EIGHT
Zzeraku shimmered brightly, but not because of any effort on his part. He was weak, terribly weak, and at times he thought that his tormentors would finally cause what he had been dreaming of doing for the past few days. A creature of energy, the nether dragon was near total dissolution...but the spells and magical bonds ever prevented him from being completely destroyed. His captors needed what he was composed of much too much. They needed his essence to work their experiments.
Most of all, they needed him almost constantly to feed the hungry results of that last spell.
Nether dragons knew little about fear, but Zzeraku had learned much since his capture. First, there had been that terrifying sense of claustrophobia when, without warning, he had been sucked into the monstrous box by which they had smuggled him to this faraway place. Then, there had been the shock of discovering that he could not escape the magical bonds.
Now came the greatest of his fears... that he would slowly be eaten alive by the thing that their foul magic had created.
Zzeraku had been used to sowing fear, not living it, and so it struck him harder. Yet, at the same time, that fear also fed his rage and his desire for revenge. Given even the slightest hope, he would destroy his captors and devour
Unfortunately, thus far there was no chance of that happening. He again tested the strength of his bonds and again found them unbreakable. The agony he suffered in fighting against them was minute compared with the knowledge that he would still be helplesscome the next feeding.
Unless...
Zzeraku was a creature of energy and the thing hungered for that energy.
An idea formed in the nether dragon's head. The logic of it made him smile as best as his bound jaws could.
Yes, soon they would come to feed their creation... and Zzeraku now could hardly wait.
There were dragonspawn about, which pleased Rom to no end. Hefting his ax, he found himself satisfied with how well he was doing with his left hand alone. Let even a drakonid or the foul blood elf come across him now and they would learn what the wrath of a Bronzebeard could be like.
He knew Grenda was watching him close. She was a capable second-in-command, but she was too concerned with his mood of late. Rom was aware that she thought his attitude becoming more and more fatalistic, whereas he only felt it realistic.
Even this foray tonight was not to her taste. Rom had brought them dangerously close to one of the caves leading into Grim Batol, determined to find something that would show that their mission was not a failure. This time, there would be no magical trickery.
The dwarves spread out carefully. Humans and other races thought their kind too hard-headed to learn from their mistakes, yet another myth. Rom had studied the patrol patterns of the dread lady's guards, and this time he believed he knew the variations that they might make. There would be no set-up for a trap, as had happened when he had thought he had captured the skardyn. These sentries would turn out to be exactly what they were, not a blood elf in disguise.
But Rom had another, more pressing reason for such a close approach, one about which even Grenda did not know. With one of the cave mouths so tauntingly nearby, Rom hoped to sneak inside, if only by himself. It was time to discover the full truth about the crieswithin and only through such daring could he hope to do that.
He also did not feel that he should risk anyone but himself. The obsession was his and his alone.
The soft crunch of feet made the dwarves pause. In one thing they had an easy advantage over the dragonspawn and the drakonid; they were already low to the ground. It made it easy to drop out of sight, especially on such a dark eve. Their foes had good eyesight, but Rom was betting on Bronzebeard eyes seeing better in the darkness.
A bulking figure trundled into sight, a dragonspawn with shield and heavy sword. That it was black was no surprise, for it seemed the blood elf's companion had ties to the remnants of Deathwing's flight. Yet, though the dragonspawn wore also a breastplate, there were no markings signifying its loyalty to one particular dragon or another. The drakonid had been the same. No marking indicating Deathwing himself, nor either of his misbegotten offspring, Onyxia and Nefarian...nor any other known black dragon.
But that was a minor point to Rom. What sufficed was that these creatures were willing to serve the two spellcasters. That was enough, along with the terrible cries, to warrant great concern.
'If it can be captured alive,' he whispered to Grenda. 'So much the better. If it needs to be slain, that's good also. I don't want any disaster like the last time.'
The female dwarf grunted her understanding. She signaled another dwarf. The band began to close around the lone dragonspawn.
Then, something caught the scaly fiend's attention. It let out a grunting call, which was immediately answered from just within the cave.
'Down!' Rom ordered under his breath. Grenda managed to alert the others just as another dragonspawn lumbered out.
Rom waited for more guards, but these two appeared to be the only ones. A grim smile played across his lips, one he kept hidden from Grenda. The cave looked more inviting than ever. Two dragonspawn would be tough to take on, but Rom had the utmost confidence in his seasoned fighters.
However, before he could give the signal, whatever had initially caught the first guard's attention now caused that dragonspawn to head away from the dwarves. Rom held his breath in frustration as the four-legged fiend moved from what would have been the perfect ambush spot. He had hoped that the second guard would join the first there.
With the second trotting to catch up, the first dragonspawn readied its weapon as it approached a small cluster of withered oaks. Rom tried to locate all his fighters, wondering which of them might be the reason for the guards' intense interest in that particular location.
An arrow abruptly seemed to sprout from the neck of the foremost dragonspawn. A second, whistling bolt joined the first.
But the dragonspawn only shook a little, then, with a snarl, tore both arrows from its thick hide. The other joined it, the pair eagerly charging the trees.
Another arrow shot at the first abomination, an act that Rom could only see as foolhardy. He changed his opinion a breath later as a tall, slim figure leapt from the trees and, even as the bolt distracted the dragonspawn, cut the massive creature along the chest with a blazing sword that brought to the dwarf bad memories of his hand.
The dragonspawn let out a hiss intermingling pain with surprise. It had an extremely tough hide and that any sword could cut into it so quickly was stunning. Still the guard recovered quickly, attacking its foe with a heavy ax.
The ax, however, was not as sturdy as the dragonspawn's scale and a second strike by the slim fighter cut the weapon in two. Growling, the guard stretched forward heavy, clawed hands as it threw its massive weight up in a clear attempt to crush its tinier foe beneath it.
But it lacked the swiftness of the other, who nimbly leapt aside and then ran the edge of the magical blade across the oncoming behemoth's throat.
The nearly-severed head flung backward, making it appear as if the dragonspawn gaped at the heavens. The huge body was slow in responding to its death, continuing its charge for several paces before collapsing.
The second dragonspawn gaped at the sight of its comrade slain so dramatically, then recovered as the shadowy fighter lunged toward it. Even as the first guard's corpse finally realized that it was dead, the two combatants exchanged several blows. While this dragonspawn's weapon did not glow, it appeared strong enough to withstand whatever magic radiated from the newcomer's sword.
'What do we do?' asked Grenda anxiously.
Rom grunted. 'We go and help!'
He was not being altruistic in his decision. Once he was certain that the battle was under control, the dwarven leader intended to slip away to the cave.
