Lord Duncan Senturus rammed the blade deep into the soft area between the neck and skull, burying his blade halfway into the leviathan.
The red beast twitched uncontrollably. Ichor shot forth from the wound, so hot it scalded the paladin. He slipped back, lost hold.
“To him, damn it!” Rhonin demanded of Molok. “To him!”
The dwarf obeyed, but Rhonin knew they would never reach Duncan in time. From across the way he saw another gryphon soar near. Falstad and Vereesa. Even with so much weight already upon his mount, the lead rider hoped to somehow rescue the paladin.
For a moment, it seemed as if they would. Falstad’s gryphon neared the teetering warrior. Duncan looked up, first at Rhonin, then at Falstad and Vereesa.
He shook his head . . . and slumped forward, rolling off the shrieking dragon.
“No!”Rhonin stretched a hand toward the distant figure. He knew that Lord Senturus had already died, that only a corpse had fallen, but the sight stirred up all the misgivings and failures of the wizard’s last mission. His fear had come to pass; now he had already lost one of those with him, even if Duncan had invited himself along.
“Look out!”
Molok’s sudden warning stirred him from his reverie. He looked up to see the dragon, still aloft despite its death throes, spinning wildly about. The gargantuan wings fluttered everywhere, moving almost at random. Falstad barely got his own beast out of range of one, and too late Rhonin realized that this time he and Molok would not escape a blow by the other.
“Pull up, you blasted beast!” roared Molok. “Pull—”
The wing struck them full force, ripping the mage from his seat. He heard the dwarf scream and the gryphon squawk. Stunned, Rhonin barely realized that, for a moment at least, he flew higher into the sky. Then, gravity took over and the half-conscious wizard began to descend . . . rapidly.
He needed to cast a spell. Some spell. Try as he might, however, Rhonin could not concentrate enough to even recall the first words. A part of him knew that this time he would surely die.
Darkness overwhelmed him, but an unnatural darkness. Rhonin wondered if perhaps he was blacking out. However, from the darkness suddenly came a booming voice, one that struck a distant chord in his memory.
“I have you again, little one! Never fear, never fear!”
A reptilian paw so great that Rhonin did not even fill the palm enveloped the wizard.
9
“Duncan!”
“’Tis too late, my elven lady!” Falstad called. “Your man’s already dead—but what a glorious tale to leave behind!”
Vereesa cared nothing about glorious tales nor the incorrect assumption that she had admired Lord Senturus more than she actually did. All that mattered to her was that a brave man whom she had come to know all too briefly had perished. True, like Falstad, the elf had immediately realized that it had only been Duncan’s shell that had fallen earthward, but the horror of his tragic death had still struck her deep.
Yet, Vereesa took some comfort in the knowledge that Duncan had managed the near-impossible. The dragon had been struck a mortal blow, one that caused it to continue to thrash about madly. The dying leviathan sought to pull the blade from the base of its skull, but its efforts grew weaker and weaker. It was only a matter of time before the giant joined its slayer in the depths of the sea.
However, even in dying the dragon remained a threat. A wing nearly caught the dwarf and her. Falstad had the gryphon dive in order to avoid the wild movements of the behemoth. Vereesa held on for dear life, no longer able to concern herself with Duncan’s fate.
As for the second dragon, it, too, still menaced the gryphons. Falstad brought his mount up again, rising above the other monster in order to prevent them being seized by the horrific talons. Another rider narrowly escaped the snapping jaws.
They could no longer remain here. The orc guiding this second beast clearly had vast experience in aerial combat with gryphons. Sooner or later his mount would catch one of the dwarves. Vereesa wanted no more deaths. “Falstad! We have to get away!”
“For you I would do that, my elven lady, but the scaly beast and its handler seem to have other ideas!”
True enough, the dragon now appeared fixated on Vereesa and her companion, most likely at the orc’s behest. Perhaps he had noted the second rider, and possibly thought her of some importance. In fact, the very presence of the two crimson behemoths brought many questions to the ranger’s mind—specifically whether or not they had come because of Rhonin’s mission. If so, then he more than she should have been the likely target. . . .
And where was Rhonin? As Falstad urged the gryphon to greater speed and the dragon closed behind them, the elf quickly glanced around, but again found no sign of him. Disturbed, she took a second look. Not only did Vereesa not see the mage, but she could not even locate the gryphon he had been riding.
“Falstad! I do not see Rhonin—”
“A worry for another time! ’Tis more important that you hold tight!”
She obeyed . . . and just in time. Suddenly the gryphon arced at such a severe angle that, had Vereesa hesitated, she might have been tossed off.
Talons slashed at the spot she and the dwarf had most recently occupied. The dragon roared its frustration and banked.
“Prepare for battle, my elven lady! It appears we are not to have any other choice!”
As he unslung his stormhammer, Vereesa cursed again the loss of her bow. True, she had a sword, but unlike Duncan, the ranger could not yet bring herself to commit such a sacrifice. Besides, she still needed to find out what had happened to Rhonin, who remained her first priority.
The orc had his own long battle-ax out, and now waved it around his head, shouting some barbaric war cry. Falstad responded with a guttural cry of his own, clearly eager for combat despite his earlier concern for Vereesa. With nothing left for her to do, the ranger held on, hoping that the dwarf’s aim would be true.
A titanic form the color of night dropped in among the combatants, falling upon the crimson dragon and sending both beast and handler into a state of confusion.
“What in the name of—” was all Falstad managed.
The elf found herself speechless.
Black wings twice the span of those of the red filled Vereesa’s vision, metallic glints from those wings almost blinding her. A tremendous roar shook the sky like thunder, sending the gryphons scattering.
A dragon of immense proportions snapped at the smaller red one. Dark, narrow orbs eyed the lesser leviathan with contempt. The orc’s dragon roared back, but clearly it did not find this new foe to its liking.
“We may be done for now, my elven lady! ’Tis none other than the dark one himself!”
The black goliath spread his wings wide, and the sound that escaped his mighty jaws reminded Vereesa of harsh, mocking laughter. Again she caught sight of metal—plates of metal—spread across much of the newcomer’s vast body. The natural armor of a dragon proved difficult enough to pierce; what metal would a creature such as this wear to protect its hard scales?
The answer came quick. Adamantium. Only it truly outshone the nearly impenetrable scale . . . and only one great leviathan had ever put himself through such agony in the name of power and ego.
“Deathwing . . .”she whispered.“Deathwing . . .”
Among the elves, it had been said long ago that there were five great dragons, five leviathans who represented arcane and natural forces. Some claimed that Alexstrasza the red represented the essence of life itself. Of the others, little was known, for even before the coming of humans the dragons had lived sheltered, hermitic existences. The elves had felt their influence, had even dealt with them on various occasions, but never had the elder creatures truly revealed their secrets.
Yet, among the dragons, there had been one who had made himself known to all, who ever reminded the world that, before all other races, his kind had ruled. Although originally bearing another name, he himself had long ago chosen Deathwing as his title, the better to show his contempt and intentions for the lesser creatures around him. Even the elders of Vereesa’s race could not claim to know what drove the ebony giant, but throughout the years he had done what he could to destroy the world built by the elves, dwarves, and humans.