"You're right, General," Khadgar said, inclining his head. "We have a keep to defend. We can’t solve a puz­zle if we're not alive to do so."

Turalyon gave a weary, worried grin, climbed back atop his mount, and rode again into the maelstrom that was battle.

CHAPTER TEN

“We’ll divide into two groups," Gorefiend instructed Fenris, Tagar, and his death knights. Around them was the bustle of a camp being broken as swiftly as possible. "I need—"

He glanced up as the sounds stilled abruptly. Deathwing had rejoined them, looking as perfectly human as he had before. He caught Gorefiend's eye.

"What, did you think I would not return?"

"No, of course I did."

Something about how he said it obviously displeased the great dragon, whose black brows drew together. Gorefiend realized the words could be interpreted as ar­rogance and hastened to add, "I completely trust your word, Lord Deathwing."

The dragon looked mollified. Gorefiend continued, "We need to travel to Alterac, and from there to Dalaran. May we ask you for the aid of your children in this?"

"You may. I will summon them now." Deathwing tilted back his head, his mouth opening far wider than any true human's could, and uttered a strange rippling cry that teased at the ears, creating phantoms of other sounds and generating a cool breeze that reeked of old death. Some of the orcs shrank back, and even Gorefiend was hard put to keep his face calm as the earth it­self shook and rumbled beneath his feet, as if replying directly to the black dragonlord.

Finally, Deathwing closed his mouth and his face as­sumed its normal proportions. "There we are," he said, grinning in obvious delight at the discomfiture of both orc and death knight. "They will come."

"Thank you." Gorefiend bowed. He turned toward the two orc chieftains. He was not looking forward to what he had to ask of them, and feared they might balk; but it had to be done. "Your task will be challeng­ing, but vital. I must ask you to go to the Tomb of Sargeras."

Tagar growled uneasily, and even the sturdier Fenris looked upset. "You send us to our deaths then!" Fenris snapped.

"Not at all. There is an artifact there that Ner'zhul requires. I will send along Ragnok to aid you and ex­plain what—"

"Gul'dan — the powerful Gul'dan died there!" Fen­ris interrupted. "We have heard the stories — of how Gul'dan raised it from the ocean bed, only to be at­tacked by the monstrous things guarding that horrible place. We have heard how only a few escaped and that most died there, screaming in pain… . Evil lives in that darkness, Gorefiend!"

The death knight spared only a moment to be amused at the comment; he well knew that the hu­mans on this world thought the orcs themselves mon­strous, evil things.

"Do you think I would send you and one of my own knights if I believed you would not be successful?" They had no answer for that and exchanged uneasy glances. Gorefiend graced them with his death-rictus smile. "That's better. As I was saying, you must retrieve a certain artifact. Ragnok will explain everything. Once you've found it, return to the Dark Portal as soon as possible and we will meet you there. The Warsong clan won't be able to keep the Alliance distracted and busy forever."

Both chieftains nodded, looking more confident. Gorefiend regarded them for a moment. Tagar was a powerful fighter, but he had no subtlety and little intel­ligence. Fenris, however, was clever and subtle enough for both of them, and his bearing told Gorefiend he would keep the young Bonechewer chieftain in line. Satisfied, Gorefiend turned to the dragonlord. "Great Deathwing — can you bear them to the tomb?"

The dragon-man nodded. "We know this island of which you speak," he said. “And here are my children — enough to accommodate both groups, I think."

Even as the words left Deathwing's lips, Gorefiend heard a sharp flurry of noise, as if a heavy rain were striking, its pellets slashing through the air and into the rock and earth all around. Looking up, Gorefiend did see dark streaks against the stars, but they were most certainly not raindrops. Beneath his feet, he felt the earth rumble again. Suddenly he saw specks of bright orange as the streaks increased in size, swelling and be­coming diamond-shaped. His eyes widened as he real­ized the orange glows he had seen was fiery magma in the beasts' huge jaws, and the increasingly loud noise was the beating of gigantic wings.

Gorefiend watched, awestruck, as the dragons swooped down. The very earth shook as the mighty creatures landed, liquid fire dripping from their mouths to steam, glowing and sullen, on the earth. They were beautiful in their deadliness. Their scales gleamed in the starlight, a glossy black like a midnight pool, and their claws seemed like polished iron as they perched on the earth or on giant boulders, seeming to Gorefiend's eyes a living, lethal extension of the earth upon which they stood. When they had all come to ground, the dragons folded their great leathery wings and watched the orcs closely, their ebony eyes staring, their heads swiveling and tails flicking slightly. Gorefiend was reminded of a cat analyzing its prey before it casu­ally dispatched it, and shivered slightly.

"Here are my children," Deathwing announced, the pride evident in his voice. "The finest of all the crea­tures of Azeroth!" He pointed to a particularly large dragon nearby, two great horns jutting up from its brow. "Sabellian," Deathwing announced, and the dragon lowered its head as its name was announced, "is my lieutenant in all things. He and a few companions will bear your orcs to the island you spoke of. And as for your jaunt to Alterac, I'll take you there myself."

"I am honored," Goreflend started to say but Deathwing silenced him with an impatient wave of his hand. His eyes glittered like banked coals as he continued, 'Don't get too full of yourself, death knight. I do not do it to show you respect, but to ensure success. My plans will come to naught if you fail. I suggest you don't, not if you wish to remain alive — well, at least as alive as you are now."

Deathwing smirked slightly. Then he began to laugh, the sound rising from an ordinary human laugh to mutate into something much darker and much more frightening. He threw his head back and lifted his arms, the gesture stirring up a wind that buffeted Gorefiend and the others against the rocks behind them. What was he doing? Goreflend wondered for a frantic moment if this whole thing had been some sort of dreadful joke, and that at last Deathwing had tired of the game. The flames of their dying campfires flickered and swayed in the sudden gust, casting grotesque danc­ing shadows. Behind the maniacally laughing man, Deathwing's own shadow swelled and grew, twisting as if it were a living thing itself, changing form as it rose behind him, vast wings spreading out across the mountain range, engulfing all his dragons and much of the surrounding land as well. For a third time that night, the earth trembled, and this time many of the orcs fell hard to the ground. Sudden fissures split open, scalding steam rippling the space above them, red-orange magma in their depths echoing the liquid flame that dripped from the dragons' mouths.

Even as his shadow rose and took on more detail, Deathwings human body contorted. Its edges grew in­distinct, as if it were being absorbed into the shadows behind him. Only his eyes remained clear, growing longer and more slanted, taking on a reddish cast from the reflected glow of the flames but then outshining those thin fires.

Still the shadow grew, as did the shifting, blurring body that cast it. It seemed to have its own substance now, and was somehow pushing away from the rocks. The body elongated and increased in bulk, changing rapidly to match its shadow. A black dragon, yes, but more — the black dragon, the mightiest, most powerful, most dangerous of them all; the father of the flight.