The Chronicles of Dragon Collection (Series 1 Omnibus, Books 1-10) (7 page)

“Thanks, Brenwar.” I rolled my shoulder, and my back still burned like fire. At least the rain had passed.

“You sure you’re feeling well? You don’t look well.”

“I’ve been recently skewered. I’d assume that's it.”

“Pah … Yer fine, I guess,” he said, walking away.

The sun, warm on my face, a feeling that normally gave me comfort, gave me none. Brenwar, usually full of boasts after a battle, was quiet. I picked up a stone and skipped it from my side of the stream to the other.

“Another dragon saved,” I said. “A fairly powerful ruffie, at that.”

“Aye,” Brenwar said, refilling his canteen. “Some fight, too. Works up the ol’ appetite, it does.” He thumped his armored belly with his fist. “How about I snare a rabbit or two?”

“I’ve got my bow.”

“Are ye daft? Ye didn’t bring yer bow,” he argued, his busy face widening with worry.

“What?” I said, “You look like you just swallowed a halfling. Brenwar …”

The world wobbled beneath me. Bright spots burst in my eyes: pink, green, and yellow. Brenwar’s arms stretched and stretched and stretched toward me, beyond me. His face spun like a pinwheel and was gone. Silence. Blackness. I fell, I think.

***

Finnius stood alongside the High Priestess of the Clerics of Barnabus with a nervous look in his rodent eyes. He’d seen men dead before, but not so many, not like this. He couldn’t imagine how Nath Dragon had done all this, but the witnesses, the ones that had survived the horror, assured him he had. The arena beneath the Troll’s Toe in Orcen Hold looked like a battlefield. A battle that they had clearly lost, not to mention losing a dragon as well. The High Priestess, however, didn’t seem worried. Arms folded over her chest, a dark twinkle in her eyes, a smile cropping up from the corner of her mouth, she said, “It won’t be long, Finnius. Nath Dragon will be mine.”

CHAPTER 13

It was dark. I smelled burning wood. Meat roasting over a fire. My eyes opened to a brilliant, starlit sky, and I felt whole again. I rolled over to where a campfire blazed and Brenwar kneeled, turning rabbit meat on a spit.

“Dinnertime already?” I got up and walked over.

Brenwar looked at me like I’d come back from the dead.

“What? Has it been a day or more? You look like I’ve been sleeping for a week.” I stretched my arms out and yawned. “I must admit, though, it feels like I’ve slept for a week, maybe longer. I guess saving dragons is bound to catch up with you.”

“Or turning into one,” he said. At least, I thought that was what he said.

“Brenwar, is that some kind of joke?”

I looked at him, the sky, and the moon before turning back toward the stream that was no longer there. A very bad feeling overcame me, like a part of my life was missing.

“Say, how’d I get here? Where’s the water? Brenwar, how long have I been out?”

He mumbled something.

“Louder,” I insisted.

“Three months! Three months, Nath Dragon! And I’ve been out here counting daisies and trapping furry little animals.” He rose to his feet and poked me in the chest. “Now, three months isn’t long for a dwarf, but it’s not short by any measure, either.”

“Why didn’t you wake me, then?”

He jumped to his feet and yelled, “Don’t you think I tried? I could’ve set you on fire, and you wouldn’t have moved! I should have let the harpies carry you off.”

“Harpies?”

“Pah,” he said, waving me off.

I raked my fingers through my hair and checked the beard that had grown on my face. I scratched it with nails that were unusually long, on my right hand anyway. I held my hand out and stared. Brenwar’s downcast face stayed down, kicking at the dirt as I looked at the black scales on the fingers of my dragon-like hand.

“Gagh!” I said, jumping away from myself.

I looked at my other hand, the left, and it was fine, but my right—with black, glimmering scales and thick yellow claws like my father's—was a thing of beauty. A rush of energy and excitement went through me as I jumped high in the air and screamed with delight. I felt like a child again.

“I can go home again, Brenwar! I’ve gotten my scales! Or some scales.”

I ran my new and old fingers over my face.

“Brenwar, is my face unchanged?”

He nodded.

I was relieved, but I wasn’t certain whether I should have been or not. I shed the blanket from my shoulder, and everything but my right arm was fine, or human at least, and I still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I checked behind me.

“Do I have a tail?’

“No!”

“Why so glum, then, Brenwar? I’ve gotten scales!” I said, marveling at my arm.

He shrugged and said, “Don’t know.”

He was being stubborn, naturally, but something bothered me.

“What?”

“I ain’t seen no man become a dragon before,” he said, taking the rabbit from the spit. “Hungry?”

I gazed at my arm, its diamond-like scales shimmering in the twilight, like broken pieces of coal. I could feel power, true power, like I’d never felt before. I swore my right arm was twice as strong as my left, and my left was already stronger than most men’s.

“Come, then, Brenwar! I can’t wait a moment longer. It’s time to go see my father!”

“So be it then, Nath.”

***

The trek through the Sulfur Marsh at the bottom of the Mountain of Doom had never gone quicker as Brenwar and I made our way through the secret passageway. Most of the time when I came home, I was either half dead, as had been the case the last time, or filled with dread because I had not gained any scales. Despite my father's and my disagreements over the past two centuries, I never wanted to disappoint him. This time, however, I had the upper hand. I had my scales, and my days as a man were numbered.

I took a moment to pause in reflection as I stood outside my father’s chamber doors. The detail in the doors and the rest of the caves and tunnels appeared to have a greater meaning to me now. The brass framework interwoven in ornate patterns on the wooden doors said something to me. The symbols carried power.

“So,” Brenwar’s gruff voice interrupted my thoughts, "are you going inside, or are you going to stand there and gawk? It’s a dwarven door, you know. You’d think you’d never seen it before.” His thick fingers were playing with his beard. He seemed nervous, if that was at all possible.

“It’s fine work. I just never noticed before. Do you think I should knock?”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

True—in all my years, I hadn’t bothered to knock before. I wasn’t certain why it was different this time, but it was. This time of all times, the little things seemed to matter.

I looked down at Brenwar’s face, then at the door, and lifted my fist to knock. Both doors swung open on their own.

“ENTER, SON, AND MY FRIEND THE DWARF.”

I led, my chin held high, like the time I’d saved my first dragon. I felt like a boy again, new and refreshed, a spring in my step because the hard feelings at failed efforts were gone.

My father, the grandest dragon of them all, sat on his throne, his eyes burning like fire. I’d never seen such an expression on him before. Fearsome. Deadly. Secrets as ancient as the world itself protected beneath the impenetrable scales and horns on his skull. His voice was like a volcano about to erupt, turning my swaggering gate into a shuffle.

“COME CLOSER.”

The gold pieces piled up were slipping like shale, and the entire cavern seemed to shake. I was thirty yards from the foot of his throne when I opened my mouth to speak; my day of glory had come.

“STOP!”

I froze. Something was wrong. Brenwar dropped to a knee beside me, head down.

My father sat there, monstrous claws clasped in his lap, a side of his razor-sharp teeth bare.

“REMOVE YOUR ARMOR.”

“With great joy, Father,” I said, unstrapping the buckles on my chestplate. Certainly he had to have noticed my dragon’s hand at least, yet he said nothing. Perhaps there was to be more of a ceremony with the full showing. I tossed my armor and garments aside, standing with my naked chest out, my incredible black-scaled arm up high.

My father sucked his breath through his teeth, his face smoldering with fury, and roared so loud I thought the mountain had exploded.

I fell to the ground, holding my ears, crying out and pleading for mercy. I couldn’t think or focus; I just screamed as I felt like the entire world was going to end. A sharp cracking sound exploded nearby as one of the marble columns fell. The room filled with heat so hot I could barely breathe. My whole world had gone wrong. I’d never been so terrified.

Somehow I rose to my feet despite all the feeling in my legs being gone. My hands were still clamped over my ears as I watched my father continue his angry bellow. Brenwar was almost covered in treasure, his face devoid of expression, eyes watering like he’d seen a horrible ghost.

I yelled out, “What is wrong, Father?”

His roar stopped, but my ears kept on ringing.

His voice was lower now.

“What have you done?”

I stood, shaking, stupefied, and gawping.

“What have you done?” My father asked again, the rage in his voice gone but the molten steel tone remaining. “Have you ever seen a black-scaled dragon?”

I looked at my arm, shook my head, and said, “No.”

Then I realized something must be horribly wrong.

“The ruffie you saved has been here and told me what you have done. I hoped that it was not true, though I knew that it was. Did you even realize that you killed so many?”

The truth was, I didn’t have any idea how many I had killed at all. I hadn’t even thought about it.

My father looked down, and I felt like it was the last time I’d ever see him again. My heart began to sputter in my chest as I fell to my knees, tears streaming down my cheeks, and begged, “No, father, I’m so sorry. Let me fix this.”

“It’s too late for that. You have cursed yourself. You are no longer welcome in Dragon Home. You’ll take no swords, no gold, no magic … not anything. You are on your own. If there is any hope left, you’ll have to find it on your own. I’ve told you all I can. Now go, to never return unless those scales are a different color.”

My father gave me one long, lasting look with nothing but sadness and disappointment in his eyes. I’d failed him, I knew it, for the last time. I felt smaller than the tiniest coin in the room as he turned, walked away, and disappeared back into the mural.

Alone, I wept my way through my father’s throne room, never looking back, through Dragon Home, through the Sulfur Marsh, until I wept no more.

***

Bearded and lonely, I sat inside a cave at least a hundred leagues from my father as another season passed while I contemplated my failure in self-pity. No men killed. No dragons saved. My cursed black scales remained.

If there is any hope left, you’ll have to find it on your own,
my father had said.

He’d said many things, and it was time I put them together. I rose from the crag where I had stooped and bellowed the fiercest bellow I could muster. It was time to figure out what I must do to become a dragon, and a very good one at that. Like my father.

From out of nowhere, Brenwar showed up and tossed a beautiful sword at my feet. It was Fang.

“Brenwar! How did you get this?” I asked in alarm and jubilation.

“Yer father only said
you
couldn’t take anything from his cavern. He didn’t say anything about me.” He winked and added, “And that isn't all I got, either.”

Thus begins the Chronicles of Dragon.

***Read on for an excerpt from Book 2, Dragons Bones and Tombstones***

Nath Dragon

Dragon Bones and Tombstones

The Chronicles of Dragon: Book 2

By Craig Halloran

PROLOGUE

Starlight. The land of Nalzambor was filled with stars, more than could be counted, more than could be seen. The biggest one, the most brilliant, lingered behind the moon like the twinkling eye of a dragon. But now was not the time to pay attention to such beautiful things. Not the shimmering waters, the soft grasses, the gentle breeze, or the trees filled with fruit aplenty. No, such things didn’t matter now in the mystic land of Nalzambor, at least not when death, despite all the beauty, still whispered in the air.