But the humans did not flee. Again their boats closed in, and again a black dragon intercepted it and charred timbers and crew alike. A third time the hu­mans tried, their weapons bouncing off the dragons' tough hides, and a third boat was reduced to ash and bone. After that the human ships fell back, letting the three orс-captured boats pull away. A cheer rang out from the orсs.

"They're giving up!" Tagar cried from the prow of the boat beside them.

"They're no match for the dragons and they know it," Fenris corrected. "But I would not think they are giving up."

"Any sign of smaller fires on the other ships? Con­trolled ones?" asked Ragnok.

Fenris studied the retreating vessels. "Yes, I see a sig­nal fire, and smoke," he said finally.

"They're warning the rest of their fleet," Ragnok said. "They'll be waiting for us."

Tagar laughed from the prow of the boat beside them. "The warnings will come too late," he pro­claimed, licking blood from his axe blade. "By the time the humans have gathered their courage to come after us again, we will be long gone with our prize."

Fenris nodded. For the first time, he hoped that the Bonechewer was right, and that he was wrong.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Antonidas, archmage and leader of the Kirin Tor, sat in his study examining a recently ar­rived scroll. The news was grave indeed: Ad­miral Proudmoore reported that a group of orcs had stolen several ships from Menethil Harbor. Worse, when he'd pursued them, Proudmoore's ships had been driven back … by dragons. Black dragons. An­tonidas felt a vein throb in his temple and rubbed it. During the Second War the Horde had somehow en­listed the aid of the red dragons, and now that the por­tal had been restored it seemed they had allied with the black dragons as well. It was almost unbelievable. Two dragonflights? How could the Alliance hope to stand against that?

A soft tap came at his door. "Enter, Krasus," An­tonidas called out, his magical skills already telling him who was calling at this late hour.

"You left word that you wished to see me?" the other mage asked as he entered and closed the door behind him, keeping his delicate features deliberately bland. Antonidas suspected it was to stop him from los­ing his temper, but if so it did not succeed.

"Yes, I left word," Antonidas replied, all but spitting the words through his long gray-streaked beard. "Months ago! Where have you been?"

"I had other business to attend to," Krasus answered evasively, perching himself on the edge of Antonidas's desk. Lamplight caught the hints of red and black lin­gering in his silver hair and turned the whole into fire and gleaming metal.

"Other business? You serve on the Kirin Tor, Krasus, a fact I should not have to remind you of!” Antonidas pointed out, frowning. "If you cannot make time for such duties, perhaps it would be best if another was ap­pointed in your stead."

To his surprise, the slender mage bowed his head. "If that is truly what you wish, I will step down," Krasus stated quietly. "I would prefer to remain, however, and I promise you that Dalaran and the Kirin Tor currently have my utmost attention."

Antonidas studied him a moment, then finally nod­ded. He didn't really want to lose Krasus — the enig­matic mage had surprising stores of both power and knowledge. And despite the man's occasional evasive­ness, Antonidas did feel his colleague had all their best interests at heart.

"Take a look at this," he said, thrusting the scroll into the other man's hands. He watched as Krasus read, shock and growing horror on his face.

"The black dragonflight!" Krasus whispered when he had finished, rerolling the scroll and placing it care­fully on the desk as if the very words might attack. "My research leads me to believe the red dragons have no love of battle or bloodshed, and only served the Horde under duress. But the black! That pairing seems more logical and deliberate — and much more dangerous."

"I agree," Antonidas said. "Krasus, you are our resi­dent expert on dragon lore. Do you think there is any way to stop them, or at least limit their effectiveness?"

"I—" A sharp keening cut through the still night air. The two wizards locked eyes for a moment. They knew what that sound meant — it was an alarm. Krasus stayed silent while Antonidas tried to identify it. Which of the old spells was it — was it that one, or…

"The Arcane Vault!" he said at last, eyes widening. "It's been breached!"

Krasus looked as frightened as he felt. The Arcane Vault stood near the heart of the Violet Citadel and was protected by the strongest magics the magi could devise. It held many of the city's most powerful arti­facts, as well as some items the magi could not use themselves but could not risk allowing to fall into any­one else's hands.

Standing, Krasus held out his hand. Antonidas grasped it and without a word the two teleported to the Arcane Vault.

The world around them blurred, the book-lined walls of Antonidas's cozy study disappearing to be replaced in a blink with a large stone chamber. The floor and walls were roughly hewn from the earth it­self, and the ceiling was vaulted. The room had no win­dows and only one door. Except for the space around that lone exit, the rest of the room was lined with shelves and boxes and bookcases, all of them full.

Standing amid the dust and the artifacts were several men. At least, Antonidas thought they were men. Then his senses detected the rippling black aura around each of them, and even before they turned, revealing glow­ing eyes gleaming in the shadows of hoods, he knew what manner of creatures had pierced their defenses. Knew, and quailed from that knowing.

Death knights.

Human corpses animated by dead orc warlocks, they reeked of dark power. Enough to make Antonidas blanch with horror; enough to pierce even the power­ful wards that had been erected here. And so they had come to this highly protected place —

 — for what?

This place housed artifacts galore — easily enough weapons for the death knights to win the war once and for all. Yet they did not move to take the priceless ob­jects. They stood in a circle around a central figure, who bore something clutched in his hand. Antonidas concentrated on the item. It was extremely powerful, and the taste of its magic felt familiar. But it wasn't until the lead death knight shifted, raising the object he held slightly, and light reflected off its facets and cast violet rays around the room that Antonidas realized what single treasure would be great enough for the death knights to ignore everything else.

"He has the Eye of Dalaran!" Antonidas shouted, raising one hand to cast a mystic bolt while with the other he summoned the rest of the Kirin Tor. Only a handful could fit into the Arcane Vault, but at least he and Krasus would have reinforcements when they in­variably fell victim to the crushing fatigue that often ac­companied a wizardly duel.

This was no formal duel, however, Antonidas thought as his mystic bolt caught one of the death knights in the torso and slammed the creature into the far wall, smoke rising from the hole in his chest. One of the other death knights raised his truncheon, the jewels along it winking in the candlelight, and Antonidas felt as if something had gripped his heart in ice-cold hands and started to squeeze. He clutched at his chest with both hands, pressing hard to push away the pain that knifed through him. He managed to mutter a spell and a violet glow sprang up around him, dissipating the cold. He could see the attack spell through his mystic senses, looking like a colossal hand shaped from smoke, and slapped the thing away, sending it careening back into its master. The death knight went sprawling.

Another of the Kirin Tor teleported in beside him, an elven woman with long black hair. One slender, pale hand went to Antonidas's chest while the other ges­tured at the terrifying intruders. Antonidas was dimly aware of other figures materializing in the room. He gasped for breath as his lungs expanded and his heart beat once more, blessed warmth flowing through him even as he saw two death knights begin to writhe in pain. Flame suddenly licked at their limbs, torsos, and heads. Two other death knights suddenly stepped back. Antonidas's eyes widened in shock as he realized that they were attempting to escape. Distorted shadows cast by the flames of their dying brethren suddenly took on a life of their own, wrapping about the death knights and absorbing their flesh until they were noth­ing but wispy memories.