Tell me more! Leave out no detail!”
Despite his own condition, the rider did just that, telling how he and the other orc had come upon the
seemingly insignificant band. Scouts, perhaps. Torgus had seen several dwarves, an elf, and at least one
wizard. Simple pickings, save for the unexpected sacrifice of a human warrior who had somehow
single-handedly slain the other dragon.
Even then, Torgus had expected little more trouble. The wizard had proved some annoyance, but had
vanished in the midst of combat, likely having fallen to his death. The orc had moved in on the party,
ready to finish them.
That had been when Deathwing had attacked. He had made simple work of Torgus's own beast, who
had initially refused his handler's instructions and had sought battle. No coward, Torgus had nonetheless
immediately known the futility of battling the armored behemoth. Over and over during the struggle he
had shouted for his mount to turn away. Only when the red dragon's wounds had proven too much had
the beast finally obeyed and fled.
As the story unfolded, Nekros saw all his worst nightmares coming true. The goblin Kryll had been
correct in informing him that the Alliance sought to wrest the Dragonqueen from orc control, but the foul
little creature had either not known or had not bothered to tell his master about the forces amassed for
that quest. Somehow the humans had managed the unthinkable—a pact with the only creature both sides
respected and feared.
“Deathwing . . .” he muttered.
Yet, why would they would waste the armored behemoth on such a mission? Surely Torgus had it right
when he said that the band he had discovered had to be scouts or bait. Surely a much vaster force
followed close behind.
And suddenly it came to Nekros what was unfolding.
He turned to face the other orcs, fighting to keep his voice from cracking. “The invasion's begun, but the
north's not it! The humans and their allies're coming for us first!”
His warriors glanced at one another in dismay, clearly realizing that they faced more threat than any in
the Horde could have imagined. It was one thing to die valiantly in battle, another to know one faced
certain slaughter.
His conclusions made perfect sense to Nekros. Move in unexpectedly from the west, seize the southern
portion of Khaz Modan, free or slay the Dragonqueen— leaving the remnants of the Horde in the north,
near Dun Algaz, bereft of their chief support—then move up from Grim Batol. Caught between the
attackers from the south and those coming from Dun Modr, the last hopes of the orc race would be
crushed, the survivors sent to the guarded enclaves set up by the humans.
Zuluhed had left him in charge of all matters concerning the mountain and the captive dragons. The
shaman had not seen fit to respond, therefore he assumed he could trust Nekros to do what he must.
Very well, then, Nekros would do justthat.
“Torgus! Get yourself patched up and get some sleep! I'll be needing you later!”
“Nekros—”
“Obey!”
The fury in his eyes made even the champion back down. Torgus nodded and, with the aid of a
comrade, moved off. Nekros turned his attention back to the others. “Gather whatever's most important
and get it into the wagons! Move all the eggs in crates padded with hay—and keep them warm!” He
paused, going down a mental list. “Be prepared to slay any dragon whelps still too wild to train
properly!”
This made Torgus pause. He and the other riders eyed their commander with horror.“Slaythe whelps?
We need—”
“We need whatever can be moved quickly—just in case!”
The taller orc eyed him. “In case of what?”
“In case I don't manage to take care of Deathwing. . . .”
Now he had everyone staring at him as if he had sprouted a second head and turned into an ogre.
“Take care of Deathwing?” growled one of the other riders.
Nekros searched for his chief wrangler, the orc who aided him most in dealing with the Dragonqueen.
“You! Come with me! We need to figure out how to move the mother!”
Torgus finally thought he knew what was going on. “You're abandoning Grim Batol! You're taking
everything north to the lines!”
“Yes . . .”
“They'll just follow! Deathwing'll follow!”
The peg-legged orc snorted. “You've your orders . . . or am I surrounded now by whining peons instead
of mighty warriors?”
The barb struck. Torgus and the others straightened. Nekros might be maimed, but he still commanded.
They could do nothing but obey, regardless of how mad they thought his plans.
He pushed past the injured champion, pushed past all in his path, mind already racing. Yes, it would be
essential to have the Dragonqueen out in the open, if only at the mouth of this very cavern. That would
serve him best.
He would do as the humans had done. Set the bait— although, just in case he failed, the eggs, at least,
had to reach Zuluhed. Even if onlytheysurvived, it would aid the Horde . . . and if Nekros could achieve
victory, no matter if it cost him his life, then the orcs still had a chance.
One beefy hand slipped to the pouch where theDemon Soulrested. Nekros Skullcrusher had wondered
about the limitations of the mysterious talisman—now he would have a chance to find out
The dim light of dawn stirred Rhonin from what seemed one of the deepest slumbers he had ever
experienced. With effort, the wizard pushed himself up and looked around, trying to get his bearings. A
wooded area, not the inn of which he had been dreaming. Not the inn where he and Vereesa had been
sitting, speaking of—
You are awake . . . good . . .
The words arose within his mind without any warning, nearly sending him into shock. Rhonin leapt to his
feet, spinning around in a circle before finally realizing the source.
He clutched at the small medallion dangling around his throat, the one that had been given to him the
night before by Deathwing.
A faint glow emanated from the smoky black crystal in the center, and as Rhonin stared at it, he recalled
the entire night's events, including the promise the great leviathan had made.I will be there to guide you
the entire way,the dragon had said.
“Where are you?” the mage finally asked.
Elsewhere,replied Deathwing.But I am also with you. . . .
The thought made Rhonin shudder, and he wondered why he had finally agreed to the dragon's offer.
Likely because he really had not had any choice.
“What happens now?”
The sun rises. You must be on your way. . . .
Peering around, the wary mage eyed the landscape toward the east. The woods gave way to a rocky,
inhospitable area that he knew from maps would eventually guide him to Grim Batol and the mountain
where the orcs kept the Dragonqueen. Rhonin estimated that Deathwing had saved him several days'
journey by bringing him this far. Grim Batol had to be only two or three days away, providing Rhonin
pushed hard.
He started off in the obvious direction—only to have Deathwing immediately interrupt him.
That is not the way you should go.
“Why not? It leads directly to the mountain.”
And into the claws of the orcs, human. Are you such a fool?
Rhonin bridled at the insult, but kept silent his retort. Instead, he asked, “Then where?”
See . . .
And in the human's mind flashed the image of his present surroundings. Rhonin barely had time to digest
this astonishing vision before it beganmoving.First slowly, then with greater and greater swiftness, the
vision moved along a particular path, racing through the woods and into the rocky regions. From there it
twisted and turned, the images continuing to speed up at a dizzying rate. Cliffs and gullies darted by, trees
passed in a blur. Rhonin had to hold on to the nearest trunk in order not to become too swept up by the
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