World of Warcraft: War of the Scaleborn E-Book

Courtney Alameda

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: World of Warcraft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 571

Beschreibung

The next novel set in the world of Blizzard Entertainment's legendary online game World of Warcraft. When the world was young, all life shook before the might of Galakrond, a massive primal dragon whose hunger could not be sated. Five primal dragons rose valiantly beside the titan-forged Keeper Tyr to combat this threat. Though the fight was desperate, Galakrond fell by their teeth and talons, and they were chosen to become protectors of Azeroth. The titans gifted Nozdormu, Ysera, Alexstrasza, Malygos, and Neltharion with order magic, transforming them into the Aspects, powerful dragons with command of time, nature, life, magic, even the earth itself. Other primal dragons followed them on their path, and, imbued with the titans' power, the dragonflights rose to shape the world and serve the Aspects. That is the tale the dragonflights have always told . . . but it is not the whole story. For while the Dragonqueen and her flights set to reshaping Azeroth, not all dragonkind sees order magic as a gift. Spurning the titans' interference, a group of rebel primal dragons drink deep from the elemental powers of the planet and are reborn as the Incarnates. Led by Iridikron, the Incarnates believe that dragonkind should be subservient to no one. They foment a rebellion against the Aspects, what they are and all they stand for. Despite the efforts of the Dragonqueen Alexstrasza and her primal friend, Vyranoth, to preserve peace, both sides slip closer to violence, as dragons are forced to choose a side or be swept up in the growing conflict. With battle lines and allegiances drawn, the war amongst dragonkind shakes the foundation of the world. Both sides realize they will have to make sacrifices to secure the future of their kind, sacrifices that will cascade through the ages.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Also Available from Titan Books

Title Page

Leave us a Review

Copyright

Dedication

Map

Part One: A Kingdom Born

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Part Two: A Growing Storm

From the Oral Histories of Nozdormu the Timeless One

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Part Three: The Winds of War

From the Oral Histories of Nozdormu the Timeless One

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Part Four: The Rising Inferno

From the Oral Histories of Nozdormu the Timeless One

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Part Five: A Frozen Heart

From the Oral Histories of Nozdormu the Timeless One

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Part Six: A Hunger in The Deep

From the Oral Histories of Nozdormu the Timeless One

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Acknowledgments

About the Author

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World of Warcraft: War of the Scaleborn

Print ISBN: 9781785655050

Ebook ISBN: 9781785655067

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark St, London SE1 0UP

www.titanbooks.com

First Titan edition: October 2023

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Blizzard Entertainment, Inc.

All rights reserved.

Warcraft, World of Warcraft, and Blizzard Entertainment are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc., in the US and/or other countries. All other trademark references herein are the properties of their respective owners.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

To Bo, who brought me to Azeroth,And to champions past, present, and future—We still have so many stories to tell one another.

PART ONE

A KINGDOM BORN

CHAPTER ONE

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, ALEXSTRASZA?VYRANOTH wondered as she soared over the rising spires of Valdrakken. What is this place?

In all her long years, Vyranoth had never seen dragonkind build such strange aeries. Alexstrasza—Vyranoth’s oldest friend and the newly made Dragon Queen—had called Valdrakken a city. Vyranoth rolled the word over her tongue, thinking it tasted like titan magic. City. A foreign word befitted so foreign a place.

Vyranoth understood none of the sights below: Hand-wrought stone spires perched upon the mountains of Thaldraszus. Rivers ran through the sky on gilded spines. Floating islands nested in the clouds, their waterfalls tumbling into the open air. Young drakes chased one another, nipping at each other’s tails and laughing. Dragons roosted on grand platforms, talking together and enjoying the beauty of the day.

Valdrakken. City. A place that seemed to radiate peace . . . and yet dark doubts crept into Vyranoth’s heart. Every dragon in sight bore the mark of the keepers’ Order magic, which had utterly transformed them, mind, body, and soul. Vyranoth did not recognize the ordered as dragons, though they were certainly dragon-like. On the ground, the ordered folded their wings against their backs like birds, whereas natural, primal dragons like Vyranoth relied upon their wings both on the ground and in the air. The ordered did not look like proper dragons; not anymore. By embracing this strange power, Alexstrasza and her followers had turned their backs on the very planet that had given them life.

As a primal dragon in Valdrakken, Vyranoth was an outsider among her own.

So many of you have chosen the keepers over your own kind, she thought. With a great flap of her wings, she crested one of the city’s peaks. Even as she cruised along the city’s outskirts, she counted hundreds of ordered dragons, their jewel-toned hides glittering in hues of blue, black, bronze, green, and red. Each color represented one of the five dragonflights led by an individual Dragon Aspect.

The five Aspects had been the first to be infused with the keepers’ Order magic, to embark on a dangerous path, to turn their backs on the natural order of things. Now, they had convinced so many others to follow them into this folly.

Vyranoth checked her speed, then dived beneath an arch of ornamented stone. The shadows of her wings rippled over the city’s jarring angles and sharp, golden edges. Below her, the titan-forged swarmed over the mountains like flies on a carcass, carving stone from the rocky flanks to build their spires and arches.

Even if the Aspects had dreamed up Valdrakken on their own, the city brimmed with their masters’ power. Here, the keepers’ influence was omnipresent, inescapable. Order imbued the very wind that filled Vyranoth’s wings, nostrils, and lungs, sending a shudder across her scales. Had Vyranoth not made a promise to Alexstrasza, she would have turned tail and never looked back. Yet Vyranoth was a dragon of her word.

Today, the Dragon Queen and the red dragonflight would swear an oath to defend their world. Azeroth, Alexstrasza had called it, though it sounded like yet another titan word. Alexstrasza had personally invited Vyranoth to the ceremony; perhaps she hoped that Vyranoth could be convinced of the righteousness of the Aspects’ cause. Vyranoth knew her old friend to be honorable and true. Alexstrasza would not have chosen this path without good reason. Still, Vyranoth’s doubts remained. Why should dragons have to change themselves to fulfill the wishes of the keepers? To her mind, it made no sense.

A great trumpeting echoed off the city’s spires. On instinct, Vyranoth banked toward the sound, sweeping past the hollow bones of a half-finished spire. A multitude of dragons took flight, their scales flashing in the sun. The thundering of their wings whipped up the wind and turned the clouds into a froth. Had Vyranoth not been so unsettled by the sight, she might have found it exhilarating. She climbed higher with ease, lofted by the air currents that swirled off a thousand wings.

“Vyranoth, my friend!” A red dragon glided into Vyranoth’s airstream. Like all ordered dragons, the red had a sinuous, elongated neck and longer forelegs, which when on the ground would allow him to stand on four feet rather than two. The ordered had slim heads and lacked a primal dragon’s thick, impenetrable armor on the skull and spine. This particular red had two heavy, twisting horns on the top of his head and frills over each eye.

The red was accompanied by a small contingent of other reds—four, to be exact. In the Dragonwilds, no one would have dared approach Vyranoth with such an easy manner, especially not in a pack. Had the keepers’ magic made them forget the customs of their kind?

“I am Saristrasz,” said the first red, performing an elegant roll in the air, as if in greeting. “Majordomo to the Dragon Queen. Alexstrasza has asked me to be your escort during your stay in Thaldraszus.”

“I thank you, but that shall not be necessary,” Vyranoth said, not wanting to offend. “I do not plan to stay in Valdrakken long.”

“Alexstrasza thought you might say that,” Saristrasz said with a laugh. “And she was right, you speak very well for one of your kind!”

Your kind? Vyranoth narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

“At the very least, allow me to show you where today’s ceremonies are to be held,” Saristrasz said. “You are our honored guest.”

“Very well,” Vyranoth replied, following the majordomo as he banked right. The other reds followed them, close in pursuit.

As they came around the corner, the whole of Valdrakken opened to them. A white spire rose in the distance, scraping the clouds overhead. Rivers flowed around its base. Lush, purple-leafed trees clustered close along their banks. At its peak, there looked to be a landing platform of sorts.

“That is the Seat of the Aspects,” Saristrasz said, his voice lilting with pride. “The tower is the soul of Valdrakken, where our honored Aspects conduct business on behalf of the five flights. But the Seat is not our destination today. Come, Vyranoth, and let me show you Tyrhold!”

“Tyrhold?” Vyranoth asked, suppressing a harsher tone. She recognized that name—Alexstrasza had spoken to her often of Keeper Tyr and his interference in the affairs of dragonkind. If she recalled correctly, Tyr had been the one to suggest the Aspects be ordered.

“Yes, a great edifice in the east,” Saristrasz said, nodding to the stone rivers. “It is the source of the life-giving waters carried by aqueducts throughout the city.”

“Aqueducts . . .” Vyranoth said, testing the word carefully, looking at the water shimmering below. “Tell me, why is it important to move the water from one place to another? Why must you remove it from its source, especially when it flows in such abundance throughout the Broodlands?”

“The water serves many purposes in Valdrakken,” the majordomo said as they crested a hill. “It is easier to conduct the water via aqueducts than by any other method.”

Vyranoth looked at Saristrasz from the corner of her eye, lifting a brow.

He chuckled. “I admit, Valdrakken was startling at first—the buildings, the aqueducts, the temples, the gardens. But I promise you, it will make more sense in time.”

Buildings? Vyranoth thought. Temples? What need does dragonkind have for such things?

“Perhaps,” she said, uneasy. Nothing about Valdrakken made sense to Vyranoth, and she wasn’t certain she wanted that to change.

Her escort led her past a waterfall that splashed down a mountain’s face. Cool mist dampened their wings. They swept over neatly tended emerald gardens that filled the air with the scent of sweet honey, then dipped past the scalding heat of the black dragonflight’s forges.

There should have been a certain delight in following Saristrasz through the city, in swooping beneath its arches and scudding over the clouds, in listening to the joyous calls of the dragons as they headed for the ceremony. Yet everywhere Vyranoth looked, all she could see was what Valdrakken could have been without the titans’ influence. How tall had that mountain stood before it had been whittled down into “buildings” by the titan-forged? Why had the gardens been pruned into an orderly perfection, rather than be allowed to flourish and grow in their own wild designs? And what of the noble, primal silhouette her brothers and sisters once had—the strong carriages, the majestic bearings—why had those, too, been carved away for order’s sake?

Where the titans had found flaws, Vyranoth saw unbroken beauty. The world needed no improvements, no titans, no Order magic. Perhaps the world did not need cities and buildings and Aspects either.

Saristrasz and Vyranoth skirted the flank of a sharp cliff. A grand spire rose in the distance—no, Saristrasz had called it a tower—and its white marble walls gleamed in the sunlight. The tower pointed to the heavens, shooting a bright beam of light into the sky. Tall white stones encircled its base, reminding Vyranoth of outstretched wings. All the rivers in Valdrakken seemed to flow from its source.

Tyrhold, Vyranoth thought, her lip curling in upset.

Hundreds upon hundreds of dragons hovered around the tower, darkening the day with their wings. So many of you, Vyranoth thought, casting her gaze over the assembly. How could so many of you have chosen this path? Easily rejected yourselves and everything you once were?

“Welcome to Tyrhold,” Saristrasz said. “Come! The Dragon Queen has requested your attendance on the main platform. You are to be in the presence of the Aspects themselves.”

“What an honor,” Vyranoth said flatly. If Saristrasz noticed her discomfort, he said nothing.

They alighted on the main platform. Great stone ribs rose high overhead. “Pillars,” the majordomo said when he caught her looking at them. The peaks of Thaldraszus loomed on either side of the tower, proud and powerful. The keepers’ presence was at its thickest here, creating a dull ache in the base of Vyranoth’s skull. It hummed in her ears like the silence after a thunderclap and crawled under her scales like mites. Perhaps Order magic had made their influence easier to bear, but Vyranoth could hardly stand it even for an instant.

A crowd assembled on the platform. Vyranoth thought she recognized a few among them: That large, ancient red had to be Tyranastrasz, Alexstrasza’s consort and confidant. His brown scales were now the warm, brilliant color of heart’s blood. He turned his head as if he sensed Vyranoth’s gaze, then gave her a nod in greeting.

Vyranoth returned the gesture, careful to keep her expression even. Inside, however, her heart was a maelstrom. To think that a dragon of his stature had accepted the keepers’ shackles! Perhaps he had done it out of love for his mate. Or perhaps, in all his wisdom, Tyranastrasz saw something in Order magic that Vyranoth could not.

An unfamiliar shade crept into Vyranoth’s heart. What wisdom was there in accepting power that fundamentally altered who you were? Were dragons not noble enough, not courageous enough, not strong enough without the keepers’ magic?

Tyranastrasz wasn’t the only one. As Vyranoth cast her gaze over the assembly, she did not see a single natural-born dragon. She barely recognized Malygos, now the blue Aspect, whose eyes glowed with arcane fire. Runes shimmered over his wings. His mate, Sindragosa, stood at his side, speaking to another blue. Sindragosa tossed her head and laughed at something the blue said.

Alexstrasza’s sister, Ysera, had become the green Aspect. Her scales had deepened to the color of spring leaves, and a set of four great golden horns adorned her head; flowers sprouted beneath her talons. She stood surrounded by her flight, all dragons who Vyranoth could not name. Smaller creatures frolicked in the shade of their wings. Butterflies danced in the air around them. Even from this distance, Vyranoth could smell the verdant life emanating from the green dragonflight—budding grass and wet earth.

On the other side of the chamber, Nozdormu shifted his wings, sending up a cloud of shimmering bronze sand. Alexstrasza said he could now manipulate time itself. Nozdormu had been powerful before accepting the keepers’ magic, but to be able to manipulate time itself? She could not fathom such an ability.

Finally, she turned her attention to Neltharion, the black Aspect. She knew of him from Alexstrasza’s stories but had not been acquainted with him personally. He stood taller and broader than the other three Aspects; his scales were as black as char and as gleaming as obsidian. According to Alexstrasza, the keepers gave Neltharion dominion over the earth and its deep places.

Alexstrasza herself, however, was nowhere to be seen.

The Aspects were surrounded by members of the red dragonflight—and there were even more red dragons gliding in the skies above. The Aspects circled a white stone carved to resemble a dragon safeguarding a gemstone with its wings. A large, blood-red ruby was set into the spire’s base. Even from where she stood, Vyranoth could sense the magic within the stone.

“What is that object?” Vyranoth asked, nodding to the carving.

“It is the Oathstone of the red dragonflight,” Saristrasz replied. “Beautiful, is it not? Once empowered, it will become a symbol of our promise to defend Azeroth and all its denizens. The red dragonflight plans to house it at the Ruby Life Pools, once we have finished their construction.”

Oathstone? Ruby Life Pools? Vyranoth wondered, cocking her head to look at the red. This was all so strange—the longer Vyranoth lingered in Valdrakken, the more unsettled she became. None of this seemed natural; how could Saristrasz follow the Aspects so fully and unquestioningly?

“Tell me, Saristrasz,” Vyranoth asked, her throat dry, “why did you choose to be infused with Order magic?”

Saristrasz was silent a moment, considering her question. He made a humming noise in his throat, then said, “Galakrond changed things for our kind. He showed us—no, the Aspects showed us—that dragons are stronger when we work together.”

“Could you not have supported Alexstrasza as you were?” she asked. “In your true state?”

“I suppose.” He smiled and spread his wings, gesturing to the dragons who filled the space around them. “But I wanted to be a part of the red dragonflight. I wanted to be something greater than myself, to witness the heights the Aspects would help us reach. There is no higher calling in this world.”

Vyranoth’s stomach churned, but she made no reply. Before she could ask anything further, a roar reverberated through the crowd. Movement drew her gaze to the tower’s base.

The doors of Tyrhold had been thrown open, and Alexstrasza stepped outside, her head high. Like the other Aspects, she was wholly changed: Sunlight glinted off her gold-tipped horns. Her scales shimmered vermillion. Alexstrasza now walked on four feet with her wings tucked against her back, her movements swift and sure.

Vyranoth could still see hints of her old friend under the ordered exterior: Alexstrasza had always emanated gentleness and kindness. Most dragons would find it difficult to match her grace and charisma. Her eyes glittered with a fierce, unyielding intelligence.

She was Alexstrasza . . . and yet she was not Vyranoth’s Alexstrasza. She was the Life-Binder. The Dragon Queen. The red Aspect, leader of the red dragonflight.

The thought drove shards of ice into Vyranoth’s heart.

A bipedal figure strode out with Alexstrasza, one who resembled the titan-forged creatures who scurried about the city. This one, however, stood taller than the rest of the titan-forged and wore garments of crimson and gold. One of his limbs gleamed silver in the light.

Ah, Vyranoth thought, recalling the tales Alexstrasza had told her of Galakrond, that one is Keeper Tyr. She suppressed a growl. Tyr had ordered the Aspects and charged them with the creation of the dragonflights; he had been the one to teach dragons about cities and buildings. No doubt Tyr had coerced Alexstrasza into this ceremony—why else would she need to make a public pledge to protect their world? Was her intention not enough? Were her sacrifices not enough?

Alexstrasza halted before the Oathstone, spreading her wings in welcome. “Greetings, my friends! Full glad am I to see you all assembled on such a momentous occasion!”

A great cheer resounded through the skies and shook the stones beneath Vyranoth’s feet. It echoed off the peaks of Valdrakken in a rising chorus.

“I extend a hearty welcome to my fellow Aspects and their flights this day,” Alexstrasza continued, “and I am thankful that our benefactor, Tyr, has joined us for this event.”

More cheers. This time, Saristrasz lifted his head and added a bugling call to the celebrations.

“Today, the red dragonflight will be the first to make a sacred pledge,” Alexstrasza said. “As we empower the Oathstone of our flight, we swear to protect and defend this world from harm, not just to Azeroth itself, but also to the keepers”—Alexstrasza nodded to Tyr—“and to one another. In the coming days, the dragons of the green, black, blue, and bronze flights will hold similar ceremonies and empower the Oathstones that their flights have created.”

“This is madness,” Vyranoth muttered under the dragons’ joyful shouts. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to rush to Alexstrasza and beg her to reconsider her actions. She wanted to bristle her mane and chase Keeper Tyr out of the Broodlands. She wanted to call out to the assembly and have them rend Tyrhold from the mountainside.

But Vyranoth did none of these things. Alexstrasza had made her choice.

The Dragon Queen approached the red dragonflight’s Oathstone with the keeper. “Now, let us begin,” she said, spreading her wings wide. The dragons in the chamber fell silent.

“I, Alexstrasza the Life-Binder,” she began solemnly, “Aspect of the red dragonflight, and queen of the five flights, do so swear to defend Azeroth this day.”

The Oathstone shot a beam of ruby-red light into the heavens. The light tinged the skies as with sunset, scattering pink and orange hues across the clouds. Dragons gasped in wonder.

“I charge the red dragonflight to protect all life,” Alexstrasza said, her scales reflecting the Oathstone’s ruby glow. “Whether it be found in the Emerald Plains of the Broodlands or high atop the mountain peaks of Kalimdor, deep within the oceans, or in desert climes, we vow to maintain harmony and peace in this world.”

The ruby light emanated out from the Oathstone, spreading among the assembly. Cries of glee and delight stole through the crowd as the Oathstone’s magic touched the red dragons. When it drew close to Vyranoth, she backed away in fear. Beside her, Saristrasz sucked in a breath. Light danced across his scales, which flamed as red as a sun-kissed horizon.

“This magic,” Saristrasz said under his breath, his eyes wide with wonder, “it is . . . it is so warm. I have never felt anything quite like this.”

Vyranoth only growled, keeping low to the ground. The Oathstone’s magic burned in her heart, beckoning to her. She snarled, pushing away its temptation.

“On this day,” Alexstrasza continued, “each red dragon is granted a greater measure of courage, empathy, and resilience. May you show bravery in the face of danger, seek common ground with your enemies, and always have the strength to take to the skies in defense of our beloved home. So long as we draw breath, Azeroth shall not fall. By wing and by talon, we shall see it done.

“On behalf of the red dragonflight, this I swear upon our Oathstone,” Alexstrasza concluded.

Keeper Tyr stepped forward next. “As an envoy of the titans, I accept your oaths this day”—Tyr extended his giant silver hand toward the Oathstone—“and seal them here, in stone. May this Oathstone stand as a reminder of the pledge the red dragonflight has made—not just to me, but to this world. Fly well and wisely, and may you fulfill the measure of your ordering.”

A final, glittering burst of red light exploded from the Oathstone, so powerful that it rattled Vyranoth’s teeth.

Another cheer rose, a chorus of voices that lifted high on the winds. As the other Aspects stepped forward to congratulate Alexstrasza, Vyranoth turned to Saristrasz, her stomach churning.

“Before I return to the wilds,” she said, “I would like to have a private word with Alexstrasza, if I may?”

“But of course,” Saristrasz said, his scales still aglow with the Oathstone’s magic. “Wait here, and I will make the arrangements with the Dragon Queen.”

*   *   *

A SHORT TIME LATER, Saristrasz led Vyranoth to a bright cavern within the Seat of the Aspects, though cavern wasn’t quite the word for the place. Vyranoth paused at the threshold, lifted her gaze, then drew in a sharp, surprised breath. Never in her life had she seen such beauty: The chamber was lit with a soft, aquamarine light, as if filtered through warm southern seas. Two stone dragons reared before a stunning “stained-glass mural”—Saristrasz’swords—that portrayed a dragon in flight. The glass glimmered in red, green, blue, bronze, and black, each color representing one of the five dragonflights.

“I must return to my duties, but Queen Alexstrasza will meet you here in the antechamber,” Saristrasz said, almost by way of apology. “Keeper Tyr requested an impromptu audience with the Aspects after the ceremony, and they have only just arrived. I do not expect them to be long.”

“Very well,” Vyranoth replied, though she was anxious to quit the city.

Saristrasz dipped his head. “If there is anything else you need, the drakonid will assist you.” With another bow of his head, the majordomo turned and exited the antechamber, leaving her alone.

Two red drakonid stood watch outside, giving Vyranoth her privacy. The antechamber’s only egress point seemed to be its entrance, and the thought put Vyranoth on edge. The drakonid were more manifestations of the titans’ stain—tarasek taken and twisted by Order magic. Were natural tarasek not enough for the keepers? Must they, too, be befouled by magic?

Vyranoth knew she need not be troubled. Alexstrasza’s heart remained noble and true, and the Dragon Queen would not force Order magic upon anyone. Still, she could not ignore the doubt creeping into her mind. It mingled with a yearning, too, which left Vyranoth adrift on uncertain winds. While Vyranoth rejected the idea of submitting to the keepers’ Order magic, she liked the idea of dragonkind living together in harmony. Like Alexstrasza, Vyranoth believed dragonkind could achieve greater things when they worked together. That perhaps they needed one another.

The Broodlands were home to many dragons, both ordered and primal, but the Aspects had clearly delineated territories in which their word was law: the Waking Shores, the Emerald Plains, the Azure Span, and Thaldraszus. The Broodlands were surrounded by the greater Dragonwilds, where most of the primal dragons had retreated after the Aspects began ordering new dragons.

Much as Vyranoth did not mind this arrangement in theory, trusting the keepers seemed like folly. Tyr had helped the Aspects destroy Galakrond, but beyond this, Vyranoth had no reason to trust his motives.

Minutes passed, stretching longer. The sun changed its slant. Just as Vyranoth considered taking her leave, an oblong-shaped light flared at the top of the staircase in the middle of the room. Vyranoth had seen the blue dragonflight creating similar magical rifts before—she believed they called them portals. Keeper Tyr emerged from the light, followed closely by Alexstrasza.

Paying Vyranoth no heed, Tyr said, “Think carefully upon my words, Alexstrasza. I only wish to see your dragonflights thrive.”

Alexstrasza lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes, a subconscious gesture that had forever signaled her polite disagreement. To see her do it now, in her ordered form, was . . . unsettling.

“I will consider your counsel,” Alexstrasza said.

The keeper nodded. “See that you do.”

Alexstrasza’s eyes narrowed further as the keeper turned away.

Vyranoth cocked her head, thinking. So, the Dragon Queen appears to retain her free will, but the keepers still seek to exert control over her. What is it that Tyr wants Alexstrasza to do?

“For now, I shall take my leave of Valdrakken,” Tyr said, starting down the steps. “I will return when Neltharion and the black dragonflight are ready to empower their Oathstone.”

“Very well,” Alexstrasza said.

Keeper Tyr swept past Vyranoth, barely sparing her a glance.

As soon as he was gone, Alexstrasza shed her solemnity. “Vyranoth!” she cried, bounding down the stairs. She pressed her cheek to Vyranoth’s. “Words cannot express how glad I am to see you, my friend. Thank you for coming.”

The joy in her voice melted the ice in Vyranoth’s heart.

“And I, you,” Vyranoth said. Alexstrasza still smelled like herself, at least—though there was a new, underlying note that Vyranoth couldn’t quite identify. To her palate, it seemed to be the scent of smoke and stardust, something not of their world.

“Tell me, was your journey a good one?” Alexstrasza asked. “Have you eaten?”

“The winds were calm. The Broodlands have blossomed under your care.”

Alexstrasza beamed, her golden eyes glowing. “I would love to show you more—the gardens of Valdrakken, perhaps? Or perhaps the new construction on Neltharion’s Obsidian Citadel? There are so many wonders to share. Give me but a moment to inform the other Aspects, and then we can take flight.”

Before Vyranoth could muster an answer, Alexstrasza turned to the portal and started back up the stairs.

“That . . . will not be necessary,” Vyranoth said, trying to take the cold bite out of her tone.

Alexstrasza pivoted back to face her friend. “Whatever do you mean? I was hoping we might at least spend the afternoon together.”

“You know I treasure our friendship, Alexstrasza, but this . . .” Vyranoth trailed off, shaking her head.

“If you have something to say to me, please continue.” Alexstrasza used a hint of that same diplomatic, queenly tone she had used with the keeper. “You have always been my most honest and straightforward of friends, Vyranoth. You know you can be true with me.”

Vyranoth prided herself in her sincerity and forthrightness, but somehow, this issue felt more fraught than most. To criticize Order magic was to criticize Alexstrasza herself. Vyranoth needed to choose her next words carefully. She no more wanted to hurt her friend than she wanted to bend to the keepers’ will.

“You are following unknown winds, my friend, and I worry for you,” Vyranoth said. “You are the most honorable of our kind, Alexstrasza. I loved you as you were, and it pains me to see you bow, to change yourself for another. From where I stand—admittedly, on the outside—I fear the keepers seek to exert control over you and your flights.”

“My agency remains inviolate,” Alexstrasza said. “Tyr offers what guidance he can, but my decisions are my own.”

“What will you do if he asks you to force dragons to join your flights?” Vyranoth asked. “Will you disregard the desires of those who disagree with you?”

“No, never,” Alexstrasza said with a shake of her head. “I have sworn that Order magic will always be a choice.”

“Swear it to me, then,” Vyranoth said. “Swear to me that you will never force a primal dragon to bow to the will of the keepers.”

Alexstrasza looked Vyranoth square in the eye. “I swear it.”

In all their long years of friendship, Vyranoth had never known Alexstrasza to lie. Deceit wasn’t in her nature. And yet, the Alexstrasza standing before Vyranoth today was not the same dragon who Vyranoth had known through the long ages. The keepers’ magic altered Alexstrasza’s physical form; had it changed her integrity, too? Would she, like her keepers, do anything to achieve her goals . . . even lie to one of her oldest and dearest friends?

Vyranoth could not answer these questions. Only time could do that.

“I trust you, Alexstrasza,” Vyranoth said, leaning forward and pressing her forehead to her friend’s, “but I do not trust your keepers.”

CHAPTER TWO

ALEXSTRASZA’S HEARTSTRINGS PULLED TAUT, MAKING it difficult to breathe. As Vyranoth walked away, Alexstrasza nearly cried out, Can you not stay and listen, just for a moment more? The Life-Binder held her tongue. She would not beg, especially when Vyranoth refused to see reason.

Of all the dragons in Azeroth, Alexstrasza thought Vyranoth would understand why the Aspects chose order over their primal natures. She and Vyranoth had ever been of one heart, one mind. Order magic made it easier to protect innocent lives, a goal that Alexstrasza and Vyranoth shared. How many dragon clutches had she helped Vyranoth save from Galakrond’s hunger? Had she not fought with wing and talon in defense of Vyranoth’s own brood? In defense of Vyranoth herself?

Vyranoth had always been headstrong—the same stubbornness that made her slow to accept change also made her a keen survivalist. Still, she had nothing to fear from Order magic. Had she but stayed in Valdrakken, Alexstrasza could have shown her the wonders of its transformative powers—how these could be wielded as tools to achieve their shared desires. Instead, Vyranoth chose to close herself to Alexstrasza, to the Aspects, and to the future of dragonkind.

However, the Life-Binder knew Vyranoth better than any other; though her heart moved like a glacier, it would melt in time.

When Vyranoth disappeared, Alexstrasza sighed and turned back to her duties. She could not spend long wallowing in self-pity—the other four Aspects awaited her in the Seat’s towering aerie.

The Seat of the Aspects was one of Alexstrasza’s favorite places in Valdrakken. She teleported to the top in a flash of light. The tower soared high over the city, affording her an all-encompassing view of the Broodlands. On a clear day, she could see everything from the volcanic ridges of the Waking Shores to the rolling hills of the Emerald Plains. When the winds blew from the south, Alexstrasza could even smell the woody, earthen scents of the ancient redwood trees in the Azure Span. Today, dragons filled the skies over the city, celebrating the red flight’s newly instated Oathstone. They dipped, danced, and dived through the air, basking in the magic it had bestowed upon them.

Alexstrasza wished her heart could know such peace, but Vyranoth’s words left her unsettled . . . particularly in the wake of Tyr’s request.

The dragonflights must grow more quickly, Alexstrasza, Tyr had said. Take primal dragon eggs from the wilds and infuse them with Order magic. Your flights must be prepared to defend Azeroth when the time comes.

Alexstrasza had balked at the idea, especially because it hadn’t been phrased as a request.

Inside the upper chamber, Malygos lounged before his dragonflight’s banner, tapping his blue-tinted talons on the floor and exuding an aura of boredom. Ysera sat to Alexstrasza’s left, her emerald tail tucked around her toes. Alexstrasza’s sister regarded her with kindness, and perhaps a little sympathy. They had all seen Vyranoth’s departure, no doubt.

Neltharion stood to Alexstrasza’s right, his face unreadable, his eyes closed. Thinking, as always. Nozdormu turned his head as Alexstrasza strode back into the Seat. Bronze sands danced around his wings, ever moving. Each Aspect stood before a banner representing their flight, and all were flanked by their various majordomos and guards.

“So,” Neltharion said as Alexstrasza took her place before the red banner, “I take it Vyranoth did not appreciate today’s ceremony?”

“She did not,” Alexstrasza said. “But we have more pressing concerns at present—I would like to discuss Tyr’s latest admonition with this council. Majordomos, guards, leave us. I wish to speak to my fellow Aspects alone.”

The majordomos bowed their heads to the Life-Binder and exited the Seat, taking to the air and cruising around the tower out of earshot. One by one, the drakonid filed out, back to the lower chamber.

When they were alone, Alexstrasza returned to her business. “Tyr has asked us to take primal dragon eggs from the wilds and infuse them with Order magic, thus expanding our flights at a faster rate. I will not lie, the request—”

“You mean the command,” Malygos said, interjecting. The blue Aspect rolled a bit of arcane fire through his talons, looking to the Life-Binder. “He did not give us a choice.”

“We always have a choice,” Alexstrasza said. “We may choose to follow his admonition, or to risk his displeasure and refuse. What say you all?”

Neltharion cocked his head, the light sliding over his oil-dark scales. “You have ever been adamant that Order magic should be an individual’s choice, Alexstrasza. Why would you consider infusing eggs without their bloodline’s permission, or their own?”

Alexstrasza sensed no malice from the black Aspect, nor defiance. Neltharion was always the first to question Alexstrasza—he liked to prompt discussion and examine issues from multiple angles. On occasion, he could be rather tactless about it, but his questions generated the desired results.

“You speak true, Neltharion, but we know little of the threats to our world, nor of the dark forces that the titans themselves shield us from knowing,” Alexstrasza replied. “We have been entrusted with safeguarding the lives of all dragonkind, of all Azeroth. If infusing more eggs will improve our chances against future threats, perhaps we should consider it.”

“You do not seem convinced, my queen.” Malygos swirled his talons in the air, and the arcane flames twirled from his talons like ribbons. “Though I agree with Tyr—if we want the dragonflights to survive, it may be in our best interests to bolster our numbers.”

“The flights are thriving, are they not?” Alexstrasza said.

“Yes, for now.” The blue Aspect looked up, dousing the fire with a snap of his talons. He rose to his feet. “But opposition rises on swift wings. Your own cousin speaks against you.”

“Fyrakk?” Alexstrasza replied with a scoff. “Fyrakk may be a firebrand, but he is no leader. Were he to incite a rebellion against us, he would spend as much time fighting his own allies as he would engaging our flights.”

“Fyrakk is a warmonger and a zealot, and I do not think it wise to underestimate him,” Neltharion said.

“You do not know him as I do.” Alexstrasza paused, considering her next words. Fyrakk loved one thing, and one thing alone: fighting. He was an unmatched combatant in the air and on the ground, and he had taught Alexstrasza how to hunt and do battle. In recent centuries, however, the thrill of the fight had consumed Fyrakk, which was no doubt why he called for rebellion against Order magic.

“Yet I see the wisdom in your words,” she continued. “Fyrakk was like a brother to me, but his actions have set him apart. He is different now. Changed.”

Malygos inclined his head. “In more ways than one, it seems. Have you heard the rumors? It is said that Fyrakk has been imbued with elemental energies. How he did this, none can be sure—were they granted by a stronger ally? Drawn from the elemental plane? He claims his power rivals that of the Aspects. Primal dragons flock to his side.”

“My scouts have said as much,” Alexstrasza said. “They tell me Fyrakk has grown in size and strength, that living flames now dance across his scales. Still, I do not fear my cousin—he would decimate his own forces over a perceived insult. He may draw primal dragons to his cause with fiery words and impassioned spirit, but his reckless ways and impulsive nature will fail to keep them.”

“While that may be true, I do not want to ignore the threat he poses,” Malygos said. “If we discount Fyrakk and his rabble-rousing, he may do irreparable harm to our flights. What would happen if he were to convince other primal dragons to draw on the elements, as he has done?”

“We have no authority over Fyrakk,” Alexstrasza said. “What would you have me do? Slay him? My own kin? That is not a course I am willing to entertain.”

Malygos opened his mouth to respond, but Neltharion interrupted the blue Aspect with a deep, quaking rumble in his chest. “It is not Fyrakk who concerns me,” the Earth-Warder said, his voice no more than a murmur, “but Iridikron.”

The name Iridikron fell like a stone weight into the room, sending vibrations through the floor. Alexstrasza sensed the other Aspects’ shock. Even Nozdormu, who looked as composed and stoic as ever, shuddered at the thought. Ysera whipped her tail, agitated. Malygos blinked, his shimmering runes flickering for a moment.

Reclusive and withdrawn, Alexstrasza had never even seen Iridikron. The Stonescaled tended to keep to his den in Harrowsdeep, far to the north in Kalimdor; but she knew he was nearly Neltharion’s equal in strategy, cunning, and strength. Neltharion and Iridikron had long been rivals. Iridikron’s tactical skill and considerable resources, along with Fyrakk’s impetuosity, would indeed be a concern.

Malygos frowned, turning to Neltharion. “You did not tell me Fyrakk was pursuing Iridikron’s support.”

“No, I had word only this morning,” Neltharion replied. “If Iridikron allies with Fyrakk, they will stir the winds of war.”

“I cannot believe they would take things so far,” Alexstrasza replied, shaking her head. “Dragon should not fight dragon.”

“Our detractors do not see us as dragons, but as the keepers’ conscripts,” Neltharion replied. “They would raze Valdrakken to the ground, given the opportunity. I agree with Tyr. We should bolster our numbers. Every egg we claim from the wilds now is one less enemy we face in the future, and one more ally by our side.”

“This is madness,” Alexstrasza said, but she could sense the depth of the Earth-Warder’s concern. “Do you support this plan, Malygos?”

The blue Aspect hesitated. “Support is a strong word, my queen, but Neltharion’s reasoning is sound. If Iridikron the Stonescaled decides to join with Fyrakk and marshal the primal dragons, we will struggle to defend the Broodlands with our current numbers.”

Alexstrasza shook her head. “I refuse to believe that dragonkind will be led to the brink of war over a difference of opinion.”

“Is it a difference of opinion?” Neltharion asked. “Or a fight for our respective ways of life? For our bloodlines? Not everyone has chosen to join in this endeavor, and more than a few have sworn to stand against us. Their ranks will swell, just as ours will continue to do.”

Alexstrasza released a soul-deep sigh. She trusted Neltharion’s dedication to the cause more than that of any other, save perhaps Ysera. His flight had been charged with the protection of the Broodlands, so it came as no surprise that he would be agreeable to Tyr’s admonition. Malygos, too, for he and Neltharion were often of like minds.

“It is prudent to prepare for all eventualities,” Malygos said. “Would you not agree, Nozdormu?”

The bronze Aspect harrumphed, giving both his wings a precise shake and sending bronzed sands scattering across the floor. “I would not agree. This course of action may provoke the very conflict you wish to avoid.”

“Which means?” Neltharion asked, lifting a brow.

“’Tis impossible to say with any certainty,” Nozdormu replied. “I see a thousand futures before our flights, but I could not tell you which way the sands of time will flow. Taking primal dragon eggs from the wilds may be a boon to our flights—it also may be the choice that ends them.”

“The Highfather’s gift has made you frustratingly cryptic, my friend,” Malygos said, but he smirked at the bronze Aspect. Nozdormu gave him an elegant shrug in reply.

“And what of you, sister?” Alexstrasza said, turning to Ysera. “You have been unusually quiet throughout this council.” Ysera, knowing the full extent of Alexstrasza’s gifts, exuded love and compassion for her sister, and for all dragonkind. Empathy, too, given the weight of the decision they faced.

Ysera tilted her head, considering Alexstrasza for a long moment. “I stand with Nozdormu on this matter,” she said. “All things must grow in their own way and in their own time. I cannot condone the disruption of life’s natural cycle, even if Order magic allows for a greater expression of its flow.”

“Then it seems we are at an impasse,” Alexstrasza said, feeling the full burden of her mantle. She had expected the role of Dragon Queen to be difficult, but she had not expected to have her deeply cherished principles at odds with the needs of the dragonflights. How could she make such a decision? How could she, a mother herself, take precious eggs, only to infuse them with Order magic? It was unconscionable, even if the eggs were abandoned and without protection in the wilds, for that was the condition to which she had agreed with Tyr.

And yet Neltharion and Malygos were right—Tyr had given them no choice. What would happen if the Aspects defied the will of the keepers? Would they be deprived of the blessings that had transformed their lives, forced to return to the unenlightened existences they had lived before? Or would their lights be snuffed out entirely, gnats before the might of gods?

Alexstrasza looked out at the dragons who filled the skies above Valdrakken. Their joy was so perfect, so pure. The heart of each burned like a star, so it seemed to her, as though galaxies circled around the Seat in hues of red, green, bronze, black, and blue. She was Dragon Queen, yes, but who was she to risk the health and happiness of the dragons who had chosen to follow her toward a new horizon? How could she place her own morality above their well-being? The individual could not come before the collective, not even when that individual was queen.

No, Alexstrasza would not risk turning the keepers against them, especially with Fyrakk raising a rebellion against the Broodlands. Were that terrible future to come to pass, the Aspects would need every ally they could call upon.

“I see great wisdom on both sides of the matter,” Alexstrasza said, turning her attention back to the other Aspects. “While I personally may object to collecting primal dragon eggs from the wilds, we cannot risk losing the support of Tyr and the other keepers. Were we to deviate too far from their guidance, we cannot know if they would revoke our ordering.”

Neltharion curled his lip at the idea but said nothing.

“Furthermore,” Alexstrasza said, looking to her sister, “you and I both know the survival rate of primal dragons’ eggs in the wilds is abysmally low. Only one in four whelplings might make it to drakehood there. Half the survivors might see five hundred years, or even a thousand. We must think of the lives we will save—those eggs will be better protected in the Broodlands. More whelplings will make it to adulthood under the care of the red dragonflight, and our augmented numbers will better defend the world we all love so well.”

Alexstrasza paused; no one spoke.

“Therefore,” Alexstrasza said, still unsure if the words she spoke were the right ones, and pushing the promise she had made to Vyranoth to the back of her mind, “I sanction the titan-forged to collect primal dragon eggs they find unguarded in the wilds.”

Neltharion and Malygos shared a satisfied look, while Nozdormu simply dipped his head in agreement. Ysera leaned closer to her sister, bumping Alexstrasza’s shoulder with her snout.

But no matter how hard Alexstrasza tried to justify the decision to herself, a shadow moved over her heart.

*   *   *

ALEXSTRASZA SPENT THE REST of her day meeting with various members of her flight, inspecting progress at the Ruby Life Pools, and instructing a larger force of red drakonid to care for the incoming eggs. Wherever she went, Neltharion’s words haunted her: Our detractors do not see us as dragons, but as the keepers’ conscripts. They would raze Valdrakken to the ground, given the opportunity.

Vyranoth’s words rose in an answering cry: Swear to me that you will never force a primal dragon to bow to the will of the keepers.

Alexstrasza had sworn. How she regretted those words now! If Vyranoth refused to understand something as simple as Order magic, she would never empathize with the nuances of Alexstrasza’s position. Not because Vyranoth did not have the capacity to understand, but because her solution would be to forsake Order magic and return dragonkind to its more primal state. If only the answer could be so simple as Vyranoth thought it to be.

As the sun sank toward the horizon, Alexstrasza took her leave from Valdrakken. She dived from the heights of the Seat of the Aspects, reveling in the thrill of a free fall. As the ground rushed toward her, she opened her wings and beat them once, rocketing forward.

Alexstrasza loved the city. From its gleaming white towers to its glistening aqueducts, Valdrakken was fast becoming the Broodlands’ bustling core. Watching its spires rise brought her so much joy. The place was a marvel, a wonder, and unlike anything else on the face of Azeroth. It brought the five flights together in ways Alexstrasza had never imagined possible. Bronzes and blues hunted together with bronze sands and arcane magic; reds and greens encouraged abundant, flowering gardens to grow in the city’s quiet, shaded places; and in the black dragonflight’s enclave, a new Oathstone was being prepared with the help of members of all five flights.

Everywhere she looked, Alexstrasza saw unity. Prosperity. Compassion. If the five dragonflights could find a way to work together in harmony, they could find a path to peace with Fyrakk and his followers, too.

Surely there is a way to avoid hostilities, Alexstrasza thought, sailing past the outskirts of Valdrakken. Surely, we can find that path to peace.

Alexstrasza flew to one of her favorite spots in the Broodlands—a small ledge on the border of the Emerald Plains and the Waking Shores, where she could watch the sunset. She lounged on the warm rock, soaking up its heat. Two large reds circled overhead, keeping an ever-watchful eye on their queen. Below her, the sunset flooded the Waking Shores with gold light, setting the valleys’ pillars and arches of red stone aflame. The air smelled of sweet, dry grass and the world teemed with life. Usually, she could close her eyes and slip into the songs around her: the ancient trees shifting their boughs in the wind or a hawk’s hunting cries . . . but no. Not tonight. Her mind turned and her heart ached, realizing that the living world would wake to a different dawn. One in which Alexstrasza’s decision had either secured or destroyed its peace.

She was unsurprised to sense Ysera approaching on swift wings.

“I knew I would find you here,” the green Aspect said as she alighted on the ledge beside Alexstrasza, setting off little whorls of dust in her wake. “How do you fare, dear one?”

Alexstrasza smiled sadly. “I sense concern in your heart, Ysera. Do not worry for me. I am quite all right.”

“Are you?” Ysera said, bumping her snout against Alexstrasza’s shoulder.

“I am well enough, thank you.”

“Well enough,” Ysera said, “but still brooding.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You would be hard-pressed to hide your heart from me,” Ysera said, stretching out beside Alexstrasza. “Do not worry, sister, we made the right choice. Taking decisive action now may preserve more life than war would take. The way we lived before the keepers was a cruel existence with moments of wild, untamed beauty. Maybe this will encourage those who stand against us to envision a gentler future with us; perhaps the whelps we save will even help us build bridges between us and our primal kin.”

“That is what I tell myself,” Alexstrasza replied, “yet my doubts persist. I must admit, I knew taking on the mantle of Dragon Queen would be difficult . . . but I never expected to make a choice like this.”

“Let your doubts go, sister,” Ysera said, leaning into Alexstrasza’s side. “Your compassion is boundless—that is why the keepers made you queen. You are our beacon, our waypoint, the best of us. I know it is easier said than done, but you do not bear the burden of leadership alone. The Aspects stand with you. I stand with you.”

“I know, and I thank you for it.” Alexstrasza leaned back against her sister. How grateful she was for Ysera’s support! The path they forged together was new, and Alexstrasza was unaccustomed to the heaviness of leadership. With time, she would adjust to the pressures of her role, but for now, all she felt was the weight of others’ expectations. Tyr’s, in particular.

Ysera let out a yawn, her fangs glistening in the dying light. The sisters watched the sun dip below the horizon in silence. As dusk settled over the sky, the rocks purpled. Shadows pooled at the base of the canyon. Stars emerged, then hid their faces behind clouds that crept toward the Broodlands.

The winds stirred, and Alexstrasza smelled wet earth and the sharp tang of lightning on her tongue.

“We should go,” Alexstrasza said. “The hour grows late, and you already have one foot in the Dream.”

“Yes,” Ysera replied, her voice slow and hazy. “Yes, I suppose we should.”

*   *   *

AS THE MOONS ROSE, Neltharion returned to the Obsidian Citadel. Or at least, he returned to the site that would eventually become the Obsidian Citadel. For now, his flight excavated the mountainside, tapped volcanic vents, and shaped stones for the lower levels. One day, it would be a bastion on the Broodlands’ western flank, providing protection from their foes in the west.

Alexstrasza was not unwise, but she underestimated Iridikron’s deep-seated distrust of the keepers and everything they touched. While Neltharion had the utmost faith in the Dragon Queen’s diplomacy, even she would struggle to soften the Stonescaled’s heart. If peace failed and Iridikron brought war to the Broodlands, Neltharion intended to be ready.

The Earth-Warder would, however, need to make his preparations with care, avoiding both Iridikron’s suspicion and the Dragon Queen’s ire. He summoned two of his most trusted scale-crafters to his side—Umbrenion, principal architect of the Obsidian Citadel, and Calcia, leader of the scalesmiths. Together, they descended into the large natural cavern that lay beneath the citadel and stretched for hundreds of wing-lengths under the Broodlands. The temperature rose, and the air smelled sulfurous. Lava poured from cracks in the stone, illuminating the cavern with dim red light. It ran like a red river through the cavern’s center, then split in two around a wedge-shaped stone cliff. Misty light emanated from pockets of the cave, emitted by huge aquamarine crystals and phosphorescent fungi.

Neltharion paused on a ledge overlooking the space. “Now that the citadel is underway, Umbrenion, I want your engineers to turn their attention to the lower caverns.”

“Of course, my Aspect,” Umbrenion replied. “What would you have us do here?”

“I want armories, workshops, and additional forges,” Neltharion said, pointing to the west, north, and south. “We will need training grounds for the drakonid as well. However, I want you to save Zaralek Cavern for me.”

“Might I ask why we need to expand into the lower caverns already?” Calcia inquired, stepping forward to survey the space. “Is the citadel not enough to protect the Broodlands’ western flank, my Aspect?”

“The citadel is sufficient for now, yes,” Neltharion replied. “But we must prepare for an uncertain future with unknowable threats. Survey and map the cavern in advance of our next meeting with the flightleaders—we will decide how to allocate our resources to the construction efforts then.”

Umbrenion bobbed his head. “It shall be done.”

“One final consideration,” Neltharion said as he turned. “This place will be for our flight alone. Tell no one of it, not even the other Aspects. Am I understood?”

“Yes,” Umbrenion and Calcia said in unison.

“Good,” Neltharion replied. “See to it.”

As Neltharion went to leave the cavern, a wordless hiss rose in the back of his mind. He paused, looking over his shoulder, but no one followed him. Umbrenion and Calcia stood several wing-lengths back, discussing directives and making plans. So, then who . . .

“Is everything all right, my Aspect?” Calcia asked, shifting her attention back to him.

Neltharion gave her a firm nod. “Quite,” he said, though it was not the first time he had heard the strange, disembodied whispers while underground. “Carry on,” he said, then hurried from the cavern without another word.

CHAPTER THREE

FYRAKK SOARED HIGH OVER THE NORTHERN PLAINS, the cold air rushing across his molten scales. The frigid temperatures failed to dull the anger coursing through his veins—only the thrill of combat could do that. He craved the clash of fang and claw, the bright bite of pain, the hot rush of violence.

Today, Fyrakk would draw blood from Iridikron’s stone hide.

The word on the winds said that Iridikron had guided Raszageth through the rituals necessary to become imbued with the primal elements. The fact that she had survived the process spoke to the strength of her connection to storm magic, for hundreds of others had perished in the attempt before Fyrakk’s own success.

It wasn’t that Fyrakk minded adding a third Incarnate to their ranks, oh no. They would need more Incarnates if they meant to face the Aspects on the battlefield. Fyrakk was furious because Iridikron hadn’t even consulted him on the matter.

How bold of him! Fyrakk thought. As if I were a mere pawn, and he the unquestioned leader! He swooped lower as he drew closer to Iridikron’s den of Harrowsdeep. In the south, Galakrond’s monstrous rib bones arched into the sky. Though the beast had been dead for more than ten years, scraps of flesh still clung to his bones, flailing in the breeze. The stench from his flesh only stoked the fires of Fyrakk’s anger. Galakrond reminded Fyrakk of Alexstrasza’s victory and “rise” as Dragon Aspect. Too many dragons had chosen to follow his cousin into folly. Even Tyranastrasz, the ancient and righteous wyrm, had chosen Alexstrasza over his own primal nature.

Directly to the south, a new titan abomination took shape, rising in the shadow of Galakrond’s fall. Fyrakk’s scouts said that the Aspects were to name this tower Wyrmrest Temple. To Fyrakk’s eye, the tower was even more monstrous than the stinking pile of Galakrond’s bones. No doubt the Aspects would use the place to spy on the primal dragons—Fyrakk wanted to scorch it to the ground, but Iridikron had forbidden him from attacking the ordered outright.

Do not alarm the Aspects, Iridikron had said. The less they suspect, the better.

Fyrakk had scoffed at the idea. Rather than wait and watch, the Incarnates needed to strike at Valdrakken now, before the Aspects’ dragonflights grew any larger or more powerful. The fifth and final Oathstone had been empowered in Nozdormu’s bastion of Thaldraszus last spring; and Fyrakk had heard of the changes the Oathstones wrought in the flights. By all reports, the ordered were stronger now and more unified. Rumors of their strength drew more dragons to the Broodlands.

No matter. Hundreds of primal dragons had already joined Fyrakk’s cause, as had thousands of tarasek—the small, bipedal dragonkind native to the Dragonwilds. If he and Iridikron flew on Valdrakken, Fyrakk was certain they could crush Alexstrasza and her allies with their combined might.

And yet Iridikron had insisted they wait.

Fyrakk hated that so many of his allies had turned to Iridikron for leadership. If anyone had the right to lead their new movement, it was he. Fyrakk had been the first to speak out against Alexstrasza and the Aspects, the first to survive being suffused by elemental energies, and the one who had rallied a rapidly growing force of primal dragons to the cause! He deserved to lead the growing rebellion, not Iridikron.

Which was exactly why Fyrakk had flown north from his lair in the Caldera. If Iridikron wanted to lead, he would have to take that right by wing and by talon. Fyrakk would not simply bow to Iridikron’s whims—even if Iridikron had been the one to discover how to imbue oneself with elemental energies in the first place.

One massive, craggy peak speared the sky, standing taller than any other mountain in the whole range: Harrowsdeep.

At its base, Fyrakk spotted the mouth of a familiar cavern, one encrusted with glittering ice and snow. Iridikron had dug tunnels far into the world’s crust, allowing him to absorb the element of stone unhindered. It was said the earth itself now responded to the Stonescaled’s mastery. A formidable foe, to be sure, but Fyrakk feared no dragon.

Fyrakk landed in the snow, which melted and hissed beneath his feet. Two primal dragons, each with mottled gray scales, stood guard at the cavern’s entrance.