Lift him up,” grunted the bestial voice.
Sturdy hands harshly seized a dazed Rhonin by the upper arms and dragged him to his feet. Cold water
suddenly splashed all over his face, stirring him to consciousness.
“His hand. That one.” One of those holding the wizard up lifted Rhonin's left arm. Someone grabbed his
hand, took hold of his little finger—
Rhonin screamed as the bone cracked. His eyes flew wide open, and he found himself staring at the
brutal visage of an older orc much scarred by years of fighting. The orc's expression showed no sign of
pleasure at the human's pain, but rather a slight hint of impatience, as if Rhonin's captor would have
preferred to be elsewhere dealing with matters of greater import.
“Human.” The word came out sounding like a curse. “You've one chance for life; where's the rest of
your party?”
“I don't—” Rhonin coughed. The pain from his broken finger still coursed through him. “I'm alone.”
“You take me for a fool?” grunted the leader. “You take Nekros for a fool? How many fingers left, eh?”
He tugged on the one next to the broken finger. “Many bones in the body. Many bones to be cracked!”
Rhonin thought as quickly as the pain would allow him. He had already informed his captor that he had
come alone and that had not satisfied the orc. What did this Nekros want to hear? That his mountain had
been invaded by an army? Would that actually please him?
Of course, it might also help to keep Rhonin alive until he could find some means of escape.
He still did not know what had happened, only that, despite his precautions, he had been fooled by
Deathwing. Evidently the dragon hadwantedthe mage discovered. But why? It made as much sense as
Nekros's seeming desire to have enemy soldiers wandering through his very fortress!
Rhonin could worry about Deathwing's murky plans later. For now, the ragged wizard's life came first.
“No! No . . . please . . . the others . . . I'm not certain where they are . . . got separated
“Separated? Don't think so! You came for her, didn't you? You came for the Dragonqueen! That's your
mission, wizard! I know it!” Nekros leaned close, his breath threatening to smother Rhonin back into
unconsciousness. “My spies heard! You heard, didn't you, Kryll?”
“Oh, yes, oh, yes, Master Nekros! I heard it all!”
Rhonin tried to glance past the orc, but Nekros would not let him see who spoke. Still, the voice itself
said much about the spy's identity, especially that this Kryll had to be the goblin he had heard earlier.
“I say again to you, human, that you came for the dragon, isn't that so?”
“I got sep—”
Nekros slapped him across the face, leaving a trail of blood at the edge of Rhonin's mouth. “Another
finger'll be next! You came to free the dragon before your armies reached Grim Batol! You figured the
chaos would work for you, didn't you?”
This time, Rhonin learned. “Yes . . . yes, we did.”
“You said ‘we’! That's twice now!” The lead orc leaned back in triumph. For the first time, the injured
mage noticed Nekros's maimed leg. Small wonder this brutal orc commanded the dragon-breeding
program instead of a savage war party.
“You see, great Nekros? Grim Batol is no longer safe, my glorious commander!” pitched in the high
voice of the goblin. “Who knows how many more enemies still lurk in its countless tunnels? Who knows
how long before the Alliance marches on you—with the dark one leading the way? A pity nearly all your
remaining dragons are already up near Dun Algaz! You can't possibly defend the mountain with so few!
Best if the enemy did not find us here at all rather than waste so much precious—”
“Tell me something Idon'tknow, little wretch!” He poked a meaty finger into Rhonin's chest. “Well, this
one and his comrades've come too late! You'll not get the dragon or her young, human! Nekros's thought
ahead of you all!”
“I don't—”
Another slap. The only benefit of the stinging pain in the beaten wizard's face was that it took away from
the agony of his broken finger. “You can have Grim Batol, human, for all the good it's worth! May the
whole thing fall down on you!”
“Nekros—you must . . . must stop this insanity!”
Rhonin's head jerked up. He knew that voice, even though he had heard it but once before.
His guards also reacted to the voice, turning enough to enable him to see the gargantuan, scaled form so
wickedly bound by chains and clamps. Alexstrasza, the great Dragonqueen, could scarcely move. Her
limbs, tail, wings and throat were held firmly in place. She could clearly open her tremendous jaws, but
only enough to eat and speak with effort.
Captivity had not treated her well. Rhonin had seen dragons before, crimson ones especially, and those
had all had scales that bore a certain metallic sheen. Alexstrasza's, on the other hand, had become dull,
faded, and in many places looked loose. She did not seem at all well when he studied her reptilian
countenance, either. The eyes had a washedout look to them, not to mention an incredible weariness.
He could only imagine what her imprisonment had been like. Forced to bear young who would be
trained by her captors to serve their murderous cause. Never likely seeing them once the eggs were
taken from her. Perhaps she even regretted the lives lost because of her deadly progeny. . . .
“You've no permission to speak, reptile,” snarled Nekros. He reached into a pouch at his side and
clutched something.
Rhonin's skin tingled as a magical force of astonishing proportions awoke. He did not know what the orc
did, yet it made the Dragonqueen cry out with such pain that everyone but Nekros seemed affected by it.
Despite her agony, though, Alexstrasza continued. “You—you waste both energy and—and time,
Nekros! You fight for what is—is already—lost!”
With a groan, she finally closed her eyes. Her breathing, so rapid the moment before, briefly grew
shallow before returning to a somewhat more normal rate.
“Only Zuluhed commands me, reptile,” the onelegged orc muttered. “And he's far from here.” His hand
slipped free from the pouch. At the same time the magical force that Rhonin had felt abruptly faded away.
The wizard had heard many rumors as to how the Horde could possibly keep such a magnificent
creature under their control, but none matched what he had just witnessed. Clearly some artifact or
device of tremendous strength lay in that pouch. Did Nekros even truly understand the power he
wielded? With such at his beck and call, he could have ruled the Horde himself!
“We need to hunt down the others,” the elder warrior turned to a guard standing by the entranceway.
“Where'd you find the guard's body?”
“Fifth level, third tunnel.”
Nekros's brow furrowed. “Above us?” He studied Rhonin as if looking over a prime piece of beef.
“Wizard's work! Start searching everything from fifth level up, then—leave no tunnel alone! Somehow
they've come from above!” A slow grin spread across his outlandish, tusked features. “Maybe not magic
after all! Torgus saw the gryphons! That's it! The rest of 'em came after Deathwing drove Torgus off!”
“Deathwing—Deathwing s-serves no one—but himself !” Alexstrasza suddenly pronounced, eyes
opening wide. She sounded almost fearful, for which Rhonin could not blame her. Who did not fear the
black demon?
“But he works now with the humans,” insisted her captor. “Torgus saw him!” His hand slapped the
pouch. “Well, maybe we'll be ready for him, too!”
Now Rhonin could not help but stare at the pouch and its contents, which, judging by the vague shape,
seemed to be a medallion or disk. What power could it have that Nekros believed would even work
against the armored behemoth?
“It's dragons you all want. . . .” Once more Nekros faced the wizard. “And it's dragons you'll get . . . but
you and the dark one won't be happy long, human!” He waved toward the exit. “Take him away!”
“Kill him?” grunted one of the guards in what seemed hopeful tones.
0 Comments