Day of the Dragon

20

So simple. So very simple.

As Deathwing turned to retrieve the next eggs, he wondered if he had overestimated the difficulties of his plan in the first place. He had always assumed that to have entered the mountain either as himself or in disguise would have been more risky, especially if Alexstrasza had noticed his presence. True, there would have been little chance of him being injured, but the eggs he had coveted might have been destroyed. He had feared that happening, especially if one of those eggs proved to be a viable female. Having long decided that Alexstrasza would never be his to control, Deathwing needed every egg he could get his talons on, so as to better his chances. That, in fact, had made him hesitate more than anything else. Now, though, it seemed that he had wasted time waiting, that nothing could have stood in his way then, just as nothing did now.

He corrected himself. Nothing but a sickly, doddering beast well past his prime who even now flew toward his doom.

“Tyran . . .” Deathwing would not dignify the other dragon by calling him by his full name. “You are not dead yet?”

“Give back the eggs!” the crimson behemoth rasped.

“So that they may be raised as dogs for those orcs? I will at least make them true masters of the world! Once more dragon flights will rule the skies and earth!”

His ailing adversary snorted. “And where is your flight, Deathwing? Aah, my pain makes me forget! They all died for your glory!”

The black leviathan hissed, spreading his wings wide. “Come to me, Tyran! I will be happy to send you on your way to oblivion!”

“Whether by the orc’s command or not, I would still hunt you down until my last breath!” Tyran snarled. He snapped at the black’s throat, barely missing.

“I shall send you back to your masters in bloody little pieces, old fool!”

The two dragons roared at one another, Tyran’s cry a pale comparison to Deathwing’s own.

They closed for combat.

Rhonin stared.“Krasus?”

The crimson dragon raised his head enough to nod once. “That is the name . . . I wear when . . . when human. . . .”

“Krasus . . .” Astonishment turned to bitterness. “You betrayed me and my friends! You arranged all this! Made me your puppet!”

“For which I will always have . . . regrets. . . .”

“You’re no better than Deathwing!”

This made the leviathan cringe, but once more he nodded. “I deserve that. Perhaps that is the path . . . the path he took long ago. S-so easy to not see what . . . what one does to others . . .”

The distant sounds of battle reverberated even here, reminding Rhonin of other, more important matters than his pride. “Vereesa and Falstad are still back there—and those dwarves! They could all die because of you! Why did you summon me here, Krasus?”

“B-because there is still hope of seizing v-victory out of the chaos . . . the chaos I have helped to create. . . .” The dragon tried to rise, but managed only a sitting position. “You and I, Rhonin . . . there is a chance. . . .”

The wizard frowned, but said nothing. His only concern now lay in seeing to it that Vereesa, Falstad, and the hill dwarves survived this debacle.

“You . . . you do not reject me out of hand . . . good. I thank you for th-that.”

“Just tell me what you intend.”

“The orc commander w-wields an artifact . . . the Demon Soul. It has p-power over all dragons . . . save Deathwing.”

Rhonin recalled how Nekros had tried to use it on the black leviathan with no visible effect. “Why not Deathwing?”

“Because he created it,” responded a quiet, feminine voice.

The mage whirled about. He heard a gasp from the dragon.

A beautiful yet ethereal woman wearing a flowing emerald gown stood behind the wizard, a slight smile on her pale lips. Rhonin belatedly realized that her eyes were closed, yet she seemed to have no trouble knowing how best to face either him or the dragon.

“Ysera . . .” the crimson giant whispered reverently.

She did not acknowledge him immediately, though, instead continuing to answer Rhonin’s question. “Deathwing it was who created the Demon Soul, and for a good cause at the time, so we believed.” She strode toward the wizard. “Believed so much that we did as he asked, imparted to it some measure of our power.”

“But he didn’t impart his own, didn’t impart his own!” snapped a male voice, strident and not completely sane. “Tell him, Ysera! Tell him how, after the demons were defeated, he turned on us! Used our own power on us!”

Atop a massive rock perched a skeletal, not quite human figure with jagged, blue hair and silver skin. Clad in a high-collared robe of the same two colors as his form, he looked like some mad jester. His eyes gleamed. Daggerlike fingers scratched at the rock upon which the figure squatted, gouging chasms into it.

“He will hear what he needs to hear, Malygos. No more, no less.” She smiled slightly again. The longer Rhonin looked at her, the more she reminded him of Vereesa—but of Vereesa as he had once dreamt of her. “Yes, Deathwing neglected to tell us that part, and certainly pretended that he had sacrificed as we had. Only when he decided that he represented the future of our kind did we discover the horrible truth.”

It finally occurred to Rhonin that Ysera and Malygos spoke of the black dragon as one of them. He turned his head back to the red leviathan, silently asking the creature he had known as Krasus if his suspicions were true.

“Yes . . .” the injured dragon replied. “They are what you believe them to be. They are two of the five great dragons, known in legend as the Aspects of the world.” The red giant seemed to draw strength from their arrival. “Ysera . . . She of the Dreaming. Malygos . . . the Hand of Magic . . .”

“We are wasssting time here,” muttered yet a third voice, another male. “Precioussss time . . .”

“And Nozdormu . . . Master of Time, too!” marveled the red dragon. “You have all come!”

A shrouded figure seemingly made of sand stood near Ysera. Under the hood appeared a face so desiccated it barely had enough dry flesh to cover the bone. Gemstone eyes glared at both the dragon and the wizard in growing impatience. “Yesss, we have come! And if thisss party takesss much longer, perhapsss I shall go, too! I’ve much to gather, much to catalog—”

“Much to babble about, much to babble about!” mocked Malygos from high up.

Nozdormu raised a withered yet strong hand toward the jester, who flashed his daggerlike nails at the hooded figure. The two looked ready to come to blows, both physical and otherwise, but the ghostly woman came between them.

“And this is why Deathwing has nearly triumphed,” she murmured.

The two reluctantly backed down. Ysera turned to face everyone, her eyes still closed.

“Deathwing almost had us once, but we joined ranks again and made it so that at least he himself could never wield the Demon Soul again. We forced it from his hand and into the bowels of the earth—”

“But someone found it for him,” interjected the red dragon, pulling himself together as best he could, now that hope had evidently returned. “I believe that he may even have led the orcs to it, knowing what they would do once they had it. If he cannot use it himself, he can certainly manipulate others into wielding it for his purposes—even if they do not realize it. I—I believe that it suited his plans for Alexstrasza to be captured, for she not only remained the lone power he feared, but it helped the Horde to wreak further havoc in the world without the dark one raising a paw in effort. Now . . . now that it is clear that the Horde has failed him, it better serves his purpose for the orcs to move her.”

“Not her,” corrected Ysera. “Her eggs.”

“Her eggs?” the former Krasus blurted. “Not my queen herself ?”

“Yes, the eggs. You know that the last of his mates perished in the first days of the war,” she replied. “Slain by his own recklessness . . . so now he would raise our sister’s get as his own.”

“To create a new Age of Dragonssss . . .” spat Nozdormu. “The Age of Deathwing’sss Dragonsss!”

Suddenly Rhonin noticed that the four now stared at him, even Ysera with her closed eyes.

“We cannot touch the Demon Soul, human, and out of distrust, we have never tried to make another creature wield it for us. I believe I know what poor Korialstrasz here desired so much of you that he had to drag you from your friends, but while it seems the best way, he will not now be the one who keeps Deathwing occupied.”

“It is my duty!” roared the red. “It is my penance!”

“It would be a waste. You are too susceptible to the disk. Besides, you are needed for other reasons. Tyran, who fights now for both his queen and his captor, will not survive. Alexstrasza will have need of you, dear Korial.”

“Besides, Deathwing is our brother,” mocked Malygos. The talons dug deeper into the rock. “It’s only right that we should play with him, we should play with him!”

“What do you want me to do?” Rhonin asked, eager yet also anxious. What he wanted most was to return to Vereesa.

Ysera faced him—and her eyes opened. For a brief moment, vertigo seized control of the human. The dreamlike eyes that stared back reminded him of everyone he had ever known, hated, or loved. “You, mortal, must take the Demon Soul from the orc. Without it, he cannot possibly do to us what he did to our sister and, by taking it, you might be able to free her from his control.”

“But that will not deal with Deathwing,” Korialstrasz insisted. “And because of the cursed disk, he is stronger than all of you together—”

“A point of fact we know,” hissed Nozdormu. “And ssso did you when you came to usss! Well, you have usss now! Be sssatissfied with that!” He looked at his two companions. “Enough babble! Let usss be done with thisss!”

Ysera, her eyes closed again, turned to the dragon. “There is one thing you must do, Korialstrasz, and it does entail risk. This human cannot simply be magicked into the orcs’ midst. The Demon Soul makes that risky, and there is also always the chance that he will find himself under the ax when he appears. You must instead bear him there—and pray that for the few seconds you are so near, the orc does not bind you to the foul disk this time.” She walked up to the stricken dragon, touching the tip of his muzzle. “You are not one of us even if you are her consort, Korialstrasz, yet you fought the Demon Soul’s hungry grasp and escaped—”

“I worked hard to build myself up for that, Ysera. I thought I had cast my protective spells better, but in the end I failed.”

“We can do this for you.” Suddenly, both Malygos and Nozdormu stood beside her. All three had their left hands touching Korialstrasz’s muzzle. “So much power the Demon Soul took from us, a little more will not matter. . . .”

Auras formed around the raised hands of the trio, the colors reminiscent of each of those contributing. The three auras combined, rapidly spreading from the Aspects to the dragon’s muzzle and beyond. In seconds, Korialstrasz’s entire immense form lay bathed in magic.

Ysera and the others finally backed away. The crimson behemoth blinked, then rose to his feet. “I feel—renewed!”

“You will need all of it,” she remarked. To her two companions, she said, “We must see to our errant brother.”

“About time, I would sssay!” snapped Nozdormu.

Without another word to either Rhonin or the red dragon, they turned away, facing the distant form of Deathwing. As one, the trio spread their arms wide—and those arms became wings that expanded and expanded. At the same time, their bodies widened, grew greater. Away went the garments, replaced by scale. Their faces lengthened, hardened, all vestiges of humanity shaping into draconic majesty.

The three gargantuan dragons rose high in the air, a sight so impressive that the wizard could only watch.

“I pray that they will be enough,” muttered Korialstrasz. “But I fear it will not be so.” He looked down at the tiny figure next to him. “What say you, Rhonin? Will you do as they bid?”

For Vereesa alone, he would have agreed. “All right.”

The fight had early gone out of Tyran, and now so had the life. Deathwing roared his triumph as he clutched the limp form of the other dragon high. Blood still seeped from a score of deep wounds—most of them in the red’s chest—and Tyran’s paws were covered with burns, the cost of touching the acidic venom that dripped from the fiery veins coursing along the black’s body. No one who touched Deathwing did not suffer in the end.

The dark one roared again, then let the lifeless form drop. In truth, he had done the ill red a favor; would not the other dragon have suffered worse if he had been forced to continue to live with his sickness? At least Deathwing had granted him a warrior’s demise, however easy the battle had truly been.

Yet a third time he roared, wanting all to hear of his supremacy—

—and found instead answering roars coming from the west.

“What fool now dares?” he hissed.

Not one fool, Deathwing immediately saw, but three. Not any three, either.

“Ysssera . . .” he greeted coldly. “And Nozdormu, and my dear friend Malygosss, too . . .”

“It is time to end your madness, brother,” the sleek green dragon calmly said.

“I am not your brother in anything, Ysera. Open your eyes to that fact, and also that nothing will prevent me from creating this new age of our kind!”

“You plan only an age in which you rule, nothing more.”

The black dipped his head. “Much the same thing, as I see it. Best you go back to sleep. And you, Nozdormu? Pulled your head out of the sand at last? Do you not recall who is most powerful here? Even the three of you will not be enough!”

“Your time isss over!” spat the glittering brown behemoth. Gemstone eyes flared. “Come! Take your place in my collection of thingsss passst. . . .”

Deathwing snorted. “And you, Malygos? Have you nothing to say to your old comrade?”

In response, the chill-looking, silver-blue beast opened wide his maw. A torrent of ice shot forth, washing over Deathwing with incredible accuracy. However, as soon as the ice touched the fearsome dragon, it transformed, turning into a thousand thousand tiny crablike vermin that sought to tear at the scales and flesh of their host.

Deathwing hissed, and from the crimson veins acid poured forth. Malygos’s creatures died by the hundreds, until only a few remained.

Expertly using two talons, the black dragon picked one of these off, then swallowed it whole. He smiled at his counterparts, revealing sharp, tearing teeth. “So that is how it is to be, then. . . .”

With an earth-shattering roar, he leapt at them.

“They will not defeat him!” Korialstrasz muttered as Rhonin and he neared the besieged orc column. “They cannot!”

“Then why bother?”

“Because they know that it is time to make a stand, regardless of the outcome! Rather would they pass from this world than watch it writhe and die in Deathwing’s terrible grip!”

“Is there no way we can help them?”

The dragon’s silence answered that.

Rhonin eyed the orcs ahead, thinking of his own mortality. Even if he managed to seize this artifact from Nekros, how long would he maintain hold of it? For that matter, what good would it do him? Could he wield it?

“Kras—Korialstrasz, the disk contains the power of the great dragons?”

“All save Deathwing, which is why he cannot be bound by its power!”

“But he can’t wield it himself because of some spell the others cast?”

“So it seems . . .” The dragon banked.

“Do you know what the disk can do?”

“Many things, but none of them able to directly or indirectly affect the dark one.”

Rhonin frowned. “How is that possible?”

“How long have you trained in magic, my friend?”

The wizard grimaced. Of all the arts, magic truly had to be one of the most contradictory, guided by laws all its own, laws quite changeable at the worst of times. “Point taken.”

“The great ones have made up their minds, Rhonin! By being granted the chance to take the Demon Soul, you will not only free my queen—who will, I do not doubt, rise to their aid—but also have the wherewithal for finally crushing the remnants of the Horde! The Demon Soul can do that, if you learn to wield it properly, you know!”

He had not even considered that, but of course a relic like this would serve well against the orcs. “But it would take too long to learn how to use it!”

“The orcs did not have willing teachers! I am not one of the Five, Rhonin, but I can show you enough, I think!”

“Providing we both survive . . .” the mage whispered to himself.

“Yes, there is that.” Apparently dragons had exceptional hearing. “Aah, there is the orc in question! Be ready!”

Rhonin prepared himself. Korialstrasz dared not get too near Nekros for fear of falling victim to the Demon Soul, which meant that, despite the talisman, the wizard had to use magic to reach the orc commander. He had cast many spells in the heat of battle before, but nothing had quite prepared Rhonin for this effort. The dragon might have tried, but around the vicinity of the relic, his magic would have fared worse than the wizard’s.

“Get ready . . .”

Korialstrasz dropped lower.

“Now!”

The words came out of Rhonin in a gasp—and suddenly he floated in the air, directly over one of the wagons.

An orc driver looked up, gaped when he saw the wizard.

Rhonin dropped on top of him.

The collision softened his fall, but did nothing good for the orc. Rhonin scrambled to push the unconscious driver to the side, then searched the area for Nekros.

The one-legged commander remained on horseback, eyes fixed on the turning form of Korialstrasz. He raised the gleaming Demon Soul high—

“Nekros!” Rhonin shouted.

The orc looked his way, which had been just as the wizard wanted it. Now the dragon remained out of Nekros’s reach.

“Human! Wizard! You’re dead!” His heavy brow furrowed and a dark look crossed his hideous features. “Well . . . you will be soon!”

He pointed the artifact toward Rhonin.

The wizard quickly cast a shield, hoping that whatever Nekros threw at him would not be as terrible as the golem’s flames. The great dragons had not seen fit to grant him some of the extra strength they had given to Korialstrasz, but then, the red behemoth had been near to total collapse, and they had needed the rest of their power for Deathwing. Rhonin’s own hopes all lay in his own flagging capabilities.

A gigantic hand—a hand of flame—reached for him, trying to encircle the mage. However, Rhonin’s spell held true, and the hand, rebounding off the faintly visible shield, instead engulfed an orc warrior about to behead his dwarven adversary. The orc let out one short scream before collapsing into a burning heap.

“Your tricks’ll not hold you long from death!” growled Nekros.

The ground beneath the wagon began to shake, then crumble. Rhonin threw himself from the sinkhole that formed just as the wagon and the animals pulling it were dragged under. The shield spell dissipated, leaving the desperate mage undefended as he clung to what remained of the path.

Nekros urged his mount nearer. “Whatever happens this day, human, I’ll at least be rid of you!”

Rhonin uttered a short, simple spell. A single clump of dirt flew up into the orc’s face, lodging there despite his attempts to peel it away. Swearing, Nekros struggled to see.

The wizard pulled himself up, then leapt at the orc.

He came up a bit short, catching the arm that held the Demon Soul but unable to pull himself higher. Although still blinded, Nekros seized Rhonin by the collar, trying to get one heavy hand on the mage’s throat.

“I’ll kill you, human scum!”

Fingers closed around Rhonin’s neck. Caught between attempting to pry the talisman free and saving his own life, Rhonin managed to accomplish neither. Nekros began to crush the life out of him, the incredible strength of the orc too much for the mage. Rhonin started a spell—

A winged shape suddenly darted past Nekros. Something landed on the back of the orc, throwing both him and the wizard off the horse and onto the rough ground.

They landed hard. The murderous grip on Rhonin’s throat vanished as the two bounced in opposite directions.

Someone seized the dazed mage by the shoulders. “Up, Rhonin, before he recovers!”

“V-Vereesa?” He stared into her striking face, both astonished and pleased to see her.

“We saw the dragon drop you from the sky, then watched as you magicked yourself to safety! Falstad and I came as soon as we could, thinking you might need help!”

“Falstad?” Rhonin looked up, saw the gryphon-rider and his mount circling back. Falstad had no weapon, yet he howled as if daring every orc in the column to come face him.

“Hurry!” the ranger cried. “We must get out of here!”

“No!” Reluctantly he pulled back. “Not until—look out!”

He pushed her aside just before a massive war-ax would have cut her in two. A beefy orc with ritual scars cut down each cheek raised the ax again, once more focusing on Vereesa, who had fallen to the side.

Rhonin gestured . . . and the ax handle suddenly stretched, weaving about as if some writhing serpent. The orc struggled to control it, only to find his weapon now twisting around him. Suddenly fearful, the warrior released his grip and, after managing to pull free of the living ax, ran off.

The wizard reached out a hand to his companion—

—and fell to the ground as a fist caught him in the back.

“Where is it?” roared Nekros Skullcrusher. “Where’s the Demon Soul?”

Momentarily stunned, Rhonin did not quite understand the orc. Surely Nekros had the talisman. . . .

A piercing weight pressed down on him from the back. He heard Nekros say, “Stay where you’re at, elf! All I need to do is lean a little harder and I’ll crush your friend like a piece of fruit!” Rhonin felt cold metal against his cheek. “No tricks, mage! Give me the disk back and I may let you live!”

Nekros gave him just enough movement so that Rhonin could see the orc out of the corner of his eye. The commander had his wooden leg squarely on the wizard’s spine, and Rhonin had no doubt that just a bit more pressure would snap the spine completely. “I d-don’t have it!” The near-full weight of Nekros’s massive body made it nearly impossible to breathe, much less speak. “I don’t even know w-where it is!”

“I’ve no patience for your lies, human!” Nekros pushed a little harder. A hint of desperation colored his otherwise arrogant tone. “I need it now!”

“Nekrosss . . .” interrupted a thundering, hate-filled voice. “You had them ssslay my children! My children !”

Rhonin felt the orc suddenly shift, as if turning. Nekros let out a gasp, then, “No—!”

A shadow overwhelmed both Rhonin and his adversary. A hot, almost searing wind washed over the mage. He heard Nekros Skullcrusher scream—

—and suddenly the orc’s weight vanished from his back.

Rhonin immediately rolled onto his back, certain that whatever had taken his enemy would now take him. Vereesa came to his aid, dragging him to her just as the mage registered what had created the vast shadow and why the voice accompanying it had been familiar.

Scales hanging loose in some areas, her wings bent awkwardly, the Dragonqueen Alexstrasza still presented a most astounding sight. She towered over all else, her head high in the sky as she roared in defiance. Of Nekros, Rhonin saw no sign; the great dragon had either swallowed the orc whole or tossed his body far away.

Alexstrasza roared again, then dipped her head down toward the wizard and elf. Vereesa looked ready to defend them both, but Rhonin signaled her to lower her blade.

“Human, elf, you have my gratitude for finally enabling me to avenge my children! Now, though, there are others who need my aid, however minuscule it might prove!”

She cast her eyes skyward, where four titans fought. Rhonin followed her gaze, watched for a moment as Ysera, Nozdormu, and Malygos battled Deathwing seemingly without result. Again and again the trio dove in, and each time the black monster repelled them easily.

“Three against one and they still can’t do anything?”

Alexstrasza, already testing her wings for departure, paused to reply, “Because of the Demon Soul, we are more than halved! Only Deathwing remains whole! Would that it could be wielded against him or that we could regain the power lost to it, but neither of those options exists! We can only fight and hope for the best!” A roar from above shook the earth. “I must go now! Forgive me for leaving you thus! Thank you again!”

With that, the Dragonqueen rose into the air, her tail casually sweeping nearby orcs away yet ever avoiding the valiant dwarven attackers.

“There must be something we can do!” Rhonin looked around for the Demon Soul. It had to be somewhere.

“Never mind it!” Vereesa called. She deflected the ax of an orc, then ran the warrior through. “We still need to save ourselves!”

Rhonin, however, continued to search despite the pitched battle around him. Suddenly, his gaze alighted on a glittering object half-covered by the arm of a dead dwarf. The wizard raced over to it, hoping against hope.

Sure enough, it proved to be the draconic artifact. Rhonin studied it in open admiration. So simple and elegant, yet containing forces beyond the ability of any wizard, save perhaps the infamous Medivh. So much power. With it, Nekros could have become War Chief of the Horde. With it, Rhonin could become master of Dalaran, emperor of all the Lordaeron kingdoms. . . .

What was he thinking? Rhonin shook his head, scattering such thoughts. The Demon Soul had a seductive touch to it, one of which he had to beware.

Falstad, atop the gryphon, dropped down to join them. Somewhere along the way, he had managed to gain an orc battle-ax, which he had already clearly used well.

“Wizard! What ails you? Rom and his band may have the orcs on the run at last, but here ’tis not the place to stand and gawk at baubles!”

Rhonin ignored him, just as he had Vereesa. Somehow the key to defeating Deathwing had to be in using the Demon Soul! What other force could possibly do that? Even the four great dragons seemed not enough.

He held up the artifact, sensing its tremendous power and knowing that none of that power would help, at least not in its present form.

Which meant that perhaps nothing, nothing, would be able to stop Deathwing from achieving his goals. . . .