"So," Zuluhed said, starting to walk closer to the great beast. "Have we—" He stopped as Nekros extended a thick arm, blocking his path.

"Wait," the grizzled orc warned. He pulled the Demon Soul from a pouch at his belt, holding the large, featureless gold disc aloft. "Come," he called.

As Zuluhed watched, a rush of tiny sparks appeared from throughout the chamber and flew together, coalescing into a shape. The shape gained dimension, depth, and detail, forming a tall, powerfully built humanoid wearing strange bone—like armor. Its head was shaped like a skull but rimmed in flame, and its eyes were balls of black fire. The creature towered over them, as tall as an orc but less oafish, radiating power and vigilance.

"We will enter," Nekros told it, holding the Demon Soul before him. The strange creature burst into a shower of sparks again, scattering through the room, and the maimed orc nodded for his chieftain to continue.

Zuluhed advanced again, cautiously at first in case the creature had not in fact left. But it had—whatever it was, Nekros's hold over it seemed absolute. Which was good, since they had both seen what could happen otherwise. One of their clan members had rushed into the chamber at one point, bearing a message from Doomhammer, and had not waited for Nekros to dismiss the warden. The creature had appeared from nowhere and its large, fiery skeletal hands had grasped the unwary orc's head on either side. Flames had sprung up then, consuming the hapless messenger. Within seconds his shrieking stopped, his body going limp as his head collapsed in on itself, a mere pile of cinders.

Now, however, the chieftain was able to walk into the cavern unmolested, and he approached the Dragonqueen, stopping just beyond the reach of her chains. Her massive triangular head swiveled to watch him, those great yellow orbs staring unblinking as he studied her in turn.

"Have you come to gloat then, little orc? Have you not tormented me and harmed my children enough?" Alexstrasza demanded. Her jaws snapped in fury, but the chains held her fast, their natural strength enhanced by the power of the artifact.

"Not to gloat," Zuluhed told her, still awed by her sheer size and power, "just to make sure all is arranged. You understand what will happen to you if you refuse us?"

"That has been made abundantly clear," she replied, her words sharp with anger and grief, and she turned to look pointedly toward the cavern's far corner. A handful of pale objects lay clustered there, and though he could not see them well from here Zuluhed knew they were paper—thin and mottled gold. They were the remains of an enormous egg, the size of a large orc's head. A dragon egg.

When they had first captured Alexstrasza she had refused to cooperate. Nekros had solved the problem by seizing one of her unhatched eggs, holding it before the captive queen's face, and smashing it with his fist, spattering himself and her with the yolk. Her shrieks had all but deafened them, and her thrashing had knocked several orcs to the ground, breaking limbs on two of them. But the chains had held, and after that she had cooperated, albeit reluctantly. Anything to avoid seeing more of her children destroyed unborn.

"You will not succeed," Alexstrasza informed him. "You have chained me but my children will defy you, and win their freedom."

"Not while we have this," Nekros replied, showing her the disc. He frowned, clearly concentrating, and the Dragonqueen's body arced in pain, a thin hiss escaping her clenched jaws.

"I…will…kill…you…someday," she warned, still writhing in agony, her eyes narrowed in both pain and hatred.

Nekros laughed. "Perhaps," he agreed. "But until then you and yours will serve the Horde." Zuluhed gestured and Nekros nodded, following him from the cavern. The queen snapped at air behind them, her act of defiance meaningless after their own show of power.

Zuluhed led the way down another corridor and into a second, even larger chamber. This one opened along the side of the mountain, and beyond it fiery shapes flew, flashes of color against the darkening sky.

"Release her!" one of them demanded, swooping close, claws outstretched, jaws open. "Release our mother!"

"Never!" Nekros held up the Demon Soul, and the approaching dragon screamed in pain, twisting to stay aloft as its body trembled and spasmed. The other dragons backed off slightly, though they continued to wheel about overhead.

"Your mother is our captive, as are her mates," Zuluhed shouted, knowing the dragons could hear him despite their altitude. "They will remain so. You and all their children will serve us, serve the Horde, or she will die screaming from the same pain you just felt. And with her your flight will die, for without Alexstrasza there will be no more red dragon hatchlings. You will be the last of your kind."

The dragons cried out in anger, but Zuluhed knew they would obey. He had seen the bond between mother and child and it was strong, strong enough to force them to obedience. As long as Alexstrasza thought there was hope for her children she would serve them by producing litter upon litter of dragon eggs. And as long as she and three of her mates were their captives her children would serve as well, in the hopes of one day freeing their mother.

Zuluhed grinned, watching the young dragons soaring above him. Even now his orcs were hard at work, fashioning leather straps and reins and seats. Soon they would bring the first red dragon down into this cave, and fit him with a harness and a saddle. He would hate that, of course—the dragons were fiercely independent, and no one had ever dared ride them before. But his clan would.

This was what he had promised Doomhammer, and the Warchief had been enthused about the project. This would be their secret weapon. The humans had troops and cavalry and ships, but they could not take to the air. With the dragons under his control, and loyal orcs astride them, Zuluhed could strike at the humans from above and then swoop back out of their reach. The dragons were powerful foes physically, with their claws and their jaws and their tails, but it was their fiery breath that would truly devastate the humans. Fire would rain down upon them, destroying them and their equipment, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. With the dragons on their side, the Horde would be invincible.

And he, Zuluhed of the Dragonmaw clan, was responsible. Without those visions he would never have found the Demon Soul, or sensed that it was somehow linked with the dragons, and without its powers—and Nekros to unlock them—they could not have enslaved Alexstrasza. But they had, and soon the first dragon—riders would take to the air, joining the rest of the Horde and awaiting Doomhammer's commands.

Zuluhed grinned. All was going according to plan.

"There, Thane! Look there!"

Kurdran Wildhammer wheeled Sky'ree about and peered down where Farand pointed. Yes, there! His sharp eyes spotted movement, and he tapped Sky'ree lightly with his heels. His gryphon mount cawed softly in response before tucking in her wings and diving down, the wind tugging at them both as they descended.

Yes, now he could make out figures traipsing through the forest below. Trolls? They were as green as the forest trolls his people hated, certainly, their skin blending in among the foliage, but they walked the ground rather than skimming the branches. And their footsteps were too heavy, too careless, to be the trolls, who knew the ways of the forest almost as well as an elf might. No, these creatures were something different. Kurdran caught a clear view of one as it passed through a small clearing, and frowned. Heavily built but big, as big as a human, with thick muscles and long legs. And heavy weapons, massive axes and hammers and maces. Whatever the creatures were, they were equipped for war.