Night of the Dragon

A gasp escaped the ranger. She clutched at the nearest rock. The area around her rose up and down as if a massive earthquake were sweeping over the land.

Yet, Grim Batol itself was as still as death.

The dwarves struggled for balance. Although well used to such tremblings, this one was so violent that even they could not in many instances keep on their feet.

She saw no sign of Rom, but did spot Grenda. The female dwarf struggled toward her.

A fissure opened up between them. Fierce gases burst forth, so hot that both fighters had to retreat.

From out of the fissure—from out of other fissures ripping open around them—grotesque figures crawled out.

Figures made of burning rock.

A monstrous gold aura surrounded them. They moved like puppets toward wherever dwarves struggled. Their shapes were crudely humanoid and lacked any features, the latter of which made them more unnerving.

'Undead!' Grenda shouted.

'They are not Scourge,' she returned. 'They are some animated monstrosity!'

They were a menace such as no one there had expected to confront. Whoever was master or mistress of the mount now had terrible power indeed to raise up such horrific creatures.

One dwarf swung at the nearest of the fiery figures. The head of his ax melted, and it was all the fighter could do to keep from burning his hand as he released the weapon.

The rocky creature's molten arm moved with astounding swiftness, enveloping the head of the dwarf. The dwarf's scream and suffering were mercifully short, but the sight of his headless torso dropping sent chills through the defenders.

'We can't fight these! There are too many and our blades are useless!' Grenda looked around. 'Where's Rom? He must give the signal to retreat!'

The ranger did not want to retreat. Strapping on her bow, she drew her sword and lunged at the nearest of the animated figures.

The blade easily cut through the soft, molten body. Rhonin had feared that she might encounter some magical threat and had made certain the weapon would be useful against most. The elemental minion collapsed into two separate pieces that still tried to move.

She dispatched a second shambling figure in the next breath. However, Grenda was proving all too correct in her calculation of their chances. The fiery figures were everywhere.

Although she had called for retreat, Grenda had by no means simply turned and fled. A loyal warrior, while she awaited Rom's word the female dwarf did her best with her own weapon. Unfortunately, even the slightest strike meant damage to any dwarven weapon.

And, worse, the fiery fiends kept massing. More important, Vereesa noticed that they were slowly but surely herding the dwarves together. The creatures did not seem inclined to slay the intruders unless the dwarves put up too much resistance.

They want to capture us! the high elf concluded with much dismay. But why?

In truth, she had no real desire to find out the answer to that. Aware that her weapon was perhaps the band's best hope, Vereesa leapt over the fissure separating her from Grenda.

'Have as many as possibly can keep with us gather behind me immediately!' she commanded. 'I will try to cut our way through!'

'But Rom! I can't find Rom!'

'We cannot wait for him!' It hurt the ranger to speak so about a comrade with whom she shared such a history, but Vereesa believed that his choice would have been the same.

Grenda yelled her orders to the others. Using their axes and swords as best they could to keep their searing foes at bay, the dwarves stayed close behind Vereesa as she swung at one horrific foe after another. Limbs flew and bits of molten earth splashed against her breastplate—and once almost at her face—but she ignored all distractions as, under her effort, the path began to clear.

But then the ground shook anew and yet another fissure opened up before her. A few of the animated attackers fell into the fissure, but their vanishing meant nothing, for the way the ranger had chosen was now no longer open to them.

'We must go to the east!' she cried, but just as she turned that way, skardyn and dragonspawn joined in the attack on the party.

At their head was a particularly grotesque drakonid who could only be the one Rom had called Rask. Vereesa wanted to grab her bow and put an arrow through the creature's throat, but she had no chance.

'Lay down your weapons, you live,' the drakonid rumbled. He gestured at the ranks of silent, smoldering rock creatures. 'Keep fighting, there be your fate....'

Vereesa could no longer find the space to properly swing her sword. The dwarves, too, had trouble utilizing their weapons properly.

They were doomed, of that the high elf became certain. She looked to Grenda, whose expression matched her own. As Rask had said, there were only two choices. Where there was life, there was hope....

'Lay down your weapons,' Grenda ordered the others. She did not get any argument from the other dwarves.

Vereesa tossed down her sword. She prayed that they had not just given themselves up for an easy and awful kill.

The moment the party surrendered, the rocky guardians collapsed. Their bodies liquefied, spilling back into the crevasses as the stunned fighters watched.

In their place moved the skardyn and the dragonspawn. Some of the former quickly snatched up the weapons of their cousins, at the same time making hissing sounds or gnashing their teeth as if in hunger.

One started to reach for Vereesa's sword, but Rask ordered it back.

'Mine,' the drakonid declared. He hefted Rhonin's creation. 'Good balance...' To the other guards, Rask ordered, 'To the lower pits. The mistress commands....'

They had wanted to slip into the depths of Grim Batol and their wish would now be granted, albeit not in the least as they had hoped. Vereesa both cursed and marveled at the power of this mysterious mistress of whom the drakonid had spoken. The appearance of the fiery minions certainly gave credence to a blackdragon being involved. Was it then Onyxia, the daughter of Deathwing? Surely not, for Rhonin had once mentioned information gathered from other sources that all but verified that the female black was no more. Yet, what other dragon could command this ebony drakonid and his dragonspawn cohorts? Rask had definitely said 'mistress,' which ruled out either a surviving Deathwing or Nefarian.

Father, son, daughter...

Where was the mother in all this?

Suddenly the ranger wished that she had not aided in the decision to surrender. In her mind, Vereesa could imagine only that one of Deathwing's consorts lurked in Grim Batol and of his consorts only the name Sintharia came to mind.

She had convinced the dwarves to turn themselves over to the mercy of the mate of the mad Earth- Warder.

Vereesa surreptitiously reached for a dagger hidden under her breastplate. With only living foes with which to deal, she hoped that if she caused a distraction, some of the prisoners stood at least a modicum of a chance of escaping—

The point of her own sword came much too near her throat. The heat from the burning weapon left her sweating.

'The dagger or your head.' Rask chuckled, 'one or other drops...'

The ranger let the dagger fall. A skardyn scooped it up, then wisely handed it to the drakonid.

'Wise.' Rask said, sheathing the weapon in a belt around his scaled waist.

The prisoners were ushered into the mouth of the cave.

But above watched one attacker that the drakonid had missed. Iridi could do nothing for Vereesa and the others, although she had nearly climbed down to try. In the end, however, the draenei had determined that she