Night of the Dragon

But her oath and her quest demanded otherwise.

Leaning down to Dargo, she whispered, 'The bone is not broken.'

The anguished brigand seemed not to appreciate that gesture. In truth, she had done as much as she could to avoid injuring any of them, regardless of their wicked ways. Unfortunately, these three had demanded of her a brief exhibition.

But now the trio was more malleable to her advice... and abilities. In a level voice, the draenei declared, 'It would be best if you all departed and forgot this incident.'

The abilities granted her calling added weight to her words. Dargo and his companions scrambled to their feet and scurried off as if hounds with their tails on fire, leaving their weapons behind.

She turned back to Dizzywig. The goblin simply nodded. 'Can't make out much under that robe, but you've got the smell of a priest about you....'

'I’am of that calling.'

Dizzywig grinned. 'Priest, mage, monster, man, don't matter to me none just so I get paid. The red boat there,' he indicated with a crooked finger. 'That's a good craft. If you've got the money.'

'I have.' The pouch materialized from the depths of her sleeve. 'If I can trust that the boat will sail.'

'Yeah, It will... but not with me in it. You want a crew, you should've held on to that sorry trio, heh!'

She shrugged. 'I only need a serviceable craft. I'll make it on my own, if that is what is destined for me.'

The draenei tossed him the pouch, which Dizzywig immediately opened. The goblin poured out the coins, his eyes wide with pleasure.

'That'll do... just,' he said with a larger grin.

Without another word, the priestess strode toward the boat indicated. Its sides were more green than red due to layers of algae, and the wood was well worn, but she saw no weakness in the thick hull. A strong, single mast with a mainsail-foresail combination gave the fifty-foot-long sloop its only source of movement. Climbing in, she also found two sorry emergency oars resting in the hooks on the inside walls of the hull.

Dizzywig no doubt expected her to ask for supplies, but she was growing uncharacteristically impatient and did not want to spend time bartering for what she did not believe that she needed. Bad enough that she had spent futile weeks following a false trail. Secreted on her person was enough sustenance for the journey across.

The wharfmaster chuckled again, and although she no longer faced him, the draenei knew that he wondered what she would do next. For Dizzywig, the stranger was a good night's entertainment, indeed.

Wondering whether he would be disappointed with what she now intended, the priestess extended her hand... and began working the lines and the sail for departure with the practiced skill of one familiar with the sea, albeit no sea as the goblin would have known.

When she was done with that, the draenei leapt out. Judging the mass of the craft, she gripped one part of it and shoved.

Dizzywig let out a hmmph of surprise. It should have taken two or three brawny men to break the boat completely free. Fortunately, the priestess had not relied on brute strength, but a careful measurement of balance.

The boat silently slid the rest of the way into the water. The draenei leapt aboard, thanking those who had trained her.

'The sea's no safer than the land, these days. Just remember that!' the goblin called jovially. Then, with another chuckle, he added, 'Enjoy your trip!'

She did not need the wharfmaster to warn her of the dangers. Over the past weeks, the priestess had confronted more than her share of the darkness seeking to engulf this world. More than once, she had nearly been killed during her pursuit, but, by the grace of the naaru, she had survived to continue the chase.

But as Ratchet, as all Kalimdor, rapidly dwindled in the dark and the sea enveloped her craft, the draenei felt that she had only tasted the least of dangers thus far. Now that the priestess knew that she followed the true trail, she was also aware that at some point, those she hunted would note her approach.

Note it and do what they could to slay her.

So it must be... the draenei thought. After all, she had taken up this quest of her own volition, her own desire.

Taken it up even though all who knew her now thought her utterly mad...

THREE

“They're gone!' the blood elf snapped vehemently. 'They're gone!'

The woman in black stared at him from behind her veil. Although he was taller than her by an inch or two, it was he who seemed to have to look up at her, not the other way around.

It was also he who suddenly stifled his anger under her dread gaze.

'An obvious observation, Zendarin, as is the fact that we need not concern ourselves with them. The dear ones have their fates already destined; you know that very well.'

'But there was much to learn, much to explore with their making! Much magic of a sort none has ever witnessed!'

The avarice in his gleaming orbs when Zendarin spoke of magic made his companion smile in disdain. 'A trifle, blood elf.' She gently stroked the veil covering her scorched side. 'A trifle to what I will ultimately achieve.'

He bowed to her wisdom and her dark glory, but added, 'What we’ll ultimately achieve, my lady.'

'Yes... what we will achieve, my ambitious mage.' The lady in black turned away without another word. The two stood at the mouth of one of the upper cave passages riddling Grim Batol. Despite its location well above the base of the mountain, this entrance was more accessible to the interior than most below—provided one was welcome within. Those who were not would find the path wrought with hidden pitfalls, including sentinels masked by Zendarin's magic.

And woe betide any of those intruders should they be spellcasters themselves...

The blood elf took one last glance over the landscape surrounding Grim Batol. Beyond the immediate desolation surrounding the mountain's base, the Wetlands had returned in force since the years of the red dragons' captivity to the orcs. The lush lands were misleading, though, for they held many natural and unnatural threats that acted as a good buffer against too many intruders. Six-legged crocolisks hunted in the waters, and tribes of gnolls—all fearful of Zendarin and the lady—also kept watch for fools venturing too close. Among the more horrific guardians were the monstrous oozes, gelatinous fiends that absorbed any animal in reach and, in the drier lands to the northwest, saurian raptors that stalked any and all fresh meat.

So full of life, so full of death, thought Zendarin. It was a far cry from the glorious wooded realm to which he was used, a realm to which he looked forward to returning once he had gained all that he sought.

Smothering a curse at the trials he had to suffer for his arts, Zendarin followed the veiled woman. He and the drakonid had spent the last night pursuing prizes he considered so valuable that he had let the remaining dwarves scurry back into their secret burrows like the frightened rabbits that they were. That, after swearing to his mistress that he would eradicate the pests once and for all. The dwarves had become a grand nuisance of late and while both he and she agreed that they could not possibly threaten the ultimate success of the pair's experiments, they could slow it. That was why he had devised this plan, this perfect plan.

But Zendarin could not have possibly known that two of those experiments would choose that very moment to escape Grim Batol.

'How did it happen? How did it happen?' he asked, barely able to keep his tongue civil despite being aware