to him as she and Turalyon fell into step beside him. "We're sup­posed to be looking for Gul'dan's skull, not going up against Deathwing! Do you have any idea what that dragon is capable of?"

"Yes, actually," he answered. "But he's got the skull."

"What?" exclaimed Turalyon.

"The skull is right in front of us, and so is Deathwing. We'd have had to confront him regardless, most likely."

"Wonderful. Now all we have to do is fight Deathwing to get the skull back!" She shuddered. "I'd rather face the entire Horde any day!"

Privately, Khadgar agreed with her, but he saw no other option. They needed the skull, and Deathwing had it. He was deep in thought, going over his spells in his mind, when Turalyon gripped his arm and pointed.

"Look," he said in a quiet voice.

They had reached a deep valley that led up to the peak in question, and had stopped, fanning out around the valley's edge.

Eggs. The ground was littered with them. They were about a yard long and shone from within with a pulsing red glow that revealed dark veins through the eggshells themselves — and coiled forms cocooncd inside.

"That's what was in those wagons Alleria spotted!" Turalyon whispered, staring. "No wonder the dragons were flying right above them! Deathwing brought these here to Draenor! If they hatch, the black dragons will overrun this entire world!"

"Then we had best make sure they don't hatch," Alleria countered, raising her bow and nocking an arrow. Khadgar placed his hand on her left arm and pointed. "Let's make those your first targets." The oth­ers followed his gaze and cursed softly as they saw the dark shapes winging toward them from the valley's far side.

Fortunately, it seemed that none of the largest drag­ons were protecting the eggs. The first fledgling dragon to approach was swatted aside by Gruul, his casual ges­ture slamming the small dragon into the valley's far wall hard enough to crack the stone there and drop the body in a shattered heap. The next one fell, twitching, with one of Alleria's arrows through its right eye, and Khadgar froze a third into solid ice with a quick incanta­tion. Those three had only been the vanguard, however — a fierce shrieking arose from all around the valley, and suddenly more dark, darting forms descended.

The ogres excelled at brute force. Though smaller than the gronn, they were still large enough to wrestle a drake down and snap its long neck or bash in its skull. Many of them also proved to be spellcasters, firing bolts of arcane magic that scared through dragon wings and hide alike. The sheer number of drakes would have overwhelmed them, however, if not for aid from both gronn and Alliance warriors. Turalyon had his men using their shields for protection from the drakes' claws and teeth, then slashing at their wings; though tough as leather, the wings were still the drakes' weak spot, and once a wing had torn the crea­ture was forced onto the ground, where it lost most of its agility. The ogres quickly caught on to this tactic and began tearing wings off entirely, hurling the leath­ery appendages aside while the now-grounded crea­tures were stomped flat with heavy feet. Khadgar was reminded, with a sick feeling, of a cruel child tearing the wings off butterflies.

At one point Turalyon muttered, "You know, I'm not sure we're fighting the right enemy." Khadgar had to admit these tactics were brutal, almost ghoulish, but he couldn't argue with the results.

Gruul and the other gronn — Khadgar thought of them both as male — had selected thick spires from the cliffs just beyond the valley. They swung these clubs around them with enough force to create strong winds that buffeted the drakes, driving them back into one an­other and making them easier targets for the ogres and humans. Any drake unlucky enough to actually be within the clubs' radius was crushed instantly, and the valley floor was soon thick with bodies.

"The eggs next," Khadgar said to Turalyon. But the paladin hesitated, peering at one of the eggs but mak­ing no move toward it. Khadgar frowned at him. "What's wrong?" Khadgar asked.

"I… dragons are sentient creatures. They think, they feel. It's one thing to fight the drakes, but — these are infants. Just… babies, really. They can't even fight back. And we'd be butchering them."

"Turalyon," Alleria said, "Light, do I love you, not least for that compassionate heart of yours. But these are black dragons. You know what will happen if they're not killed now."

Turalyon nodded grimly, making yet another one of those difficult decisions any general has to make in the thick of battle.

"Destroy the eggs!" he shouted, striding to the near­est and bringing his hammer down atop it. The thick shell shattered with a loud crack, followed by a softer thud as the hammer connected with the half-formed dragon inside. Large as a medium-sized dog, the unhatched dragon had smoky red skin, and nubs where head and wings would have been. It did not move as it was attacked, save to twitch slightly. A pale reddish fluid oozed from the broken egg as the shell crumbled away and the whelp within slumped to the ground, its final shudders already fading.

The rest of the Alliance warriors quickly followed suit. Just as Turalyon was breaching the last egg and the ogres were dismembering the last drakes, Khadgar heard a loud shriek from the peak above — the same place where he had last sensed the skull. Glancing up, he saw another shadow launch itself into the air, its wings covering all the valley in darkness. Its bulk dwarfed even Gruul, who shrank back against the val­ley wall before growling and straightening defiantly. His ogres and the lesser gronn were not made of such stern stuff; they shrieked and fled in terror. The shape plummeted down, sunlight glinting off its skin, its long neck arched, its jaws wide. Lava burst from its throat, a torrent of glowing magma that instantly incinerated ogre, human, dead drake, shattered egg — anything un­lucky enough to fall within its spray.

"Pull back!" Turalyon shouted to his men, who were already scrambling away from the monstrous appari­tion. "Back to the valley wall!"

They clustered there. Khadgar and Turalyon and Alleria at the forefront, and watched the gargantuan dragon alight. Khadgar gulped. He'd known the creature would be impressive, but this — Deathwing was almost incon­ceivably huge. The drakes they had been fighting seemed as toddlers compared with their great parent. Khadgar could barely take it all in. But one thing struck him as curious, even in the midst of his awe. The father of the black dragonflight had plates of silvery, glinting metal running along his spine. Beneath those plates were glowing lines of red, like the magma Deathwing had just attacked them with. The dragon's massive claws dug deep into the stone of the valley floor. All but his left fbreclaw, Khadgar saw. That was held high and curled in­ward, as if injured — or holding something.

"The skull!" he whispered to Turalyon and Alleria. "He has the skull with him!"

"Nice of him to bring it to us," Turalyon muttered. "But how do we get it?"

Deathwing folded his wings behind his sinuous body and settled on his haunches. His long neck reared up and glared balefully down at them, his red eyes alight with rage. "My children!" the dragon howled, his voice like fire licking at burning wood, like metal chipping bone. Along with the anger was a deep grief. "My children, murdered!" His tail lifted, slammed down, and a crack ran along the earth. "Come forward, disgusting, cow­ardly wretches, murderers of defenseless infants, and know torment and madness before I devour you whole! Who will be the first to be blasted to ashes?"

His gleaming eyes narrowed as they focused with dreadful intent upon Gruul. "You," he said, drawing out the single syllabic so that it contained a world of promised agony, his voice dropping to almost a whis­per, almost a caress, and Light help him, Khadgar knew a sharp gratitude that that terrible gaze had, for the moment, passed him over.

Yet Gruul did not quail. "I!" he proclaimed. "I am Gruul, greatest of gronn! This my land. My moun­tains. And you will not take them! You go or end up like children!"

Deathwing's roar of fury nearly deafened Khadgar. "My children!" he wailed, and the pain in his voice almost — almost — made Khadgar feel a twinge of sym­pathy. "Perfection incarnate… beautiful and defense­less . . ." The words turned unintelligible as Deathwing howled and almost flailed in his anger and grief, magma dripping from his jaws, shredding the stone upon which he stood, his flapping wings creating almost tornado force gales. Khadgar began to wish he'd listened to Turalyon's reluctance to smash the eggs. What had they been thinking? Light, what had he been thinking, to stand up to this monster, this ancient, evil, terrifying vision of rage? How could they possibly de­feat him?

"Oh, how brave of you!" Deathwing's grief had sharpened into scorn, less raw but no less deadly. "Such courage it must have taken, to smash shells and murder defenseless infants! A pity you will not live to brag about such a noble feat!" His wings flared out behind him and beat down again, the powerful gust they cre­ated slamming Gruul back against the wall. Gruul's ogres yowled in fear and cringed back, almost hugging the walls of the valley. Gruul would get no aid from them.

"Puny mortals! I have had many names throughout history, all of them spoken with dread: Neltharion, Xaxas, and many more. Yet you shall know me best as Deathwing, for so I am! I am the bane of life, the dark­ness within history, the lord of death, the master of de­struction. And I tell you now, and so it is true, that this world is mine.”

"Never!" Gruul replied, snarling, and launched him­self at Deathwing. The giant gronn slammed into the colossal dragon's chest with an impact that cracked the cliffs around them and sent rock cascading down from the fractured peaks. It drove most of the Alliance forces from their feet and even the ogres to their knees. Other dragons had appeared along the valley walls, watching their father intently, and they were forced back a step as well. But when the dust had cleared, Gruul was shak­ing his head and Deathwing stood unmarred and un­moved.

"Is that the best the oh so mightн Gruul can do?" Deathwing sneered, lowering his head so that his bony forehead ridge brushed up against Gruul's own thick brow. "Is that all you have?" He lifted one forуclaw, the other still closed and curled up to his breast, and held it over Gruul's head as if he were preparing to squash an insect. It was like a signal. The dragons shrieked a bat­tle cry, sprang from their perches, and flew with lethal grace toward the humans, ogres, and gronn lining the walls of the valley. The ogres seemed to be paralyzed, staring, slack-jawed, at the winged doom.

"Sons of Lothar! Attack!"

Turalyon's voice was clear and strong, and carried much farther than it should have. He lifted his ham­mer, his eyes bright, and charged forward to meet the drakes. The hammer glowed as it struck the first drake square in the skull. The beast dropped like a stone.

"For Quel’Thalas!" Alleria and her rangers began fir­ing. Battle cries rose from the Alliance soldiers, elf and human alike, and it was joined by the carsplitting roar of the ogres and gronn as they roused themselves from their terror. The dragons swooped down, heady with excitement and pride in their father, spewing magma or clamping their jaws on their enemy. The ogres and gronn seemed to remember that they had fought drakes before, and again began to pluck the creatures from the very air and rip off their wings. One ogre slammed his flapping victim so hard into the wall of the valley that a whole chunk of it crumbled, sliding slowly down in a mass of broken stone and dust, bury­ing in its path those too slow to escape.

Khadgar kept his eyes on the battle between Deathwing and Gruul. The gronn was brave to even go up against the black dragon, but he would lose soon. The mage suspected the only reason he hadn't lost before now was because Deathwing was toying with him, tor­menting the creature he believed had slain his precious, obscene offspring before dispatching him.

And when he was done with Gruul…

They had to get that skull from him. Had to.

Khadgar raised his staff high, and muttered words of power. The resulting lightning strike scared his eyes, blinding him for an instant and leaving afterimages when he blinked. The massive bolt struck Deathwing square in the chest and actually succeeded in jolting the dragon back a few feet. Lightning skittered along the metal spinal plating like water droplets on a hot skillet, but Khadgar realized that the dragon was unharmed.

"Well struck, little mage," Deathwing acknowl­edged, though his long mouth curved up in a cold smile. "But I mastered such magics millennia before your race first learned of them — you will have to try much harder than that if you wish to breach my skin!"

Gruul hurled himself into the fray once more, rous­ing reluctant admiration from Khadgar as the mage frantically considered what to do. Deathwing turned his attention to the gronn, weathering its awesome blows easily and batting him aside with a quick flip of his wings.

Khadgar stared at the dragon, a sickening feeling spreading through him even as the mage attacked again. He watched with horror as Deathwing shrugged off a spell that should have turned his very bones to ice. Deathwing was right. Khadgar realized he'd been an ar­rogant fool. There was no way to pierce that armored hide.

Armored…

Khadgar's eyes narrowed. Deathwing shone in the red sunlight, gleaming like dark brass or pools of blood, and Khadgar studied him.

Metal plating…

With gaps and fissures underneath it that glowed magma-red…

And it all clicked. His ice spell hadn't worked be­cause it couldn't hope to compete with the heat Deathwing's entire body generated. The black dragon was virtually made of lava! And those plates along his spine — which Khadgar now saw were red-hot along the edges and at the joints — were holding him together.

Lightning didn't work. Fire and ice were useless. His most powerful magics, and they didn't touch the dragon. But what about one of his weakest? What about one of the first spells they taught in Dalaran, a parlor trick every apprentice could perform at will?

Hope, painful and yet intoxicating, rose inside him.

It could work — maybe. It was the last card he could play, and so play it he would. Play it he had to. But he would need to get closer. Steeling himself, Khadgar squared his shoulders and pushed forward, brushing past where Turalyon and Alleria were battling a black dragon alongside two ogres. And walked, alone, to­ward Deathwing.

Fortunately, Gruul was keeping Deathwing busy, and neither of the massive creatures noticed the old-seeming man who crept toward them until he was only ten paces from Deathwing's head. Gruul was strug­gling to escape the heavy, taloned foot Deathwing had pinned him with, and the dragon was leaning in, his long jaws opening to bite, when Khadgar raised his hands and cast his spell.

Sensing the magic, Deathwing glanced around and, spying Khadgar, laughed at him. "More wizardry?" the dragon mocked, eyes slitted like those of an amused cat. "How entertaining. Have you not realized yet that your mightiest spells cannot harm me?" But then the words of Khadgar's incantation registered, and the dragon's eyes flew wide with alarm. "What are you — pathetic wretch, I will silence you!" He turned and, ig­noring Gruul utterly, bore down with terrible purpose on Khadgar.

The sight was so horrifying Khadgar almost forgot to complete the spell. Shaking his head, he rallied, and spoke the command words in a voice that shook.

A loud creaking rose from the dragon before him. Deathwing screamed again, writhing in pain, as the metal plates covering his body began to shift, bending away from him. Joints snapped and several plates fell away completely — where that happened, magma erupted as if from a volcano, gushing out and spilling onto the valley floor. The armor really had been hold­ing Deathwing together, and as Khadgar's spell re­moved it, the dragon began to lose cohesion.

"No!" Deathwing, if such a thing were possible, looked utterly taken aback. He craned his neck to look at the damage, at the crunched, warped metal, the seeping magma, then turned glowing eyes on Khadgar. "You may have won this battle, I give you that. But hear this, and hear it well, I have seen you, mage."

Khadgar gulped, unable to tear his gaze away.

"I have burned your face into my memory," Deathwing continued, his voice reverberating along Khadgar's bones. "I will haunt your dreams and your waking moments alike. Rest assured, I will come for you, and when at last I do, you will beg me for your death as the only respite from your terror."

His mighty wings unfurled again, his claws spas­ming open to release both Gruul and the skull, and Deathwing took to the air, his wings beating hard as he fled the mountains. Khadgar's legs, which had been shaking, finally collapsed and he sat on the ground for a long moment, gasping and acutely aware that he'd just been terribly, terribly lucky.

With their father and ruler gone, the remaining black dragons seemed to lose heart and focus. One of the larger creatures abandoned the fight immediately, his body covered with heavy gashes and one wing bent at an odd angle.

"Father," he cried, leaning back to snap at where the smaller gronn had his tail in a death grip. "Father, wait for me!" Spitting magma, the dragon burned the gronn's hands until he released his hold, then took off after Deathwing.

With the horror that was Deathwing forced into re­treat, the ogres and the gronn seemed to go mad for slaughter. They descended upon those dragons that had not escaped in time, ripping them apart with huge meaty fists and teeth, crunching their throats, lifting the bodies to the skies, and then impaling the still-writhing drakes upon the rocky spires.

Khadgar took advantage of the confusion to grab up the skull Deathwing had dropped.

Human… but powerful. What great potential I sense here! But that is to be expected, is it not, from the young ap­prentice to Medivh? You can become stronger yet, if you have the courage to embrace your destiny. Why not become my ap­prentice? I will teach you that blood and slaughter are the keys to true —

"Ah!" Khadgar gasped, almost dropping the skull. Gul’dan! He griitcd his teeth and shuttered his mind. Even dead, it would seem, Gul'dan was a danger. Quickly he stashed the skull in a pouch and hurried back to where Turalyon and the others still fought.

"I have the skull," he told Turalyon, finding his friend just backing away from a dragon's death throes.

"Well done." Turalyon said. "Now let's get out of here. We retreat. Now." Their men were quickly gath­ered, and Alleria rounded up her rangers. The ogres and the gronn were too busy tormenting the dragons to even notice their departure.

Turalyon led them quickly back out of the moun­tains. "Your gamble worked, Khadgar, and brilliantly," he told his friend once they were well clear of the val­ley and its carnage. "We got the skull, and we dealt with the dragons — they won't be aiding the Horde again any time soon."

Khadgar thought about Deathwing's parting threat and couldn't suppress a shiver. He wasn't so sure Turalyon's optimism was warranted. Nevertheless, he nod­ded as if he believed it. "All that's left is Ner’zhul. Once I get that book, I can close the portal for good."

All that was left was stopping a powerful shaman, one who had the powers of the skies and the earth, from opening portals into countless worlds. Still, they'd just dealt an extremely powerful dragon a setback. Who knew, maybe they'd be able to do this after all. One thing was certain. If they didn't stop the orcs now, on Draenor … they would never stop them.