Terror At The Temple (Book 3) (7 page)

CHAPTER 17

“Quintuklen, where the buildings are as tall as the Red Oak trees,” I said. “But it’s a long, long ride.”

“I’m in no hurry,” Ben replied, yawning.

Skinny as the young man might be, he had some grit to him. Underneath all the bruises, he probably wasn’t a half-bad looking lad, either. He just needed to eat more. Dark complected and tall, he was at ease in the saddle. His light eyes followed all the sights and sounds. And unlike Brenwar, he smiled and talked a good bit.

“Tired, Ben?”

“A good bit, actually. I haven’t rested since being hauled off in that cage. Shouldn’t we be making camp already? I can make a fire.”

“What do you need a fire for? Didn’t you bring a blanket?”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“But I meant I could do some cooking. I’m a good hunter and trapper.”

“I thought you were a farmer.”

“Well, you can’t survive in the country if you can’t hunt or fish. You’ll starve eventually.”

As soon as the white owls began to hoot, I stopped in a grove and made camp, which consisted of little more than two horses and two men with a rough patch of ground to lie on. Ben yawned the whole time as he gathered twigs and started a fire. He did well. After a few minutes, the orange glow burst to life and the warmth came.

“Outstanding, Ben. You are pretty handy, are you not?”

Covering his yawn, he said, “I told you.”

“Good, now you can take the first watch. Wake me up when the moon dips.”

Ben had a blank look in his eyes.

“And keep your ears open. They’ll serve you better than your eyes at night,” I said, closing my eyes. I could feel Ben’s eyes on my back as rubbed his hands on the fire.

“I’ll stay awake, Dragon. All night if I have to.”

I lay and listened. Chirps of critters and crickets filled my ears. All those little things that crept and crawled in the night had come to life. A burning fire offered sanctuary, but it could attract the unwanted. Good thing I was a light sleeper. And I had a sixth sense for danger. The Dragon’s Gut, I called it. An awareness I had when I slept, though I didn’t sleep much. As I drifted off to sleep, the soft snoring of Ben drifted into my ears.

“Oh great,” I said, sitting up.

He lay alongside the fire, curled up in his armor.

“Looks like I have the first and the second watch.”

***

The Pixlyn flew as fast as he could fly, covering a mile a minute. Hummingbird wings buzzing as fast as they ever buzzed before. Over the tree tops he went, scattering insects and small birds. Little noticed him. Little could see him.

In a day, he’d covered the northern part of Nalzambor. He’d seen many faces in that day. Dwarves, Elves, Orcs, giants and Dragons, some hard at work or mischief, others at play. But there was yet to be a sign of the man he sought. Nath Dragon. He rubbed his belly, panting. The potion Finnius had given him was a nasty thing, like rotten stew boiling. It gave him strength somehow. A sense of direction, too. The man must be close. He could feel it.

He thought of his companion, the pink eyed Pixlyn he’d been with all his life. Find the man, save her. He couldn’t bear the thought of horrible things happening to her. He took a deep breath in his tiny mouth, stuck out his chest and buzzed into the sky.

A streak of red came at him. He rolled away, hovering in the sky. There were three of them. Each was as big as him, red-scaled and black-winged, tiny Dragons called Fire Bites. They circled, snorted puffs of fire, and dove.

The pixlyn shot through the sky, three dangerous Dragons nipping at his toes. Fire Bites didn’t play with pixies and fairies. They roasted them and ate them whole.

***

The pouring rain didn’t bother him. Nor the stubborn horse between his legs. No, as Brenwar trotted along the road, he was consumed with something else. Guilt.

“I should have listened to him,” he growled, wringing the water from his beard.

He had known Nath wanted to leave Morgdon, and Brenwar should have gone. Instead, being stubborn, persistent and consumed with the Festival of Iron, he might end up losing his best friend. And it might end up starting another war. Not that Brenwar would mind that. But he had to catch him. And catching Nath wouldn’t be easy. Not if he didn’t want to be found.

Another Dragon War, Nath’s father had warned. That’s what evil wanted. Another shot at the throne of Nalzambor. Nath’s father, the Dragon king, wasn’t the same as he had been of old. Not after the last war. He was ancient, but not immortal. Brenwar sensed that the Dragon king's time on Nalzambor was coming to an end. And who would keep the peace without him there? It was either Nath Dragon or no one.

The horse nickered and stopped.

“What is it now?” Brenwar said, rubbing its neck.

A group of figures approached, cloaked from head to toe. Men, by the looks of them.

“Hail and well met,” one said, fingers itching at the sword on his hip.

“Agreed,” said another who stepped behind Brenwar’s back.

As easy as a fish swims in water, they had him surrounded.

Brenwar stiffened as the next one said, “That’s a fine horse you have there, Little Dwarf.”

Whop!

Brenwar knocked him out of his boots with his war hammer.

“Little! I’ll show you brigands little!”

Brenwar slid from his horse to the ground.

“Take him down!” one ordered, drawing his sword.

Two rushed forward. Brenwar busted one in the chest, dropping him in the mud. The other stabbed a dagger into his armored chest, snapping it at the hilt.

“Fool! This armor's dwarven made!”

“Drag him into the mud!” one of the brigands said.

Brenwar took in a loud draw through his nose.

“Ah, I smell an orc, a part of one at least.”

Brenwar knocked a curved sword from one's hand. Kicked in the knee of another. He was a machine. A black bearded typhoon in the rain.

A man screamed as he busted his hand. Another fell as his knee gave out. One caught Brenwar in the back of his leg with a knife.

“You should not have done that!” he said, swinging his warhammer.

Pow!

He lifted the man’s feet from the ground.

The rain poured. The brigands tumbled down. No group of Brigands stood a chance against a dwarven soldier with centuries of fighting under his belt.

Brenwar grabbed the fallen half orc by his head of hair and said, “Happen to see a man with long auburn hair and golden eyes pass through here, Wart Face?”

“I wouldn’t say if I did, Halfling. Heh-heh!”

“Why is it the ugly ones always have the smartest mouths!”

“Because—”

Brenwar clonked his head into the orc's, knocking him out.

“That was a statement, not a question. Now, what about the rest of you?”

“Mercy, Sir,” one said, clutching his broken arm. “Never seen such a man. If I did, I’d tell you. I swear.”

“Sure you would,” Brenwar said, hoisting himself back on his horse. “If I ever see any of you again, I’ll break every bone in ya!” He snapped the reigns. “Yah!”

Aggravated, Brenwar felt he wasn’t any closer to finding Nath Dragon than when he started. But he was certain time was running out.

CHAPTER 1
8

“Sleep well?” I said.

Ben stretched out his arms and yawned.

“What happened!” he said, covering his eyes. “Where’d all this daylight come from?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s from the sun,” I said, roasting a rodent on a spit. “It does that most days, you know.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I felt just fine, then I was out.” Ben’s stomach growled. “What’s that you’re cooking? Smells good.”

“Just a little white-eared rabbit.”

“Really? How’d you snare it? We can never keep them out of the garden. Too smart for snares, too fast to shoot.”

I held out another rabbit on the end of my arrow.

“I shot this one, too,” I said.

“Nobody’s that good a shot,” Ben objected. “Not even my Uncle. He’s a Legionnaire bowman, you know. He told me they could hear me pulling the string back before I shot.” He tore a hunk of meat off the stick. “Hmmm… this is good. Really good!”

“Well, I’m sure your uncle is a fine shot. And the white-ears are impossible targets. You just have to know where to shoot before they go. It’s called ‘anticipation’. And, I had a little help, too.”

I held Akron out.

“What is that?”

Snap-Clatch-Snap!

“Whoa,” he said when the bowstring coiled along the bow and into place. “Is that magic?”

“No, all bows do that.”

“Really?”

“Of course not. This is Akron. A gift from my father. Elven made. Elven magic. Can you shoot?”

“Can I shoot? You bet I can shoot. My uncle started teaching me when I was just a boy. I once shot a sparrow in the sky. I feathered a boar, too. Right between the eyes. It was him or me that time.” He licked the rabbit meat from his fingers. “Can I try?”

Ben rose up, twisted and cracked his back. His eyes were alert, and the rangy muscles throughout his body were supple, not stiff. If he had some armor that fit, he’d actually look like a soldier, and the fact that his uncle was a Legionnaire archer left me a little more comfortable. I handed over the bow and an arrow.

“
If
,” I emphasized, “you can pull the string back, let it fly.” I pointed. “That oak tree will do.”

Ben took the grip in his hand, loaded the shaft on the shelf, and nocked it back like a seasoned soldier. Arms quivering, he pulled the fletching to his cheek.

“Hold it steady, Ben.”

He took a small breath, held it, steadied his aim, and released.

Twang!

The arrow sailed with speed and accuracy.

Thunk!

“Yes!” Ben pumped his arm. “This bow is amazing!”

“That’s a great shot, Ben. You’re pretty strong for a scrawny man,” I said, taking my bow back. “You were a little low, however.”

The tree was thirty yards off, but I couldn’t have him getting cocky.

“I don’t think many men could do much better.”

I loaded Akron, pulled the string back, and let one arrow fly after the other.

Twang! Thunk!

Twang! Thunk!

Twang! Crack!

The first hit above Ben’s, the second below. The third went right through his shaft.

“Uh, that was amazing!”

“Of course it was,” I said handing him my bow.

“Can you teach me to do that?”

“Probably not, but…” I eyed the heavy sword on his belt, thinking. “Ever swing a sword before?”

“Just the once. My mother didn’t like weapons, and my father didn’t care for them much, either.”

“Well, if you have to use it, better try it two-handed. I’ll show you a few things later. Now run down there and fetch those arrows.”

Ben started walking towards the tree.

“I said
Run
!”

He sprinted for the tree.
At least he’s fleet.

***

Looking backward, the Pixlyn wiped the sweat from his brow. The skies were empty. His pursuers gone. The Firebites, who in comparison to him, for all intents and purposes, might as well have been full-sized Dragons, had chased him until it felt like his wings would fall off. He zipped down into the trees and took a seat on a branch behind the leaves. He’d never flown so much in one day before.

Chest heaving, he frowned as he thought of his companion: her beautiful pink eyes and sweet smile. Even if he returned with what the evil man wanted, he knew they were both still dead. But it was better they died together, rather than separate. They’d lived for one another. They’d die for one another. That’s what love is.

He shuddered as he thought of the Firebites. He could only guess they had tired out or found the scent of easier prey. As for the rest of the journey, he’d have to be more careful. No doubt they would pursue if they found the scent again. He shivered, mumbling in Pixlyn to himself. He rubbed his belly. The strange aching had grown stronger. He could sense the man he’d been sent to track was getting closer. His toes lifted off the branch as his wings hummed to life, and he darted off. His neck whipped around at the sound of tiny Dragons roaring.

Zip!

Into the night, he was gone.

CHAPTER 1
9

The next couple of days occurred without incident, and I was relieved. Ben had a strong core, and after a few lessons, he could swing his sword like a weapon. He was pretty adept for a long-leg with skinny arms, but working on the farm will do that to you. The problem with most farmers being soldiers was the only weapons they wielded were pitchforks, hoes and buckets of slop.

“Slash, Ben!” I said, banging his sword away. “Don’t poke. Don’t stab. That sword's not made for that. You need a light, smaller sword if you want to stab. And a quick opponent will roll right past you and slash your arm off. Have you ever seen a man poke a man’s arm off before?”

Ben shook his head.

“If you poke them, they might bleed, but slash a part off, and they’ll run.”

Ben’s face tightened.

“Hard to imagine such a thing, but when you fight, these things happen. They can happen to you just the same.” I slapped him on the shoulder. “But this
is
what
you
wanted, isn't it?”

He looked a little green as he shook his head yes.

“But stabbing’s how I killed the Jackal,” he said, thumbing notches on his blade's edge.

“True, but the Jackal wasn’t looking
―and you had a magic sword, to boot.” I twirled Fang with my wrist. “He’s a fine thing, isn’t he?” I rubbed the Dragon’s heads on the pommel then jerked Dragon Claw out for display. “Now, if you want to poke somebody, you need one of these.”

“Whoa! I never
would have imagined such a thing,” he said, eyeing it with fascination.

“This is Dragon Claw, and he’s helped me out of more than one jam or two. When we get closer to town, well find you a dagger for your boot.” I tugged at his girdle. “Hmmm, probably can fit a nice one in there, as well. You can never be too careful.”

As Ben rubbed the back of his neck, I could see the uncertainty build in his eyes.
Good. A young man like that needs to know what he’s in for.
But I was going easy on him, for now.

“I’m hungry.”

“I’ll check the fish traps,” Ben said, sliding the broad sword into his belt.

“And I’ll start the fire,” I said.

I liked Ben. He was good company, and other than a few glances, he hadn't even asked about my arm, which I found extraordinary. But, country folk always did have the best manners.

After gathering a few twigs and skinning down some branches, I had a fire going in no time. It wasn’t long after when Ben returned with a string of fish.

“Pretty nice catch you have there,” I said.

He grinned from ear to ear.

“That stream is full of them. I could fish here all week.”

I cooked; he skinned, and not long after I lay on my back and watched the wind blowing the black silhouettes of the leaves.

“Think you can stay up this time?” I said.

Ben covered his mouth, yawning.

“Oh, I’m feeling spry tonight.” He grabbed a stone and ran it along the edge of his sword. “Dragon, I was wondering. What do you do, exactly? Do you hunt treasure? Where are you from? I’ve never seen a man like you before. And when I left, all the people were talking about you.”

I sat up.

“Really, what did they say?”

“My cousin said you were one of those Dragon poachers.”

“Really,” I held up my hand, “with an arm like this?”

He scratched his neck and said, “It is peculiar, but I’ve seen strange travelers before.” He perked up. “I even saw some elves once. They didn’t talk, but they had the most beautiful armor.”

“Listen, Ben. If you’re going to ride with me, and you might just die with me, you might as well know.”

He leaned forward.

“Know what?”

“I’m looking for Dragons.”

His eyes brightened.

“You’re a hunter?”

I shook my head.

He snapped his fingers.

“A poacher then? I’ve heard about them. Uh…” He shrank back. “...but aren’t they… evil?”

“Yes, but I am neither. I don’t hunt Dragons. I don’t kill them. I rescue them.”

He scratched his head and asked, “Why would a Dragon need rescued?”

“What do you know about the Dragons, Ben?”

He shrugged.

“They have fiery breath and scales as hard as steel. Some are as big as horses and others as small as a goat.” His face drew up. “Will you take me with you? To rescue one? Oh, they have treasure, too. Wagon loads of it, I hear. And… and there are thousands of them in the Mountain of Doom. They say there’s one so large there he can swallow an elephant whole.”

There was only one who could, that I knew of.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“A troubadour who was passing through one day sang about it. She was a pretty young thing. Half-elven she said she was, with honey-brown hair and lips the color of wine.”

“And she sang no songs of auburn-haired fellows with eyes as gold as the sun?”

‘No.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’d have remembered for sure. We don’t get many bards where I come from.”

I rose to a knee, hand instinctively falling to my hilt.

“What is it?” Ben said.

I put my finger to my lips.

He cupped his ear.

What I heard was flapping. And not the common kind of the night air. Not birds, not owls, nor any other common thing, but something vastly rare.

The horses nickered. Their hooves stomped and stampered.

“Stay with the horses!” I said, pulling my bow out. “Something bad is coming.”