The dark flames struck the invisible barrier with their full fury . . . and rebounded back at the golem.
Rhonin would not have expected the creature’s own weapon to have any effect on it, but the flames not only took hold of their wielder, they coursed over him with hunger. A roar erupted from the golem’s fleshless throat, an ungodly, inhuman roar.
The monstrous creature quivered—then exploded, unleashing magical forces of hurricane proportion into the tiny mountain chamber.
Unable to withstand those forces, what remained of the ceiling collapsed atop the defenders.
In the dark of night, the dragon Deathwing flew east across the sea. Swifter than the wind, he headed toward Khaz Modan and, more significantly, Grim Batol. The dragon actually smiled to himself, a sight that any other creature would have turned from in mortal terror. All went as intended in every venture. His plans for the humans had moved along so very smoothly. Why, just hours ago, he had received a missive from Terenas, outlining how just a week after “Lord Prestor’s” coronation, word would go out that the new monarch of Alterac would be wedding the king of Lordaeron’s young daughter the day she turned of age. Just a few scant years—the blink of an eye in the life of a dragon—and he would be in place to set about the annihilation of the humans. After them, the elves and dwarves, older and without the vigor of humanity, would fall like the leaves on a dying tree.
He would savor those days well, come the future. Now, however, Deathwing attended to a more immediate and even more gratifying situation. The orcs prepared to abandon their mountain fortress. By dawn, they would be moving the wagons out, heading for the Horde’s last stronghold in Dun Algaz.
With them would go the dragons.
The orcs expected an Alliance invasion from the west. At the very least, they expected gryphon-riders and wizards . . . and one black giant. Deathwing had no intention of disappointing Nekros Skullcrusher on that account. From Kryll, he knew that the one-legged orc had something in mind. The dragon looked forward to seeing what folly the puny creature planned. He suspected he knew, but it would be interesting to find out if an orc could have an original thought for a change.
The dim outline of Khaz Modan’s shore came up on the horizon. Better equipped to see in the dark, Deathwing banked slightly, heading more to the north. Only a couple of hours remained until sunrise. He would have plenty of time to reach his chosen perch. From there, the dragon would be able to watch and wait, choose just the right moment.
Alter the course of the future.
Another dragon flew, too, a dragon who had not flown in many years. The sensations of unfettered flight thrilled him, yet they also served to remind just how out of practice he had become. What should have been completely natural, what should have been an inherent part of his very being, seemed out of place.
Korialstrasz the dragon had been Krasus the wizard for far too long.
Had it been daylight already, those who would have witnessed his passing would have noted a dragon of great, if not gargantuan, proportions, larger than most, but certainly not one of the five Aspects. A brilliant blood-red and sleek of form, in his youth Korialstrasz had been considered quite handsome for his kind. Certainly he had caught the eye of his queen. Swift, deadly, and quick of thought in battle, the crimson giant had also been among her greatest defenders, protecting the honor of the flight and becoming her foremost servant when it came to dealing with the new, upcoming races.
Even before the capture of his beloved Alexstrasza, he had spent most of his later years in the form of the wizard Krasus, generally only reverting to his true self when secretly visiting her. As one of her younger consorts, he had not held the position of authority that Tyranastrasz had, but Korialstrasz had known that he had yet held a special place in the heart of his queen. That had been why he had volunteered in the first place to be her primary agent among the most promising and diverse of the new races—humanity—helping to guide it to maturity whenever possible.
Alexstrasza no doubt thought him dead. After her capture and the subjugation of the rest of the dragonflight, he had seen his own subterfuge as the only way to continue the struggle. Return fully to the guise of Krasus and aid the Alliance in its war against the orcs. It had disheartened him to have to assist in the death of his own blood, but the young drakes raised by the Horde knew little of their kind’s past glory, rarely ever living long enough to grow out of their bloodlust and begin to learn the wisdom that had ever truly been a dragon’s legacy. In aiding the elf and dwarf in their bid for entry into the mountain, he had been fortunate enough to speak into the mind of one of those youngsters, calming the drake and explaining what had to be done. That the other dragon had listened had been heartening. Some hope remained for at least one.
But so much still had to be done, enough so that, once more, Korialstrasz had turned his back on the mortals and left them to their own devices. The moment he had viewed the wagons through the medallion, heard the barked order from the orc officers, he had realized that all for which he had struggled was about to come to fruition. The orcs had taken the bait and were departing from Grim Batol. They would be moving his beloved Alexstrasza into the open—where he could at last rescue her.
Even then, it would not be simple. It would require guile, timing, and, of course, pure luck.
That Deathwing lived and clearly plotted the downfall of the Lordaeron Alliance had presented itself as a new and terrible concern, one that had, for a time, threatened the upheaval of everything for which Korialstrasz had planned. Yet, from what he had discovered as Krasus, it seemed that Deathwing had become too immersed in the politics of the Alliance to even concern himself with the distant orcs and what remained of the once proud red flight of dragons. No, Deathwing played his own game of chess, with the various kingdoms as pieces. Left to his own devices, he would surely cause war and devastation among them. Fortunately, such a game required years, and so Korialstrasz felt little concern for the humans back in Lordaeron and beyond. Their situation could wait until he had freed his beloved.
However, if the fleet dragon could ignore the growing threat to the very lands he had taken under his wing, one other matter still gnawed at his thoughts until he could ignore it no longer. Rhonin—and the two who had gone in search of him—had trusted in Krasus the wizard, not knowing that to Korialstrasz the dragon, the rescue of his queen meant more than life itself. The lives of three mortals had seemed of very little consequence in comparison to that—or so he had thought until recently.
Guilt wracked the dragon. Guilt not only for his betrayal of Rhonin, but also his neglect of the elf and the dwarf after promising to guide them inside.
Rhonin had likely been slain some time ago, but perhaps it was not too late to save the other two. The crimson leviathan knew that he would not be able to concentrate on his quest until he had at least satisfied himself with doing what he could for them.
On the very tip of southwestern Khaz Modan, only a few hours from Ironforge, Korialstrasz picked out a secluded peak in the midst of the mountain chain there and alighted. He took a few moments to orient himself, then shut his eyes and focused on the medallion that he had made Rom give to the ranger, Vereesa.
Although she likely thought the stone in the center only a gem, it was, in fact, a very part of the dragon. Fashioned through magic into its present form, it had begun its existence as one of his scales. The ensorcelled scale bore properties that would have astounded any mage—if they had known how to cast dragon magic. Fortunately for Korialstrasz, few did, else he would not have risked creating the medallion in the first place. Both Rom and the elf clearly believed the gem only useful for communication purposes, and the dragon had no intention of correcting their misconceptions.