A dragon like the night? “A black dragon, you mean?” Vereesa held the goblin nearer. “You saw this? When?”
“Not long! Just before dark!”
“In the sky or on the ground?”
“The ground! He—”
Falstad looked at her. “You can’t trust the word of a goblin, my elven lady! They don’t know the meaning of truth!”
“I will believe him if he can answer one question. Goblin, was this dragon alone, and, if not, who was with him?”
“Don’t want to talk about goblin-eating dragons!” he began, but one prod by Vereesa’s blade opened a reservoir of words. “Not alone! Not alone! He had another with him! Maybe to eat, but first to talk! Didn’t listen! Just wanted to get away! Don’t like dragons and don’t like wizards—”
“Wizards?” both the elf and Falstad blurted. Vereesa tried to keep her hopes in check. “He looked well, this wizard? Unharmed?”
“Yes—”
“Describe him.”
The goblin squirmed, waving his thin little arms and legs. The ranger did not find herself fooled by the spindly looking limbs. Goblins could be deadly fighters, with strength and cunning their puny forms belied.
“Red-maned and full of arrogance! Tall and clad in dark blue! Know no name! Heard no name!”
Not much of a description, but certainly enough. How many tall, red-haired wizards dressed in dark blue robes could there be, especially in the company of Deathwing?
“That sounds like your friend,” Falstad replied with a grunt. “Looks like you were right after all.”
“We need to go after him.”
“In the dark? First, my elven lady, you’ve not slept at all, and second, even though the dark gives us cover, it also makes it damn hard to see anything else—even a dragon!”
As much as she desired to go on with the hunt right now, Vereesa knew that the dwarf had a point. Still, she could not wait until morning. Precious time would slip away. “I only need a couple of hours, Falstad. Give me that and then we can be on our way.”
“It’ll still be dark . . . and, in case you’ve forgotten, big as he is, Deathwing’s as black as—as night!”
“We do not have to go searching for him, though.” She smiled. “We already at least know where he landed—or rather, one of us here does.”
They both looked at the goblin, who clearly desired to be elsewhere.
“How do we know we can trust him? ’Tis no tall tale that these little green thieves are notorious liars!”
The ranger turned the sharp tip of her sword toward the goblin’s throat. “Because he will have two options. Either he shows us where Deathwing and Rhonin landed, or I cut him up for dragon bait.”
Falstad chuckled. “You think even Deathwing could stomach the likes of him?”
Their short captive quivered and his unsettling yellow eyes, completely lacking in pupils, widened in outright fear. Despite the close proximity of the sword tip, the goblin began hopping up and down in wild fashion. “Will gladly show you! Gladly indeed! No fear of dragons here! Will guide you and lead you to your friend!”
“Keep it down, you!” The ranger tightened her hold on the devilish creature. “Or will I have to cut out your tongue?”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry . . .” murmured their new companion. The goblin quieted down. “Don’t hurt this miserable one. . . .”
“Pfah! ’Tis a poor excuse of even a goblin we’ve got here!”
“So long as he shows us the way.”
“This wretch will guide you well, mistress! Very well!”
Vereesa considered. “We will have to bind him for now—”
“I’ll tie him to my mount. That’ll keep the foul rodent under control.”
The goblin looked even more ill at this latest suggestion, so much so that the silver-haired ranger actually felt some sympathy for the emerald creature. “All right, but make certain that your animal will not do him any harm.”
“So long as he behaves himself.” Falstad eyed the prisoner.
“This poor excuse will behave himself, honest and truly. . . .”
Withdrawing the tip of her blade from his throat, Vereesa tried to mollify the goblin a little. Perhaps with a little courtesy, they could get more out of the hapless being. “Lead us to where we want to go, and we will let you loose before there is any danger of the dragon eating you. You have my word on that.” She paused. “You have a name, goblin?”
“Yes, mistress, yes!” The oversized head bobbed up and down. “My name is Kryll, mistress, Kryll!”
“Well, Kryll, do as I ask and all will go well, understand?”
The goblin fairly bounced up and down. “Oh, yes, yes, I do, mistress! I assure you, this miserable one’ll lead you exactly where you need to go!” He gave her a madcap grin. “I promise you. . . .”
11
Nekros fingered the Demon Soul, trying to decide his next move. The orc commander had been unable to sleep most of the night, Torgus’s failure to return from his mission eating at the thoughts of the elder warrior. Had he failed? Had both dragons perished? If so, what sort of force did that mean the humans had sent to rescue Alexstrasza? An army of gryphon-riders with wizards in tow? Surely even the Alliance could not afford to send such might, not with the war to the north and their own internal squabbles. . . .
He had tried to contact Zuluhed with his concerns, but the shaman had not responded to his magical missive. The orc knew what that meant; with matters already so dire elsewhere, Zuluhed had no time for what likely seemed to him his subordinate’s fanciful fears. The shaman expected Nekros to act as any orc warrior should, with decisiveness and assurance . . . which left the maimed officer back at square one.
The Demon Soul gave him great power to command, but Nekros knew that he did not understand even a fraction of its potential. In fact, understanding the depths of his ignorance made the orc uncertain as to whether he dared even try to use the artifact for more than he already had. Zuluhed still did not realize what he had passed to his subordinate. From what little Nekros had discovered on his own, the Demon Soul contained such relentless power that, wielded with skill, it could likely wipe out the entire Alliance force the orc officer knew to be massing near the northern regions of Khaz Modan.
The trouble was, if wielded carelessly, the disk could also obliterate all of Grim Batol.
“Give me a good ax and two working legs and I’d throw you into the nearest volcano. . . .” he muttered at the golden artifact.
At that moment, a harried-looking warrior barged into his quarters, ignoring his commander’s sudden glare. “Torgus returns!”
Good news at last! The commander exhaled in relief. If Torgus had returned, then at least one threat had been eradicated after all. Nekros fairly leapt from his bench. Hopefully Torgus had been able to take at least one prisoner; Zuluhed would expect it. A little torture and the whining human would no doubt tell them everything they needed to know about the upcoming invasion to the north. “At last! How far?”
“A few minutes. No more.” The other orc had an anxious expression on his ugly face, but Nekros ignored it for the moment, eager to welcome back the mighty dragon-rider. At least Torgus had not let him down.
He put away the Demon Soul and hurried as fast he could to the vast cavern the dragon-riders used for landings and takeoffs. The warrior who had brought word followed close behind, curiously silent. Nekros, however, welcomed the silence this time. The only voice he wanted to hear was that of Torgus, relating his great victory over the outsiders.
Several other orcs, including most of the surviving riders, already awaited Torgus at the wide mouth of the cavern. Nekros frowned at the lack of order, but knew that, like him, they eagerly awaited the champion’s triumphant arrival.