Falstad, too, sat up. The gryphon-rider had a wild look in his eyes that for once had nothing to do with battle. His visage had turned absolutely pale, something Rhonin would never have imagined of the stalwart warrior.
“Never, never, never will I crawl into another tunnel! From now on, ’tis only the sky for me! Dagath’s Hammer!”
The wizard might have replied, but a groan from farther on caught his attention. Rising on unsteady feet, he struggled his way toward Vereesa’s prone form. At first Rhonin wondered if he had imagined the groan—the ranger looked completely lifeless—but then Vereesa repeated it.
“She’s—she’s alive, Falstad!”
“Aye, you can tell that from her moaning, I’ll bet! Of course she’s alive! Quick, though! How does she fare?”
“Hold on . . .” Rhonin cautiously turned the elf over, studying her face, her head, and her body. She had been bruised in some places and her arm bore stains of blood, but otherwise she seemed in as good a shape as either of her companions.
While he cautiously held her head up to study a bruise at the top, Vereesa’s eyes fluttered open. “R-Rhon—”
“Yes, it’s me. Take it easy. I think you got struck hard on the head.”
“Remember . . . remember that—” The ranger closed her eyes for a moment—then suddenly sat up, eyes flaring wide, mouth open in horror.“The ceiling! The ceiling! It is falling in on us!”
“No!” He took hold of her. “No, Vereesa! We’re safe! We’re safe. . . .”
“But the cavern ceiling . . .” The elf’s expression relaxed. “No, we are not in the cave any longer . . . but where are we, Rhonin? How did we get here? How did we survive in the first place?”
“You remember the shield that saved us from the golem? After the monster destroyed itself, the shield held up, even when the ceiling collapsed. Its sphere of protection shrank, but it still held up enough to keep us from being crushed to death.”
“Falstad! Is he—”
The dwarf came up on her other side. “’Tis all of us he’s saved, my elven lady. Saved but dropped us off in the middle of nowhere!”
Rhonin blinked. Middle of nowhere? He looked around. The snowy ridge, the chill winds—growing chillier by the moment—and the incredible cloud cover all about them . . . the wizard knew exactly where they were, even despite the darkness surrounding them. “Not nowhere, Falstad. I think I sent us to the very top of the mountain. I think that everything, including the orcs, lies far below us.”
“The top of the mountain?” Vereesa repeated.
“Aye, that would make sense.”
“And judging by the fact that I can see both of you better and better, I fear that it’s nearing dawn.” Rhonin grew grim again. “Which means, if Nekros Skullcrusher is an orc of his word, that they’ll be leaving the fortress at any moment, eggs and all.”
Both Vereesa and the dwarf looked at him. “Now why would they do anything so daft?” asked Falstad. “Why abandon a place so secure?”
“Because of an impending invasion from the west, wizards and dwarves all riding swift, cunning gryphons. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of dwarves and wizards. Maybe even some elves. Against so much, especially magic, Nekros and his men would have no chance even of defending from within the mountain. . . .” The wizard shook his head. The situation might have been different if the commander had realized the true potential of the artifact he carried, but apparently either Nekros did not or his loyalties to his master in Dun Algaz were stronger. The orc had chosen to go north, and north he would go.
Falstad still could not believe it. “An invasion? Where would even an orc get a mad idea like that?”
“From us. From our being here. Especially me. Deathwing wanted me here just to serve as evidence of some forthcoming attack! This Nekros is mad! He already apparently believed that an assault was imminent, and when I showed up in his very midst, he felt certain of it.” Rhonin eyed his broken finger, which had grown numb. He would have to deal with it when he could, but for now, so much more was at stake than a single finger.
“But why would the black beast want the orcs to leave?” the ranger asked. “What would he gain?”
“I think I know. . . .” Standing, Rhonin went to the edge of the mountain and peered down, bracing himself so that the wind would not blow him off the edge. He could still see nothing below, but imagined that he heard some sort of noise . . . perhaps of a military column with wagons moving out? “I think that instead of rescuing the red Dragonqueen—as he tried to convince me—he wants to slay her! It was too much of a risk while she was inside, but in the open he can swoop down and kill her with a single blow!”
“Are you sure?” the elf asked, joining him.
“It has to be.” He looked up. Even the thick cloud cover up here could not obscure the fact that dawn fast approached. “Nekros wanted to leave by dawn. . . .”
“Is he daft?” muttered Falstad. “Would’ve made more sense if the blasted orc had tried to leave during the cover of darkness!”
Rhonin shook his head at Falstad. “Deathwing can see fairly well in the night, maybe even better than any of us! Nekros indicated at one point in the questioning that he was prepared for anything, even Deathwing! In fact, he even seemed eager for the dark one to appear!”
“But that would make the least sense of all!” the ranger returned. “How could a single orc defeat him?”
“How could he keep control of the Dragonqueen—and where did he summon a creature like the golem?” The questions disturbed him more than he let on. Clearly the object that the orc carried had significant abilities, but was it that powerful?
Falstad suddenly waved for silence, then pointed northwest, well beyond the mountain.
A vast, dark shape broke momentarily through the higher clouds, then disappeared from sight again as it descended.
“’Tis Deathwing . . .” the gryphon-rider whispered.
Rhonin nodded. The time for conjecture was over. If Deathwing had come, it meant only one thing. “Whatever is to happen, it’s begun.”
The lengthy orc caravan moved out as the first light of dawn touched Grim Batol. The wagons were flanked at beginning and end by armed warriors wielding freshly honed axes, swords, or pikes. Escorts rode with the peon drivers, especially on the wagons bearing the precious dragon eggs. Each orc traveled as if prepared to face the enemy at any given second, for word of the supposed invasion from the west had reached even the lowest of the low.
On one of the few horses available to the orcs, Nekros Skullcrusher watched the departure with impatience. He had sent the dragon-riders and their mounts on ahead to Dun Algaz, in order that, even if he failed in what he attempted, a few dragons would still be available to the Horde. A pity that he had dared not use them to transport the eggs, but from one previous attempt the commander had learned the folly of trying that.
Erecting a wagon capable of bearing a dragon would have been impossible, and so it had fallen to Nekros himself to take control of the two senior beasts. Both Alexstrasza and, remarkably, Tyran, followed at the rear of the column, ever aware of the power the Demon Soul had over them. For the ill consort, this had to be a harsh situation; Nekros doubted that the male would survive the journey, yet the orc knew there had been no other choice.
They still made for an impressive sight, the two great leviathans. The female more than the male, since she remained in better health. Nekros once caught her glaring at him, her hatred radiating in her eyes. The orc cared not a whit. She would obey him in all things so long as he wielded the one artifact capable of managing any dragon.
Thinking of dragons, he looked skyward. The overcast heavens presented any behemoth with ample places to hide, but eventually something had to happen. Even if the Alliance forces were too far away, Deathwing would surely come. Nekros counted on that.