Night of the Dragon

EIGHT

Zzeraku shimmered brightly, but not because of any effort on his part. He was weak, terribly weak, and at times he thought that his tormentors would finally cause what he had been dreaming of doing for the past few days. A creature of energy, the nether dragon was near total dissolution...but the spells and magical bonds ever prevented him from being completely destroyed. His captors needed what he was composed of much too much. They needed his essence to work their experiments.

Most of all, they needed him almost constantly to feed the hungry results of that last spell.

Nether dragons knew little about fear, but Zzeraku had learned much since his capture. First, there had been that terrifying sense of claustrophobia when, without warning, he had been sucked into the monstrous box by which they had smuggled him to this faraway place. Then, there had been the shock of discovering that he could not escape the magical bonds.

Now came the greatest of his fears... that he would slowly be eaten alive by the thing that their foul magic had created.

Zzeraku had been used to sowing fear, not living it, and so it struck him harder. Yet, at the same time, that fear also fed his rage and his desire for revenge. Given even the slightest hope, he would destroy his captors and devour their magical essence.

Unfortunately, thus far there was no chance of that happening. He again tested the strength of his bonds and again found them unbreakable. The agony he suffered in fighting against them was minute compared with the knowledge that he would still be helplesscome the next feeding.

Unless...

Zzeraku was a creature of energy and the thing hungered for that energy.

An idea formed in the nether dragon's head. The logic of it made him smile as best as his bound jaws could.

Yes, soon they would come to feed their creation... and Zzeraku now could hardly wait.

There were dragonspawn about, which pleased Rom to no end. Hefting his ax, he found himself satisfied with how well he was doing with his left hand alone. Let even a drakonid or the foul blood elf come across him now and they would learn what the wrath of a Bronzebeard could be like.

He knew Grenda was watching him close. She was a capable second-in-command, but she was too concerned with his mood of late. Rom was aware that she thought his attitude becoming more and more fatalistic, whereas he only felt it realistic.

Even this foray tonight was not to her taste. Rom had brought them dangerously close to one of the caves leading into Grim Batol, determined to find something that would show that their mission was not a failure. This time, there would be no magical trickery.

The dwarves spread out carefully. Humans and other races thought their kind too hard-headed to learn from their mistakes, yet another myth. Rom had studied the patrol patterns of the dread lady's guards, and this time he believed he knew the variations that they might make. There would be no set-up for a trap, as had happened when he had thought he had captured the skardyn. These sentries would turn out to be exactly what they were, not a blood elf in disguise.

But Rom had another, more pressing reason for such a close approach, one about which even Grenda did not know. With one of the cave mouths so tauntingly nearby, Rom hoped to sneak inside, if only by himself. It was time to discover the full truth about the crieswithin and only through such daring could he hope to do that.

He also did not feel that he should risk anyone but himself. The obsession was his and his alone.

The soft crunch of feet made the dwarves pause. In one thing they had an easy advantage over the dragonspawn and the drakonid; they were already low to the ground. It made it easy to drop out of sight, especially on such a dark eve. Their foes had good eyesight, but Rom was betting on Bronzebeard eyes seeing better in the darkness.

A bulking figure trundled into sight, a dragonspawn with shield and heavy sword. That it was black was no surprise, for it seemed the blood elf's companion had ties to the remnants of Deathwing's flight. Yet, though the dragonspawn wore also a breastplate, there were no markings signifying its loyalty to one particular dragon or another. The drakonid had been the same. No marking indicating Deathwing himself, nor either of his misbegotten offspring, Onyxia and Nefarian...nor any other known black dragon.

But that was a minor point to Rom. What sufficed was that these creatures were willing to serve the two spellcasters. That was enough, along with the terrible cries, to warrant great concern.

"If it can be captured alive," he whispered to Grenda. "So much the better. If it needs to be slain, that's good also. I don't want any disaster like the last time."

The female dwarf grunted her understanding. She signaled another dwarf. The band began to close around the lone dragonspawn.

Then, something caught the scaly fiend's attention. It let out a grunting call, which was immediately answered from just within the cave.

"Down!" Rom ordered under his breath. Grenda managed to alert the others just as another dragonspawn lumbered out.

Rom waited for more guards, but these two appeared to be the only ones. A grim smile played across his lips, one he kept hidden from Grenda. The cave looked more inviting than ever. Two dragonspawn would be tough to take on, but Rom had the utmost confidence in his seasoned fighters.

However, before he could give the signal, whatever had initially caught the first guard's attention now caused that dragonspawn to head away from the dwarves. Rom held his breath in frustration as the four-legged fiend moved from what would have been the perfect ambush spot. He had hoped that the second guard would join the first there.

With the second trotting to catch up, the first dragonspawn readied its weapon as it approached a small cluster of withered oaks. Rom tried to locate all his fighters, wondering which of them might be the reason for the guards' intense interest in that particular location.

An arrow abruptly seemed to sprout from the neck of the foremost dragonspawn. A second, whistling bolt joined the first.

But the dragonspawn only shook a little, then, with a snarl, tore both arrows from its thick hide. The other joined it, the pair eagerly charging the trees.

Another arrow shot at the first abomination, an act that Rom could only see as foolhardy. He changed his opinion a breath later as a tall, slim figure leapt from the trees and, even as the bolt distracted the dragonspawn, cut the massive creature along the chest with a blazing sword that brought to the dwarf bad memories of his hand.

The dragonspawn let out a hiss intermingling pain with surprise. It had an extremely tough hide and that any sword could cut into it so quickly was stunning. Still the guard recovered quickly, attacking its foe with a heavy ax.

The ax, however, was not as sturdy as the dragonspawn's scale and a second strike by the slim fighter cut the weapon in two. Growling, the guard stretched forward heavy, clawed hands as it threw its massive weight up in a clear attempt to crush its tinier foe beneath it.

But it lacked the swiftness of the other, who nimbly leapt aside and then ran the edge of the magical blade across the oncoming behemoth's throat.

The nearly-severed head flung backward, making it appear as if the dragonspawn gaped at the heavens. The huge body was slow in responding to its death, continuing its charge for several paces before collapsing.

The second dragonspawn gaped at the sight of its comrade slain so dramatically, then recovered as the shadowy fighter lunged toward it. Even as the first guard's corpse finally realized that it was dead, the two combatants exchanged several blows. While this dragonspawn's weapon did not glow, it appeared strong enough to withstand whatever magic radiated from the newcomer's sword.

"What do we do?" asked Grenda anxiously.

Rom grunted. "We go and help!"

He was not being altruistic in his decision. Once he was certain that the battle was under control, the dwarven leader intended to slip away to the cave.

The dragonspawn and its foe circled around one another and for the first time, Rom had some inkling of who it was the creature faced. One of the elven races, but it did not look like a blood elf. In fact, what glimpses he saw resembled—

The hood of the figure's cloak fell back, revealing silver-white hair flowing down well past her shoulders. That she was female Rom had figured moments before. She was also very skilled with her weapons... as any high elven ranger would have been.

Only...there were not supposed to be many high elves left at all.

Even in the dark, he knew the outfit she would be wearing. Knee-high leather boots. Forest-green pants and blouse, with a form-fitting breastplate over the latter. Over her hands and extending to her elbows were thin gloves that still allowed her to perfectly grip the string of a bow, her other favored weapon.

Rom even knew her name, now that he saw her close. It was a name seared into his memory, for she had shared in the struggle to bring down the orcs of Grim Batol.

"Vereesa Windrunner..." he rumbled to himself. "Aye...Grim Batol is calling in ghosts now, too...."

But she was no ghost, he knew. Rather, she was the mate of the wizard, Rhonin. That much Rom knew. Why she was here, though, he did not understand.

But did that mean that Rhonin, too, was close by?

The other dwarves swarmed the dragonspawn. Between Vereesa and them, Rom saw that the situation was well in hand. It was the moment to make his move.

The dwarven commander slipped away, heading to the cave mouth. Time was limited and it was only luck that the second guard had not had the breath yet to call for help.

Rom scrambled up toward the cave. As a dwarf, he could instinctively ferret out the best places to secrete himself. Then, with caution, he would push deeper, until finally he found the source of...

His plans were cut off by an unnerving glow radiating from within the cave. Rom knew what that glow presaged and now was not the time for a confrontation.

Swearing under his breath, he spun about. They had to retreat, but could not until they had dealt with the second dragonspawn. It was down on its knees but still battling despite several obvious wounds.

Thrusting the ax handle between his teeth, Rom leapt as well as a dwarf could. He landed atop the dragonspawn's back end, then pulled himself up. Legs gripping the monster's sides, Rom took the ax and burled the head in the guard's back.

The blade barely pierced the scaled hide. Flinging another dwarf away, the dragonspawn tried to reach back to Rom. The great claws came within an inch of his face, but could stretch no farther.

The high elf struck again, cutting into the dragonspawn's thick arm. The huge creature turned back to face her.

Gritting his teeth, Rom landed a second blow. With the precision of the veteran he was, he managed to hit the exact same spot.

The ax sank deeper. Thick, dark fluids spurted out.

The guard shook. Grenda and another dwarf managed small but significant wounds to its flank. The high elf severed a finger.

Rom planted a third blow directly where the others had landed.

The dragonspawn gave a shiver, then dropped. Rom all but rolled off, only just managing to cling to his weapon as he landed.

"Let's get you away from here!" he quietly rumbled.

Her long eyes widened. "Rom—"

"The tearful reunions can wait 'til later, milady! There's somethin' coming that you don't want to be around for!"

She had sense enough to nod and follow. Around them, the other dwarves were more perplexed.

"We're bringing her with us?" asked Grenda. "A blood elf?"

"I am no blood elf!" Vereesa snapped with much vehemence for one of her kind. "I am and shall always be a ranger of the high elf people!"

"No time for talk!" Rom growled. "Hurry!"

Even as they started moving, the glow began to radiate from the cave mouth.

"What is that?" Vereesa demanded.

Their leader swore again. "Get a move on it, milady!"

Vereesa hardly had trouble keeping up with Rom. Indeed, he could barely catch his breath, while she seemed not in the least strained.

Daring to glance over his shoulder, Rom saw that the glow had now fully emerged from the cave. The source was a staff with a crystalline head. The wielder was none other than the blood elf. He looked around, but not in the direction in which the dwarves and their new companion had run.

Then, the landscape hid the blood elf and his sinister toy from sight of the dwarf. Rom had an inclination to slow even then, though. The dwarves continued to run at as good a clip as their short, thick legs could stand. Each moment, Rom expected to discover the fiendish blood elf at their heels, but only darkness met his anxious gaze.

At long last, they reached what Rom considered safety. The hidden entrance to the tunnels lay just a few yards ahead. With the ranger beside him, the dwarven commander stepped over to it.

"Rom of the Bronzebeards," Vereesa murmured as the dwarven commander tapped once on a huge rock with the bottom of his ax. The rock slid away, revealing the entrance beneath.

"Milady Vereesa...I would say 'tis good to see you, but there's nothing good when it involves Grim Batol...." He gestured for her to slide down. Although she was much taller than them, her slim form easier fit through.

Rom did not enter until the last of his followers had gone down. As he dropped in, he took one last look. Still no glow. Nodding, he slid the stone in place.

Vereesa, almost kneeling, studied the tunnels. "There is much interference in this region against magic."

"Aye, the area for a great distance around is pocketed with these crystal formations."

She touched one of the glittering formations thrusting out of a wall. "Curious. They look perfectly normal...but I have never heard of such a thing in such quantity...."

"Be thankful it's here, milady, or that beast of a blood elf would've found us all by now."

She paid the last no mind at all, seizing instead on another part of his dire statement. '"Blood elf! You have seen him? He is in Grim Batol?"

"There's a blood elf in Grim Batol, aye! He and the dark lady! They're both—"

The ranger knelt down in front of Rom. Although very much enamored with the looks of his own female kind, Rom could not help admiring her exotic beauty... and the terrible concern behind it. "It is the blood elf that I want to hear about!" Anger filled her musical voice. "To think that I was so near! But... It has to be the right one! Have you—have you seen him up close?"

Rom let out a harsh laugh and showed her the stump at the end of his arm. "Just before a damned drakonid did this, I was as close to the blood elf as you are to me now...."

"Describe him!"

"He was a blood elf!" That was enough for any dwarf, but Vereesa obviously wanted more. Rom concentrated, trying to recall details. As best he could, he mentioned the shape of the face, the tone of the voice, and even the glowing green orbs. Nothing seemed distinctive to him, but the more he said, the more cold the ranger's expression became.

"That will be enough," she finally said. Her eyes closed briefly in contemplation before she looked again at Rom and muttered, "It can only be him...."

"Him who? You think you know him?" Even as he asked, Rom wanted to bite his tongue. It was very possible that she knew this blood elf, for their foul kind had originated from the high elves. They had taken the ways of demons to fight demons—indeed, actually draining the magic from the demons like leeches—and, in the eyes of humans, dwarves, and those few high elves who had held to their old ways, cursed themselves for all eternity. This blood elf was very likely an old friend, even a comrade from Vereesa's days as a ranger. Small wonder she would be bitter about him.

“I know this blood elf, yes," she finally answered. “I know him well. I have followed his trail since the night that he tried to steal away my sons, Giramar and Galadin...."

"By the gods!" There were no monsters greater than those that preyed on children, so Rom thought, though he had no offspring himself. "Your sons? But how could any dare take the children of Rhonin Draig'cyfaill—" Rom used the name by which many now called the legendary wizard. Draig'cyfaill—Dragonhead, "...and you?"

"Rhonin has been busy of late...." She said this without any rancor, only as fact. "There is much to be done to repair things in Dalaran." This she did not explain further, even the dwarves aware of the extensive destruction there. "And as for me...this blood elf knew in particular how to disguise himself against me."

"Another ranger...or used to be one, eh? Just as I thought."

Vereesa did not listen, her gaze inward. In the light of the torches the dwarves used, her eyes were a bright, bright blue. "Rhonin set in place wards to guard us from those who might want vengeance or merely thought us a danger to their cause. Those wards faced little use for some time, and thus I grew too complacent."

"Complacent?"

"Yes...complacent. I, a ranger, had come to enjoy my family and reveled in my children. When the wards shrieked their alarm, I almost acted too slowly. I burst in and sent him fleeing just before he could spirit the children away!"

"What—what would he want with children?" Grenda asked.

"What would any seeker of magic want with the children of a powerful wizard and a high elf? Children with so much potential in their bloodlines?" Rom asked her in return, his own questions both rhetorical and filled with dread.

Vereesa nodded. "Yes, that was my thought also... and that is why I knew that eventually he would try again...and why we had to hunt him down, no matter what the cost." She shook her head. "With all that he has been doing, Rhonin has not slept any more than I. Neither of us will rest until this is over. Our only regret was that we finally had to separate to follow different trails, though we keep in touch through this."

She pulled from beneath her breastplate a triangular talisman with a blue gem at the center. The talisman was attached to a chain that let it hang from her neck.

"That looks familiar... somewhat."

"Rhonin took the one you think of and altered it into this design."

Rom grunted. "How long since you last used it to reach the wizard?"

"A day ago."

"Well, it won't work here for the same reason we don't have the blood elf breathin' down our necks."

Vereesa frowned, then replaced the talisman beneath her breastplate. "A small trouble and perhaps the best thing. I now know that he is here. Zendarin will pay."

Rom again heard the loathing in her voice. "'Zendarin'? You know him very well, it sounds."

Her smile was as grim as her tone. "Better than any save my sisters, for his family, too, was named Windrunner, as his father and mine were brothers." Her hand caressed the hilt of her sword. "And though we are of the same blood... I will put an end to my cousin's abominable thirst for magic, even if it means my own sacrifice."

"Is something amiss, my dear Zendarin?" the dark lady asked with a slight touch of humor.

"You might be interested in these." With the staff, he pointed at a spot near to where she was studying another egg.

The overly-burdened skardyn gratefully dropped the two dragonspawn carcasses that the blood elf had ordered them to bring all the way from where they had been discovered. As soon as that was done, the scaly creatures quickly retreated from the scene.

"I have seen dead dragonspawn before. You might recall that we have an infestation of dwarves with which you have yet to properly deal."

He ignored her remark. With the glowing end of the staff, he prodded one of the corpses. "This was slain by a dwarf... with the help of several other dwarves, judging by the many scars and smaller wounds." Zendarin Windrunner then pointed at the other body. " That was done by someone with a weapon of power... someone much taller than the Bronzebeard vermin."

She turned her burnt side to him. "And this is of significance to me for what reason?"

"You said that he was near, the one you wanted to come! Does this not mean that he's about?"

The ebony-clad woman laughed, a macabre sight. "Is that the best you think he could do? My dear Zendarin, when he comes, it will be in a much more subtle yet still more powerful manner than this...."

"Than what—" He stopped as she strode past him to investigate the one body. One long, graceful hand ran along the area of the body, poising longest by the throat. She smiled as she openly admired the handiwork.

"A skilled warrior did this," the lady in black commented. Her hand suddenly glowed red. It ran once more over the throat. "They located the most sensitive spot with ease."

"What are you doing?"

"Finding a bit of the truth," she replied, standing again. As the glow faded, Zendarin's companion held out her hand to him. "And the truth is closer to home than you might think..."

Zendarin did not like riddles save when he was the one telling them. "If you know something, spit it out!"

She gave him a look that immediately cowed the blood elf. "Remember who it is you are speaking to and then consider your tone carefully! There is much insubordination from you that I will tolerate, but there are limits to even my fine patience...."

Zendarin wisely kept silent. He bowed his head in respect.

"That is better." She gestured at the cadavers.

A ball of flame erupted from her palm. It split in two as it flew toward the bodies.

The two smaller balls struck. The corpses became tiny infernos, burning to ash in mere seconds.

The lady in black inhaled deeply through her nostrils, her expression filled with dark pleasure. "Ah, what a fine fragrance, don't you agree?"

"You had some answer for me?" the blood elf reminded her.

With her other hand, she dismissed the ashes, which went flying out of the chamber, eventually to descend into the unused lower depths of Grim Batol. In their wake, only one small item remained... an arrowhead.

"Pick it up." When he had obeyed, she asked, "Does it look familiar?"

The blood elf sneered. "This is high elven!"

"Yes, but not just. I recognize it. You should, too."

“I do..." He turned it over, studying the make. It did not look like any stone, but rather white pearl. In truth, it was even much more and would have bore into its target with greater efficiency than any mortal arrow. "This is Thalassian work. These are the mark of a favored of the ranger-general of Silvermoon! No blood elf helped slay the guards, then...a surviving ranger was here..."

"I find the distinctions between passing phases of elf irrelevant." The disfigured woman eyed him closely. "I do believe that you know exactly who might be responsible. Now that is interesting."

"It's nothing...." he grated, tossing aside the arrowhead as if it burned his hand. "And it will remain nothing.... I will see to that...."

"You had better. There can be nothing—absolutely nothing— that would interfere." She locked gazes with the blood elf. "You are not worth that much to my desires."

With that, she turned from him to study the egg anew. Zendarin was furious at being dismissed like some skardyn, but he held all his anger within a mask of indifference. Besides, there was another upon whom to vent his fury. Typically impetuous—as proven by her tryst with the wizard and the potentially-powerful mongrels they had created—she had come to him rather than wait until he had time to return for her prodigy.

So much the better, my cousin, Zendarin thought as he strode from the lady's lair. Perhaps you have given me a different path to the magic I crave, one with less danger, more personal potential... and no one to bow to...

Then, a roar echoed throughout the caverns. The "child" was hungry again. The lady had—without warning or reasonable discussion—held back with the feedings, suddenly interested in studying other aspects of its growth. However, they had both agreed that it would be fed well come the next evening. Zendarin had even agreed to lend some of the power of the staff to that feeding, to see how it might accelerate certain developments in their creation.

A little longer... I can tolerate her a little longer, he decided. Then... then I will be able to deal with her and you, my cousin, and not only reap the benefits of my time and efforts spent in this dismal place, but also finish my plans with your little abominations....

The blood elf grinned, hungry now himself. Soon, very soon, he would have access to energies in such abundance that he would never feel the withdrawals again.

Soon...he, too, would feed to his heart's content.