Richard Knaak - Day of the Dragon

“That is your choice, then.” They almost parted company, but Krasus suddenly called out. “One request, though, before you return to the others.”

“And what is that?”

The mage’s entire form seemed to darken, and a hiss escaped him. “Do not ever call me by that name again. Ever . It must not be spoken, even here.”

“No one could possibly—”

“Even here.”

Something in Krasus’s tone made his companion nod. The second figure then hurriedly departed, vanishing into the emptiness.

The wizard stared at the place where the other had stood, thinking of the repercussions of this futile conversation. If only they could have seen sense! Together, they had hope. Divided, they could do little . . . and that would play into their foe’s hands.

“Fools . . .”Krasus muttered.“Abysmal fools . . .”

The paladins brought them back to a keep that had to have been the unnamed settlement of which Vereesa had earlier spoken. Rhonin was unimpressed by it. Its high stone walls surrounded a functional, unadorned establishment where the holy knights, squires, and a small population of common folk attempted to live in relative frugality. The banners of the brotherhood flew side-by-side with those of the Lordaeron Alliance, of which the Knights of the Silver Hand were the most staunch supporters. If not for the townsfolk, Rhonin would have taken the settlement for a completely military operation, for the rule of the holy order clearly had control over all matters here.

The paladins had treated the elf with courtesy, some of the younger knights adding extra charm whenever Vereesa spoke with them, but with the wizard they would not traffic any more than necessity demanded, not even when, at one point, he asked how far they still had to go to reach Hasic. Vereesa had to repeat the question in order for him to find out. Despite initial impressions, the pair were not, of course, prisoners, but Rhonin certainly felt like an outcast among them. They treated him with minimal civility only because their oath to King Terenas demanded it of them, but otherwise he remained a pariah.

“We saw both the dragon and the gryphons,” their leader, one Duncan Senturus, boomed. “Our duty and honor demanded we ride out immediately to see what aid we might be.”

The fact that the combat had been entirely aerial and, therefore, far out of their reach apparently had not dampened their holy enthusiasm nor struck a chord with their common sense, Rhonin thought wryly. They and the ranger made for good company in that. Curiously, though, the wizard felt a twinge of possessiveness now that he did not have to deal with Vereesa on his own. After all, she was appointed my guide. She should remain true to her duty until Hasic .

Unfortunately, as for Hasic, Duncan Senturus had intentions for that, too. As they dismounted, the broad-shouldered senior knight offered his arm to the elf, saying, “Of course, it would be remiss of us to not see you along the safest and quickest route to the port. I know it’s a task you’ve been given, milady, but clearly it was chosen by a higher power that your paths would lead you to us. We know well the way to Hasic, and so a small party, led by myself, will journey with you come the morrow.”

This seemed to please the ranger, but hardly encouraged Rhonin any. Everyone in the keep eyed him as if he had been transformed into a goblin or orc. He had suffered enough disdain around his fellow spellcasters and felt no need to have the paladins add further to his troubles.

“It’s very kind of you,” Rhonin interjected from behind them. “But Vereesa is a capable ranger. We’ll reach Hasic in time.”

Senturus’s nostrils flared as if he had just smelled something noxious. Keeping his smile fixed, the senior paladin said to the elf, “Allow me to personally escort you to your quarters.” He glanced at one of his subordinates. “Meric! Find a place to put the wizard. . . .”

“This way,” grumbled a hulking young knight with a full mustache. He looked ready to take Rhonin by the arm even if it meant breaking the limb in question. Rhonin could have taught him the folly of doing that, but for the sake of his mission and peace between the various elements of the Alliance, he simply took a quick step forward, coming up beside his guide and not saying a word through the entire journey.

He had expected to be led to the most dank, most foul place in which they could honestly let him bed down for the night, but instead Rhonin found himself with a room likely no more austere than those used by the dour warriors themselves. Dry, clean, and with stone walls that surrounded him on all sides save where the wooden door stood, it certainly served Rhonin better than some of the places he had stayed in the past. A single, neatly kept wooden bed and a tiny table made up the decor. A well-used oil lamp appeared to be the only means of illumination, not even the tiniest of windows evident. Rhonin thought of at least requesting a window, but suspected the knights had nothing better to offer. Besides, this would better serve to keep curious eyes from him.

“This will do,” he finally said, but the young warrior who had brought Rhonin here had already begun to depart, closing the door as he left. The wizard tried to recall if the outside handle had a bolt or some sort of lock, but the paladins would surely not go that far. Damned soul Rhonin might be to them, but he was still one of their allies. The thought of the mental discomfort that last put the knights through cheered him a bit. He had always found the Knights of the Silver Hand a sanctimonious lot.

His reluctant hosts left him alone until evening meal. He found himself seated far from Vereesa, who seemed to have the commander’s ear whether she wanted it or not. No one but the elf spoke more than a few words to the wizard throughout the entire repast, and Rhonin would have left shortly after that if the subject of dragons had not been brought up by none other than Senturus.

“The flights have grown more common the last few weeks,” the bearded knight informed them. “More common and more desperate. The orcs know that their time is short, and so they seek to wreak what havoc they can before the day of their final judgment.” He took a sip of wine. “The settlement of Juroon was set aflame by two dragons just three days ago, more than half its population dead in the ungodly incident. That time, the beasts and their masters fled before the gryphon riders could reach the site.”

“Horrible,” Vereesa murmured.

Duncan nodded, a glint of almost fanatical determination in his deep brown eyes. “But soon a thing past! Soon we shall march on the interior of Khaz Modan, on Grim Batol itself, and end the threat of the last fragments of the Horde! Orc blood will flow!”

“And good men’ll die,” Rhonin added under his breath.

Apparently the commander had hearing as good as that of the elf, for his gaze immediately shifted to the mage. “Good men will die, aye! But we have sworn to see Lordaeron and all other lands free of the orc menace and so we shall, no matter what the cost!”

Unimpressed, the wizard returned, “But first you need to do something about the dragons, don’t you?”

“They will be vanquished, spellcaster; sent to the underworld where they belong. If your devilish kind—”

Vereesa softly touched the commander’s hand, giving him a smile that made even Rhonin a bit jealous. “How long have you been a paladin, Lord Senturus?”

Rhonin watched with some amazement as the ranger transformed into an enchanted and enchanting young woman, akin to those he had met in the royal court of Lordaeron. Her transformation in turn changed Duncan Senturus. She teased and toyed with the graying knight, seeming to hang on his every word. Her personality had altered so much that the observing wizard could scarce believe this was the same female who had ridden as his guide and his guard for the past several days.