“I thought that they might have a better chance!”

Rhonin nodded his approval, then surveyed the battle again. Recovering from their brief setback, the host was once more pushing the Burning Legion back. The demons maintained a defiant look despite their forced retreat, but everything they did only briefly halted the night elves’ determined progress.

“The damned thing’s working after all,” muttered the spellcaster. “Looks like I’ve underestimated his lordship.”

“A good thing, Master Rhonin! I shudder to think what might’ve happened if it had failed!”

“There is that — ” Rhonin let out a howl as an intense force seemed to try to crush his very brain. He tumbled off his mount before Jarod could grab him, striking the ground hard enough to jar his bones. Leaping down after him, the night elf tried to help the wizard rise.

Horrific pounding filled Rhonin’s head. The sounds of battle faded in the background. Through bleary eyes, he saw Jarod speaking, but no voice reached him.

Harder and harder the pounding grew. Through his agony, Rhonin understood that he had been attacked by some spell, yet this one had hit with more stealth than any in the past. Briefly the wizard thought of the Nathrezim, whose power had animated the dead, yet this did not feel like their work.

The agony became overwhelming. Rhonin struggled against the crushing sensation, but already knew that he was losing. He was near to blacking out and, if that happened, he feared he would never wake again.

In the midst of the attack, an emotionless voice echoed in his thoughts, You cannot stand against me, mortal.

The wizard needed no one to tell him who spoke. As Rhonin’s strength at last failed and the blackness took him, the demon’s name echoed through his fading senses.

Archimonde…

Jarod Shadowsong quickly dragged the still body back behind the lines. The night elf frantically studied Rhonin for some wound, but found nothing. The human was completely untouched, at least on the outside.

“Sorcery,” he muttered. Jarod grimaced. A person of little talent in that direction, he had a healthy respect for spellcasters. Anything that could affect Rhonin had clearly originated from a powerful source. To him, that meant only the most powerful of the demons they so far faced, the one called Archimonde.

The fact that Archimonde had found the opportunity to seek out the wizard disturbed the captain very much. Archimonde should have been frantically busy trying to keep order among his retreating forces. Everywhere Jarod had looked, the Burning Legion had been close to crumbling. Lord Stareye’s plan had proven a grand success —

The night elf’s eyes widened.

Or had it?

Brox held on as tight as the others as Korialstrasz flew them toward their destination. The orc had lived in the time when the red dragons had been ruled by his people, but he had never flown on one himself. Now he reveled in the sensation and for the first time truly sympathized with the dragons who had been enslaved. To be so free, to live in the skies, only to be forced to die like dogs for the will of another… it was a fate to make any orc shudder. In fact, Brox felt some kinship with the dragons, for, in truth, his people had been slaves of a sort also, their most basic instincts twisted into something grotesque by a demon of the Burning Legion.

Once, Brox had simply wanted to die. Now, he was willing to face death, but death with purpose. He fought not just to defend his people in the far-off future, but to defend all whom the demons sought to crush. The spirits would decide if his life needed to be sacrificed, but Brox hoped that they would wait long enough for him to strike a few more decisive blows… and, especially, see that this quest was fulfilled.

The hills gave way to mountains, which at first reminded him of those near his home. However, the mountains soon changed and with them changed something in the air. The landscape turned desolate, as if life was afraid or unwilling to be in this place. Korialstrasz had mentioned an ancient evil and the orc, perhaps more attune to the world than most, felt that evil permeate everything. It was a foulness worse than that spread by the demons and made him want to reach for the ax strapped to his back.

The dragon suddenly descended between a pair of dank, sharp peaks. Korialstrasz effortlessly glided through the narrow valleys, seeking a proper landing place.

He finally landed in the shadow of a particularly sinister mountain, one that reminded Brox of a monstrous warrior raising a heavy club for a strike. The harsh upper edge of the peak added to the already-prevalent feeling of being watched by dark powers.

“This is as close as I dare fly,” the dragon informed his passengers as they dismounted. “But I will still follow along for a time.”

“We aren’t far,” Malfurion commented. “I remember this area.”

Krasus eyed the same peak that had so caught the orc’s attention. “How could one not? A very appropriate abode for Deathwing.”

“You’ve said that name before,” the druid said. “And Rhonin, too.”

“It is how we know the Earth Warder where we come from. His madness is well documented, is it not so, Brox?”

The veteran warrior grunted agreement. “My people also call him Blood’s Shadow… but, yes, Deathwing is known to all living creatures, much to their dismay.”

Malfurion shuddered. “How do we avoid being noticed? I only escaped detection because of what Cenarius had taught me, but we can’t all journey to the Emerald Dream.”

“Nor would there be any point,” replied Krasus. “We could not touch the Demon Soul from that plane. We must be in this one. I know him best. I should be able to guard us from any warning spells. However, that will mean it will be up to you and Brox to do the rest.”

“I’m willing.”

“I, too.” The orc hefted the magical ax. “I will cleave the black one’s head from his neck if I must.”

The mage chuckled, if briefly. “And there would be song to sing, would there not?”

At first, Korialstrasz led the way, the dragon making the finest defense of all, even in Brox’s eyes. However, before long, the path grew narrower, until finally it was all the leviathan could do to squeeze through.

“You shall have to remain here,” Krasus decided.

“I can climb up and around the mountains — ”

“We are too close. Even if we manage to avoid the spells, I would not put it past Deathwing to post sentinels. They would see you.”

Against this logic, the dragon could not argue. “I await you, here, then. You have but to summon me at your need.” His reptilian eyes narrowed. “Even if it is to face him.”

At first, the loss of Korialstrasz made a marked difference in the mood of the party. The trio moved on with more care, watching every corner and shadow. Malfurion pointed out more and more landmarks, indicating just how near they had come to their goal. Brox, who now led the way, stared at every rock in their path, determining whether or not it hid some foe.

Day gave way to night and although now Malfurion could see better, they paused to sleep. The druid felt certain that they were nearly at the lair, which made rest an anxious time even for Brox.

As the orc settled in for first watch, Krasus admonished him. “We take our turns fairly, this time. We will need all of us at our peak of strength.”

Reluctantly agreeing, the graying orc hunkered down. His sharp ears soon registered the even breathing of his companions, a sign that slumber had quickly taken them. He also registered other sounds, although few in comparison to most places he had visited during his hard life. This was truly an empty land. The wind wailed and now and then bits of rock crumbled free from some mountainside, but, beyond that, there was almost nothing.