You see?” the crimson-tressed mage asked his unseen companion. “No need to drop him over the
side. Besides, you might want to make use of him again.”
In reply, Rhonin's possessed hand abruptly released its hold on Nullyn, who dropped to the deck with a
thud. The goblin lay there for several seconds, trying desperately to gain his breath back.
Your choice . . . wizard.
The human exhaled, then, glancing at Voyd—who still cowered by the engine—called out, “Well? Get
us to the mountain!”
Voyd immediately obeyed, frantically turning levers and checking gauges. Nullyn finally recovered
enough to join his partner, the beaten goblin not once glancing back.
Extinguishing the magical flame, Rhonin peered over the rail again. Now at last he could make out some
sort of formation, hopefully the crags of Grim Batol. He assumed from Deathwing's earlier words and
images that the dragon still wanted him set down directly on the peak, preferably somewhere near a gap
leading inside. Surely the goblins knew this. Any other choice they made at this point would mean that
they had still not learned the folly of crossing either their distant master or the wizard. Rhonin prayed that
it would not be so. He doubted that Deathwing would allow the goblins to escape punishment twice.
They began to draw near to one peak in particular, one that Rhonin had vague memories of, even though
he had never been to Grim Batol before. With growing eagerness he leaned forward for a better look.
Surely this had to be the mountain from the vision that Deathwing had forced upon him. He searched for
telltale signs—a recognizable outcropping or a familiar crevice.
There! The very same narrow cave mouth from his dizzying journey of the mind. Barely large enough for
a man to stand in, provided he managed the terrifying climb up several hundred feet of sheer rock. Yet,
still it would serve. Rhonin could scarcely wait, more than happy to be rid of the mischievous goblins and
their outrageous flying machine.
The rope ladder still dangled free, ready for his use. The wary mage waited while Voyd and his partner
maneuvered their ship nearer and nearer. Whatever his previous thoughts about the zeppelin, Rhonin had
to admit that now the goblins controlled it with a measure of accuracy he found admirable.
The ladder clattered slightly against the rock wall just to the left of the cave.
“Can you keep it steady here?” he called to Nullyn.
A nod was all he received from the still fearful pilot, but it satisfied Rhonin. No more tricks. Even if they
did not fear him, they certainly feared the long reach of Deathwing.
Taking a deep breath, Rhonin crawled over the side. The ladder wobbled dangerously, slapping him
more than once against the side of the mountain. Ignoring the shock of each strike, the wizard hurried as
best he could to the bottom rung.
The slim ledge of the cave stood just a little under him, but although the goblins had the zeppelin
positioned as precisely as they could, the high mountain winds kept twisting Rhonin away from safety.
Three times he tried to get his footing, and three times the wind dragged him away, leaving his foot
dangling hundreds of feet in the air.
Worse, as the current grew stronger, the airship, too, began to shift, sometimes drawing away a few
critical inches. The voices of the two goblins rose in frantic argument, although the actual words were lost
to the struggling mage.
He would have to risk jumping. With conditions as they were, casting a spell would be too chancy.
Rhonin would have to rely on physical skill alone—not his first choice.
The airship veered without warning, slapping him hard against the rock. Rhonin let out a gasp, barely
managing to hang on. If he did not abandon the ladder soon, the next collision might just be enough to
stun him and cause a fatal loss of grip.
Taking a deep breath, the battered wizard studied the distance between himself and the ledge. The
ladder rocked to and fro, threatening again to toss him hard against the rock.
Rhonin waited until it brought him near the ledge— then threw himself toward the cave.
With a painful grunt, he came down on the slim ledge. His feet momentarily slipped, one finding no
purchase whatsoever. The wizard scrambled to pull himself forward, finally making progress.
When at last he felt secure enough, Rhonin dropped to the ground, panting. It took him a few seconds to
regain his breath, at which point he rolled onto his back.
Beyond, Voyd and Nullyn had apparently just realized that they had finally rid themselves of their
unwanted passenger. The goblin airship began to pull away, the rope ladder still dangling from the side.
Rhonin's hand suddenly shot up, his index finger pointing toward the fleeing vessel.
He opened his mouth to scream, knowing what would happen next.“Nooo!”
The same words he had spoken earlier to create the flickering flame over his hand now erupted from his
mouth, but this time they were not spoken by the wizard himself.
A stream of pure fire greater than any the horrified spellcaster had ever summoned shot forth—directly
toward the airship and the unsuspecting goblins.
The flames engulfed the zeppelin. Rhonin heard screams.
The airship exploded as its stockpile of oil ignited.
As the few remaining fragments plunged from the sky, Rhonin's arm dropped to his side.
Drawing in what breath he had, the mage snapped, “You shouldn't have done that!”
The winds will keep the explosion from being heard,replied the cold voice.And the pieces will fall to a
deep valley little used. Besides, the orcs are used to the goblins destroying themselves in the midst of their
experiments. You need not fear discovery . . . my friend.
Rhonin had not been concerned about his own safety at that moment, only the lives of the two goblins.
Death in combat was one thing; punishment such as the black dragon had meted out to his two rebellious
servants was another.
You would do yourself better to continue on into the cave,Deathwing continued.The elements outside
are hardly fit for you.
Not at all mollified by the leviathan's attempt at concern, Rhonin yet obeyed. He had no desire to be
swept off the ledge by the ever-increasing winds. For better or worse, the dragon had brought him this
close to his goal—one that he could now admit to himself he had suspected he might never reach on his
own. Deep down, the wizard had believed all along he would perish—hopefully, at least,afterhe had
made amends. Now, perhaps he had a chance. . . .
At that moment a monstrous sound greeted Rhonin, a sound he recognized instantly. A dragon, of
course, and one young and fit. Dragons and orcs. They awaited him in the depths of the mountain,
awaited the lone mage.
Reminded him that he might yet die, just as he had originally imagined. . . .
The human was strong. Stronger than imagined.
Clad once more in the guise of Lord Prestor, Deathwing considered the pawn he had chosen. Usurping
the wizard that the Kirin Tor had sent on this absurdly impossible quest had seemed the simplest thing.
He would turn their folly into victory—buthisvictory. This Rhonin would do that for him, although not in
the way the mortal expected.
Yet the wizard showed much more defiance than Deathwing had assumed possible. Strong of will, this
one. A good thing that he would perish in the course of matters; such strong will bred strong
wizards—like Medivh. Only one name among humans had the black leviathan ever respected, and that
had been Medivh's. Mad as a goblin—not to mention as unpredictable as one—he had wielded power
unbelievable. Not even Deathwing would have faced him willingly.
But Medivh was dead—and the ebony leviathan believed that to be the case despite the recent rumors
to the contrary. No other wizard came anywhere near to having the mad one's skills, and never would, if
Deathwing had his way.
Yet if Rhonin would not obey him blindly—as the monarchs of the Alliance did—he would obey out of
the knowledge that the dragon watched his every move. The two insipid goblins had made for an object
lesson. Perhaps they had only planned to put terror into the heart of their passenger, but Deathwing had
not had time for such foolishness. He had warned Kryll to choose a pair who would fulfill their mission
without any nonsense. When the chief goblin had completed his own tasks, Deathwing would speak to
him about his choices. The black dragon was not at all pleased.
“You had better not fail, little toad,” he hissed. “Or your brethren on board the airship will have
considered themselves fortunate compared to the fate I will deal you. . . .”
He dropped all thought of the goblin. Lord Prestor had an important meeting with King Terenas . . .
about the Princess Calia.
Clad in the finest suit to be found among any of the nobles of the land, Deathwing admired himself in the
lengthy mirror in the front corridor of his chateau. Yes, every inch a future king. Had humans carried
within them even a shred of the dignity and power that he possessed, the dragon might have thought to
spare them. However, what stared back at him represented to Deathwing the perfection that the mortals
