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descended.
 'Tis Deathwing . . . the gryphon-rider whispered.
Rhonin nodded. The time for conjecture was over. If Deathwing had come, it meant only one thing.
 Whatever is to happen, it's begun.
The lengthy orc caravan moved out as the first light of dawn touched Grim Batol. The wagons were
flanked at beginning and end by armed warriors wielding freshly honed axes, swords, or pikes. Escorts
rode with the peon drivers, especially on the wagons bearing the precious dragon eggs. Each orc traveled
as if prepared to face the enemy at any given second, for word of the supposed invasion from the west
had reached even the lowest of the low.
On one of the few horses available to the orcs, Nekros Skullcrusher watched the departure with
impatience. He had sent the dragon-riders and their mounts on ahead to Dun Algaz, in order that, even if
he failed in what he attempted, a few dragons would still be available to the Horde. A pity that he had
dared not use them to transport the eggs, but from one previous attempt the commander had learned the
folly of trying that.
Erecting a wagon capable of bearing a dragon would have been impossible, and so it had fallen to
Nekros himself to take control of the two senior beasts. Both Alexstrasza and, remarkably, Tyran,
followed at the rear of the column, ever aware of the power theDemon Soulhad over them. For the ill
consort, this had to be a harsh situation; Nekros doubted that the male would survive the journey, yet the
orc knew there had been no other choice.
They still made for an impressive sight, the two great leviathans. The female more than the male, since
she remained in better health. Nekros once caught her glaring at him, her hatred radiating in her eyes. The
orc cared not a whit. She would obey him in all things so long as he wielded the one artifact capable of
managinganydragon.
Thinking of dragons, he looked skyward. The overcast heavens presented any behemoth with ample
places to hide, but eventually something had to happen. Even if the Alliance forces were too far away,
Deathwing would surely come. Nekros counted on that.
The humans would learn the folly of entrusting victory to the dark one. What ruled one dragon certainly
ruled another. With theDemon Soul,the orc commander would seize control of the most savage of all
beasts. He, Nekros, would be master of Deathwing . . . but only if the damned reptile ever appeared.
 Where're you, you blasted creature? he muttered.  Where?
 The last row of warriors exited the cavern mouth. Nekros watched them march by. Proud, wild, they
hearkened back to the day when the Horde knew no defeat, knew no enemy it could not slaughter. With
Deathwing at his command, he would restore that glory to his people. The Horde would rise anew, even
those who had surrendered. The orcs would sweep over the Alliance lands, cutting down the humans and
the others.
And perhaps there would be a new chieftain of the Horde. For the first time, Nekros dared imagine
himself in such a role, with even Zuluhed bowing before him. Yes, he who would bring victory to his
people would surely be acclaimed ruler.
War Chief Nekros Skullcrusher . . .
He urged his mount forward, rejoining the column. It would look suspicious if he did not ride with them.
Besides, where he positioned himself did not truly matter; theDemon Soulgave him control from a
distance. No dragon could be released by it unless he willed it and certainly the grizzled orc had no
intention of doing that.
Wherewas that blasted black beast?
And, as if in answer, an ear-splitting howl arose. However, the howl did not come from the sky, as
Nekros had initially believed, but rather from the very earth surrounding the orcs. It caused consternation
among the warriors as they turned about, trying to find the enemy.
A breath later the ground erupted withdwarves.
They seemed everywhere, more dwarves than even Nekros could have imagined still remained in all of
Khaz Modan. They burst from the earth, swinging axes and waving swords, charging the column from
every side.
Yet, although momentarily stunned, the orcs quickly recovered. Shouting out their own war cries, they
turned to meet the attackers. The guards stayed with the wagons, but they, too, readied themselves, and
even the peons, pathetic for most things, pulled out clubs. It took little training for an orc to be able to
crush something with a piece of wood.
Nekros kicked at a dwarf who tried to pull him down. One of the commander's aides quickly stepped
in, and a pitched battle began between the two. Nekros steered the horse nearer to the wagons, needing
a moment himself to adjust to the situation. Instead of an invasion, he had been attacked by scavengers,
for these looked to be the ragged mob that he had always known existed in the tunnels around the
mountains. Judging by the numbers now, the trolls had apparently not done their work well.
But where was Deathwing? He had planned for the dragon. There had to be a dragon! [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]