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 betterand 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 itthatpowerful?
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 theDemon Soulhad 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
managinganydragon.
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.
The humans would learn the folly of entrusting victory to the dark one. What ruled one dragon certainly
ruled another. With theDemon Soul,the orc commander would seize control of the most savage of all
beasts. He, Nekros, would be master of Deathwing . . . but only if the damned reptile ever appeared.
“Where're you, you blasted creature?” he muttered. “Where?”
The last row of warriors exited the cavern mouth. Nekros watched them march by. Proud, wild, they
hearkened back to the day when the Horde knew no defeat, knew no enemy it could not slaughter. With
Deathwing at his command, he would restore that glory to his people. The Horde would rise anew, even
those who had surrendered. The orcs would sweep over the Alliance lands, cutting down the humans and
the others.
And perhaps there would be a new chieftain of the Horde. For the first time, Nekros dared imagine
himself in such a role, with even Zuluhed bowing before him. Yes, he who would bring victory to his
people would surely be acclaimed ruler.
War Chief Nekros Skullcrusher . . .
He urged his mount forward, rejoining the column. It would look suspicious if he did not ride with them.
Besides, where he positioned himself did not truly matter; theDemon Soulgave him control from a
distance. No dragon could be released by it unless he willed it—and certainly the grizzled orc had no
intention of doing that.
Wherewas that blasted black beast?
And, as if in answer, an ear-splitting howl arose. However, the howl did not come from the sky, as
Nekros had initially believed, but rather from the very earth surrounding the orcs. It caused consternation
among the warriors as they turned about, trying to find the enemy.
A breath later—the ground erupted withdwarves.
They seemed everywhere, more dwarves than even Nekros could have imagined still remained in all of
Khaz Modan. They burst from the earth, swinging axes and waving swords, charging the column from
every side.
Yet, although momentarily stunned, the orcs quickly recovered. Shouting out their own war cries, they
turned to meet the attackers. The guards stayed with the wagons, but they, too, readied themselves, and
even the peons, pathetic for most things, pulled out clubs. It took little training for an orc to be able to
crush something with a piece of wood.
Nekros kicked at a dwarf who tried to pull him down. One of the commander's aides quickly stepped
in, and a pitched battle began between the two. Nekros steered the horse nearer to the wagons, needing
a moment himself to adjust to the situation. Instead of an invasion, he had been attacked by scavengers,
for these looked to be the ragged mob that he had always known existed in the tunnels around the
mountains. Judging by the numbers now, the trolls had apparently not done their work well.
But where was Deathwing? He had planned for the dragon. There had to be a dragon!
A thundering roar shook the combatants. A vast form darted half-seen through the thick clouds, then
broke free, diving toward the orcs.
“At last! At last you've come, you black—” Nekros Skullcrusher froze, utterly baffled. He clutched the
Demon Soul,but, at the moment, did not even think about using it as he had planned.
The dragon diving toward him had scales the color of fire, not darkness
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