Day of the Dragon

7

Duncan reined his horse to a halt. “Something is wrong here.”

Rhonin, too, had that feeling, and coupled with his suspicions over what had happened to him at the keep, he could not help wondering if what they observed now somehow related to his journey.

Hasic lay in the distance, but a subdued, silent Hasic. The wizard could hear nothing, no sound of activity. A port such as this should have been bustling with noise loud enough to reach even their party. Yet, other than a few birds, he could make out no sound of life.

“We received no word of trouble,” the senior paladin informed Vereesa. “If we had, we would have ridden here immediately.”

“Maybe we are just overanxious because of the trek.” Yet even the ranger spoke in low, cautious tones.

They sat there for so long that Rhonin finally had to take matters into his own hands. To the surprise of the others, he urged his mount forward, determined to reach Hasic with or without the rest.

Vereesa quickly followed, and Lord Senturus naturally hurried after her. Rhonin held back any expression of amusement as the Knights of the Silver Hand pushed forward to take the lead from him. He could tolerate their arrogance and pomposity for a little longer. One way or another, the wizard and his undesired companions would depart company in the port.

That is . . . if anything was left of the port.

Even their mounts reacted to the silence, growing more and more tentative. At one point, Rhonin had to prod his animal to move on. None of the knights made jests over his difficulty, though.

To their relief, as the party drew nearer, they did begin to hear some sounds of life from the direction of the port. Hammering. A few voices raised. Wagon movement. Not much, but at least proof that Hasic had not become a place of ghosts.

Still, they approached cautiously, aware that something did not sit well. Vereesa and the knights kept one hand by their sword hilts, while Rhonin began running through his spells in his mind. No one knew what to expect, but they all clearly expected it soon.

And just as they rode within sight of the town gate, Rhonin spotted three ominous forms rising into the sky.

The wizard’s horse shied. Vereesa grabbed hold of the reins for Rhonin and brought the animal under control. Some of the knights began to draw their swords, but Duncan immediately signaled them to return the weapons to their sheaths.

Moments later, a trio of gigantic gryphons descended before the group, two alighting onto the tops of the mightiest trees, the third landing directly in their path.

“Who rides toward Hasic?” demanded its rider, a bronze-skinned, bearded warrior who, despite likely not even coming up to the mage’s shoulder, looked capable of lifting not only him, but his horse as well.

Duncan immediately rode forward. “Hail to you, gryphon-rider! I am Lord Duncan Senturus of the order of the Knights of the Silver Hand, and I lead this party to the port! If you will permit a question, has some misfortune befallen Hasic?”

The dwarf gave a harsh laugh. He had none of the stout look of his more earthbound cousins, instead seeming more like a barbarian warrior who had been taken by a dragon and crushed to half-size. This one had shoulders even wider than those of the strongest knight and muscles that rippled of their own accord. A wild mane of hair fluttered behind the stocky, unyielding face.

“If you can call a pair of dragons just a misfortune, then, yes, Hasic suffered one! They came three days ago, tearing apart and burning anything they could! If not for my flight here having arrived that very morning, you’d find none of your precious port intact, human! They had barely begun when we took them in the sky! A glorious battle it was, though we lost Glodin that day!” The dwarves slapped a fist over their hearts. “May his spirit fight proud through eternity!”

“We saw a dragon,” Rhonin interjected, fearful for a moment that the trio would break into one of the epic mourning songs he had heard about. “About that time. With an orc handler. Three of you came and fought it—”

The lead rider had scowled at him as soon as his mouth had opened, but at mention of the other struggle, the dwarf’s eyes had lit up and a wide smile had returned to his face. “Aye, that was us as well, human! Tracked down the cowardly reptile and took him in the sky! A good and dangerous fight that was, too! Molok up there—” He indicated a fuller, slightly bald dwarf atop the tree to Rhonin’s right. “—lost a fine ax, but at least he still has his hammer, eh, Molok?”

“Would rather shave off my beard than lose my hammer, Falstad!”

“Aye, ’tis the hammer that impresses the ladies most, ’tisn’t it?” Falstad replied with a chuckle. The dwarf seemed to notice Vereesa for the first time. Brown eyes glittered bright. “And here’s a fine elven lady now!” He made a bad attempt at a bow while still atop the gryphon. “Falstad Dragonreaver at your service, elven lady!”

Rhonin belatedly recalled that the elves of Quel’Thalas had been the only other people whom the wild dwarves of the Aeries truly trusted. That, of course, did not look to be the entire reason why Falstad now focused on Vereesa; like Senturus, the gryphon-rider clearly found her very attractive.

“My greetings, Falstad,” the silver-haired ranger solemnly returned. “And my congratulations on a victory well fought. Two dragons are much for any flight group to claim.”

“All a day’s task for mine, all a day’s task!” He leaned as near as he could. “We’ve not been graced with any of your folk in this area, though, especially not so fine a lady as yourself! In what way can this poor warrior serve you best?”

Rhonin felt the hair on the nape of his neck bristle. The dwarf’s tone, if not his words, offered more than simple assistance. Such things should not have disturbed the wizard, yet for some reason they did at this moment.

Perhaps Duncan Senturus felt the same way, for he answered before anyone else could. “Your offer of aid is appreciated, but likely not necessary. We have but to reach the ship that awaits this wizard so that he may be on his way from our shores.”

The paladin’s response made it sound as if Rhonin had been exiled from Lordaeron. Gritting his teeth, the frustrated mage added, “I am on an observation mission for the Alliance.”

Falstad appeared unimpressed. “We’ve no cause to stop you from entering Hasic and searching for your vessel, human, but you’ll find that not so many remain after the dragons attacked. Likely yours is flotsam on the sea!”

The thought had already occurred to Rhonin, but hearing it from the dwarf made the point sink home. However, he could not be defeated this early in his quest. “I have to find out.”

“Then we’ll be out of your way.” Falstad urged his mount forward. He took one last long glance at Vereesa and grinned. “A definite pleasure, my elven lady!”

As the ranger nodded, the dwarf and his mount rose up into the air. The massive wings created a wind that blew dust into the eyes of the party, and the sudden nearness of the gryphon as it left the ground made even the most hardened of the horses step back. The other riders joined Falstad, the three gryphons quickly dwindling in the heavens. Rhonin watched the already faint forms bank toward Hasic, then fly off at an incredible rate of speed.

Duncan spat dust from his mouth; from his expression, his opinion of the dwarves was clearly not that much higher than what he thought of wizards. “Let us ride. We may still find fortune on our side.”

Without another word they rode toward the port. It did not take long for them to see that Hasic had suffered even more than Falstad had let on. The first buildings they came across stood more or less intact, but with each passing moment the visible damage intensified. Crop fields in the outer lands had been scorched, the landowners’ domiciles reduced to splinters. Stronger structures with stone bases had withstood the onslaught much better, but now and then they saw one that had been completely demolished, as if one of the dragons had chosen that place to alight.

The stench of burnt matter especially touched the wizard’s heightened senses. Not everything the two leviathans had charred had been made of wood. How many of Hasic’s inhabitants had perished in this desperate raid? On the one hand, Rhonin could actually appreciate the desperation of the orcs, who certainly had to know by now that their chances of winning the war had dropped to nil, but on the other hand . . . deaths such as these demanded justice.

Curiously, several areas near the very harbor itself looked entirely intact. Rhonin would have expected these to be in the worst condition, but other than a sullenness among the workers they saw, everything here looked as if Hasic had never been attacked.

“Perhaps the ship survived after all,” he muttered to Vereesa.

“I do not think so. Not if that is any sign.”

He looked out into the harbor itself, to the place at which the ranger pointed. The wizard squinted, trying to identify what exactly he saw.

“The mast of a ship, spellcaster,” Duncan gruffly informed him. “The rest of the vessel and her valiant crew no doubt reside in the water below.”

Rhonin bit back a curse. Surveying the harbor, he now saw that bits and pieces of wood and other material dotted the surface, flotsam from more than a dozen ships, the mage suspected. Now he realized in part why the port itself had survived; the orcs must have directed their mounts to attack the Alliance vessels first, not wanting them to escape. It did not explain why the outer reaches of Hasic had suffered worse than the interior, but perhaps most of that damage had taken place after the coming of the gryphon-riders. Not the first time that a settlement had found itself caught in the midst of a violent struggle and suffered for it. Still, the devastation would have been a lot worse if the dwarves had not come along. The orcs would have had their dragons level the port and try to slay everyone within sight.

Speculation, however, did not help with the problem at hand, namely the fact that now he had no ship on which to travel to Khaz Modan.

“Your quest is ended, wizard,” Lord Senturus announced for no good reason that Rhonin could see. “You have failed.”

“There may yet be a boat. I’ve the funds to hire one—”

“And who here will sail to Khaz Modan for your silver? These poor wretches have suffered through enough trials. Do you expect some of them to sail willingly to a land still held by the very orcs who did this?”

“I can only try to find out. I thank you for your time, my lord, and wish you well.” Turning to the elf, Rhonin added, “And you as well, rang—Vereesa. You’re a credit to your calling.”

She looked startled. “I’m not leaving you yet.”

“But your task—”

“Is incomplete. I cannot in good conscience leave you here with nowhere to go. If you still seek a way to Khaz Modan, I shall do what I can to help you—Rhonin.”

Duncan suddenly straightened in the saddle. “And certainly we cannot leave matters so, either! By our honor, if you believe this task still worthy of continuation, then I and my fellows will also do what we can to seek transport for you!”

Vereesa’s decision to remain for the time being had pleased Rhonin, but he could have done without the Knights of the Silver Hand. “I thank you, my lord, but there’re many in need here. Wouldn’t it be best if your order helped the good people of Hasic to recover?”

For the space of a breath, he actually thought that he had rid himself of the elder warrior, but after some clear deliberation with himself, Duncan finally announced, “Your words have some merit for once, wizard, yet I think we can arrange that both your mission and Hasic can benefit from our presence. My men will aid the citizens in recovery efforts while I take a personal hand in seeing if we can find a craft for you! That should settle the matter rightly, eh?”

Defeated, Rhonin simply nodded. At his side, Vereesa reacted with more grace. “Your assistance will no doubt prove invaluable, Duncan. Thank you.”

After the senior paladin had sent the other knights on their way, he, Rhonin, and the ranger briefly discussed how best to go about their search. They soon agreed that separate paths would cover more ground, with all three returning at evening meal to discuss any possibilities. Lord Senturus clearly doubted that any of them would have success, but his duty to Lordaeron and the Alliance—and possibly his infatuation with Vereesa—demanded he do his part.

Rhonin scoured the northern area of the port, seeking out any craft larger than a dinghy. The dragons had been thorough, however, and as the day waned, he found himself with nothing yet to report. It gradually got to the point where he remained uncertain as to which bothered him more—being unable to find transport, or fearing that the so-grand lord knight would be the one to present them with the answer to Rhonin’s predicament.

There were methods by which a wizard could span such long distances, but only those like the both legendary and cursed Medivh had ever used them with confidence. Even if Rhonin did successfully cast the spell, he risked not only possible detection by any orc warlock in the area, but also unexpected changes in his destination due to the emanations from the region where the Dark Portal lay. Rhonin did not want to find himself materializing over an active volcano. Yet, by what other method could he make his journey?

While he struggled to find an answer, the recovery of Hasic took place around him. Women and children gathered what wreckage they found floating in from the harbor, scavenging whatever still seemed of use and piling the rest to one side for later disposal. A special unit of the town guard went along the shoreline, searching for the waterlogged corpses of any of the mariners who had gone down with their ships. A few of the people stared at the somber, dark-clad mage as he walked among them, some of the parents pulling their children to them as he passed. Now and then Rhonin read expressions that hinted of blame, as if somehow he had been responsible for this terrible assault. Even under such dire conditions the common folk could not forget their prejudices and fears concerning his kind.

Above him, a pair of the gryphons flew past, the dwarves maintaining watch for any new attack. Rhonin doubted the region would be seeing any dragon strikes soon, the last one having cost the orcs far too much. Falstad and his companions would have better served the port by landing and helping those left, but the wary spellcaster suspected that the dwarves, not the most friendly of Lordaeron’s allies, preferred to stay aloft and aloof. Given any good reason, they no doubt would have even abandoned Hasic entirely rather than—

Another reason?

“Of course . . .” Rhonin muttered. He watched the two creatures and their riders descend to the southwest. Who else but the dwarves might find his offer tempting? Who else was insane enough?

Disregarding the spectacle he might be making of himself, Rhonin ran after the dwindling figures. Vereesa left the southernmost edge of the docks in total disgust. Not only had she met with no success, but of all the human settlements she had visited, Hasic ranked among the highest in stench. It had little to do with the disaster or even the smell of fish. Hasic just stank. Most humans had little enough sense of smell; the people here clearly had none.

The ranger wanted to be rid of this place, to return to her own kind so that she could be appointed to a more critical role, but until Vereesa could satisfy herself that she had done all she could for Rhonin, the ranger could not, in good conscience, depart. Yet there seemed no method by which the wizard might continue with his journey, one she now remained positive had to do with more than simply observation. Rhonin had revealed himself far too determined to be simply going on such a minor mission. No, he had something else in mind.

If only she knew what it might be . . .

The time for evening meal fast approached. With no sign of hope, the ranger headed inland, utilizing the most direct streets and alleys available despite the sometimes overwhelming scents. Hasic also maintained land routes to its neighbors, especially the major realms of Hillsbrad and Southshore. Although it would take more than a week to reach either one, perhaps that remained the only chance.

“Well . . . my beautiful elven lady!”

She looked the wrong way at first, thinking one of the humans spoke so with her, but then Vereesa recalled who had last used such terms. The ranger turned to her right and shifted her gaze more earthward . . . there to see Falstad in all his half-sized glory, the wild dwarf’s eyes bright and his mouth open in a wide, knowing grin. He carried a sack over one shoulder and had his great hammer slung over the other. The weight of either would have left many an elf or human slumping from effort, but Falstad carried both with the ease of his kind.

“Master Falstad. Greetings to you.”

“Please! I am Falstad to my friends! I am master of nothing save my own wondrous fate!”

“And I am simply Vereesa to my friends.” Although the dwarf seemed to have a high opinion of himself, something in his manner made it hard not to like him, albeit not as much as Falstad possibly hoped. He did little to hide his interest in her, even allowing his eyes now and then to wander below her face. The ranger decided she had to deal with that situation immediately. “And they remain my friends only so long as they treat me with the respect with which I in turn treat them.”

The dark orbs shot back up to meet her own, but otherwise Falstad pretended innocence. “How goes your quest to set the wizard on the water, my elven lady? Not good, I’d say, not good at all!”

“No, not good. It seems that the only vessels not damaged took to the sea as soon as they could for safer climes. Hasic is a port without function. . . .”

“A pity, a pity! We should discuss this further over a good flagon of spirits! What say you?”

She held back the slight smile his jovial persistence stirred. “Another time, perhaps. I still have a task to fulfill and you—” Vereesa indicated the sack “—seem to have one of your own.”

“This little pouch?” He swung the heavy sack around with ease. “Some small bit of supplies, enough to last us until we leave this human place. All I need do is give them to Molok and you and I can be on our way to—”

The polite yet more blunt refusal forming on the ranger’s lips died away as the angry squawk of a gryphon some short distance away—followed by voices rising in argument—set both her and Falstad to full alertness. Without a word the dwarf turned from her, sack dropped to the ground and stormhammer already unslung. He moved with such incredible swiftness for one of his build and size that even though Vereesa immediately followed after, Falstad had already vanished halfway down the street.

Vereesa unsheathed her own weapon, picking up her pace. The voices grew stronger, more strident, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that one of them belonged to Rhonin.

The street quickly gave way to one of the open areas caused by the devastation. Here some of the gryphon-riders awaited their leader, and here the wizard had apparently decided to accost them for some inexplicable reason. Wizards had often been called mad, but surely Rhonin had to be one of the most insane if he thought himself safe in arguing with wild dwarves.

And, in fact, one of them already had the mage by the clasp of his robe and had lifted the human up more than a foot off the ground.

“I said leave us be, foul one! If your ears don’t be working, then I might as well tear them off!”

“Molok!” Falstad shouted. “What’s this spellcaster done that’s so enraged you?”

Still holding Rhonin in the air, the other dwarf, who could have been Falstad’s twin save for a scar across his nose and a less humorous cast to his features, turned to his leader. “This one’s followed Tupan and the others, first to the base camp, then, even after Tupan turned him away and flew off, here to where we all agreed to meet! Told him thrice to clear off, but the human just won’t see good sense! Thought maybe he’d see clearer if I gave him a higher point from which to think about things!”

“Spellcasters . . .” the flight leader muttered. “You’ve my lasting sympathy, my elven lady!”

“Tell your companion to put him down, or I shall be forced to show him the superiority of a good elven sword over his hammer.”

Falstad turned, blinking. He stared at the ranger as if seeing her for the first time. His gaze briefly shifted to the sleek, gleaming blade, then back to the narrowed, determined eyes.

“You’d do that, wouldn’t you? You’d defend this creature from those who’ve been the good friends of your people since before these humans even existed!”

“She has no need to defend me,” came Rhonin’s voice. The dangling mage seemed more annoyed by his predicament than rightfully fearful. Perhaps he did not realize that Molok could easily break his back in two. “Thus far, I’ve held my temper in check, but—”

Anything he said from this point on would only ensure that a struggle would develop. Vereesa moved swiftly, cutting off Rhonin with a wave of her hand and setting herself between Falstad and Molok. “This is utterly reprehensible! The Horde has not even been completely destroyed, and already we are at each other’s throat. Is this how allies are to act? Have your warrior release him, Falstad, and we shall see if we cannot resolve this with reason, not fury.”

“’Tis only a spellcaster . . .” the lead gryphon rider muttered, but he nonetheless nodded, signaling Molok to release Rhonin.

With some reluctance, the other dwarf did just that. Rhonin straightened his robe and pushed his hair back in place, his expression guarded. Vereesa prayed that he would maintain his calm.

“What happened here?” she demanded of him.

“I came to them with a simple proposal, that was all. That they chose to react the way they did shows their barbaric—”

“He wanted us to fly him to Khaz Modan!” snapped Molok.

“The gryphon-riders?” Vereesa could not help but admire Rhonin’s audacity, if not his recklessness. Fly across the sea on the back of one of the beasts—and not even as the principal rider, but someone forced to hold on to the dwarf in control? Truly Rhonin’s mission had to be of more importance than he had let on for the wizard to attempt to convince Molok and the others to do this! Small wonder they thought him mad.

“I thought them capable and daring enough . . . but evidently I was wrong about that.”

Falstad took umbrage. “If there’s a hint at all in your words that we’re cowards, human, I’ll do to you what I kept Molok from doing! There’s no more bold people, no mightier warriors, than the dwarves of the Aerie Peaks! ’Tisn’t that we fear the orcs or dragons of Grim Batol; ’tis more that we care not to suffer the touch of your kind any more than necessary!”

Vereesa expected fury from her charge, but Rhonin only pursed his lips, as if he had expected Falstad’s response to be so. Thinking of her own past thoughts and comments concerning wizards, the ranger realized that Rhonin must have lived most his life with such condemnations.

“I am on a mission for Lordaeron,” the mage replied. “That’s all that should matter . . . but I see it doesn’t.” He turned his back on the dwarves and started off.

Sword still gripped tight, Vereesa came to a swift and desperate decision, born from her suspicions concerning Rhonin’s so-called observation mission. “Wait, mage!” He paused, no doubt somewhat surprised by her abrupt call. The ranger, however, did not speak to him, but rather faced the lead gryphon-rider again. “Falstad, is there no hope at all that you might take us as close as possible to Grim Batol? If not, then Rhonin and I are surely defeated!”

The dwarf’s expression grew troubled. “I thought the wizard was traveling alone.”

She gave him a knowing look, hoping that Rhonin, who watched her carefully, would not misunderstand. “And what would his chances be the first time he faced a strong orc ax? He might handle one or two with his spells, but if they came close, he would need a good sword arm.”

Falstad watched her brandish the blade, the troubled look fading. “Aye, and a good arm it is, with or without the sword!” The dwarf glanced at Rhonin, then his men. He tugged on his lengthy beard, his gaze returning to Vereesa. “For him, I’d do very little, but for you—and the Lordaeron Alliance, of course—I’d be more than willing. Molok!”

“Falstad! You can’t be serious—”

The lead dwarf went to his friend’s side, putting a companionable arm around the shoulder of a dismayed Molok. “’Tis for the good of the war, brother! Think of the daring you can boast about! We may even slay a dragon or two along the way to add to our glorious annals, eh?”

Only slightly mollified, Molok finally nodded, muttering, “And I suppose you’ll be carrying the lady behind you?”

“As the elves are our eldest allies and I’m flight leader, aye! My rank demands it, doesn’t it, brother?”

This time Molok only nodded. His glowering expression said all else.

“Wonderful!” roared Falstad. He turned back to Vereesa. “Once more the dwarves of the Aerie Peaks come to the rescue! This calls for a drink, a flagon of ale or two, eh?”

The other dwarves, even Molok, lit up at this suggestion. The ranger saw that Rhonin would have preferred to take his leave at this point, but chose not to say such. Vereesa had given him his transport to the shores of Khaz Modan, and possibly even near to Grim Batol, and so it behooved him to show his gratitude to all involved. True, Falstad and his fellows would also have been glad to be rid of Rhonin, but Vereesa gave silent thanks that she would have someone other than the gryphon-riders with whom to talk.

“We shall be happy to join you,” she finally replied. “Is that not so, Rhonin?”

“Very much so.” His words came out with all the enthusiasm of one who had just discovered something odorous in the shoe he had just put on.

“Excellent!” Falstad’s gaze never once shifted to the wizard. To Vereesa he said, “The Sea Boar is still intact and much appreciative of our fine business in the past! They should be able to scrounge up a few more casks of ale! Come!”

He would have insisted on escorting her himself, but the ranger expertly maneuvered away from his reach. Falstad, perhaps more eager for ale than elves at the moment, seemed not to take any notice of her slight. Waving to his men, he led them off in the direction of their favored inn.

Rhonin joined her, but as she attempted to follow after the dwarves, he suddenly pulled her aside, his expression dark.

“What were you thinking?” the flame-haired mage whispered. “Only I am heading to Khaz Modan!”

“And you would never have the chance to get there if I had not mentioned my going with you. You saw how the dwarves reacted earlier.”

“You don’t know what you’re trying to get yourself into, Vereesa!”

She pushed her face within scant inches of his own, daring him. “And what is it? More than simply observation of Grim Batol. You plan something, do you not?”

Rhonin almost seemed ready to answer her, but at that moment another figure called out. They both looked back to see Duncan Senturus coming toward them.

Something struck the elf. She had not thought of the paladin when she had been trying to convince Falstad to carry Rhonin and her across the sea. Knowing the knight as she already did, Vereesa had the horrible feeling that he would insist on going with them, too.

That thought had not likely occurred yet to the wizard, whose fury still centered around the ranger. “We’ll talk of this when we’ve more privacy, Vereesa, but know this already—when we reach the shores of Khaz Modan, I and only I will continue on! You’ll be returning with our good friend Falstad . . . and if you think of going any farther—”

His eyes flared. Literally flared. Even the stalwart elf could not help but lean back in astonishment.

“—I’ll send you back here myself!”