Duncan reined his horse to a halt. “Something is wrong here.”
Rhonin, too, had that feeling, and coupled with his suspicions over what had happened to him at the
keep, he could not help wondering if what they observed now somehow related to his journey.
Hasic lay in the distance, but a subdued, silent Hasic. The wizard could hear nothing, no sound of
activity. A port such as this should have been bustling with noise loud enough to reach even their party.
Yet, other than a few birds, he could make out no sound of life.
“We received no word of trouble,” the senior paladin informed Vereesa. “If we had, we would have
ridden here immediately.”
“Maybe we are just overanxious because of the trek.” Yet even the ranger spoke in low, cautious tones.
They sat there for so long that Rhonin finally had to take matters into his own hands. To the surprise of
the others, he urged his mount forward, determined to reach Hasic with or without the rest.
Vereesa quickly followed, and Lord Senturus naturally hurried after her. Rhonin held back any
expression of amusement as the Knights of the Silver Hand pushed forward to take the lead from him.
He could tolerate their arrogance and pomposity for a little longer. One way or another, the wizard and
his undesired companions would depart company in the port.
That is . . . if anything was left of the port.
Even their mounts reacted to the silence, growing more and more tentative. At one point, Rhonin had to
prod his animal to move on. None of the knights made jests over his difficulty, though.
To their relief, as the party drew nearer, they did begin to hear some sounds of life from the direction of
the port. Hammering. A few voices raised. Wagon movement. Not much, but at least proof that Hasic
had not become a place of ghosts.
Still, they approached cautiously, aware that something did not sit well. Vereesa and the knights kept
one hand by their sword hilts, while Rhonin began running through his spells in his mind. No one knew
what to expect, but they all clearly expected it soon.
And just as they rode within sight of the town gate, Rhonin spotted three ominous forms rising into the
sky.
The wizard's horse shied. Vereesa grabbed hold of the reins for Rhonin and brought the animal under
control. Some of the knights began to draw their swords, but Duncan immediately signaled them to return
the weapons to their sheaths.
Moments later, a trio of gigantic gryphons descended before the group, two alighting onto the tops of the
mightiest trees, the third landing directly in their path.
“Who rides toward Hasic?” demanded its rider, a bronze-skinned, bearded warrior who, despite likely
not even coming up to the mage's shoulder, looked capable of lifting not only him, but his horse as well.
Duncan immediately rode forward. “Hail to you, gryphon-rider! I am Lord Duncan Senturus of the order
of the Knights of the Silver Hand, and I lead this party to the port! If you will permit a question, has some
misfortune befallen Hasic?”
The dwarf gave a harsh laugh. He had none of the stout look of his more earthbound cousins, instead
seeming more like a barbarian warrior who had been taken by a dragon and crushed to half-size. This
one had shoulders even wider than those of the strongest knight and muscles that rippled of their own
accord. A wild mane of hair fluttered behind the stocky, unyielding face.
“If you can call a pair of dragons just a misfortune, then, yes, Hasic suffered one! They came three days
ago, tearing apart and burning anything they could! If not for my flight here having arrived that very
morning, you'd find none of your precious port intact, human! They had barely begun when we took them
in the sky! A glorious battle it was, though we lost Glodin that day!” The dwarves slapped a fist over
their hearts. “May his spirit fight proud through eternity!”
“We saw a dragon,” Rhonin interjected, fearful for a moment that the trio would break into one of the
epic mourning songs he had heard about. “About that time. With an orc handler. Three of you came and
fought it—”
The lead rider had scowled at him as soon as his mouth had opened, but at mention of the other struggle,
the dwarf 's eyes had lit up and a wide smile had returned to his face. “Aye, that was us as well, human!
Tracked down the cowardly reptile and took him in the sky! A good and dangerous fight that was, too!
Molok up there—” He indicated a fuller, slightly bald dwarf atop the tree to Rhonin's right. “—lost a fine
ax, but at least he still has his hammer, eh, Molok?”
“Would rather shave off my beard than lose my hammer, Falstad!”
“Aye, 'tis the hammer that impresses the ladies most, 'tisn't it?” Falstad replied with a chuckle. The dwarf
seemed to notice Vereesa for the first time. Brown eyes glittered bright. “And here's a fine elven lady
now!” He made a bad attempt at a bow while still atop the gryphon. “Falstad Dragonreaver at your
service, elven lady!”
Rhonin belatedly recalled that the elves of Quel-'Thalas had been the only other people whom the wild
dwarves of the Aeries truly trusted. That, of course, did not look to be the entire reason why Falstad now focused on Vereesa; like Senturus, the gryphon-rider clearly found her very attractive.
“My greetings, Falstad,” the silver-haired ranger solemnly returned. “And my congratulations on a
victory well fought. Two dragons are much for any flight group to claim.”
“All a day's task for mine, all a day's task!” He leaned as near as he could. “We've not been graced with
any of your folk in this area, though, especially not so fine a lady as yourself! In what way can this poor
warrior serve you best?”
Rhonin felt the hair on the nape of his neck bristle. The dwarf 's tone, if not his words, offered more than
simple assistance. Such things should not have disturbed the wizard, yet for some reason they did at this
moment.
Perhaps Duncan Senturus felt the same way, for he answered before anyone else could. “Your offer of
aid is appreciated, but likely not necessary. We have but to reach the ship that awaits this wizard so that
he may be on his way from our shores.”
The paladin's response made it sound as if Rhonin had been exiled from Lordaeron. Gritting his teeth,
the frustrated mage added, “I am on an observation mission for the Alliance.”
Falstad appeared unimpressed. “We've no cause to stop you from entering Hasic and searching for your
vessel, human, but you'll find that not so many remain after the dragons attacked. Likely yours is flotsam
on the sea!”
The thought had already occurred to Rhonin, but hearing it from the dwarf made the point sink home.
However, he could not be defeated this early in his quest. “I have to find out.”
“Then we'll be out of your way.” Falstad urged his mount forward. He took one last long glance at
Vereesa and grinned. “A definite pleasure, my elven lady!”
As the ranger nodded, the dwarf and his mount rose up into the air. The massive wings created a wind
that blew dust into the eyes of the party, and the sudden nearness of the gryphon as it left the ground
made even the most hardened of the horses step back. The other riders joined Falstad, the three
gryphons quickly dwindling in the heavens. Rhonin watched the already faint forms bank toward Hasic,
then fly off at an incredible rate of speed.
Duncan spat dust from his mouth; from his expression, his opinion of the dwarves was clearly not that
much higher than what he thought of wizards. “Let us ride. We may still find fortune on our side.”
Without another word they rode toward the port. It did not take long for them to see that Hasic had
suffered even more than Falstad had let on. The first buildings they came across stood more or less
intact, but with each passing moment the visible damage intensified. Crop fields in the outer lands had
been scorched, the landowners' domiciles reduced to splinters. Stronger structures with stone bases had
withstood the onslaught much better, but now and then they saw one that had been completely
demolished, as if one of the dragons had chosen that place to alight.
The stench of burnt matter especially touched the wizard's heightened senses. Not everything the two
leviathans had charred had been made of wood. How many of Hasic's inhabitants had perished in this
desperate raid? On the one hand, Rhonin could actually appreciate the desperation of the orcs, who
certainly had to know by now that their chances of winning the war had dropped to nil, but on the other
hand . . . deaths such as these demanded justice.
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