apart, leaving the older orc to fend for himself when he arrived in the past.
Circumstance had gradually thrown the dragon, the orc, and the human—all former enemies—together. But circumstance had not given them a way back to the future and that, most of all, worried Krasus.
“You are brooding again,” rumbled the dragon.
“Merely concerned about your coming departure,” Krasus told his younger self.
The red dragon nodded his huge head. The pair stood at the wide, solid battlements of Black Rook Hold, the imposing citadel from which Lord Ravencrest commanded his forces. Contrary to the lively, extravagant homes of his contemporaries, Ravencrest kept a very martial residence. Black Rook Hold had been carved from thick, ebony rock, as solid a structure as any ever made. All the chambers above and below ground had been chiseled out. To many, Black Rook was a fortress impenetrable.
To Krasus, who knew the monstrous fury of the Burning Legion, it was one more house of cards.
“I do not wish to depart,” spoke the red dragon, “but there is a silence among our kind. I cannot even sense my beloved Alexstrasza. You of all should understand my need to discover the truth.”
Korialstrasz knew that his companion was a dragon like himself, but he had not made the connection between past and future. Only his queen and mate, the Mother of Life, understood the truth and she had not told her new consort. That had been a favor to him—or rather, to his older self.
Krasus, too, felt the emptiness and so he accepted that his younger version would have to fly off to discover the reason why, even if it meant risk for both of them. Together they were an astonishing force, one most valued by Lord Ravencrest. While Korialstrasz sent showers of flame down on the demons, Krasus could expand that flame into a full firestorm, slaying a hundred and more of the foe in a single breath. But when they were divided, illness struck them, rendering both nigh impotent.
The last vestiges of sunlight disappeared on the horizon. Already the area around the edifice bristled with activity. The night elves dared not grow complacent at any time, day or evening. Too many had perished early on because of habit. Still, the darkness was always welcome, for as much as they were tied to the Well of Eternity, the night elves were also strengthened by the moon and stars.
“I have been thinking,” said Krasus, letting the wind caress his narrow features. Because of his immense size, Korialstrasz could not enter Black Rook Hold. However, the solid rock structure of the keep enabled him to stay perched atop it. As such, Krasus chose to sleep there, too, using only a thin woven blanket for comfort. He also ate his meals and spent nearly all his waking moments on the battlements, descending only when duty called. For other matters, he turned to Rhonin, the only one here besides himself who truly understood his situation.
“There may be a way by which we can still journey alongside one another,” he continued. “… So to speak.”
“I am eager to hear it.”
“There is on you at least one loose scale, yes?”
The dragon spread his wings and shook like a huge dog. His scales clattered in rhythmic fashion. The behemoth’s great brow furrowed as he ceased and listened, then twisted his serpentine neck to investigate an area near his rear right leg. “Here is one, I think.”
Dragons generally lost scales in much the way other creatures lost fur. The areas exposed generally hardened, eventually becoming new scales. At times when more than one broke free, a dragon had to take care, for the soft flesh was, for a time, susceptible to weapons and poison.
“I would like to have it … with your permission.”
For anyone else, Korialstrasz might have refused, but he had come to trust Krasus as he did himself. Someday, Krasus hoped to tell him the truth, providing that they lived that long.
“It is yours,” the crimson giant replied readily. With his back paw, Korialstrasz scratched at the spot. Moments later, the loose scale fell to the floor.
Quickly retrieving it, Krasus inspected the scale and found it to his liking. He looked up at his companion. “And now, I must give you something in return.”
“That is hardly necessary—”
But the dragon mage knew better; it would bode him ill if anything happened to his younger self because of Krasus’s interference with the past. “Yes, it is.”
Putting aside the head-sized scale, he stared at his left hand and concentrated.
The slim, elegant fingers suddenly gnarled, becoming reptilian. Scale spread across the flesh, first from the fingertips, then racing down the hand until just past the wrist. Sharp, curved claws grew from what had once been flat nails …
As the transformation took place, a sharp agony coursed through Krasus. He doubled over and nearly collapsed. Korialstrasz instinctively reached for the tiny figure, but the mage waved him back. “I will survive it!”
Gasping for breath, still doubled over, Krasus seized the hand he had altered and tore at the tiny scales. They resisted his efforts. He finally gritted his teeth and tugged on two as hard as he could.
They tore free, leaving a trail of blood pooling on the back of his monstrous appendage. Swallowing hard, the gaunt figure immediately let the hand revert, and, as it did, the pain receded.
Ignoring his self-inflicted wound, Krasus inspected his prizes. Eyes sharper than any night elf’s looked for the slightest imperfection.
“You know that what afflicts us both does not allow you to transform to your natural shape any more than it lets me change into other than a dragon,” Korialstrasz chided. “You risk yourself terribly when you attempt such an act.”
“It was necessary,” Krasus replied. He turned the bits over, frowning. “This one is cracked,” he muttered, letting the scale in question fly away in the wind, “but the other is perfect.”
“What do you intend to do with it?”
“You must trust me.”
The dragon blinked. “Have I ever done otherwise?”
Taking the tiny scale, the mage went to where Korialstrasz had scratched free his own. The area was still red and soft and large enough for any good archer to hit.
Whispering words older than dragons, Krasus pressed the scale directly on the center of the open region.
The scale flared a bright yellow as it touched. Korialstrasz let out a gasp, but did not otherwise react. The dragon’s eyes gazed intently on what his companion did.
Krasus chanted the elder words over and over, each time increasing the speed with which he spoke them. The scale pulsated and with each pulsation seemed to grow a little larger. Within seconds, it had become almost identical to those surrounding it.
“It will adhere to your flesh in a matter of seconds,” Krasus informed the leviathan. “There will be no chance of losing it.”
A moment later, he stepped back and inspected his handiwork. The dragon’s head came around to do the same.
“It feels … normal,” the leviathan commented.
“I
