This made Torgus pause. He and the other riders eyed their commander with horror.“Slay the whelps? We need—”
“We need whatever can be moved quickly—just in case!”
The taller orc eyed him. “In case of what?”
“In case I don’t manage to take care of Deathwing. . . .”
Now he had everyone staring at him as if he had sprouted a second head and turned into an ogre.
“Take care of Deathwing?” growled one of the other riders.
Nekros searched for his chief wrangler, the orc who aided him most in dealing with the Dragonqueen. “You! Come with me! We need to figure out how to move the mother!”
Torgus finally thought he knew what was going on. “You’re abandoning Grim Batol! You’re taking everything north to the lines!”
“Yes . . .”
“They’ll just follow! Deathwing’ll follow!”
The peg-legged orc snorted. “You’ve your orders . . . or am I surrounded now by whining peons instead of mighty warriors?”
The barb struck. Torgus and the others straightened. Nekros might be maimed, but he still commanded. They could do nothing but obey, regardless of how mad they thought his plans.
He pushed past the injured champion, pushed past all in his path, mind already racing. Yes, it would be essential to have the Dragonqueen out in the open, if only at the mouth of this very cavern. That would serve him best.
He would do as the humans had done. Set the bait—although, just in case he failed, the eggs, at least, had to reach Zuluhed. Even if only they survived, it would aid the Horde . . . and if Nekros could achieve victory, no matter if it cost him his life, then the orcs still had a chance.
One beefy hand slipped to the pouch where the Demon Soul rested. Nekros Skullcrusher had wondered about the limitations of the mysterious talisman—now he would have a chance to find out.
The dim light of dawn stirred Rhonin from what seemed one of the deepest slumbers he had ever experienced. With effort, the wizard pushed himself up and looked around, trying to get his bearings. A wooded area, not the inn of which he had been dreaming. Not the inn where he and Vereesa had been sitting, speaking of—
You are awake . . . good . . .
The words arose within his mind without any warning, nearly sending him into shock. Rhonin leapt to his feet, spinning around in a circle before finally realizing the source.
He clutched at the small medallion dangling around his throat, the one that had been given to him the night before by Deathwing.
A faint glow emanated from the smoky black crystal in the center, and as Rhonin stared at it, he recalled the entire night’s events, including the promise the great leviathan had made. I will be there to guide you the entire way, the dragon had said.
“Where are you?” the mage finally asked.
Elsewhere, replied Deathwing. But I am also with you. . . . The thought made Rhonin shudder, and he wondered why he had finally agreed to the dragon’s offer. Likely because he really had not had any choice.
“What happens now?”
The sun rises. You must be on your way. . . . Peering around, the wary mage eyed the landscape toward the east. The woods gave way to a rocky, inhospitable area that he knew from maps would eventually guide him to Grim Batol and the mountain where the orcs kept the Dragonqueen. Rhonin estimated that Deathwing had saved him several days’ journey by bringing him this far. Grim Batol had to be only two or three days away, providing Rhonin pushed hard.
He started off in the obvious direction—only to have Deathwing immediately interrupt him.
That is not the way you should go.
“Why not? It leads directly to the mountain.”
And into the claws of the orcs, human. Are you such a fool?
Rhonin bridled at the insult, but kept silent his retort. Instead, he asked, “Then where?”
See . . .
And in the human’s mind flashed the image of his present surroundings. Rhonin barely had time to digest this astonishing vision before it began moving. First slowly, then with greater and greater swiftness, the vision moved along a particular path, racing through the woods and into the rocky regions. From there it twisted and turned, the images continuing to speed up at a dizzying rate. Cliffs and gullies darted by, trees passed in a blur. Rhonin had to hold on to the nearest trunk in order not to become too swept up by the sights within his mind.
Hills grew higher, more menacing, at last becoming the first mountains. Even then, the vision did not slow, not until it suddenly fixed on one peak in particular, one which drew the wizard despite his hesitations.
At the base of that peak, Rhonin’s view shifted skyward with such abruptness that he nearly lost all sense of equilibrium. The vision climbed the great peak, always showing areas that the wizard realized contained ledges or handholds. Up and up it went, until at last it reached a narrow cave mouth—
—and ended as abruptly as it had begun, leaving a shaken Rhonin once more standing amidst the foliage.
There is the path, the only path that will enable you to achieve our goal. . . .
“But that route will take longer, and go through more precarious regions!” He did not even want to think of climbing that mountainside. What seemed a simple route for a dragon looked most treacherous to a human, even one gifted with the power of magic.
You will be aided. I did not say you would have to walk the entire way. . . .
“But—”
It is time for you to begin, the voice insisted.
Rhonin started walking . . . or rather, Rhonin’s legs started walking.
The effect lasted only seconds, but it proved sufficient to urge the wizard on. As his limbs returned to his own use, Rhonin pressed forward, unwilling to suffer through a second lesson. Deathwing had shown him quite easily how powerful the link between them was.
The dragon did not speak again, but Rhonin knew that Deathwing lurked somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Yet for all the black leviathan’s power, he seemed not to have total control over Rhonin. At the very least, Rhonin’s thoughts appeared to be hidden from his draconic ally’s inspection. Otherwise, Deathwing would not have been pleased with the wizard at this very moment, for Rhonin already worked to find a way to extricate himself from the dragon’s influence.
Curious. Last night he had been more than willing to believe most of what Deathwing had told him, even the part concerning the black’s desire to rescue Alexstrasza. Now, however, a sense of reality had set in. Surely of all creatures Deathwing least desired to see his greatest rival free. Had he not sought the destruction of her kind throughout the war?
Yet he recalled also that Deathwing had answered that question, too, very late in their conversation.
“The children of Alexstrasza have been raised by the orcs, human. They have been turned against all other creatures. Her freedom would not change what they have become. They would still serve their masters. I slay them because there is no other choice—you understand?”
And Rhonin had understood at the time. Everything the dragon had told him the night before had rung so true—but in the light of day the wizard now questioned the depths of those truths. Deathwing might have meant all he said, yet that did not mean that he did not have other, darker reasons for what he did.
Rhonin contemplated removing the medallion and simply throwing it away. However, to do so would certainly draw his unwanted ally’s attention, and it would be so very simple for Deathwing to locate him. The dragon had already proven just how swift he could be. Rhonin also doubted that, if Deathwing had to come for him again, the armored behemoth would do so as comrade.
For now, all he could do was continue on along the selected path. It occurred to Rhonin that he carried no supplies, not even a water sack, those items now in the sea along with the hapless Molok and their gryphon. Deathwing had not even seen fit to provide him with anything, the food and drink the dragon had given him last night apparently all the sustenance the wizard would receive.