Day of the Dragon

5

He had nothing to do with the explosion,” Vereesa insisted. “Why would he do something like that?”

“He is a wizard,” Duncan returned flatly, as if that answered any and all questions. “They care nothing about the lives and livelihoods of others.”

Well aware of the prejudices of the holy order toward magic, Vereesa did not try to argue that point. As an elf, she had grown up around magic, even could perform some slight bit herself, and so did not see Rhonin in the terrible light that the paladin did. While Rhonin struck her as reckless, he did not seem to her so monstrous as to not care about the lives of others. Had he not helped her during their flight from the dragon? Why bother to risk himself ? He could still have gotten to Hasic on his own.

“And if he is not to blame,” Lord Senturus continued, “then where has he gone? Why is there no trace of him in the rubble? If he is innocent of this, his body should be there along with the two of our brothers who perished during his spell. . . .” The man stroked his beard slightly. “No, this foul work is the fault of his, mark me.”

And so you would hunt him down like an animal, she thought. Why else had Duncan summoned ten of his best to ride with them in search of the missing spellcaster? What Vereesa had originally seen as a rescue mission had quickly revealed itself as otherwise. When she and the rest had heard the explosion, discovered the ruin, the elf had felt a twinge inside her heart. Not only had she failed to keep her companion alive, but he and two other men had perished for no good reason. However, Duncan had clearly from the first seen it otherwise, especially when a search had revealed no trace of Rhonin’s corpse among the rubble.

Her first thought had been of goblin sappers, well-versed in sneaking up to a fortress and setting off deadly charges, but the senior paladin had insisted that his region had been swept clean of any trace of the elements of the Horde, goblins especially. While the foul little creatures did possess a few fantastic and utterly improbable flying machines, none had been reported. Besides, such an airship would have had to move with lightning speed to avoid detection, something not possible for the cumbersome devices.

Which, of course, left Rhonin as the most likely source of the destruction.

Vereesa did not believe it possible of him, especially since he had been so dedicated to fulfilling his mission. She only hoped that if they found the young wizard she would be able to keep Duncan and the others from running him through before they had a chance to find out the truth.

They had scoured the nearby countryside and were now headed toward the actual direction of Hasic. Although it had been suggested by more than one of the younger knights that Rhonin had likely used his magic to spirit himself away to his destination, Duncan Senturus had evidently not thought enough of the wizard’s abilities in that respect to take it to heart. He fervently believed that they would be able to track down the rogue mage and bring him to justice.

And as the day aged and the sun began its downward climb, even Vereesa began to question Rhonin’s innocence. Had he caused the disaster, then fled the murderous scene?

“We shall have to make camp soon,” Lord Senturus announced some time later. He studied the thickening woods. “While I do not expect trouble, it would serve us little good to go wandering through the dark, possibly missing our quarry at our very feet.”

Her own eyesight superior to that of her companions, Vereesa considered continuing on by herself, but thought better of it. If the Knights of the Silver Hand discovered Rhonin without her, the wizard stood little chance of surviving.

They rode on a bit farther, but spotted nothing. The sun slipped below the horizon, leaving only a faint glow of light to illuminate their way. As he had promised, Duncan called a reluctant halt to the search, ordering his knights to immediately set up camp. Vereesa dismounted, but her eyes continued to sweep over the surrounding territory, hoping against hope that the fiery wizard would make himself known.

“He is nowhere about, Lady Vereesa.”

She turned to look up at the lead paladin, the only man among the searchers tall enough to force her to such an action. “I cannot help looking, my lord.”

“We will find the scoundrel soon enough.”

“We should hear his story first, Lord Senturus. Surely that is fair enough.”

The armored figure shrugged as if it did not make a difference either way to him. “He will be given his chance to make his penance, of course.”

After which they would either take Rhonin back in chains or execute him on the spot. The Knights of the Silver Hand might be a holy order, but they were also known for their expedience in meting out justice.

Vereesa excused herself from the senior paladin, not trusting her tongue to keep her from infuriating him at this point. She led her horse to a tree at the edge of the campsite, then slipped in among the trees. Behind her, the sounds of the camp muted as the elf moved farther into her own element.

Again she felt the temptation to continue with the search on her own. So very easy for her to move lithely through the forest, seek out those crevices and areas of thick foliage that might hide a corpse.

“Always so eager to go rushing off, handling matters in your own inimitable style, eh, Vereesa?”her first tutor had asked one day shortly after her induction into the select training program of the rangers. Only the best were chosen for their ranks.“With such impatience, you might as well have been born a human. Keep this up and you will not be among the rangers for very long. . . .”

Yet despite the skepticism of more than one of her tutors, Vereesa had prevailed and risen to among the best of her select group. She could not now fail that training by turning reckless.

Promising herself that she would return to the others after a few minutes’ relaxation in the forest, the silver-haired ranger leaned against one of the trees and exhaled. Such a simple assignment, and already it had nearly fallen apart not once but twice. If they never found Rhonin, she would have to think of something to say to her masters, not to mention even the Kirin Tor of Dalaran. None of the fault in this lay with her, but—

A sudden gust of wind nearly threw Vereesa from the tree. The elf managed to cling to it at the last moment, but in the distance she could hear the frustrated calls of the knights and the wild clattering of loose objects tossed about.

As quickly as the wind struck, it suddenly died away. Vereesa pushed her disheveled hair from her face and hurried back to camp, fearful that Duncan and the others had been attacked by some terrible force akin to the dragon earlier that day. Fortunately, even as she approached, the ranger heard the paladins already discussing the repair of their camp, and as she entered the area, Vereesa saw that, other than bedrolls and other objects lying strewn about, no one seemed much out of sorts.

Lord Senturus strode toward her, eyes filled with concern. “You are well, milady? No harm has come to you?”

“Nothing. The wind surprised me, that is all.”

“Surprised everyone.” He rubbed his bearded jaw, gazing into the darkened forest. “It strikes me that no normal wind blows in such a manner. . . .” He turned to one of his men. “Roland! Double the guard! This may not be the end of this particular storm!”

“Aye, milord!” a slim, pale knight called back. “Christoff! Jakob! Get—”

His voice cut off with such abruptness that both Duncan, who had turned back to the elf, and Vereesa looked to see if the man had suddenly been struck down by an arrow or crossbow bolt. Instead, they found him staring at a dark bundle lying amidst the bedrolls, a dark bundle with legs stretched together and arms crossed over the chest, almost as if in deathly repose.

A dark bundle gradually recognizable as Rhonin.

Vereesa and the knights gathered around him, one of the men holding a torch near. The elf bent down to investigate the body. In the flickering light of the torch, Rhonin looked pale and still, and at first she could not tell whether he breathed or not. Vereesa reached for his cheek—

And the eyes of the mage opened wide, startling everyone.

“Ranger . . . how nice . . . to see you again. . . .”

With that, his eyes closed once more and Rhonin fell asleep.

“Fool of a wizard!” Duncan Senturus snapped. “You’ll not up and vanish after good men have died, then think you can simply reappear in our midst and go to sleep!” He reached for the spellcaster’s arm, intending to shake Rhonin awake, but let out a startled cry the moment his fingers touched the dark garments. The paladin gazed at his gauntleted hand as if he had been bitten, snarling, “Some sort of devilish, unseen fire surrounds him! Even through the glove it felt like seizing hold of a burning ember!”

Despite his warning, Vereesa had to see for herself. Sure enough, she felt some discomfort when her fingers touched Rhonin’s clothes, but nothing of the intensity that Lord Senturus had described. Nevertheless, the ranger pulled back her hand and nodded agreement. She saw no reason at the moment why she should inform the senior paladin of the difference.

Behind her Vereesa heard the scrape of steel as it slid from its sheath. She quickly glanced up at Duncan, who had already begun shaking his head at the knight in question. “No, Wexford, a Knight of the Silver Hand cannot slay any foe who cannot defend himself. The stain would be too great to our oaths. I think we must post guards for the evening, then see what happens with our spellcaster here in the morning.” Lord Senturus’s weathered visage took on a grim aspect. “And, one way or another, justice will be served once he awakes.”

“I will stand by him,” Vereesa interjected. “No one else need do so.”

“Forgive me, milady, but your association with—”

She straightened, staring the senior paladin in the eye as best she could. “You question the word of a ranger, Lord Senturus? You question my word? Do you assume that I will help him flee again?”

“Of course not!” Duncan finally shrugged. “If that is what you want, then that is what you want. You have my permission. Yet to do so all night with no relief—”

“That is my choice. Would you do any less with one left in your charge?”

Vereesa had him there. Lord Senturus finally shook his head, then turned to the other warriors and began giving orders. In seconds, the ranger and the wizard were alone in the center of camp. Rhonin had been left atop two of the bedrolls, the knights not certain as to how to remove them without getting burned.

She examined the sleeping form as best she could without touching him again. Rhonin’s robes appeared torn in places and the face of the wizard bore tiny scars and bruises, but otherwise he seemed to be unharmed. His expression looked drained, however, as if he had suffered great exhaustion.

Perhaps it was the near darkness through which she inspected him, but Vereesa thought that the human looked so much more vulnerable now, even sympathetic. She also had to admit that he had fair looks, although the elf quickly eliminated any other thoughts along that line. Vereesa tried to see if there was any method by which she could make the unconscious mage’s position more comfortable, but the only way to do so would have meant revealing that she could tolerate touching him. That, in turn, might have encouraged Lord Senturus to try to use her to better secure Rhonin, which went against the elf’s bond to the mage.

With no other recourse, Vereesa settled near the prone body and looked around, eyeing the area for any possible threat. She still found Rhonin’s sudden reappearance very questionable and, although he had said little about it, clearly so did Duncan. Rhonin hardly seemed capable of having transported himself to the midst of their camp. True, such an effort would explain why he now lay almost comatose, but it still did not ring true. Rather, Vereesa felt as if she looked at a man who had been kidnapped, then tossed back after the kidnapper had done with him what he would.

The only question that remained—who could have done such a fantastic thing . . . and why?

He woke knowing that they were all against him.

Well, not all of them, perhaps. Rhonin did not know exactly where he stood—providing he could stand at all—with the elven ranger. By rights, her oath to see him safely to Hasic should have meant she would defend him even against the pious knights, but one never knew. There had been an elf in the party from his last mission, an older ranger much like Vereesa. That ranger, however, had treated the wizard much the same way as Duncan Senturus did, and without the elder paladin’s level of tact.

Rhonin exhaled lightly so as not to alert anyone just yet to his consciousness. He had only one way of finding out where he stood with everyone, but he needed a few more moments to collect his thoughts. Among the initial questions he would be asked would be his part in the disaster and what had happened to him afterward. Some bit of the first half the weary wizard could answer. As for the second, they likely knew as much as he.

He could delay no longer. Rhonin took another breath, then purposely stretched, as if waking.

Beside him, he heard slight movement.

With planned casualness, the mage opened his eyes and looked about. To his relief and—surprisingly—some pleasure, Vereesa’s concerned countenance filled his immediate field of vision. The ranger leaned forward, striking sky-blue eyes studying him close. Those eyes suited her well, he thought for a moment . . . then quickly dismissed the thought as the sound of clanking metal warned him that the others knew he had awakened.

“Back among the living, is he?” Lord Senturus rumbled. “We shall see how that lasts—”

The slim elf immediately leapt to her feet, blocking the paladin’s path. “He has only just opened his eyes! Give him time to recoup and eat at least before you question him!”

“I will deny him no basic right, milady, but he shall answer questions while he has his breakfast, not after.”

Rhonin had propped himself up by his elbows just enough to be able to see Duncan’s scowling visage, and knew that the Knights of the Silver Hand believed him to be some sort of traitor, possibly even a murderer. The weakened mage recalled the one unfortunate sentry who had plummeted to his death and suspected that there might have been more such victims. Someone had no doubt reported Rhonin’s presence on the wall, and the natural prejudices of the holy order had added up the facts and gotten the wrong answer, as usual.

He did not want to fight them, doubted that at this point he could even cast more than one or two light spells, but if they tried to condemn him for what had happened at the keep, Rhonin would not hold back to defend himself.

“I’ll answer as best I can,” the wizard replied, declining any aid from Vereesa as he struggled to his feet. “But, yes, only with some food and water in my stomach.”

The normally bland rations of the knights tasted sweet and delicious to Rhonin from the moment of the first bite. Even the tepid water from one of the flasks seemed more like wine. Rhonin suddenly realized that his body felt as if it had been forcibly starved for nearly a week. He ate with gusto, with passion, with little care for manners. Some of the knights watched him with amusement, others, especially Duncan, with distaste.

Just as his hunger and thirst at last began to level off, the questioning began. Lord Senturus sat down before him, eyes already judging the spellcaster, and growled, “The time for confession is at hand, Rhonin Redhair! You have filled your belly, now empty the burden of sin from your soul! Tell us the truth about your misdeed on the keep wall. . . .”

Vereesa stood beside the recuperating mage, her hand by the hilt of her sword. She clearly had positioned herself so as to act as his defender in this informal court, and not, Rhonin liked to think, simply because of her oath. Certainly, after their experience with the dragon, she knew him better than these oafs.

“I’ll tell you what I know, which is to say not much at all, my lord. I stood atop the keep wall, but the fault of the destruction isn’t mine. I heard an explosion, the wall shook, and one of your tin warriors had the misfortune to fall over the side, for which you’ve my sympathy—”

Duncan had not yet put on his helmet, and so now ran a hand through his graying, thinning hair. He looked as if he fought the valiant struggle to maintain control of his temper. “Your story already has holes as wide as the chasm in your heart, wizard, and you have barely even started! There are those who live, despite your efforts, who saw you casting magic just before the devastation! Your lies condemn you!”

“No, you condemn me, just as you condemn all my kind for merely existing,” Rhonin quietly returned. He took another bite of hard biscuit, then added, “Yes, my lord, I cast a spell, but one only designed to communicate along the distances. I sought advice from one of my seniors on how to proceed on a mission that has been sanctioned by the highest powers in the Alliance . . . as the honorable ranger here’ll vouch, I’d say.”

Vereesa spoke even as the knight’s eyes shifted to her. “His words bear truth, Duncan. I see no reason why he would cause such damage—” She held up a hand as the elder warrior started to protest, no doubt again pressing the point that all wizards became damned souls the moment they took up the art. “—and I will meet any man, including you, in combat, if that is what it takes to restore his rights and freedom.”

Lord Senturus looked disgruntled at the thought of having to face the elf in battle. He glared at Rhonin, but finally nodded slowly. “Very well. You have a staunch defender, wizard, and on her word and bond I will accept that you are not responsible for what happened.” Yet the moment he finished the statement, the paladin thrust a finger at the mage. “But I would hear more about your own experience during that time and, if you can dredge it from your memories, how you come to be dropped in our midst like a leaf fallen from a high tree. . . .”

Rhonin sighed, knowing he could not escape the telling. “As you wish. I’ll try to tell you all I know.”

It was not much more than he had related prior. Once more the weary mage spoke to them of his trek to the wall, his decision to try to contact his patron, and the sudden explosion that had rocked the entire section.

“You are certain of what you heard?” Duncan Senturus immediately asked him.

“Yes. While I can’t prove it beyond doubt, it sounded like a charge being set off.”

The explosion did not mean that goblins were responsible, but of course, years of war had ingrained such thoughts into even the head of the wizard. No one had reported goblins in this part of Lordaeron, but Vereesa came up with a suggestion. “Duncan, perhaps the dragon that pursued us earlier also carried with it one or two goblins. They are small, wiry, and certainly capable of hiding at least for a day or two. That would explain much.”

“It would indeed,” he agreed with reluctance. “And if so, we must be doubly vigilant. Goblins know no other pastimes than mischief and destruction. They would certainly strike again.”

Rhonin went on with his story, telling next how he fled to the dubious safety of the tower, only to have it collapse about him. Here, though, he hesitated, knowing for certain that Senturus would find his next words questionable, at the very least.

“And then—something—seized me, my lord. I don’t know what it was, but it took me up as if I was a toy and whisked me away from the devastation. Unfortunately, I couldn’t breathe because I was held so tight, and when I next opened my eyes—” The wizard looked at Vereesa. “It was to see her face.”

Duncan waited for more, but when it became clear that his wait would be fruitless, he slapped one hand against his armored knee and shouted, “And that is it? That is all you know?”

“That’s all.”

“By the spirit of Alonsus Faol!” the paladin snapped, calling upon the name of the archbishop whose legacy had led, through his apprentice, Uther Lightbringer, to the creation of the holy order. “You have told us nothing, nothing of worth! If I thought for one moment—” A slight shift by Vereesa made him pause. “But I have given my word and taken that of another. I will abide by my previous decision.” He rose, clearly no longer interested in remaining in the company of the wizard. “I also make another decision here and now. We are already on route to Hasic. I see no reason why we should not move on as quickly as possible and get you to your ship. Let them deal with your situation as they see fit! We leave in one hour. Be prepared, wizard!”

With that, Lord Duncan Senturus turned and marched off, his loyal knights following immediately thereafter. Rhonin found himself alone save for the ranger, who walked to a spot before him and sat down. Her eyes settled on his. “Will you be well enough to ride?”

“Other than exhaustion and a few bruises, I seem in one piece, elf.” Rhonin realized that his words had come out a little sharper than he had intended. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll be able to ride. Anything to get me to the port on time.”

She rose again. “I will prepare the animals. Duncan brought an extra mount, just in case we did find you. I will see to it that it is waiting when you finish.”

As the ranger turned, an unfamiliar emotion rose within the tired spellcaster. “Thank you, Vereesa Windrunner.”

Vereesa looked over her shoulder. “Taking care of the horses is part of my duty as your guide.”

“I meant about standing with me during what might have turned into an inquisition.”

“That, too, was part of my duty. I took an oath to my masters that I would see you to your destination.” Despite her words, however, the corners of her mouth twitched upward for a moment in what might have been a smile. “Better ready yourself, Master Rhonin. This will be no canter. We have much time to make up.”

She left him to his own devices. Rhonin stared at the dying campfire, thinking about all that had happened. Vereesa did not know how close to the truth she had been with her simple statements. The journey to Hasic would be no easy gallop, but not just for the sake of time.

He had not been entirely truthful with them, not even the elf. True, Rhonin had not left out any part of his story, but he had left out some of his conclusions. He felt no guilt where the paladins were concerned, but Vereesa’s dedication to their journey and his safety stirred some feelings of remorse.

Rhonin did not know who had set the charge. Goblins likely. He really did not care. What did concern him was what he had quickly passed over, even misdirected. When he had talked of being seized from the crumbling tower, he had not told them about having felt as if a giant hand had done so. They probably would not have believed him or, in the case of Senturus, pointed at it as proof of his communing with demons.

A giant hand had saved Rhonin, but no human one. Even his brief moment of consciousness had been enough to recognize the scaly skin, the wicked, curved talons greater in length than his entire body.

A dragon had rescued the wizard from certain death . . . and Rhonin had no idea why.