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.