Thrall - Christie Golden [62]
Kalec regarded Arygos sadly. “And I never understood your refusal to take help or information when it came from any source other than our own flight,” he replied. “Why do you scorn them so? It was the short-lived races who freed you from your thousand-year imprisonment in Ahn’Qiraj! I would think you would be grateful.”
Before Arygos could sputter out an angry and embarrassed reply, another, older dragon, Teralygos, snapped, “Surely no one knows the business of our flight better than we do!”
“Indeed! We have our own business to mind, Kalecgos, or have you forgotten?” Arygos continued. “The ceremony to choose a new Aspect is but a few days away. We should be preparing for that, not letting ourselves become distracted by the prattling of an orc!”
“Kill him and be done with it,” muttered Teralygos.
Kalec turned. “No. We are not butchers. Besides, do you want to look Ysera and Nozdormu in the face and tell them you murdered one they specifically sent to us? I don’t. No matter how disoriented the awakened Ysera might be.”
There was some murmuring among the dragons, and Kalec saw some heads nodding.
“Let the orc come before us and state his reasons for being here,” Kalec continued. “If we do not like what he has to say, we can send him away. But at least we should hear him out.”
Arygos glowered, but he, too, could see that more were in agreement with Kalecgos than with him. “Ysera and Nozdormu, it seems, have more influence on the blue dragonflight than we ourselves do,” he muttered.
“You are not Aspect yet, Arygos,” Kalec said sharply. “If you are chosen, then you will have final say. Until then, with no leader, the majority’s will shall be followed on this.”
Arygos turned toward Narygos. “Bring him,” he said. Narygos nodded and leaped skyward. When Arygos turned back, he frowned. Kalecgos had assumed his half-elven form. Some other dragons had also taken on the less threatening forms of human or elf, in an unspoken effort to show courtesy to their guest. Arygos did not emulate them, retaining his dragon form.
Kalecgos looked around. The chamber was hardly inviting to anyone other than the blues. He concentrated and waved his hands.
In one area of the cavern two braziers appeared. Dozens of furs now covered the floor for several feet. A thick fur cloak was draped over the curving arm of a chair made of mammoth tusks and hide. Food and drink sat on a short table: haunches of meat, cactus apples, mugs of foaming beer. Animal heads and weapons—axes and swords and wicked-looking daggers—were now mounted on the stone walls.
Kalec smiled. He was more accustomed to interacting with the Alliance races, but he had seen something of this world, and felt that he had created a fairly comfortable Horde enclave here in the heart of blue dragon territory.
A few moments later a bronze dragon came into sight, escorted by four blues. She flew low, but the spaces here were vast—they were, after all, meant to accommodate dragons. Kalecgos recognized her. It was Tick, one of the dragons who regularly patrolled the entrance to the Caverns of Time. It was a testament to Thrall’s importance that so notable a bronze would be willing to serve as a mere method of transportation. Their eyes met, and Kalec nodded acknowledgment. Tick landed gracefully, lowering herself so that the orc atop her back could dismount.
Kalec gazed intently at their orcish guest. He wore only a brown, nondescript robe, and he bowed with proper courtesy to the assembled flight. Even so, when he straightened, there was a set to his shoulders and a calm alertness in his blue eyes that revealed his past as a thoughtful and powerful leader. Kalec smiled warmly and opened his mouth to speak.
“You are permitted here only because two Aspects have sent you, Thrall,” said Arygos before Kalec could get a word out. “I suggest you speak quickly. You are not among friends.”
The orc smiled slightly. “I did not expect to be,” he said. “But I am here because I believe in my mission. I will speak as quickly as I may, but it might