Nekros fingered theDemon 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.
TheDemon Soulgave 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 eventryto 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, theDemon
Soulcontained 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 theDemon Souland 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.
“Make way! Make way!” Pushing past the rest, he stared out into the faint light of predawn. At first, he
could not spot either leviathan; the sentry who had noted their imminent arrival surely had to have the
sharpest eyes of any orc. Then . . . then, gradually, Nekros noted a dark form in the distance, one that
swelled in size as it neared.
Only one? The peg-legged orc grunted. Another great loss, but one he could live with now that the
threat had been vanquished. Nekros could not tell which dragon returned, but, like the others, he
expected it to be Torgus's mount. No one could defeat Grim Batol's greatest champion.
And yet . . . and yet . . . as the dragon coalesced into a defined shape, Nekros noticed that it flew in
ragged fashion, that its wings looked torn and the tail hung practically limp. Squinting, he saw that a rider
did indeed guide the beast, but that rider sat half-slumped in the saddle, as if barely conscious.
An uncomfortable tingle ran up and down the commander's spine.
“Clear away!” He shouted. “Clear away! He'll need lots of room to land!”
In truth, as Nekros stumped away, he realized that Torgus's mount would need nearly all the free room
in the vast chamber. The closer the dragon got, the more his erratic flight pattern revealed itself. For one
brief moment, Nekros even thought that the leviathan might crash into the side of the mountain, so badly
did he maneuver. Only at the last, perhaps urged on by his handler, did the crimson monster manage to
enter.
With a crash, the dragon landed amongst them.
Orcs shouted in surprise and consternation as the wounded beast slid forward, unable to halt his
momentum. One warrior went flying as a wing clipped him. The tail swung to and fro, battering the walls and bringing down chunks of rock from the ceiling. Nekros planted himself against one wall and gritted
his teeth. Dust rose everywhere.
A silence suddenly filled the chamber, a silence during which the maimed officer and those who had
managed to get out of the dragon's path began to realize that the gargantuan creature before them had
made it back to the roost . . . only to die.
Not so, however, the rider. A figure arose in the dust, a teetering yet still impressive form that unlashed
itself from the giant corpse and slid down the side, nearly falling to his knees when he touched the floor.
He spat blood and dirt from his mouth, then peered around as best he could, searching . . . searching . . .
For Nekros.
“We're lost!” bellowed the bravest, the strongest of the dragon-riders. “We're lost, Nekros!”
Torgus's arrogance had now been tempered by something else, something that his commander belatedly
recognized as resignation. Torgus, who had always sworn to go down fighting, now looked so very
defeated.
No! Not him!The older orc hobbled over to his champion as quickly as he could, his expression
darkening. “Silence! I'll have none of that talk! You shame the clans! You shame yourself!”
Torgus leaned as best he could against the remains of his mount. “Shame? I've no shame, old one! I've
only seen the truth—and the truth is that we've no hope now! Not here!”
Ignoring the fact that the other orc stood taller and outweighed him, Nekros took hold of the rider by the
shoulders and shook him. “Speak! What makes you spout such treason?”
“Look at me, Nekros! Look at my mount! You know what did this? You know what we fought?”
“An armada of gryphons? A legion of wizards?”
Bloodstains covered the once magnificent honors still pinned to Torgus's chest. The dragon-rider tried to
laugh, but got caught in a coughing fit. Nekros impatiently waited.
“Would—would've been a fairer fight, if I say so! No, we saw only a handful of gryphons—probably
bait! Have to be! Too small for any useful force—”
“Never mind that! What did this to you?”
“What did this?” Torgus looked past his commander, eyeing his fellow warriors. “Death itself——death
in the form of a black dragon!”
Consternation broke out among the orcs. Nekros himself stiffened at the words. “Deathwing?”
“And fighting for the humans! Came from the clouds just as I tried for one of the gryphons! We barely
escaped!”
It could not be . . . and yet . . . ithadto be. Torgus would not have made up such a bald lie. If he said
that Deathwing had done this—and certainly the rips and tears that decorated the giant corpse added
much credence to his words—then Deathwinghaddone this.
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