Christie Golden - Thrall - Twilight of the Aspects

“I will go,” he said.

The Twilight Father found himself a trifle disappointed at how quickly the reds, blues, and greens had fled. He’d expected that they’d put up more of a fight. Nonetheless, it made his task easier, and made him even more adored by the cultists, who obeyed his every command. Such was good, even if it lacked the sweetness that a more hard-fought victory would have provided.

He had watched, along with the girl, as the dragons had flown away, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs or in groups. Now the only dragons that remained were quite lifeless, save for the ones directly under his command.

He had sent his lieutenants ahead to summon his followers, and now they gathered at the foot of the promontory and shivered in the cold. Their faces were so diverse, belonging to orc and troll, human and night elf—indeed, many of the races of Azeroth—and yet had a deep similarity in their expression of rapt adoration.

“And so our long journey has come, if not to its end, at least to a place where we pause, gather our forces, and grow strong. Wyrmrest Temple was once a symbol of the unconquerable power of the unified dragonflights. It has been said it was made by the titans themselves, and the dragons regarded it as inviolable and sacred. Today, we saw them abandon it—including two of their Aspects. It is our home now, for as long as we choose to make it so. This ancient place of power, like all things, must fall!”

Cheers erupted from hundreds of throats. The Twilight Father raised his hands, accepting the wave of adoration that poured off of the crowd.

“It is fitting that part of this place is broken,” he continued when the delighted uproar had started to die down. “The end of things is always with us, even at our moment of triumph. Now … let us take what has fallen to us, that it may serve our cause.”

One of the great twilight dragons that had been hovering obediently came in for a landing. Like a subservient pet, she prostrated herself before him, pressing her pale purple belly to the cold stone so that he would have no difficulty in climbing atop her back. He stepped forward, and the chain binding the girl to him grew taut. He turned, mildly surprised.

The girl did not move at once, regarding the dragon with a mixture of loathing and pity.

“Now, now, my dear,” he said, his voice making a mockery of kind words, “you mustn’t hesitate. Although”—he smirked from beneath the cowl—“I daresay that this is not quite the homecoming you expected, eh?”

Kirygosa, daughter of Malygos, sister to Arygos, looked from the twilight dragon to the Twilight Father, her blue eyes narrowed in contempt, and kept her icy silence.

As they approached Wyrmrest Temple, Kirygosa noticed that something else was heading that way as well. Below her, an enormous sled, large enough to accommodate several dozen humans, moved across the landscape. The white snowfall elk that pulled it strained visibly at the task. Even as Kirygosa watched, one of them collapsed. The sled came to a halt. Four acolytes of the Twilight’s Hammer moved forward, unbuckled the pathetic creature, and replaced it with another elk. The exhausted animal half walked, half stumbled as they tugged on its reins, leading it away from its fellows. When it again collapsed in the snow, lifting its head imploringly, one of the acolytes gestured. Several orcs dismounted from their large black wolves. The beasts waited, obedient, eyes fixed upon their masters until the command was given. Then the great beasts sprang as one, falling upon the hapless elk with shocking speed. Smooth white snow was churned up beneath the elk’s struggles and suddenly blossomed with crimson, and the elk’s pathetic cries were drowned out beneath savage growling.

Kirygosa looked away. No doubt such a fate was a trifle more merciful than simply leaving the elk to freeze to death, and the wolves did need food. They, at least, were innocent and natural creatures. Unlike their masters.

She returned her attention to the sled. A large canvas covered the top of it, revealing only a huge, lumpy form. It was the first time Kirygosa had seen it, and there was something about the shape—

“Curious, my dear?” said the Twilight Father, pitching his voice to be heard over the beating of their dragon mount’s wings. “All will be unveiled in due time. This is the purpose of our being here. You will recall, I told you: the wise man always has another plan.”

The tone of his voice chilled Kirygosa. The twilight dragon bore her steadily onward toward Wyrmrest Temple. She looked back over her shoulder at the sled fading into the distance below her. If its cargo was the sort of thing that the Twilight’s Hammer considered its “other plan,” she didn’t want to know what it was.

The Twilight Father slid off the dragon’s back onto the inlaid floor of Wyrmrest Temple, now covered here and there with the scarlet hue of dragon blood and the small, scattered, glittering shards that were all that remained of the Orb of Unity. Kirygosa followed in stony silence.

He handed Kirygosa’s chain to an acolyte. They all knew how to control the dragoness: a single tug, in a certain way, with a certain firmness, would cause exquisite pain. The chain also prevented her from assuming her true form—a much more troublesome shape than that of a mere human female.

“Make sure she stays quiet, but do not hurt her for sport,” he added to the troll, who looked disappointed. If Kirygosa was tormented too much, she might become desensitized to the pain, and that simply would not do. The troll led Kirygosa to a pillar and shoved her to the floor, then stood awaiting further commands from his Father.

The Twilight Father removed a small orb from beneath his cloak and placed it almost reverently on the bloodied floor. At once it began to pulse, glowing darkly, as if there were a seething black mist trapped inside it. Suddenly, as if the small orb were too tiny to contain something so powerful, it cracked open and the mist—no, no, not mist, smoke , thick and acrid and glinting here and there with orange-red embers—billowed upward. It formed a cloud, blacker than night and infinitely more unnatural, that swirled angrily until at last it took on shape and form. Baleful orange-yellow eyes, looking like liquid fire, peered out, impaling the Twilight Father with their gaze. A mammoth jaw, made of black metal, opened slightly in the hint of a mad, sly smile, and Kirygosa could not help but recoil.

Deathwing!

The Twilight Father knelt before the orb. “My master,” he said humbly.

“You have succeeded?” said Deathwing without preamble. The deep voice seemed to shake the temple, shiver through the body, as if Deathwing were actually present.

“In … a manner of speaking,” said the Twilight Father, fighting to control the slight stammer in his voice. “We have driven out the dragons from Wyrmrest Temple, including Alexstrasza and Ysera both. I have claimed it in the name of the Twilight’s Hammer cult. It is your stronghold now, Great One.”

The great, mad eyes narrowed. “That was not the plan,” he hissed. “The plan, which you have failed to execute, was to destroy the dragons, not merely capture their temple!”

“This—this is true, my lord. The plan was … thwarted by something we could not possibly have foreseen.” Quickly he explained. Deathwing listened with a silence that was worse than his angry shouting would have been. His features remained clear, though the smoke that formed them shifted, and once there was even heard a flapping of tattered, fire-limned wings. When the Twilight Father had finished, there was a long, uncomfortable pause. Deathwing cocked his head, appearing to consider.

“This changes nothing. You have failed.”