“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?”