A/N:Thank you to all who have reviewed, and to Diloph and Coincidencless for being my betas!
Chapter Eleven
The new crystals, red and white, lay scattered across the surface of the stone altar. The light cast by the phosphorescence of the mushrooms that grew on their tall stalks high above shone through the transluscent crystals, creating silver and ruby reflections of light on the stone. Their surfaces glistened with the condensation of Sholazar, long frozen in the depths of the glacier.
The red crystals looked more pink than the brilliant crimson she remembered.
"Curious." Sabel tilted a white crystal, imbued with a faint tinge of purple, in the light. The frost melted against his fingertips. "These are supposed to be purple, but they're paler than the others. I wonder why that is?"
"Purple?" Onyxia crossed her arms.
"I think…" The crystal clinked against the altar as Sabel carefully put it down. "I think each pillar is supposed to represent a Dragonflight. But what does that mean? Is that why the Twilight's Hammer are in Sholazar?"
"That pillar has always been white." Or had it? If the red crystals were paler than they used to be…
"I don't think so." Sabel stroked a purple streak in the gem. "If only Serinar wasn't out, we could ask."
As they waited, Onyxia sat on the shore of the underground lake, alone, for hours. The ice walls stretched upwards around her, like sheets of solid rock, and in front of her the surface of the lake was so still it looked like ice. The branch she had used to navigate the rushing rivers of Sholazar lay across her lap, the closest thing she had to a staff.
Instead of dwelling on Sabel's words, she prepared for the Steward by focusing her thoughts.
It had been a long time since she'd last meditated. The habit had fallen by the wayside in the final year in Stormwind, but she had to have the mental discipline to fight the Steward. He had a lot of power, and she had to be able to fight it by keeping her mind clear of unwanted thoughts and her mental barriers up…
… For all the good it would do.
Before she began she had sent Jettion away to get their bearings and scout out the place above. The hole in the ceiling above the lake had gone ignored for so long, stretching farther than any of them could see and betraying nothing but the hollow sound of the occasional breeze. Jettion was the only one small enough to fly through. If only he'd return soon —
Damn it, she was thinking again. She wrestled with herself, quietened her thoughts, felt her mind go still again —
"I want to meet this Seldarria." Nalice's mortal voice cut into her so-called tranquility.
Wrangling her annoyance away from the surface, Onyxia sighed. "I thought you would want to guard your eggs."
"Why?" said Nalice. "The whelplings that have hatched can take care of themselves."
"The ones that are killing their siblings, you mean?" Out here, Onyxia couldn't hear the shrieks of those who had hatched only to die. Nothing could be done except to heal the injured that survived, and that was Sabel's job. "You've never tried to leave before."
"You make it sound as if you would stop me."
"Since you are the one we've banded together to protect, I would rather you did not squander that." Onyxia's voice was short.
"If what Seldarria has said to you two is true…" Nalice crossed her arms. "… Then the Old Gods don't want me dead. There is little risk."
"Have you ever considered why?" Onyxia stared at the still surface of the lake. In the top corners of her vision, little glowing insects buzzed around the mushroom caps. "If you died and the Old Gods could be blamed, Sabel would refuse to work with Seldarria. They want Sabel, and because they want Sabel, they want us alive. He is too stubborn to work with them on the basis of threats, which is the only reason they haven't threatened us yet."
Nalice sneered. "His protectiveness is humiliating. Does he truly think I'm incompetent at protecting myself?"
"Would we be here if we thought you could survive by yourself?" Before Nalice could spit an angry reply, Onyxia continued. "The question is, what does Sabel have that the Old Gods have risked putting him in a position of power? What does he have that they don't even dare threaten him? What does he have that nobody else does?"
"You said he could train the Heir. This Black Prince." To Onyxia's surprise, Nalice sat beside her on the sand, her legs crossed underneath her plated robes. "He is the oldest shaman in the world, and the only one that is not on the side of the Reds. The Reds have Thrall, no doubt, if he's the 'second most powerful shaman' Seldarria referred to. I suppose they don't want Thrall to get to the Heir before Sabellian does." Nalice sneered. "Just goes to show, they think Sabellian is easier to manipulate than a mortal orc."
"He is ten thousand years old and has far more to teach the child than an orc who is not yet even forty could."
"Hmm," said Nalice. "I see your brat has returned."
Onyxia looked up to see a yellow belly and fluttering wings as Jettion descended towards them. He crashed onto the shore, panting. "It is a long way," he wheezed. "Long. So long." He collapsed snout-first into the sand.
"What have you found?" said Onyxia. "Where are we?"
"There are people up there," said Jettion. "Not many. The passage and the cavern above are made of metal. Man-made. Scourge-made."
"Metal?" said Nalice. "We must be closer to Icecrown Citadel than you thought, Onyxia."
"The cavern up the top is where the people on fire live," said Jettion. "Red fire. Unascended."
"Unascended Reds?" Nalice tapped her finger against her bottom list. "Curious, I wonder where… oh, oh." She smirked. "I should very much like to meet one."
Before Onyxia could open her mouth, Jettion continued. "There's a few natural passages that lead into that cavern," he said. "I think it was the tunnels Eduard warned you to stay away from. The cavern itself, and we, are right underneath Icecrown Citadel."
"Eduard hid us right under the Lich King's nose." Onyxia smirked. "So these people are Unascended Red dragonsworn?" She frowned. There had been that one Unascended in the Grizzly Hills, the one Sabel had refused to tell her much about… "The Reds never leave their dragonsworn Unascended."
"Where are they from?" Onyxia frowned.
"You shan't discover anything from me." Nalice shrugged, her smirk growing as she rose and dusted her robes free of sand. "Perhaps a blast of cold water will be enough to jerk you out of this pointless reverie you've been trapped in."
"They have something to do with the Steward. We need every weapon we can get."
"The Steward's not a threat right now, is he?" Nalice said breezily as she swept away.
Fine. She'd annoy Sabel into talking.
But Sabel refused to say anything after she'd given him all the details. "Fine, yes, they're Reds," he said. He curled up in dragon form in an isolated corner, leading Onyxia to raise an eyebrow. She was sure he'd slept twice already that week. "I kept that from you for good reason and trust me when I say you do not need to know where they come from."
"I'll find out anyway," said Onyxia. "I shall ask Serinar, then."
"He's not here."
"He will be."
"Onyxia." Sabel turned pleading eyes on her. "Trust me. Don't."
"Why can't the Steward know about them?" said Onyxia. "You alluded to some discovery he might make if he knew they were Reds, but how can he not know they're Reds? They're right under his nose."
"So are we, as you said," said Sabel.
"Why is their status as Reds so important?" said Onyxia. "Under what circumstances would the Reds recruit so many dragonsworn and leave them all Unascended?" She narrowed her eyes.
"Trust me." Sabel sighed. "You don't need to know. There are some things that, if you found out about, would put us all in danger and the last thing I want is for you to pick another fight.."
"With who?"
"I don't trust you where this is concerned." Sabel glared at her. "Especially after your stunt with the Brotherhood of Cinders. You've already proven vengeance comes first. Drop it, don't speak of it again."
She had to know. If she was going to reach out to the Steward she needed all the information she could get…
It was strange, that the Old Gods hadn't tried to stop her yet. Surely they must know of it, surely they must have told Seldarria.
But Seldarria hadn't done anything to stop her. Not yet.
Why?
Still, if the Old Gods wanted her and the others to live, they must have complete and utter faith that the Steward wouldn't kill them.
… Or they counted on Onyxia making the Steward worse and turning him to the side of the Old Gods.
Titans damn it.
For now, she had to forget that. For now, she had to practice her mental discipline. She would see the Steward, soon, and no amount of practice would be enough, especially at such short notice...
But better late than never.
-o-O-o-
"Great," said Nalice. "Twilight scum. My favourite kind."
In the jungle with the canopy blotting out the light and vines strewn about covered in moisture and mist, Seldarria, up to her knees in mud, gave Nalice a chilly stare. "The amazing Nalice! Your reputation precedes you like a bad smell."
"That stench is probably you." Nalice yawned.
"Only probably?" Seldarria crossed her arms.
The Obsidian Dawn had ventured out in a storm, having left Saya and Jettion in the caves, but it had passed faster than the three of them had anticipated and now sunlight streamed through the gaps in the dripping leaves above. With the teleportation reagents in a satchel tied to her belt, Onyxia felt little fear in leaving the children with one another. They weren't human children, after all, incapable of being left alone together. If either one attacked the other, she trusted them both not to lie down and die like weaklings, and Jettion knew better than to kill. Onyxia had made sure to put the fear of the Titans into him before she left.
The humidity stuck to Onyxia's skin, so intense that if she wasn't dead she'd think she was sweating. Sabel's hair, sodden by the storm, refused to dry and lay pasted to his face. Onyxia sat down in a puddle on a rock. Given how soaked she was, she wouldn't have been surprised if the action made her drier.
"Once you two are done," said Sabel. "Care to tell me what you want me to do here, Seldarria?"
"Not while they're watching." Seldarria sniffed.
"I'm not leaving," said Onyxia.
"Neither am I," said Nalice airily. "As much as I despise my aunt, we do have one thing in common: when we want something, don't get in our way."
"Should you really be making threats?" Seldarria's eyes narrowed.
Sabel yawned. Onyxia wasn't certain if it was out of exhaustion, boredom, or both. He was always tired, these days.
"Since the Old Gods told you where we were all along..." Nalice crossed her arms. "Plainly you want us alive. So yes, I will make as many threats as I damn well like."
"Fine," said Seldarria flatly. "But remember, you two. The Old Gods are watching." She gave Onyxia a pointed, hateful look. "I know everything you're planning."
"Please!" said Onyxia. "Do tell everyone what these plans might be."
Sabel gave her a suspicious look. "What are you up to?"
Seldarria glared at Onyxia for a long moment, before Seldarria snorted. "What does it matter?"
Hmm. So the Old Gods did want her to find the Steward, and didn't want Sabel to stop her.
Was she wandering into a trap?
But she needed him and the shield over her mind he had the potential to provide. She needed the privacy to make plans against the Old Gods. New plans, new plans that they didn't know inside and out.
"We already know that the pillars each correspond to a Dragonflight," said Onyxia. "Do not attempt to hide anything from us."
"Hmm, yes, it was impressive that you figured that out." Seldarria glanced behind her. The ruined Lifeblood beacon lay partially obscured by tents, vines and one large tree.
"What I want to know is why the Glimmering Pillar is white," said Onyxia. "And why the Lifeblood Pillar has turned pink."
"Surely you can guess?"
"Since they are the palest of the crystals…" Onyxia frowned. "It's simple. Corruption. As each Flight grows more corrupt, the crystals pale and lose their natural power. The Black Dragonflight has been corrupt for ten thousand years, which is why the crystals are white, and the Red Dragonflight's corruption has been accelerated in recent years."
"Perhaps you're not a complete idiot." Seldarria gestured them into the camp. She tugged vines away from the Lifeblood beacon. "Ugh, I only pulled off a few vines last week, they grow like weeds. But, yes, I may as well tell you what we're doing here since you're bound to figure it all out. We're trying to restore each of the pillars. Each of them need recharging, but the Lifeblood and Glimmering pillars need more than the rest do."
"Why?" said Nalice flatly. "Wouldn't your masters prefer them destroyed, since they're Titanic?"
"Isn't it in your best interests to help?" Something hissed at Seldarria's feet. She picked up a snake by the tail and idly tossed it at Nalice. Nalice caught it with one hand, and wrung its neck. Sabel winced. Seldarria picked a tarantula off the beacon and said, "You do want to purify your Flight, after all, and the beacons would offer far more power if they were restored."
"Except you don't want to purify the Flight, you have something else in mind."
"Obviously. It's unfortunate that getting closer to my goals means you get closer to your own, but it's another risk we have to take."
"What's the catch?" said Onyxia. "You could kill us and restore them yourselves without any risk."
"No, we couldn't." Seldarria offered the tarantula to Nalice. Nalice took it and placed it on Sabel's head. He pretended not to notice. "Otherwise you'd be dead. There's no risk, because we always know what you're thinking, and believe me, Onyxia, nothing can change that." She gave Onyxia a pointed look. Sabel quietly reached up a hand above his head, and sighed when fangs latched onto his finger. "The Flight's not about to be purified by your attempts any time soon."
"It's the Glimmering Pillar." Sabel's hand was stuck through with tiny quills from the tarantula's body, but finally managed to detach the spider from his hair. He chucked it into a pile of fern leaves, and set to work gingerly removing the needles from his skin. "You won't be able to restore it in its state of deterioration because our Flight is corrupt. However, you may be able to patch up the damage with a pure source of earth…"
"Which is what you want the Black Prince for," Onyxia realised. "Sabel could teach the child to harness his magic, that magic gets fed into the Glimmering Pillar, and then the beacon there is restored."
"Now can you see why it is in your best interests to help?" Seldarria tilted her head. "Feed the Black Prince's magic into that beacon, calibrate it to work with that Eye of the Watchers device that's in Wyrmrest…" Onyxia had a feeling there might be a few Twilight Hammer-affiliated thieves trying to sneak into Wyrmrest to get rid of it in order to sabotage them. She made the mental note to mention this to Eduard. "… And you have a weapon that will purify your Flight."
"It's not as simple as that, is it?" said Sabel. "Or you wouldn't be giving it away. You're going to kill us once the Glimmering Pillar is restored, because then you'll have no use for us, and you don't want us purified. The Heir of Earth especially will be in danger."
"Do I look like I can fight several fully-grown dragons by myself?" Seldarria rose her hands as if in supplication.
"No, but you could set the rest of the world on us," said Sabel. "Helping you is too dangerous."
"But it's a risk you have to take," said Seldarria. "It's a risk the Old Gods have to take. Fortunately, as omniscient as they are, they have the upper hand."
"And what are they going to do with those pillars once they're restored?" said Onyxia. "And how do you plan on restoring the others? Wouldn't you need a pure source for them, too?"
"For the first question, I'm not stupid enough to tell you," said Seldarria. "For your second, I'll tell you closer to the time, because I know better than to make myself redundant to you. For the third question, no, not necessarily. All the Flights are corrupt, to varying degrees, but the Glimmering Pillar is the only pillar that needs a dragon to charge it."
"What about the Red pillar?"
Seldarria gestured back to the camp. Several pinkish red totems lay scattered around the tent. "They need an extra power source, too, but that's what this basin is for. It's teeming with life energy, and that life energy is what will restore the Red beacon."
"But that life energy came from…" Sabel frowned. "No, wait, it's been destroyed long enough…"
"It didn't come from the beacon, actually." Seldarria picked up a smaller totem, the size of her hand. "The Titans put the life energy into the basin. All the beacons did was maintain it. Although the Lifeblood Pillar was destroyed, it never fully stopped working, it only malfunctioned, which was what allowed the Scourge to invade during the Northrend Campaign. Due to some of the magic we've been using on the beacon, we've managed to get it working again, even with its corruption and destroyed state. See?"
Seldarria gestured to the beacon. Onyxia looked closely.
Right at the place where the beacon touched the undergrowth, she could make out a few tiny vines already growing where Seldarria had ripped out their forerunners.
"It's not just the power of the other beacons that has made the Lost Lands grow back so quickly," said Seldarria. "We ran a test, and fed a little of the natural power of the Red Flight into the beacon some time ago, and this was the result. Each beacon, by the time we're done, will have the power their Flight represents. Life, dream, magic, time and earth."
"It won't be nearly as powerful as the Aspects," said Sabel.
"No." Seldarria smiled. Nalice bristled and clenched her teeth; even Onyxia, with all the years she'd spent among mortals and their smiles, twitched at the sight of complacency the smile represented. "But they won't need to be for what we have planned. And no, you're not going to find out."
-o-O-o-
"Is it really wise to leave tonight?" Came Clarisse's hissed voice. "It will take you a long time to get to the Eastern Kingdoms, you won't be able to hail another ship this far north, is it really wise?"
"It's now or never." Sam's — Leo's — voice was silent in the darkness as she pressed her ear against the door of their cabin, listening. "I drugged the soup tonight. They oughta be dead to the world."
"The rest of us will still be here," said Clarisse, hovering nearby.
"You won't get blamed." Quietly, Sam opened the door. "I can guarantee it."
It was a lie, of course. Clarisse didn't ask for elaboration; she trusted Leonardo Withering.
Sam had no choice but to leave Clarisse, Twisty and Gavel in the lurch. Last time she'd tried to do the right thing during an important mission…
Well.
Onyxia had died.
They'd be alright. They wouldn't die, they'd only be arrested, and sooner or later the real Leo would express confusion over it, and they'd realise what had happened. Sam would be long gone by then.
Now to see how it would turn out...
It was midnight. Gavel and Twisty were in their cabin asleep, and Clarisse had sabotaged one of the lifeboats half an hour before under the cover of darkness. Early in the evening the Frostmoon night elf had disappeared into his quarters with a tureen of soup, too big for him to eat alone. John must be holed up in there, guarding the egg.
Well, he sure as hell wouldn't be awake right now.
"Come on." Sam moved through the doorway.
The ship was silent at that time of night. The ship creaked as it swayed in the water. The crew may have been unworried about seeing people walking around at night, having complete faith in the Brotherhood of Cinders and Frostmoon Federation not to steal from the merchants and other passengers, but if Sam could avoid having Clarisse being seen, she would. Both women slipped into stealth as they stepped into the corridor. Sam was careful with her footsteps, stepping along the lines of nails that pinned the boards to beams below. Hearing no sound behind her, she assumed Clarisse did the same.
"How will we know which one's theirs?" Clarisse's voice was so quiet Sam wouldn't have caught it if she were still mortal. Sam didn't answer.
She followed her nose.
Her sense of smell wasn't as keen as a dragon's, but it was good enough. She could smell the mixture of scents left on the floorboards by people until about a day before. She could identify people by their scent, too. As she went by each door she paused, leaning close to the door and taking an inconspicuous sniff of the handle in case Clarisse was close enough to see through her stealth. The scents were familiar, but not the right ones.
It wasn't until she was deeper into the ship that she smelled a familiar scent at last; John's, mixed with a fresher layer of night elf. It was outside that door that she paused and held up a hand. Clarisse didn't see it; she almost crashed into Sam.
A single lantern hung from a hook behind them. She gestured to Clarisse to get her attention, and then to the lantern. Clarisse nodded. Slowly, she opened the lantern, licked her fingers and snuffed the candle out.
They were shrouded in darkness. No light came from underneath the door.
Clarisse waved her aside. Samia obliged and pressed against the wall. The sound of footsteps made them both tense, but a watchman walked past them without seeing them. He frowned at the snuffed-out candle in the lantern, muttered to himself, and hurried on.
They didn't have much time until the watchman came back.
Samia sighed in relief as Clarisse's tools jiggled in the keyhole. Her heart beat so fast it threatened to choke her.
The door clicked. It sounded like the crack of a whip in the silence. Both tensed.
Without the light behind her to announce her arrival, Samia got to work on the door. Pushing up the door by the handle as she slowly rotated it, lest the door be the kind to get stuck, she allowed the catch to retreat fully into the wood before she slowly pushed it open. She listened intently for the hinges to creak, going at a snail's pace, but she heard no sound.
When it was open far enough, she checked the floor for a safe place on the floor and slipped inside. Clarisse came in after her, nudging the door to.
Dragonspawn could see keenly in the darkness, better than a dragon, better than any mortal. Except, perhaps, a night elf. Samia swept her eyes over the room, noticed the soup tureen on the bedside table, reflecting some light from the clouded-over moons through a porthole. A bulging backpack lay half underneath the —
Bed?
Damn it, the Frostmoon Federation got better quarters than they did! She supposed they deserved it for killing Arthas, but still, hmph.
Hmm. The backpack had to have the egg, but there was only one lump under the covers above it. The night elf or John; where was the other? As Clarisse stepped towards the pack, Samia double-checked the room.
A shadow revealed itself in the corner. A human-shaped shadow. It lifted a gun and pointed it straight at Samia.
Oh, hell, so much for silence.
Samia lunged. She whipped up her hand and sent the gun's mouth straight to the ceiling. The explosive shot sent splinters of wood raining down from a damaged beam as John snarled at her. She twisted around, ready to send an elbow to his stomach —
Something white exploded in her vision. She screwed her eyes and mouth shut just in time as powder was sent over her face and up her nose. She breathed in and —
Agony.
Her nasal passages were on fire, her throat seared with pain and choked her. She fell to her knees, hacking and coughing and sneezing. That wasn't normal blinding powder, what the hell was in it?
"Get him out!" came the night elf's booming voice, accompanied by a thud and a grunt from Clarisse's direction. "If it kills him we're all going down!"
"I don't think it will," came John's voice. "I diluted it, I'm not stupid. It's not enough to kill even a whelp — "
"Look at him!" said the night elf. For a moment his voice paused there, interrupted by a yell. Clarisse shrieked. There was another thud. "Fucking wench — look at him, John, he can't breathe, he's going to suffocate and then he'll die. Toss him out the window."
"The bitch has the egg!"
"Is she a dragon too?"
"Shove the Dragonbane powder down her throat and find out!"
Clarisse shrieked again, and this time it was the night elf who crashed to the floor. Sam gasped for air. Even as her throat cleared it was hard to breathe…
The egg thudded to the floor. Sam lunged at it.
A boot hit the side of her head, and her vision exploded into stars. "You must think I'm stupid," said John. "It was a nice try with the drugged soup, but I've been sleeping days instead of nights. I've been waiting for you. I was only out for a couple of hours before I woke up." Arms came around her and tried to haul her away.
Her throat continued to burn as Sam flailed and struggled, sending a fist in his direction. It grew harder to breathe; her nose was completely blocked and her throat threatened to follow suit. Her face stung. She wriggled out of his arms and rolled to the side, still gasping, and kicked at his ankles.
The night elf cried out. Sam heard the kaliri announce its presence with a screech. John dropped Sam with a heavy thud, and when she saw him hold another fistful of white powder her arms flew over her face. The powder stuck to her sleeves and gloves, but her face was protected. She didn't waste another moment, sending a fist to John's stomach.
She flew herself to the floor. Clarisse was trapped in the night elf's headlock. At her feet lay the egg; Sam seized it without hesitation.
Her vision began to blur. Her limbs tingled, and as she stood she almost stumbled from vertigo. She gasped and gasped for an air supply that lessened by the moment. Help! she called out to the elemental spirits. Help me, please! We need you!
Nothing answered. Nothing even looked at her.
A flurry of feathers and the kaliri crashed to the ground beside Samia. She barely noticed; as her world grew hazy she allowed instinct to take over. She abandoned the struggling Clarisse and stumbled from the room, clawing her way up the stairs as her throat started to close. Each step felt as if she climbed up a mountain, getting harder and harder as she ascended above decks and into the night.
Everything went dark around the edges. Everything swam around her, and the tingling in her limbs grew worse, and now no air came through her mouth or nose at all. Her lungs strained, but even the air already in there couldn't escape. It grew harder to keep her balance; she smacked her head straight into the side of the life boat that awaited her. She reached for it with one hand, almost dropped the egg, and the ship swayed and sent her staggering to the side.
In the chaos, she heard the thundering of footsteps. Her terror emanated through the air, sweated through her gloves and touched the shell, surrounding it in a haze of fear.
The whelpling inside moved.
No! she begged it. You can't hatch, not now, please, it's too dangerous!
But if the whelp could hear her, it wasn't listening. Thin cracks ran down the egg's surface. She had to stop it from hatching, she needed —
She needed air! She slammed a hip against the railing. Reason escaped her; thoughts rushed through her head that made no sense. She needed air, she needed air, she needed air —
No, said something within her, powerful and terrifying and only making her feel worse as it crept underneath her skin like an army of ants that had her itching and squirming. You need water.
The world darkened. Colour bloomed and mixed in front of her eyes. Her back pressed against the railing.
Water, said the voiceless, wordless thing within her, as gentle and caring as an abusive parent playing the loving mother. You need water. Fall over the deck. Go.
Dim shapes advanced on her, weapons glinting in the moonlight. Her legs buckled beneath her. She slumped backwards against the rail, tipped over —
Our kind and your kind have not ever gotten along, said the wordless, voiceless thing. But this time, you can trust us. You must, or all is lost. Water. You need water.
She fell.
Her back hit the water with a splash. The surface closed over her face and clothes, and the weight of the egg on her chest sent her sinking as it hastily repaired itself.
Sound disappeared. Sight blurred, and faded away.
She floated in a void, steadily sinking as the ship sailed on above and left her behind. Her arm slipped from the egg. Her limbs were numb and without feeling.
The world bled into nothingness as unconsciousness took her.
There, said the voiceless, worldess thing. The egg slipped from her body and pitched into the darkness below. Now, change. You were a bird once, an arakkoa of the mountains…
Some magic took a hold of her, spending the last shred of energy in her body to morph and shift her form. Her arms split in two. Her legs welded together. Slits opened up in her sides.
Samia gasped as oxygen flooded her system, awakening her with a powerful jolt. A powerful dizzy spell threatened to overwhelm her, so severe she couldn't tell up from down as a natural high gripped her. A few more breaths brought the world steadily back into focus, reigniting the tingling of her arms and —
— tail?
Now, become a fish, a naga of the sea.
Her throat was still closed up, but she didn't need it. Gills lined her sides, taking in blessed oxygen for her. She still felt sick, she felt as if she was going to throw up, her head felt clouded but she was alive, and —
The boy is falling. Save him.
But she struggled to move all four arms, used to only two, and when she tried to kick her legs her tail swished uselessly in the water.
Save him!
She kicked and wriggled her hips and tipped her head downwards, new eyes staring through the gloom of the water. She strained to coordinate all four of her arms, to move her tail to propel her through the water. Unused to the new body, she struggled.
You have to save him, Samia Inkling! Haven't you made enough mistakes?
It got easier to control her tail, to control her arms, pressing all of her limbs against her side and wriggling down through the water. In the night's darkness she could barely make out a dim silhouette far below.
Faster, faster!
She felt so sick, so dizzy, but she struggled and strained and her body obeyed her reluctantly. Finally, she caught up with the egg and embraced it tightly, the surface far above. She stopped herself for a moment; the sudden movement had sent her to the edge of dizziness again. She clung to the egg and waited for it to pass. Soon the world was steady and her breathing back to normal.
Strange, how her body had just known what to transform into...
She paused. Although the danger of suffocating from the initial allergic reaction had passed, there was still Dragonbane, however dilute, running through her system. More and more by the moment her temperature increased and her heartbeat sped up.
Fool, said the voiceless, wordless thing. You may be a rogue, but have you forgotten you are also a shaman? You need not rely on the spirits that ignore you to cleanse your body of toxins. Do it.
Two of her hands glowed green, the only light in the abyss. The nausea faded. The poison vented through her pores, and she swam away from the cloud to prevent recontamination. Already, the nausea faded quickly. Her heartbeat returned to normal.
Now, in which direction was the Eastern Kingdoms?
See? crooned the worldess, voiceless thing, unheard by her and only dimly acknowledged. We are not always bad, Samia Inkling. We do help, sometimes. Just as we allowed the Obsidian Dawn to go undiscovered by the Reds, we will, too, protect you from death.
After all, we cannot allow either of the children to die.
Not yet.
-o-O-o-
On a blustery night in the Wetlands, with the wind blowing rain into their faces, four assassins stood knee-deep in mud, staring at the corpse in front of them.
Wrathion hatched in the dead arms of his substitute parent, and the first thing he touched was not air, but mud. It clung to his wings and scales as he struggled upwards and broke the surface with his snout, and Wrathion took his first ever breath of air.
Wrathion had called, and his father had come.
"Agent Hackett," said the voice Wrathion knew to be Fahrad's, the hidden Black dragon of Ravenholdt and Nyxondra's mate. "Pick him up before he drowns."
A woman's hands, calloused with work, freed him from the mud with a sucking sound. Wrathion stretched his wings in the wind as the rain washed the mud from his body.
The first thing he ever saw with his own eyes was a familiar face, with a grey eye and sharp features. Her hair struggled out of its ponytail in the gale, flicking black strands into Wrathion's eyes, and most of it stuck to her cheeks and neck. One eye was covered by a black patch, but the other was wide, unbelieving… and then derisive.
"This," said Agent Hackett, scowling, "is what we postponed the attack for? A dragon?"
"Don't argue, Hackett," said Fahrad. "He is your superior. His name is Wrathion, and we serve him now. We are his new family."
New. Ha. Fahrad thought that Wrathion didn't know he was a dragon, that Wrathion couldn't read minds, that Wrathion had simply sent out a psychic call he had been able to answer. Fahrad had obeyed the new voice in his head and found Wrathion, just as the whelp wanted.
Hackett's grip on Wrathion tightened in her fury. Wrathion narrowed his eyes as she turned a disgusted look on Fahrad. "Are you insane? Haven't I already told you what the Black dragons are capable of?"
"Enough, Hackett."
"People have been dying in the Sludge Fields for months." Hackett's voice was climbing until it grew louder than the wind. Even as thunder struck above, Wrathion still heard her tirade. ""I'm not the only one with family in there. Most of your agents have, too, remember that before you throw their loyalty away for this. Stormwind's abandoned us, you're our only hope, and you go after scaled rats!"
A slapping sound. Hackett dropped Wrathion back into the mud as she was sent reeling from Fahrad's backhand. Wrathion did not struggle for long; Fahrad's fingers closed over him, tender like a father's, and brought him from the mud once again and cradled him in warm arms. Fahrad gazed down at him, wiping the mud from Wrathion's eyes and snout. "Should I kill her?"
Wrathion wanted to. Titans, did he want to. For too long he had practiced self control and now he wanted, more than anything, to let go.
But what was the point in sabotaging his carefully-developed discipline?
"She will come around," he said. It felt strange, to talk with a mouth instead of his mind. "We must focus on my father's demise. That is worth the cost of any human life."
Let Fahrad think he didn't know. Let him assume that Wrathion thought Deathwing was his father.
In a way, Deathwing was his father. The father of the Black Dragonflight, and the one who held the position of Aspect of Earth before Wrathion would take it for himself, one day.
He'd deal with Fahrad in his own time.
Hackett stared at him, stunned. The other assassins' expressions ranged from surprised to apathetic, depending on how easy their minds had been to manipulate. Hackett, unfortunately, was almost as strong willed as her doppleganger and spat, "No. It's not worth it."
"Watch it." Fahrad ran a hand down Wrathion's back, a soothing, protective gesture. "Head back out," he said. "It's a long way back, and we have much to do. And I better not hear any more whingeing from you, Hackett."
