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DON’T MISS THESE OTHER TALES IN THE
JAINA PROUDMOORE: TIDES OF WAR
by Christie Golden
WOLFHEART
by Richard A. Knaak
THRALL: TWILIGHT OF THE ASPECTS
by Christie Golden
THE SHATTERING: PRELUDE TO CATACLYSM
by Christie Golden
STORMRAGE
by Richard A. Knaak
ARTHAS: RISE OF THE LICH KING
by Christie Golden
NIGHT OF THE DRAGON
by Richard A. Knaak
BEYOND THE DARK PORTAL
by Aaron Rosenberg & Christie Golden
TIDES OF DARKNESS
by Aaron Rosenberg
RISE OF THE HORDE
by Christie Golden
CYCLE OF HATRED
by Keith R. A. DeCandido
WAR OF THE ANCIENTS: BOOK ONE—THE WELL OF ETERNITY
by Richard A. Knaak
WAR OF THE ANCIENTS: BOOK TWO—THE DEMON SOUL
by Richard A. Knaak
WAR OF THE ANCIENTS: BOOK THREE—THE SUNDERING
by Richard A. Knaak
DAY OF THE DRAGON
by Richard A. Knaak
LORD OF THE CLANS
by Christie Golden
THE LAST GUARDIAN
by Jeff Grubb
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Maps of Northrend
Part I
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Notes
Further Reading
The Battle Rages On
About the Author
PART I
ONE
WYRMREST
His vague shadow passed over the immense structure below as he circled to land. Even though he had been here before, the scope and age of the stone temple and its surroundings still struck him hard. The temple rose several levels high, with each level built for a race obviously towering over humans and orcs. The rows of grooved columns that lined the outside from the circular base to the rounded top stood like an army of sentinels surveying every desolate direction of the chilling Dragon Wastes. Long fangs of ice draped the ancient edifice, and vicious cracks ran through many of the columns and curved archways, but despite the ravages of time and several fierce conflicts that had engulfed it, Wyrmrest stood defiant, eternal.
It was, to him, a welcome contrast to the horrific and seemingly endless transformations plaguing the world of Azeroth.
The others would already be here. He peered at the distant shrines to each of the great dragonflights—bronze, emerald, azure, ruby, and obsidian—surrounding Wyrmrest. They were shrines without purpose now, the dragonflights in disarray or decimated. Even Wyrmrest, though it might stand ten millennia more, risked being nothing but a relic of a time and hope long past.
The great blue dragon sighed and began his descent. As he did, his gaze briefly shifted far beyond the temple and the shrines to the north, where unsettling mounds dotted the icy landscape. He quickly looked away. Each mound was the frost-encrusted corpse of a dragon; some of the mounds dated thousands upon thousands of years back. The Dragon Wastes were the graveyard of hundreds of his kind, whatever their color. It was a grim reminder that even the mightiest of creatures were not invulnerable.
The winged leviathan focused again on his destination. Wyrmrest seemed to swell before his eyes. By the time he neared one of the entrances at the base, the dragon was dwarfed by the temple. He alighted, and then, with one last glance around, stepped inside.
The interior did nothing to lessen the sense of enormity, the first chamber rising more than three times the dragon’s height. Torches that still stayed lit despite the millennia gave some weak illumination. Ancient carvings loomed over him, many of them of indistinct figures with some resemblance to humans or elves, and yet were clearly not. Whether these were meant to represent the titans, the godlike beings who had brought order to the chaos and reshaped Azeroth to its current form, or had been carved with some other intent, the dragon did not know. This place had been built long before his time, indeed, long before the time of dragons in general.
No one knew the reason for its construction, but long ago it had become the meeting place for the greatest of his kind, the Aspects—guardians of not only all dragons, but all Azeroth. Here, over the millennia, the five champions had assembled to coordinate the actions of the dragonflights. Here, during the Nexus War—in which the Aspect of Magic had led the blue dragonflight in an attempt to purge Azeroth of all mortal spellcasters who did not bow to his utter control—the leaders of the three other dragonflights had created the Wyrmrest Accord, an annual gathering in which they discussed what courses of action to take in regard to the oft-precarious future of the world. Here, after the War of the Ancients—when demons had invaded Azeroth and ancient Kalimdor had been sundered—four of them, Malygos at that time still very much included, had come to determine their next step to counter the treachery of one of their own. The last had become one of their predominant tasks, but even that long struggle paled against what had actually been their primary goal since the beginning: nothing less than preventing the Hour of Twilight, when all life on Azeroth would become extinct.
That extraordinary victory had at last been achieved . . . at the greatest of costs for the Aspects. Now, here, for the first time since this ancient edifice had been chosen as their meeting place, the four remaining former Aspects came not as the world’s champions, but simply as themselves.
The dragon descended into a gorge carved into the ice, arriving at the lowest, half-buried portion of the temple. He listened, but heard no voices rising from within. It was possible that he had arrived before the others after all. He considered departing the temple and finding a nearby place to wait until one of the others turned up—for even after reassurance from the others, he still felt that as the youngest it was not his place to be first among them in any manner—but finally proceeded.
But as the scaled behemoth entered the lower level, he finally heard one of the others. Nozdormu. Trust the bronze dragon to still be the timeliest of them, even now. . . .
What the other male said, the blue dragon could not make out. However, the reply of the one with whom Nozdormu spoke came clear.
“We shall wait until we are all here,” a soft yet commanding female voice answered. “Kalecgos deserves as much respect in that regard as any of us.”
Hearing his name, the blue dragon surged forward. Not only was he not first, he had clearly kept the others waiting.
“I am here!” the blue roared. He entered a wide, circular chamber, the center of which contained a raised marble platform reachable by steps at the northern and southern points of the compass. Each corner of the platform was also topped by a huge column.
Nozdormu turned his sharp gaze to the newcomer, the gargantuan bronze dragon flanked by two females equally imposing in size and majesty. The long, sleek emerald green dragon to the bronze’s right stared unblinking at the blue with rainbow-colored orbs; Ysera, once She of the Dreaming, she for millennia of the ever-closed eyes, now never shut them even for an instant. She nodded to Kalecgos, but did not speak.
At Nozdormu’s other side, a majestic crimson female took a few steps toward the blue. In size and girth, she outdid any of the three, but there was a gentleness about her that belied her fearsome appearance. A long crest stretched down from her back to her tail, and the blue dragon knew that if she stretched her wings, their expanse would be wide enough to obscure her two companions.
Three other dragons of slightly lesser size bowed their heads at his arrival. Each of the three stood positioned on the wide platform behind the former Aspect whose color they matched. These were among the most trusted, the most battle-tested of those who had served the champions. Kalecgos knew each well, from the swift and ready Chronormu—or Chromie, as she was referred to by those nearest her—to brave Merithra, daughter of Ysera. Of the three, though, he was probably most familiar with crimson Afrasastrasz, he who had once been commander of Wyrmrest’s defenses during the struggle against the Twilight’s Hammer, the fanatical cult that had tried to hasten the end of Azeroth.
The latter trio remained quiet and in the background. They were here to listen. Their presence reminded him once again that he, too, should have been accompanied.
The only problem was, there had no longer been anyone left in the Nexus to do that.
“There is no need to fear, Kalecgos,” the lead red dragon calmly responded to his outburst, her voice melodic, calming. “We knew that you would be along shortly. Nozdormu merely expressed concern for you—did you not, Nozdormu?”
“As you sssay,” the bronze replied vaguely. His voice bespoke age and wisdom even though, like the others, he appeared in the fullness of life.
“You are too kind.” The blue bowed his long, crested head toward the elder dragons, then, to the crimson female, added, “Kalec, if you please, Alexstrasza.”
Nozdormu snorted, but Alexstrasza nodded. “Kalec. Forgive me for forgetting your preferred—what do the younger races call it?—nickname. But I thought you only liked its use when in a humanoid form.”
“Of late I’ve come to prefer it at all times.” Kalec did not elaborate.
“Perhaps we should all have nicknames,” Ysera interjected without a hint of sarcasm. “After all, it is their world now. Indeed, I find I spend more time of late in a humanoid form than I do in this, my birth one. Perhaps that would be the best and quickest way to close our era. . . .”
Her blunt words silenced the other three. After a moment clearly uncomfortable to all of them, Alexstrasza moved to take up a position at the very center of the wide dais. The other three followed suit, Nozdormu moving to the southern edge, Ysera to the east, and Kalec to the north. The west—Neltharion’s place—had remained empty since his ancient betrayal.
The red dragon surveyed the others; then, gazing up for a moment, she declared, “Let this gathering of the Accord begin!”
Once, this pronouncement would have been accompanied by some magical spectacle, but such displays were a thing of the past. Fearsome these four behemoths might still be, but guardians of Azeroth they were not. They had sacrificed their roles as Aspects in order to vanquish once and for all the monstrous black dragon Deathwing. Deathwing . . . he who had once been their comrade, Neltharion, and who, in his evil madness, had nearly succeeded in bringing about the Hour of Twilight.
It had been a worthy sacrifice, but Kalec was well aware that in its wake, it had left all four forever altered.
Kalec surreptitiously studied the elder three. He had come only lately into the role of Aspect of Magic, grudgingly accepting both it and rule over the blue dragonflight after the downfall of his predecessor and lord, Malygos. Malygos, also called the Spell-Weaver, had grown tired of what he considered the misuse of arcane magic by the lesser races, and had finally declared that such power was to be entrusted only to dragons and their allies. The Nexus War had swept across Azeroth and had ended only when, with the aid of Alexstrasza and a handful of her drakes, a band of heroes had entered the heart of his domain—the Nexus itself—and had regretfully put an end to both Malygos and his monstrous crusade. Seeking a new leader, the blue dragons had turned to the member of their flight who, through events, had proven to be the one whom they could trust most to lead: Kalec.
The blue waited, but no one spoke. Even Alexstrasza seemed uninterested in continuing beyond calling the Accord to order. The Life-Binder appeared to be waiting for one of the others to take control, something that neither Ysera nor Nozdormu showed the slightest inclination of doing.
But others did. Growing more visibly impatient than even Kalec felt, Chromie broke the silence. “If I may be permitted, there is a matter of concern. The timeways appear to be in flux! It may have to do with when the Dragon Soul was seized—”
Nozdormu cut her off. “The timeways are no longer our concern! They are beyond my ability to control. From here on, the younger races and the younger races alone will deal with both them and whatever paths to the future they lead to.”
Chronormu obviously wanted to say more, but instead nodded. However, as she withdrew, Ysera’s daughter dared speak up. “Perhaps I speak out of turn also, but there have been rumors that the Nightmare stirs in the Rift of Aln. It may be seeking a new puppet, another Nightmare Lord that will help it again reach from the Emerald Dream into the waking world. . . .”
“We have discussed this,” Ysera pointedly reprimanded the other green. The former Aspect’s expression momentarily changed. “I think we did . . . yes! We did! The rift and the corruption still touching the Emerald Dream will be dealt with by the druids . . . yes, the druids! The night elf Naralex has already led an effort that has seen the Nightmare sealed off. The druids will guard against the Nightmare more ably than we can now.”
The speech was a far more focused, more concentrated one than those Kalec had heard from Ysera shortly after the green’s loss of her Aspect role and its powers. Then, Ysera had seemed absentminded and unable to articulate her thoughts well. Since that time, however, her mind had clearly made strides in regaining much of what it had lost.
Merithra looked deflated. “As you say, Mother.”
Once again, an uneasy silence reigned over the assembly. Afrasastrasz, wiser than the other two subordinates, looked disinclined to add his own voice. Kalec suddenly felt acutely aware of the lack of anyone at his own side.
It was as if time had stopped. No one even moved. Finally, well aware that it was his youth in part that stirred his impatience beyond his ability to command, Kalec blurted, “I would speak!”
With only the mildest visible curiosity, the other leviathans looked his way.
A sense of intimidation washed over Kalec, but he quickly recognized it as his own uncertainty, not any disdain on their part. His life, as tragic as much of it had been, was less than nothing compared to the combined suffering of these venerable beings. That he had been considered an equal even for a time still daunted him.
“Well?” Ysera finally responded. “If you wish to speak, then you should speak. Simple enough.”
Kalec was a little taken aback by her directness. Ysera had been the Dreamer. Now she saw nothing but waste in dreaming or even hesitating. “The contents of the Nexus—”
“Is that all it is about?” She looked even less interested than before. “The concerns of any one dragonflight are its alone. You know that. Does your subject concern the rest of us in any way?”
“Not directly—”
“ ‘Not directly.’ Then, it doesn’t, which means that discussion is at an end. Indeed, there doesn’t seem to be any relevant discussion thus far.” Turning to Alexstrasza, Ysera grumbled, “I told you, didn’t I? I certainly remember wanting to! Yes . . . I did! I told you I thought it was a mistake even bothering to gather here, my sister—”
“We have always met at this cycle of the twin moons. It would have been disrespectful not to.”
Nozdormu snorted again. “Disssrespectful to whom? Elune? The Mother Moon has her night elvesss to worship her. Disssrespectful to the titans or their servants, the keepers? We do not even know
if the titansss exist anymore! It is certainly not disssrespectful to us. I agree with Ysera. This was a missstake. There is no point to the Accord anymore. If this gathering has any purpossse to it, it should be to finally put the Accord to rest and let each of us move on with our own problemsss.”
Kalec was stunned by the unexpected course of the brief conversation. He waited breathlessly for Alexstrasza to calm the other two down, but the Life-Binder did not argue. Indeed, Alexstrasza seemed to mull over Nozdormu’s suggestion as if it had tremendous merit.
The blue dragon abandoned his position, moving toward the center and in front of Alexstrasza as he faced the bronze. “But the Accord is not merely about us! It’s become the backbone of all draconic interaction over the millennia! The Accord kept order among our flights, prevented catastrophe more than once! We knew that if we were united, there would always be hope—”
“ ‘United,’ ” Ysera cut in. “Yes, we have been very united over the millennia, have we not? Neltharion . . . Malygos . . .” She looked as if she intended to say more, but with an apologetic glance at Nozdormu, she quieted.
“Do not leave me out,” the bronze grimly added. He stretched his wings. “Call him Murozond, lord of the infinite dragonflight, if you like, but that accursed dragon was my far future self and so I am to blame for his evils just as Neltharion was to blame for what he later did as Deathwing. . . .”
Alexstrasza inserted herself at their center again. “Nay, Nozdormu! No one here finds fault with you for what you have not done! You fought alongside others against Murozond and altered that future forever! Had there been even the remotest blame on your part, it was erased with Murozond’s undoing!”
Kalec and Ysera dipped their heads in agreement. The bronze’s tail slowly slid back and forth, a sign of his gratitude for such words. Then his mood darkened again.
“Yes . . . I fought my future self . . . when I had the power to fight. Now, I—we—are as any other dragon. The time of the Aspects is past and I say thus that the time of the Wyrmrest Accord is also.”
World of Warcraft: Dawn of the Aspects: Part I Page 1
