Archimonde had demons constantly shadowing the host, seeking to slay Krasus and his band. Malfurion had been especially marked by Archimonde after the druid’s astounding reversal of certain Legion victory, but the dragon mage had no doubt that he was also high on the demon’s list.

“A spell would be too risky a manner by which to travel to where Deathwing awaits,” Krasus returned. “I have no doubt that he is on guard for such things. We must journey by physical means.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Nor do I, but it must be so.” He looked to his companions for the trek. “Are you prepared to depart?”

Malfurion nodded. Brox replied with an impatient grunt. While it was true that between the druid and the mage they had exceptional abilities at their disposal, Krasus understood the need for the company of a skilled warrior such as the orc. Spellcasters could be incapacitated in many ways. Brox had also proven himself a trustworthy ally.

“Give us an hour before alerting Lord Stareye,” Krasus reminded the human as he mounted.

“I’ll give you two.”

Seeing that the druid and the orc had also mounted, Krasus urged his beast forward. The graceful cat quickly picked up speed, the mounts of the mage’s companions right behind. It did not take long for the animals to leave the night elven host far, far behind.

No one spoke as they rode, all three riders intent not only on the path ahead, but any sign of threat lurking around them. However, the night passed without any danger and they made good distance. When the sun began to rise, Krasus finally called for a halt.

“We rest here for a time,” he decided, eyeing the sparsely-wooded hills ahead. “I would prefer to enter those when we are more recuperated.”

“You think we might be in danger there?” asked Malfurion.

“Perhaps. While the woods are thin, the hills themselves offer many crevices and such for possible ambushes.”

Brox nodded his agreement. “Would use hill to north for that. Best view of path. We should avoid that one when riding.”

“And with that expert opinion, I agree.” The mage looked around. “This area here by these two tall rocks is best-suited for our camp, I think. We shall have a good view of the surroundings while giving ourselves some protection.”

They tethered the night sabers to a crooked tree nearby. Bred for generations, the cats obeyed every command immediately and without argument. Brox volunteered to feed the animals from the supplies they had brought with them. There would be enough for three days, but after that they would have to let the cats hunt. Krasus hoped that by then the party would be in a better location, wildlife clearly sparse here.

The trio ate from their own rations. To a dragon like Krasus, eating salted, dried meat was hardly satisfying, but he had long ago steeled himself to such necessities. Malfurion ate some fruit — also dried — and nuts, while Brox ate the same as Krasus, albeit with more gusto. Orcs were not discriminating when it came to food.

“The cats are already at rest,” Krasus declared after their meal. “I suggest we do the same.”

“I take first watch,” Brox offered.

With Malfurion volunteering for the second, the matter of security was quickly settled. Krasus and the druid found places to rest near the taller of the two stones. Brox, proving more agile than his frame suggested, easily climbed up to the top of the steeper rock and sat. Ax resting in his lap, he surveyed the landscape like a hungry carrion bird.

Despite intending to only allow himself to doze, the dragon mage fell deep asleep. He had pushed himself far beyond his limits. What little rest he had gotten earlier was not enough to make up for so much strain.

Dragons dream and Krasus was no exception. For him, it was the everpresent desire to fly free again, to spread the wings he did not have and take to the air. Here, he was once more Korialstrasz. A creature of the sky, he chafed at being bound to the earth. The dragon had always been comfortable in his mortal form, but that had been when he had understood that with a single thought he could transform to his true self. With that taken from him, he often found himself frustrated with the frailty of his present shape.

And in his dream, that curse suddenly took hold, the weaker mortal flesh binding to his body, squeezing him into a smaller and smaller shape. His wings were crushed into his back and his tail severed. His long, toothy maw was shoved into his skull, replaced by the insignificant little nub of a nose he wore in the guise of a spellcaster. Korialstrasz became again Krasus, who plunged earthward —

And who woke up bathed in sweat.

Krasus half expected to discover that the party was under some attack, but the day was silent save for Malfurion’s rhythmic breathing. He rose and saw that Brox continued vigilant watch. The mage gazed at the sun, estimating the time. Brox had gone long past his appointed watch. It was nearly Krasus’s turn.

Leaving the druid to sleep, the slim, robed figure grabbed hold of the rock and quickly scurried up in the fashion of a lizard. As he reached the top, Brox leapt to his feet and, with reflexes worthy of the dragon, readied his ax.

“You,” the orc grunted, helping him up. Both sat atop the rock, watching while they talked. “Thought you asleep, Master Krasus.”

“As you should be, Brox. You need rest as much as either of us.”

The green-skinned warrior shrugged. “An orc warrior can sleep with eyes open and weapon ready. No need to wake the night elf. He must sleep more. Against the dragon, he’ll be more use than this old fighter.”

Krasus eyed the orc. “An old fighter worth twenty young ones.”

The veteran warrior looked pleased with the compliment, but said, “The day of glory is past for this one. There will be no more tales of Broxigar the Red Ax.”

“I have lived longer than you, Brox; I know, therefore, of what I speak. There is much glory left in you, much heroic battle. New tales of Broxigar the Red Ax are still to come, even if I must tell them myself.”

The orc’s cheek’s darkened and he suddenly bowed his head low. “Honored by your words I am, venerable one.”

Like Malfurion, Brox had learned the truth concerning Krasus’s identity. To the dragon’s own surprise, the tusked warrior had already long known. As an orc who had learned some of the shamanistic traditions, Brox had sensed the incredible power and age of his companion and, watching Krasus deal with dragons, had come to the logical conclusion that so escaped most others. That Krasus and the red dragon Korialstrasz were one and the same had been beyond him, but even that the orc had accepted with but a mild furrowing of his brow.

“And speaking as a ‘venerable one’,” Krasus returned. “I will insist that you go and take your turn in slumber. I will watch for the rest of Malfurion’s time — however little left there is — and then my own.”

“Would be better if you — ”

Krasus stared into the orc’s eyes. “I assure you, my stamina is far greater than yours. I need no more sleep.”

Seeing that he would lose any further argument, Brox grunted and rose. But as he did, Krasus, glancing past the hulking warrior, stiffened.

“Doomguard…” he whispered.

Brox immediately dropped flat. They watched as three fiery-winged demons slowly headed toward the hills. The demons were armed with long, wicked blades. The Doomguard watched the vicinity with equal wariness, but clearly had not noticed the party so far.

“They’re heading toward where we must pass,” Krasus realized.

“Should stop them now.”

The mage nodded agreement, but added, “We need to know if there are more. We dare not take these three if it means giving warning to others in the area. Let me try to discover the truth, first.”

Shutting his eyes, Krasus let his senses spread out toward the demons. Immediately he felt the darkness radiating from each, a darkness so repulsive that even the dragon was affected. Nonetheless, Krasus did not hesitate to delve deeper. The truth had to be known.