fulfill and you—” Vereesa indicated the sack “—seem to have one of your own.”
“This little pouch?” He swung the heavy sack around with ease. “Some small bit of supplies, enough to
last us until we leave this human place. All I need do is give them to Molok and you and I can be on our
way to—”
The polite yet more blunt refusal forming on the ranger's lips died away as the angry squawk of a
gryphon some short distance away—followed by voices rising in argument—set both her and Falstad to
full alertness. Without a word the dwarf turned from her, sack dropped to the ground and stormhammer
already unslung. He moved with such incredible swiftness for one of his build and size that even though
Vereesa immediately followed after, Falstad had already vanished halfway down the street.
Vereesa unsheathed her own weapon, picking up her pace. The voices grew stronger, more strident,
and she had the uncomfortable feeling that one of them belonged to Rhonin.
The street quickly gave way to one of the open areas caused by the devastation. Here some of the
gryphonriders awaited their leader, and here the wizard had apparently decided to accost them for some
inexplicable reason. Wizards had often been called mad, but surely Rhonin had to be one of the most
insane if he thought himself safe in arguing with wild dwarves.
And, in fact, one of them already had the mage by the clasp of his robe and had lifted the human up
more than a foot off the ground.
“I said leave us be, foul one! If your ears don't be working, then I might as well tear them off!”
“Molok!” Falstad shouted. “What's this spellcaster done that's so enraged you?”
Still holding Rhonin in the air, the other dwarf, who could have been Falstad's twin save for a scar across
his nose and a less humorous cast to his features, turned to his leader. “This one's followed Tupan and
the others, first to the base camp, then, even after Tupan turned him away and flew off, here to where we
all agreed to meet! Told him thrice to clear off, but the human just won't see good sense! Thought maybe
he'd see clearer if I gave him a higher point from which to think about things!”
“Spellcasters . . .” the flight leader muttered. “You've my lasting sympathy, my elven lady!”
“Tell your companion to put him down, or I shall be forced to show him the superiority of a good elven
sword over his hammer.”
Falstad turned, blinking. He stared at the ranger as if seeing her for the first time. His gaze briefly shifted
to the sleek, gleaming blade, then back to the narrowed, determined eyes.
“You'd do that, wouldn't you? You'd defend this creature from those who've been the good friends of
your people since before these humans even existed!”
“She has no need to defend me,” came Rhonin's voice. The dangling mage seemed more annoyed by his
predicament than rightfully fearful. Perhaps he did not realize that Molok could easily break his back in
two. “Thus far, I've held my temper in check, but—”
Anything he said from this point on would only ensure that a struggle would develop. Vereesa moved
swiftly, cutting off Rhonin with a wave of her hand and setting herself between Falstad and Molok. “This
is utterly reprehensible! The Horde has not even been completely destroyed, and already we are at each
other's throat. Is this how allies are to act? Have your warrior release him, Falstad, and we shall see if we
cannot resolve this with reason, not fury.”
“'Tis only a spellcaster . . .” the lead gryphon rider muttered, but he nonetheless nodded, signaling
Molok to release Rhonin.
With some reluctance, the other dwarf did just that. Rhonin straightened his robe and pushed his hair
back in place, his expression guarded. Vereesa prayed that he would maintain his calm.
“What happened here?” she demanded of him.
“I came to them with a simple proposal, that was all. That they chose to react the way they did shows
their barbaric—”
“He wanted us to fly him to Khaz Modan!” snapped Molok.
“The gryphon-riders?” Vereesa could not help but admire Rhonin's audacity, if not his recklessness. Fly
across the sea on the back of one of the beasts—and not even as the principal rider, but someone forced
to hold on to the dwarf in control? Truly Rhonin's mission had to be of more importance than he had let
on for the wizard to attempt to convince Molok and the others to do this! Small wonder they thought him
mad.
“I thought them capable and daring enough . . . but evidently I was wrong about that.”
Falstad took umbrage. “If there's a hint at all in your words that we're cowards, human, I'll do to you
what I kept Molok from doing! There's no more bold people, no mightier warriors, than the dwarves of
the Aerie Peaks! 'Tisn't that we fear the orcs or dragons of Grim Batol; 'tis more that we care not to
suffer the touch of your kind any more than necessary!”
Vereesa expected fury from her charge, but Rhonin only pursed his lips, as if he had expected Falstad's
response to be so. Thinking of her own past thoughts and comments concerning wizards, the ranger
realized that Rhonin must have lived most his life with such condemnations.
“I am on a mission for Lordaeron,” the mage replied. “That's all that should matter . . . but I see it
doesn't.” He turned his back on the dwarves and started off.
Sword still gripped tight, Vereesa came to a swift and desperate decision, born from her suspicions
concerning Rhonin's so-called observation mission. “Wait, mage!” He paused, no doubt somewhat
surprised by her abrupt call. The ranger, however, did not speak to him, but rather faced the lead
gryphon-rider again. “Falstad, is there no hope at all that you might take us as close as possible to Grim
Batol? If not, then Rhonin and I are surely defeated!”
The dwarf 's expression grew troubled. “I thought the wizard was traveling alone.”
She gave him a knowing look, hoping that Rhonin, who watched her carefully, would not misunderstand.
“And what would his chances be the first time he faced a strong orc ax? He might handle one or two with
his spells, but if they came close, he would need a good sword arm.”
Falstad watched her brandish the blade, the troubled look fading. “Aye, and a good arm it is, with or
without the sword!” The dwarf glanced at Rhonin, then his men. He tugged on his lengthy beard, his gaze
returning to Vereesa. “For him, I'd do very little, but for you—and the Lordaeron Alliance, of
course—I'd be more than willing. Molok!”
“Falstad! You can't be serious—”
The lead dwarf went to his friend's side, putting a companionable arm around the shoulder of a dismayed
Molok. “'Tis for the good of the war, brother! Think of the daring you can boast about! We may even
slay a dragon or two along the way to add to our glorious annals, eh?”
Only slightly mollified, Molok finally nodded, muttering, “And I suppose you'll be carrying the lady
behind you?”
“As the elves are our eldest allies and I'm flight leader, aye! My rank demands it, doesn't it, brother?”
This time Molok only nodded. His glowering expression said all else.
“Wonderful!” roared Falstad. He turned back to Vereesa. “Once more the dwarves of the Aerie Peaks
come to the rescue! This calls for a drink, a flagon of ale or two, eh?”
The other dwarves, even Molok, lit up at this suggestion. The ranger saw that Rhonin would have
preferred to take his leave at this point, but chose not to say such. Vereesa had given him his transport to
the shores of Khaz Modan, and possibly even near to Grim Batol, and so it behooved him to show his
gratitude to all involved. True, Falstad and his fellows would also have been glad to be rid of Rhonin, but
Vereesa gave silent thanks that she would have someone other than the gryphon-riders with whom to
talk.
“We shall be happy to join you,” she finally replied. “Is that not so, Rhonin?”
“Very much so.” His words came out with all the enthusiasm of one who had just discovered something
odorous in the shoe he had just put on.
“Excellent!” Falstad's gaze never once shifted to the wizard. To Vereesa he said, “The Sea Boar is still
intact and much appreciative of our fine business in the past! They should be able to scrounge up a few
more casks of ale! Come!”
He would have insisted on escorting her himself, but the ranger expertly maneuvered away from his
reach. Falstad, perhaps more eager for ale than elves at the moment, seemed not to take any notice of
her slight. Waving to his men, he led them off in the direction of their favored inn.
Rhonin joined her, but as she attempted to follow after the dwarves, he suddenly pulled her aside, his
expression dark.
“What were you thinking?” the flame-haired mage whispered. “OnlyIam heading to Khaz Modan!”
“And you would never have the chance to get there if I had not mentioned my going with you. You saw
how the dwarves reacted earlier.”
“You don't know what you're trying to get yourself into, Vereesa!”
She pushed her face within scant inches of his own, daring him. “And what is it? More than simply
observation of Grim Batol. You plan something, do you not?”
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