Night of the Dragon

THREE

“They're gone!" the blood elf snapped vehemently. "They're gone!"

The woman in black stared at him from behind her veil. Although he was taller than her by an inch or two, it was he who seemed to have to look up at her, not the other way around.

It was also he who suddenly stifled his anger under her dread gaze.

"An obvious observation, Zendarin, as is the fact that we need not concern ourselves with them. The dear ones have their fates already destined; you know that very well."

"But there was much to learn, much to explore with their making! Much magic of a sort none has ever witnessed!"

The avarice in his gleaming orbs when Zendarin spoke of magic made his companion smile in disdain. "A trifle, blood elf." She gently stroked the veil covering her scorched side. "A trifle to what I will ultimately achieve."

He bowed to her wisdom and her dark glory, but added, "What we’ll ultimately achieve, my lady."

"Yes... what we will achieve, my ambitious mage." The lady in black turned away without another word. The two stood at the mouth of one of the upper cave passages riddling Grim Batol. Despite its location well above the base of the mountain, this entrance was more accessible to the interior than most below—provided one was welcome within. Those who were not would find the path wrought with hidden pitfalls, including sentinels masked by Zendarin's magic.

And woe betide any of those intruders should they be spellcasters themselves...

The blood elf took one last glance over the landscape surrounding Grim Batol. Beyond the immediate desolation surrounding the mountain's base, the Wetlands had returned in force since the years of the red dragons' captivity to the orcs. The lush lands were misleading, though, for they held many natural and unnatural threats that acted as a good buffer against too many intruders. Six-legged crocolisks hunted in the waters, and tribes of gnolls—all fearful of Zendarin and the lady—also kept watch for fools venturing too close. Among the more horrific guardians were the monstrous oozes, gelatinous fiends that absorbed any animal in reach and, in the drier lands to the northwest, saurian raptors that stalked any and all fresh meat.

So full of life, so full of death, thought Zendarin. It was a far cry from the glorious wooded realm to which he was used, a realm to which he looked forward to returning once he had gained all that he sought.

Smothering a curse at the trials he had to suffer for his arts, Zendarin followed the veiled woman. He and the drakonid had spent the last night pursuing prizes he considered so valuable that he had let the remaining dwarves scurry back into their secret burrows like the frightened rabbits that they were. That, after swearing to his mistress that he would eradicate the pests once and for all. The dwarves had become a grand nuisance of late and while both he and she agreed that they could not possibly threaten the ultimate success of the pair's experiments, they could slow it. That was why he had devised this plan, this perfect plan.

But Zendarin could not have possibly known that two of those experiments would choose that very moment to escape Grim Batol.

"How did it happen? How did it happen?" he asked, barely able to keep his tongue civil despite being aware of just what she could do to him if merely riled. She had already slain two able assistants for minor infractions, and while she very much needed his skills, he knew that he had to tread warily. Zendarin's companion was very much insane... but that did not preclude her also being brilliant.

"The dragonspawn watching them were careless. They were told that the two might be immune to some of the binding spells and that at the slightest hint of that, the guards should alert me. The fools apparently were not satisfied that the danger yet warranted that alert."

The blood elf cursed the guards. Dragonspawn were brutishly-efficient in causing carnage and generally excellent at obeying orders. True, they were not as skilled and cunning as drakonid, but that should have not mattered in this situation. The dragonspawn had handled far more difficult tasks than keeping sentry. He could not believe their great error. "I'll tear out their black hearts for this...."

"You need not bother. There wasn't much left of them after the escape. The children saw to that." She tsked. again stroking the veil as she walked serenely through the caverns like a queen in her castle. "Besides, this will all make for an interesting test."

"'Test? My lady, they'll wreak havoc that'll bring someone of power investigating. Someone from Dalaran perhaps or—or worse!" Zendarln could imagine quite well just what "worse" might entail. There were powers existing on Azeroth that were greater than all the wizards left in Dalaran or even among his own people combined.

His declaration only made her smile again, albeit this time in cold anticipation. "Yes... someone will very likely investigate... someone very likely will..."

Before he could question her comment, the pair entered the upper level of the vast cavern in which their gargantuan prisoner and the focus of their work still struggled against his magical bonds. The skardyn feverishly tolled around the shimmering leviathan, ever checking both the strands keeping the nether dragon in place and adjusting the new white crystals that their mistress had just set in place for the next attempt.

"Filthy creatures," murmured Zendarin. A blood elf was still an elf when it came to aesthetics. His long nose wrinkled as one of the hooded creatures rushed up to the mistress and handed her a small cube laced with cerulean stripes along each face.

"Obedient creatures," she corrected, dismissing the skardyn. As the dwarven form scurried back to its comrades, she held the cubetoward Zendarln. "You see? Just as I required of them."

His disgust gave way to renewed avarice. Zendarin's eyes glowed a fierce green. "Then, it's only the matter of an egg?"

"Isn't it always? Aaah... here they bring it now..."

Four skardyn appeared below, the scaly dwarves grunting from effort as they held aloft a huge, oval egg... an egg stretching nearly a yard in length. It was thick, gray, and covered in a slick, oily substance that dripped down on its bearers. There was no mistaking just what kind of egg it was.

A dragon's.

"They should make haste!" urged Zendarin, aware of the fragility of the prize regardless of how massive it was. "The egg will not remain fresh long..."

His companion began to descend to the cavern floor, her lack of concern well evident. "The coating of myatis will preserve it. Myatis preserves everything soaked in it, no matter how long."

Aware of how old this egg actually was and the value of it to their work. Zendarin marveled. Indeed, none of what they hoped to accomplish would have been at all possible if this egg had not been preserved through the dark arts in the first place.

Not for the first time, her skills astounded him, he who had lived so many centuries and accomplished so much.

He joined her below. Just as the skardyn placed the egg on a stone platform set up in front of the bound nether dragon. The imprisoned behemoth managed a muffled growl, much to the amusement of the lady in black.

"Temper, temper..." she cooed, as if to an infant.

Relieved of their burden, the skardyn retreated. The platform was much akin to an altar, the top a rectangular slab of ebony-streaked granite that matched in substance the rounded base. The four legs thrusting up from the base to the slab had been carved to resemble dragons rising on their back legs. Where the mistress had originally gained the platform, Zendarin did not know, but he could sense its incredible age and the many spells that had been cast usingit. Latent magical energies saturated its stone form, tantalizing the blood elf. The platform had seen much use over its long existence, especially spells that had called for the lives of the innocent if the pale red stains on the top were any indication to go by.

That his own part in this work had required the sacrifice of others did not in any manner disturb Zendarin. Despite everything, he did not consider his acts heinous in the least. Ambitious, yes. Of necessity, yes... but not heinous. Like so many of his kind, he was driven by the hunger, the need, to seek out magic... at all costs. He considered all he did necessary to achieving that goal.

And that many others would still have to perish in the process was simply a matter that he could not help... not that he cared. After all, they were only dwarves, humans, and other lesser creatures.

The lady in black studied the egg for several seconds, as if able to see within its thick shell. She placed the cerulean cube before the egg. Then, with a smile to the captive leviathan, she ran her long, tapering fingers across the protective layer.

The myatis coating sizzled away.

"Join me, dear Zendarin...."

He eagerly stepped to her side, summoning the magic at his command to blend with hers. It was the very nature of his abilities as a blood elf that made him so precious to her and permitted Zendarin to voice, at least to a point, his frustrations. He brought to the mistress a magic uniquely qualified to aid her, for it was based in the almost vampiric siphoning of power from demons and other denizens of the Twisting Nether. Zendarin was exceptionally proficient in that skill, and thus his might was currently at its height.

It also helped that he had at his command those who brought to him other sources of magical energy. Invaluable servants whom the lady in black could not rip from his control without losing them and him in the process. That was another reason that she tolerated his impatience.

He stood next to her, his hands splayed over the egg in identical fashion to hers. Silently, they linked their magic together, binding it into one unique form. As they did, both the cube and the white crystals burned bright.

Zendarin's companion stretched forth her left hand toward the captive nether dragon.

The white crystals let out a sinister hum. From each emanated a light that struck the nether dragon.

Blue tendrils of energy shot forth from the struggling beast wherever the light of the crystals burned him. Despite the silver strands binding his maw, his agonized moans shook the cavern.

Guided by the sorceress, the blue tendrils dove down, striking the egg in the center. The egg shook and swelled to twice its original size. The shell took on an azure hue.

"Now..." she murmured to Zendarin.

As one, the pair threw their own contributions deeper into the matrix of the spell, mixing them with the stolen forces of the nether dragon. The cavern was suddenly ablaze in a wicked storm of violent energies whose focus was the egg. Although immune from most magic through the skillful work of their mistress, the skardyn scrambled to the farthest corners. Still dwarves at their core, they were rightly wary of a possible collapse of the cavern, but wise enough to know the punishment that they would receive if they fled the cavern at this critical moment.

The air crackled. The sorceress's dark locks rose. The veil also lifted, revealing clearly her savagely-burnt profile. The full lips ended in charred flesh that outlined the permanent smile of a skull. Underneath the upper edge of the veil, the ear proved to be little more than a shriveled bit of skin over a hole.

She raised her hands high, Zendarin matching her actions perfectly. They continued to throw their combined power into the egg as the sorceress tore more and more of the nether dragon's essence from him.

The nether dragon's struggles grew more violent. Futile as his attempt was, it still managed to shake the entire cavern. A huge stalactite cracked free, plummeting to the floor far below. A skardyn too slow to register what was happening was crushed underneath it, a death unworthy of notice or even significance to either spellcaster.

Zzeraku—the blood elf remembered the nether dragon calling himself—shimmered, seeming ready to melt into mist. Yet, the strands holding him prisoner did not permit the Outland beast to even escape to death. They held Zzeraku mercilessly, tightening further at the mistress's silent command.

More and more of the nether dragon's magic—and essence, in fact—poured into the swollen egg, where it continually intertwined with that of the two spellcasters. Zendarln almost expected the egg to explode, so out of proportion had it grown....

And, indeed, one side suddenly developed a crack.

But this did not enrage or frustrate either, for, the next moment, it was clear that the crack was not due to their work, not directly. Rather, the cause could be found within... a cause eager now to be free.

The egg was hatching.

In the glow of the ensorcelled egg, the face of Zendarin's companion was more monstrous to behold than even those of the skardyn. An inhuman quality filled her expression... not surprising, as the sorceress was no more human—indeed, even less so—than the blood elf.

"Yes... my child..." she murmured, almost sounding motherly. "Yes... come to me..."

Another crack developed next to the first. A fragment of the shell fell away—

From within, an eye peered out... an eye such as neither had ever seen.

An eye, despite this being the birth, that spoke of cunning, of evil... far, far more ancient.

The bay that separated the lands of Lordaeron, and Dalaran in particular, from where Grim Batol lay, was wide, but should have taken Korialstrasz no more than five hours to cross. Yet, only midway out, the red dragon was forced to land upon a small rock formation jutting out of the turbulent water and perch upon it like a sea gull while he rested. Korialstrasz could only assume that the sorcerous shaft's crystal head had weakened him more than he had expected.

But he had little opportunity for recuperation, for suddenly a storm assailed him, a tempest of such abrupt violence that the crimson behemoth instantly gave up all notion of rest. Dragging himself into the air, he instead continued on his way.

But the elements were clearly against him, for the storm only worsened. As powerful as he was, Korialstrasz was yet tossed about like a leaf. He immediately headed toward the clouds, thinking to fly above the storm, but though he fought hard to reach them, they stayed well overhead.

And that at last warned the red giant that this storm was not so natural after all.

Rather than struggle to reach the unreachable, Korialstrasz tried a more direct flight toward Grim Batol. The moment he did, the wind exploded from that direction, buffeting him so hard that the dragon felt as if he had struck a mountain.

He did not believe in happenstance. This was a spell, yes, though whether directed at him in particular or merely to hunt a dragon was a question he had no time to answer. What mattered foremost was escaping it.

Logic suggested that he fight magic with magic... and yet, Korialstrasz was not so certain of the wisdom of that. Yet, he could think of no other immediate course. Thus, steeling himself against the raging storm, the red dragon struck at the dark clouds.

No sooner had he done so than he was attacked by a raging hurricane tenfold stronger than before. A barrage of lightning pounded him, and the gale force winds turned the dragon upside down. He could see little past his snout, for the rain fell in a pounding torrent.

And even as Korialstrasz struggled against vertigo, he was painfully aware that it was his own power that had now multiplied the storm's effect... just as the mysterious caster had no doubt intended.

Around and around, the dragon spun. The clouds became the sea beneath and the sea the sky. Korialstrasz saw no choice; he could not reach those clouds. There remained but one alternative, even ifit was likely the one his unseen adversary wished him to take.

Arcing, Korialstrasz dove into the swirling waters.

He was certain of his error the moment that he submerged, but could not look back. Even despite his keen eyesight, Korialstrasz could see little. The waters of the vast bay turned to black only scant yards beneath him, again, no natural thing. A monster several times his size might be rising up to swallow him and the dragon would not see it.

Some dragons were born to the water, but red dragons were very much creatures of the sky, however well they could swim. Korialstrasz could hold his breath for more than an hour, assuming nothing tried to force that breath from him. Still, the sooner he was back in the air, the better.

Voices began whispering in his head.

A new wave of vertigo overwhelmed Korialstrasz. He could not tell the depths from the surface. The dragon immediately thrust upward, but instead of the storm, all that greeted him was a blackness that chilled to the soul.

And the voices grew stronger, chanting in a tongue Korlalstrasz thought that he should know. He fought against their seductive call, aware that each moment he remained caught in their snare made his hopes of surviving monumentally lesser.

Now, there was only the darkness. The deep waters squeezed at Korlalstrasz's lungs, which made the crimson leviathan wonder if he had been submerged longer than he thought. There was no sense of time, no sense of place... only the chanting voices.

Iwill not be undone by this! the dragon swore. He imagined another countenance, that of his beloved queen and mate, Alexstrasza. Yet, her image was faded, and growing more so, a dangerous sign.

But that only served to make him more determined. Summoning his strength, Korialstrasz cast a desperate spell.

Light erupted around him, searing away the darkness of the depths.

In it, the dragon beheld the source of his troubles... naga.

He knew their origins, knew them because he was, to his mind at least, in part to blame for their creation. Once, they had been of the night elf race, the Highborne who had served the mad queen, Azshara. When the source of their great power, the fearsome Well of Eternity, had imploded due to the efforts of a few staunch defenders but especially the young druid, Malfurion Stormrage, it had sucked the great capital of the night elves to the bottom of a newly-created sea. With the city had gone Azshara and her fanatic followers, supposedly to their doom.

It would not be until millennia later that Korialstrasz and the world would discover that a mysterious force had transformed those trapped beneath the waves into something worse.

The incredible explosion of light had caught the naga completely unaware. Several swirled about in utter confusion, stunned by the spell's intensity. As naga, they no longer much resembled elves of any sort. The females upon whom Korialstrasz now set his baleful gaze had some vague similarities remaining, mostly in their slimmer, upper torsos and their faces, which retained the long, narrow design of night elves. They were even beautiful, if in a monstrous way. Yet, no elven race sported four wicked arms that ended in long, taloned fingers, nor did any have the wide, veined fins of gold that blossomed sharply from the head all the way down to the naga's tall.

And tails were all there were below the waist, for long gone were the sleek legs. The lower halves were those of massive serpents, segmented and scaled. They twisted back and forth constantly, giving the naga swiftness and incredible maneuverability in the water.

The males had degenerated even more than the females, their heads low and reptilian, with teeth that jutted out from both the top and bottom of the long maw like a crocodile. Their eyes were deep set and narrow, and their crests and fins, which jutted as sharply as spears in places, were of a darker gold and brown shade. Their torsos were less in contrast to their serpentine lower bodies, being also scaled and segmented. Even their arms, massive compared to most creatures their size, were covered so.

There had developed, over the generations, many tribes of naga, but these aqua and black scaled fiends with their golden fins were of a type of which Korialstrasz knew nothing, save that they were clearly both powerful and of evil mind. That was all he needed to know. Naga in general had no love for those who lived above the surface, but these had gone well out of their way to set a tremendous trap.

For what reason it might be, Korialstrasz had no time to consider. The light began to fade, and the naga regrouped.

But now that he could see them, it was a simple matter for the dragon to strike with both his paws and his tall, bowling over the sinister creatures. Several went sinking into the blackness below, but some desperately sought to rework the spell that had nearly done In the behemoth.

Korialstrasz's body flared a bright red. The water around him suddenly boiled. In his mind, he heard the naga shriek as the heat struck. Two males in the forefront were caught full on, their bodies swelling monstrously as they burned red.

A buzzing filled the dragon's head. He looked below to his right, where a female with all four arms raised toward him glowed with magic of her own.

It was a simple matter for him to increase the heat that his body radiated. The female naga fled just before she, too, would have been boiled. The buzzing ceased.

But Korialstrasz's lungs suddenly ached, and he felt the impulse to breathe. He needed air and he needed it without delay. With desperate strokes, the red dragon pushed himself upward.

The surface seemed so far away that the fear that he was still swimming down instead of up crossed his air-starved mind, but he had no choice but to continue the direction he had chosen.

The strain on his lungs grew horrific. If he could just take a single breath...

His head shoved above the water. However, even as Korialstrasz filled his starving lungs, he continued to push himself above the sea. Magic and wings greater in span than some other dragons were in length threw him well into the sky.

A sky that, though still overshadowed, no longer stormed.

Despite the naga threat yet high, Korialstrasz was forced to hover for several seconds as he worked to regain not only his breath but his senses. The clouds remained thick, but the sea itself had grown calm, even deathly silent.

A mass of squirming tentacles broke the surface, snaring the dragon by the tall and hind legs and seeking the wings.

Letting out a roar, Korialstrasz immediately focused on the spot from which the tentacles had sprouted and exhaled sharply. The torrent of flame he unleashed was not as strong as he hoped, but it did make the monster beneath unbind one of his legs.

But the rest of the tentacles still tugging at the red giant threatened to pull him under. Korialstrasz beat his wings. He was no ordinary dragon, even if he was not an Aspect. The naga's pet would soon discover that.

And so, incredibly, rather than the sea creature dragging Korialstrasz down, he slowly but inexorably pulled the tentacled monster from the depths. First there came a sharp beak, a savage mouth able to bite into pieces the largest warships. Then came a long, tubular head with two unblinking black saucers for malevolent orbs.

A kraken.

How the small band of naga had gotten such a creature into the bay, he did not know. Still, what mattered most was that the monstrous beast weighed heavy on Korialstrasz. The dragon lost momentum. The sea grew near again.

There was no choice. Near to collapse though he was, Korialstrasz exhaled one last time with all the force left to him.

Unhindered by the sea, his powerful blast broiled the kraken. The sea monster let out a chilling shriek as it released its grip and plunged back into the water. The wave it created rose as high as Korialstrasz's tall before subsiding.

The huge red did not rejoice. Indeed, it was all he could do to keep conscious. Despite his horrific weakness, though, Korialstrasz quickly shoved himself in the direction of his goal. Even as short as the distance remaining was, he did not know if he could reach landfall before his remaining strength failed him. Yet, all he could do was try.

All he could do was hope....

The waters remained still as the gigantic red dragon dwindled in the distance, remained still until a single naga head emerged to watch the vanishing leviathan.

The female naga's slanted eyes stared unblinking until Korialstrasz was no more than a distant dot just above the horizon. At that point, a second head, that of a fearsome male, thrust up. The scales on the right side of the male's head were torn near the jaw, the result of the most peripheral of wounds caused by the dragon's sweeping tail. Ignoring his wound, the male peered intently in the direction the female had.

"The deed is done..." she murmured in a grating voice. "We will be spared...."

Nodding, the male grinned. The female followed suit, revealing her teeth to be no less sharp, no less savage, than her companion's.

The two naga submerged.