Night of the Dragon

would willingly look into your face, Sintharia! The marks of your loving Neltharion have never healed, have they? They still burn, do they not, from your last mating?'

Sintharia was more than merely a black dragon; she had been Deathwing's prime consort, the mother of the most foul of his line. Onyxia and Nefarian had not gained all their menace from the mad Earth-Warder alone; Sintharia had been very much her mate's partner in much of his plotting.

But she was also supposed to be dead. Krasus recalled that time as well. It had been closer to a thousand years than five hundred, a time period when the question of Deathwing's demise had also been an important one. Sintharia had been very much alive, though, and - she had strived then to spread a contagious spell among the magi of Dalaran that had effectively caused the powers of those infected to cease working. Krasus had been intimately involved in putting an end to that plot and, in the process, it had appeared as if Sintharia had perished when her own magic had been turned on her.

But, as ever, the dragon mage thought bitterly, the line of Neltharion proves more cunning than death....

The female dragon's macabre appearance was not due to that incident nor any other plot in which Sintharia had participated. As Krasus had indicated, her horrific burns were the result of nothing less than her mating with the altered Earth-Warder. As the dark magics and darker madness of Neltharion had taken over him, he had physically changed. His body had burned continuously, burned so hot that even his own kind could not bear his nearness, much less his grip.

Sintharia was the only one of his consorts known to have survived those matings, so to speak, though her savage burns clearly still festered after all these centuries. They had perhaps been responsible for giving her a madness equal to her lord's. Certainly, even Krasus could not imagine the tortures through which she had gone.

But whatever sympathy he might have had for her on that one point, it did not in the least enable the dragon mage to condone all else she had done.

'You could not imagine the agony of those times, the burning, the constant burning,' she replied to his last comment. A hand Krasus only saw now was as burnt as the face touched the ruined cheek. 'It still burns....'

'And despite that, you still work to see his mad dream of a world cleansed of all but dragons loyal to his memory? Or should I say, dragons loyal only to you? Are you now to be Azeroth's new god—or goddess, I should say? Sintharia, mistress of a renewed black flight...'

Her expression turned to one of disdain, but not for him. 'You will refer to me as Sinestra, not Sintharia! I have shaken off that foul past! No new black flight will rule Azeroth! The black flight is dead, and no one shall mourn it less than me, Korialstrasz! Therenothing of it which I cherish, least of all my unlamented lord's memory or our ill-begotten children! They are all anathema to me— Onyxia, Nefarian, or any else who have managed to survive his foolish plans!' Sintharia—or Sinestra, Krasus corrected himself, thinking of her current form a separate one, as he did his own guise —laughed at his puzzled look. 'Why should I care of the black flight... when I can birth into this world a far more worthy flight, a new breed of dragons who truly will become gods?'

Krasus paused before answering. When he did speak, it was with more than a hint of sarcasm. 'Yes— Sinestra—we have seen your results; for gods, they perish quite easily.'

'A first test, no more. If there was anything worthwhile in poor Nefarian's pathetic attempts in Blackrock Spire, it was the notion he had at the end—but was unable to follow sufficiently through on— that new magic, not merely blood and what he already could wield, was needed for a successor flight. New, unique magic. I have now found that magic...'

'A nether dragon...'

'Oh, very good. Korialstrasz...' she teased, continuing to use his true name despite her distaste for her own. The lady in black bent down so that her face was only inches from his own. 'Very good... a pity we were never so close that we could have been more. Although you and I both know how strictly dragonflights keep to their own when.. .shall we say mingling'?... It is due more to tradition and prejudice than because it cannot be done between those of differing flights...' When he said nothing, she shrugged, then straightened again. 'One way or another. I will have from you what I desire....'

'How long have you been expecting me to come upon your dark deeds?'

'How long? My dear Korialstrasz, I planned on it from the beginning! The red flight is the essence of life! What better to stimulate the creation of my perfect children than instill in them some of that?' Sinestra glanced at Kalec. 'Actually, there is an answer to that question and you have kindly brought him to me! The essence of life and the essence of magic! I will be able to create gods now, thanks to the both of you....'

The dragon mage shook his head. 'You say you have come to hate Deathwing, but you must truly adore him to embrace his insanity so eagerly....'

She gestured. Krasus groaned as what felt like a part of him seemed momentarily ripped away.

Lady Sinestra lowered her hand. As he sat there, gasping, the female dragon calmly replied, 'You have suffered pain for some time now as I worked to soften you for your capture and thus make it easier to draw from you what I need. You will suffer more, my dear Korlalstrasz, and there will be nothing you can do about it save beg me to be kind....'

'This is—is not ended, Sinestra! As Nefarian fell victim to his obsession, so, too, shall—shall you!'

'By your hand, perhaps? You know what floats above you, what you yourself have secretly employed despite a declaration by the Aspects that all traces of it be forever burled from the sight of all. You know that there is nothing you can do, for even though the forces it contained when whole have returned to those from which they were taken, the shards all still wield residue of that power.'

She turned to leave, dismissing him as if he were nothing— which, Krasus knew—might be the very truth.

'Rest up now, dear Korialstrasz.... I shall have need of you and your friend before long....'

And she left him sitting there, staring first at the entrance to his prison in the wake of her departure, then, finally at the tiny shard. It was true that he had played with dark magic in secreting that one other piece in his sanctum, defying even his beloved queen with his interest in it. Now, Krasus knew that, in a sense, he was in this dire strait because he had fallen victim to its seductive evil and had believed that he could control it, use it as a secret weapon againstthe enemy he had thought he faced.

But not even the slightest fragment of the Demon Soul was without danger... and because of its vile nature and his own hubris, it was very possible that both he and Kalec would perish for the sake of Sinestra's madness....

TWELVE

The beautiful, sun-blond maiden smiled at Kalec, her arms beckoning to him. He reached for her, but each time he thought that their hands would touch, she seemed just a little more out of reach.

Frustrated, Kalec charged toward her. Yet, although she clearly wanted him to come to her, he never quite made it.

Anveena... he called, though his mouth did not open.

Then, other figures materialized around her. A tall, noble-looking human male...whose skin was rotting. That ghost faded, becoming the shadow of a huge, skeletal dragon... a frost wyrm. Then, even that vanished, to be replaced by a high-elven figure wearing flamboyant albeit dark garments, including a wide-brimmed hat.

Kalec pointed desperately behind her, trying to let her know of any of the fearsome shadows, but, especially this one.

Anveena... itis Dar 'Khan! It's Dar 'Khan—

'It's Dar'Khan!' he roared.

'Kalec!' Krasus's voice cut through the remnants of his nightmare... enabling him to see that the waking world was no better.