The second goblin whispered something into Kryll’s large, pointed ear. Kryll hissed, then dismissed the other creature with a negligent wave of the hand. The newcomer vanished back through the open grate.
“What is it?” Although the words came calmly and smoothly from the lips of the aristocrat, they also clearly demanded no hesitation on the part of the goblin to answer.
“Aaah, gracious one,” Kryll began, the madcap smile once more upon his bestial face. “Luck is with you this day, it seems! Perhaps you should consider making a wager somewhere? The stars must truly favor—”
“What is it?”
“Someone . . . someone is attempting to free Alexstrasza. . . .”
Prestor stared. He stared so long and with such intensity that Kryll fairly shriveled up before him. Surely now, the goblin imagined, surely now death would come. A pity that. There had been so many more experiments he had wanted to try, so many more explosives to test . . .
At that moment, the tall, black figure before him broke out laughing, a laugh deep, dark, and not entirely natural.
“Perfect . . .” Lord Prestor managed to utter between bouts of mirth. He stretched his arms out as if seeking to capture the very air. His fingers seemed impossibly long and almost clawed. “So perfect!”
He continued to laugh and, as he did, the goblin Kryll settled back, marveling at the odd sight and shaking his head ever so slightly.
“And they call me mad,” he muttered under his breath.
3
The world became fire.
Vereesa cursed as she and the wizard scattered under the inferno suddenly exhaled by the crimson behemoth as it descended. If Rhonin had not delayed the start of their journey, this would have never happened. They would have arrived in Hasic by now, and she would have parted from his company. Now, it seemed very likely both of them would be parting with their lives. . . .
She had known that the orcs of Khaz Modan still sent out occasional dragon flights to wreak terror on the otherwise peaceful lands of their enemies, but why had she and her companion had the misfortune to be found by one? Dragons were fewer these days, and the realms of Lordaeron immense.
She glanced at Rhonin, who had thrown himself deeper into the woods. Of course. Somehow it had to do with the fact that her companion was a wizard. Dragons had senses far above those of even elves; some said they could, within limitations, even smell magic. Somehow this disastrous turn of events had to be the wizard’s fault. The orc and his dragon had to have come for him.
Rhonin evidently thought something similar, for he hurried from her sight as quickly as he could, darting into the woods in the opposite direction from her. The ranger snorted. Wizards were never good in the front line; it was easy to attack someone from a distance or behind his back, but when they had to actually face a foe . . .
Of course, it was a dragon.
The dragon veered toward the vanishing human. Despite what she might personally think of him, Vereesa did not want to see the spellcaster dead. Yet, peering around, the silver-haired ranger saw no manner by which she could aid him. Her mount had been taken along with his, and with it had gone her favored bow. All that remained with her was her sword, hardly a weapon to be used against such a rampaging titan. Vereesa looked around for something else she could use, but nothing suited.
That left her with little choice. As a ranger, she could not let even the wizard fall to harm if she could help it. Vereesa had to do the only thing she could think of in order to possibly save his life.
The elf leapt up from her hiding place, waved her hands in the air, and shouted, “Here! Over here, spawn of a lizard! Here!”
However, the dragon did not hear her, his—Vereesa had finally managed to identify it as a male—attention on the burning woods below him. Somewhere in that inferno Rhonin struggled to survive. The dragon sought to make certain that he did not.
Cursing, the elven warrior looked around and found a heavy rock. For a human, what she sought to do would have been nigh unto impossible, but for her it still remained in the realm of probability. Vereesa only hoped her arm was as good as it had been a few short years back.
Stretching back, she threw the rock directly at the head of the crimson leviathan.
She had the distance, but the dragon suddenly moved, and for a moment Vereesa expected her rock to miss. However, although it did not hit the head, the projectile did bounce off the tip of the nearest of the webbed wings. Vereesa did not even expect to injure the beast—a mere rock against hard dragonscale a laughable weapon—but what she had hoped for was to attract the behemoth’s attention.
And so she did.
The massive head immediately swerved her way, the dragon roaring in annoyance at this interruption. The orc shouted something unintelligible at his mount.
The great winged form abruptly banked, steering toward her. She had succeeded in taking his attention from the hapless mage.
And now what? the ranger chided herself.
The elf turned and ran, already knowing she had no chance of outpacing her monstrous pursuer.
The treetops above her burst into flames as the dragon coated the landscape. Burning foliage dropped before her, cutting off Vereesa’s intended route. Without hesitation, the ranger shifted to the left, diving among trees that had not yet become a part of the inferno.
You are going to die! she informed herself. All for that useless wizard!
An ear-splitting roar made her look over her shoulder. The red dragon had reached her, and even now one taloned paw stretched down to seize the fleeing ranger. Vereesa imagined that paw crushing her or, worse fate, dragging her into the behemoth’s horrific maw, where she would be chewed up or swallowed whole.
Yet, just as death came within inches of her, the dragon suddenly pulled back his claws and began squirming in midair. The claws raked against his own torso. In fact, every set of claws was trying to scratch somewhere, anywhere, as if—as if the leviathan suffered an incredibly painful itch. Atop him, the orc struggled for control, but he might as well have been the very flea that seemed to trouble the dragon for all the beast obeyed him now.
Vereesa stopped and stared, never having witnessed so startling a sight. The dragon twisted and turned as he tried to relieve his agony, his actions growing more and more frantic. His orc handler could barely hold on. What, the elf wondered, could have caused the monster so much—
The answer came out as a whisper. “Rhonin?”
And, as if by saying his name she had summoned him like some ghost, the mage stood before her. His fiery hair hung disheveled and his dark robe had become muddy and torn, but he looked undeterred by what he had so far suffered.
“I think it’d be better if we left while we could, eh, elf ?”
She did not need him to offer again. This time, Rhonin led the way, using some skill, some magical ability, to guide them through the blazing forest. As a ranger, Vereesa could not have done better herself. Rhonin led her along paths the elf could not even see until they were upon them.
All the while, the dragon soared overhead, tearing at its hide. Once Vereesa glanced up and saw that he had even managed to draw blood, his own claws one of the few things capable of ripping through his armored skin. Of the orc she saw no more sign; at some point the tusked warrior must have lost his grip and fallen. Vereesa felt no remorse for him.
“What did you do to the dragon?” she finally managed to gasp.
Rhonin, intent on finding the end of the blaze, did not even look back at her. “Something that didn’t turn out the way I planned! He should’ve suffered more than an intense irritation!”
He actually sounded annoyed with himself, but the ranger, for once, found herself impressed by him. He had turned certain death into possible safety—provided they found their way out.