Rhonin waved at the dwindling figure, recalling with some guilt his first impressions of the dwarf. Falstad
had proven himself though, in many ways more than the wizard felt thathehad.
A gentle hand took hold of his crippled one, lifting it slowly up.
“This is long past the need to be dealt with,” Vereesa reproved him. “I took an oath to see you safe.
This would not look good for me. . . .”
“Didn't your oath end when we reached the shores of Khaz Modan?” he returned, adding a slight smile.
“Perhaps, but it seems that you need to be guarded from yourself every hour of the day! What might you
do to yourself next?” However, the elf, too, let a slight smile momentarily escape her.
Rhonin let her fuss over his broken finger, wondering if perhaps there might be a way for him to continue
his association with Vereesa after the dragon had brought them both back to Lordaeron. Surely it would
be best for those in command if the pair gave their reports together, the better to verify events. He would
have to propose that to Vereesa and see how she felt about it.
Curious, he suddenly thought, how one could go from almost seeking death, as he had done in the
beginning, to wanting to live to the fullest—and that after nearly having been incinerated, crushed, run
through, beheaded, and devoured. He would always have regrets for what had happened on his previous
mission, but no longer was he haunted by that time.
“There,” Vereesa announced. “Keep it like that until I can find some better material. It should heal well,
then.”
She had taken a strip of cloth from her cloak and had fashioned a splint of sorts using a piece of wood
from a broken war-ax. Rhonin inspected her work, found it exceptional.
He had never bothered to mention that, once recuperated, he would have been able to completely heal
the hand himself. She had been very willing to help him.
“Thank you.”
He hoped that the dragons would take their time with their task. With nothing to fear from the orcs,
Rhonin found himself in no hurry whatsoever to go home.
When news at last spread to the Alliance of Grim Batol's downfall and the loss of the dragons to the
Horde's dying cause, celebrations arose among the people. Surely now the war would at last come to an
end. Surely now peace was at hand.
Each of the major kingdoms insisted on hearing the words of the wizard and elf for themselves,
questioning the pair at great length. Word came down from the Aeries of verification from one of the
gryphon-riders, the celebrated hero Falstad.
While Rhonin and Vereesa continued their tour of the various kingdoms—and grew closer in the
process—he who had worn the guise of the wizard Krasus had made a report of his own in the Chamber
of the Air. Initially, he had been greeted with hostility by his fellow councilors, especially those who knew
he had outright lied to all. However, no one could argue with the results, and wizards were, if nothing
else, pragmatic when it came to results.
Drenden had shaken his shadowed head at the faceless mage. “You could've brought down everything
we'd worked for!” he boomed, his words echoed by the storm momentarily raging through the chamber.
“Everything!”
“I understand that now. If you like, I will resign from the council, even accept penance or ouster, if that is
what you wish.”
“There were those who mentioned more than ouster,” commented Modera. “Much more than ouster . .
.”
“But we've all discussed that and decided that young Rhonin's success has brought Dalaran nothing but
good will, even from those of our allies who briefly protested their lack of knowledge of his improbable
mission. The elves especially are pleased, as one of their own was also involved.” Drenden shrugged.
“There seems no reason to continue on with this subject. Consider yourself officially censured, Krasus,
butcongratulatedby me personally.”
“Drenden!” snapped Modera.
“We're alone here, I can say what I will.” He steepled his fingers. “Now, then, if no one else has any
other comment, I'd like to bring up the subject of one Lord Prestor, supposed monarch-elect of
Alterac—whoseemsto have vanished off the face of the world!”
“The chateau is empty, his servants fled . . .” added Modera, still annoyed at her counterpart's earlier
comments concerning Krasus.
One of the other mages, the heavyset one, finally spoke up. “The spells surrounding the place've
dissipated, too. And there're signs that there were goblins working for this rogue mage!”
The entire council looked to Korialstrasz.
He spread his hands as if as bewildered as the rest. “Lord Prestor” had clearly had the upper hand in the
situation, everything to gain; why, the rest clearly wanted to know, had he abandoned it all now? “It is as
much a puzzle to me as it is you. Perhaps he realized that, eventually, our combined might would bring
him down. That would be my likely guess. Certainly nothing else would explain why he would give up so
much.”
This sat well with the other wizards. Like most creatures, Korialstrasz knew, they had their egos to
assuage.
“His influence already wanes,” he went on. “For surely you have all heard how Genn Greymane has
reinstated his protest against Prestor's taking ascension, and even Lord Admiral Proudmoore has joined
him on this. King Terenas even announced that a second check into the socalled noble's background left
many questions unanswered. The rumors of Prestor's imminent betrothal to the young princess have
dwindled away. . . .”
“You were looking into his background,” commented Modera.
“It may be that some of that information slipped to His Majesty, yes.”
Drenden nodded, quite pleased. “Rhonin's quest has brought us into the good graces of Terenas and the
others, and we'll make the best use of that turn. By the end of a fortnight, ‘Lord Prestor’ will be
anathema to the entire Alliance!”
Korialstrasz raised a warning hand. “Best to take a more subtle touch. We have the time. Before long,
they will forget he even existed.”
“Perhaps you're right.” The bearded mage looked at the others, who nodded in agreement. “Unanimous,
then. How wonderful.” He raised his hand, ready to dismiss the council. “Well, if there's nothing more—”
“Actually, there is,” interrupted the dragon mage. A cloud from the fading storm drifted through him.
“What is it?”
“Although you have granted me pardon for my questionable actions, I must tell you now that I must take
my leave from council activities for a time.”
They looked stunned. None could recall him ever having missed a gathering, much less stepping back
from the council altogether.
“How long?” Modera asked.
“I cannot say. She and I have been apart so long, it will take quite some time to regain what we once
had.”
Korialstrasz could almost see Drenden blink, despite the shadow spell.“Youhave a . . . awife,is she?”
“Yes. Forgive me if I never recalled to tell you. As I said, we were apart for quite some time. . . .” He
smiled even though they could not see it. “. . . but now she is returned to me.”
The others shared glances. Finally, Drenden replied, “Then . . . by all means . . . we shall not stand in
your way. You certainly have the right to do this. . . .”
He bowed. In truth, the dragon hoped to return, for this had been as much a part of his centuries-old life
as almost anything else. Yet, compared to being with his Alexstrasza, even it paled in comparison. “My
thanks. I hope, of course, to keep abreast of all news of import, I promise you. . . .”
He raised his hand in farewell as the spell he cast transported him away from the Chamber of the Air.
Korialstrasz's parting words were truer than even the other wizards might have realized. As one of the
Kirin Tor—even one absent from the council—he most definitely planned to watch the political
maneuverings. Despite “Lord Prestor's” disappearance, potentially devastating squabbles remained
between the various kingdoms, Alterac again one of the foremost topics. His duties for Dalaran
demandedKorialstrasz maintain watch.
And for his queen, for his ancient kind, he and others like him would also watch . . . watch and influence,
if necessary. Alexstrasza believed in these young races, more so after what Rhonin and the others had
done, and because of that Korialstrasz intended to do what he had to in order to steel her belief. He
owed that to both her and those who had aided him in his quest.
No one had sighted Deathwing since the black beast's desperate escape. With the others constantly on
watch for him now, it seemed unlikely that he would cause much terror for some time to come, if ever.
Yet, because of him, the others had taken a renewed interest in life and the future.
The day of the dragon had passed, true, but that did not mean at all that they would not continue to leave
their mark in the world . . . even if no one else ever suspected it.
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