The Chronicles of Dragon Collection (Series 1 Omnibus, Books 1-10) (145 page)

CHAPTER 37

Soaring through the sky, Nath Dragon stretched out his arms. There was nothing more liberating than the sound of the wind rushing by his ears. Heading to his doom or not, the feeling was exhilarating.

His wings beat, slow and powerful. He circled the remains of Quintuklen below. Every tower, every spire was rubble. The walls—which circled the city in a labyrinth—were half torn down. They were of little use against flying dragons.

Men scurried from broken building to broken building. Survivors. Even though Quintuklen was in ruin, most people would not abandon their homes until they died. The sight of the desperate scavengers stirred Nath’s heart and angered him. What gave Gorn the right to take homes away from anyone?

He swooped through the air and sped toward the ominous bulk of the Floating City, which hung like a dreadnought in the sky. Nath carefully weighed his thoughts. He could accept Gorlee’s sacrifice. After all, he would do the same. He could muster an army of men, dwarves, and dragons and attack the forces of Barnabus like a juggernaut, but how many more would die? Thousands? Tens of thousands? He made his decision.

Better one of me than all of thee.

Bearing down on the city, a lone figure dropped to his side. It was the feline fury.

“Away now,” he said in Dragonese, pointing at the cat. “It’s my fight alone.”

The cat dragon’s eyes narrowed as it growled in response and veered away.

Nath watched it go, realizing the fury didn’t even have a name.

If I survive this, I’ll take care of that. It’s something Selene should have done.

Ahead, the dragons stretched their necks from their perches and crowed. The Floating City was still spinning, pulled by the dragons shackled by the neck. Nath clenched his fists. It fired his furnaces within. Smoke rolled from his nose, and his golden eyes smoldered. He cut through the building tops, whizzed over the streets. Dragons hissed and coiled. Armies of the undead gathered in the streets, pressing around the large cathedral-type building he remembered from his visit here.

Nath landed on the stairs.

Armored skeletons and dragons of all sorts crowded near with their eyes glowing. Armor rustled and dragons hissed and slithered.

It rankled Nath, their hatred. Evil. He turned his back on them and placed his hands on the massive doors. His heart thundered inside his chest.

This is it, Dragon. This is it.

A thought lingered in his mind.

Selene. Will she be at Gorn Grattack’s side? Was this the plan all along?

Weaponless aside from his dragon claws and magic, he shoved the massive doors open.

Gorn Grattack waited inside. His monstrous voice echoed as he spoke. “Come. Come and die.”

Nath stepped within, and the door shut behind him.

Thoom!

Massive cauldrons of fire illuminated the room. Windows stained in dark colors let little sunlight show through. There were cages, empty ones, scattered throughout the room. The smell of death and decay lingered. Fang was nowhere in sight. Neither was Gorlee. Selene, to his relief, was nowhere either.

Nath’s scales tingled. Cried out.

Danger!

In front of him once again waited his greatest enemy. Seated on a throne of stone was the foul foe of Nalzambor. Gorn towered ten feet tall. He was covered in brawn and greyish scales. Razor-sharp horns crowned his head, and his eyes had an evil glow.

“Nothing to say, Nath Dragon?”

“Where is my friend Gorlee?”

“Ah, I see,” Gorn said, holding his chin. “You still are concerned about these mortals. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Such a weakness.”

“Where is he?” Nath demanded.

“You do realize it’s only a matter of time until all of your
friends
are dead, don’t you?” Gorn folded his arms over his chest. “I control most of the dragons in this world. Only a small remnant of free dragons remains. A paltry force stands against me at best. I control the jaxite, and this city is shielded from the attacks of mortals. Why, I even have your precious sword. Once I finish you, I’ll melt it down. Then I’ll wipe out all of my enemies—the elves, dwarves, and those pesky Roamers—and it will be onward to my Mountain of Doom.”

“You might defeat me, but you won’t defeat my father. You couldn’t the last time.”

“Hah! Your father withers while I grow stronger.” Gorn clenched his fists and leaned forward. “He fades from this world. He sent you to fight this battle. A battle he knows he cannot win. You cannot win either. You’ll never leave here alive. And all of your friends combined cannot save you. You are doomed, Nath Dragon.”

“It’s you who are doomed.”

“Really, how so? I’m in control of everything.”

“If that were the case, then I wouldn’t be here to fight you now.”

“Ah, so you are ready to battle, then? You look ill prepared in your current form.” Gorn showed an oversized smile of dragon teeth. “You might want to try bigger, like me.” He stood up, and his form increased. From the other side of the room, he sneered down at Nath. “You don’t stand a chance.”

“Release my friend!”

Gorn reached behind the throne, grabbed something, and brought it forward. It was Fang. “This friend?” Gorn pulled it from the sheath, revealing the bright glow of the blade. The scales on that hand sizzled and smoked. “Isn’t that quaint?” he snorted. “It doesn’t seem to like me. I can handle that.”

Nath’s eyes narrowed as he drifted closer.

Gorn studied the blade as he squeezed it with his monster-sized, clawed hand.

Fang’s blade hummed and throbbed with light, turning from a bright golden sheen to blue as night before fading to a dark blackish purple. The hilt stopped smoking.

Gorn Grattack laughed. “That was easy.” He shrugged. “There is nothing I cannot control in this world. It all lives and dies under my command.” He raised the sword high. “I’ll make this interesting.” He jammed the blade down into the throne. “If you want it, come and take it.”

“I didn’t come for Fang. I came for Gorlee.”

Gorn sighed. “So be it then. Draykis!”

Two winged draykis emerged from the dark beneath the balconies, dragging a figure. The pinkish form of Gorlee sagged between them, head dangling. They dropped him on the floor in front of Gorn and departed.

“Yes, Nath, your friend, the changeling,” Gorn said as he started to snicker, “is dead.”

Nath’s face turned blood red.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

CHAPTER 38

“It can’t be.” Brenwar slung his war hammer over his back.

“It is,” Bayzog said.

The waving black and gold banner showed a hammer and anvil. Another banner appeared, showing a sun shining over a land of blues and old gold. A stout dwarf in plate armor from the neck down carried the black and gold banner of the dwarves. An elven warrior wearing a green tunic over a suit of chain mail carried the other banner. Behind them, twelve dwarves and twelve elves came.

“Haarviik!” Brenwar shouted out.

A dwarf bigger than Brenwar marched forward and clasped his hand. He wore heavy armor, and his lustrous beard was more white than brown. Haarviik was one of the highest commanders of Morgdon. Higher than Brenwar, even.

“Great to see you, old warrior,” Haarviik said. “No other dwarf I’d rather fight beside at the end.”

“Are the armies with you?” Brenwar said, peering over Haarviik’s shoulder.

“Nay, certainly you would have heard them marching if they were.”

“Aye, there’s no sound greater than dwarven boots. But your voice will have to do.” He slapped Haarviik’s shoulder. “So, what can you share with me?”

A tall elf made his way over. His silvery light armor gleamed in the sunlight. His helm of hammered leaves twinkled. He offered his hand to Brenwar, who shook it, then to Bayzog.

“Your arrival is both pleasing and surprising, Laedorn,” Bayzog said.

“Greetings,” Laedorn said, making a slight bow. “We’ve marched day and night.” His gaze drifted toward the Floating City. “And I believe our timing is just right.” His light-green eyes scanned the farm. “Where is Nath Dragon?”

“You just missed him. He’s taken to the Floating City. I could not delay him,” Bayzog said.

“That is unfortunate,” Laedorn said. “But we must not tarry.”

“The time to strike is now,” Haarviik grumbled. “Now, they won’t be looking.”

“What are you getting at?” Brenwar said, scowling. “You said you don’t have an army. Only two score warriors are with you. Did the elves bring magic ropes and ladders to climb into that spinning city? No disrespect, but I say, ‘Hah!’”

“It’s ready, isn’t it?” Bayzog said to Laedorn.

“What’s ready?” Brenwar said.

“The weapon,” Haarviik said to Brenwar. He clasped Brenwar’s shoulder. “The one we’ve been working on.”

Brenwar’s eyes went wide. “I thought you only had two of the three pieces.”

“We did, but now we have the third.”

“Bayzog, what is your understanding of all this?” Brenwar said.

“I know little more than you, but I know this is a dangerous plan, only to be used as a last resort. I don’t think we are there yet. What has changed, Laedorn?”

Laedorn motioned toward the troops. The elves and dwarves marched forward with their packs. Each carried several metal pieces marked with intricate patterns. Quickly, they got to work assembling a contraption that pointed at the Floating City. Busy dwarven hands tightened large bolts with metal wrenches. Heavy hammers pounded pins in. The elves slid small slivers of metal into place.

“What are they building, Bayzog?” Sasha said with fascination.

“They call it the Apparatus of Ruune.”

“What does it do?”

“It destroys things.”

“What things?”

Sasha, Rerry, Samaz, and Ben came closer.

“Everything.”

“You can’t use that when Dragon is in there,” Ben objected.

“And they won’t,” Brenwar added.

“Brenwar,” Haarviik said, “our counsels have agreed. It’s been almost five hundred years since we’ve agreed on anything. We will carry out this service.”

“You must delay!”

“Oh, we must not, Brenwar Bolderguild,” Laedorn said. “And know that my affection for your friends is the same as for my own kin. But we must strike before the opportunity is lost. We’ve lost many lives hiding the Apparatus and getting it here.” Laedorn’s chin dipped. “Two of my brothers are gone, among a hundred others. It is agreed we must strike, or thousands more will die. We must smite that city from the sky.”

Bayzog approached Laedorn, looking him in the eye. “Why such urgency? You don’t even know for certain the amount of power that you wield yet. What if it fails?”

“Urgency is the utmost, Bayzog. Surely you know that. Powerful artifacts are at work here, and it’s only a matter of time before Gorn Grattack senses that. His forces will be upon us at any moment. That’s why we travel small and discreetly. We cannot appear to pose a threat. And now, with Nath Dragon up there, Gorn is distracted. This might be our only chance to take him.”

“And risk killing our friends? Nay!” Brenwar said. “Give him more time!”

Laedorn sighed. “We can’t put our fate in the hands of the dragons, just as the dragons cannot put their fate in ours. We must act.”

Brenwar’s eyes slid over to the Floating City. Bright lights flashed. Something was stirring. He shook his head. “Give him more time.”

“Once the Apparatus is finished, we will unleash all of its fury.”

“You can’t let them do this, Brenwar,” Ben said. “You can’t!”

Brenwar grumbled. The Apparatus of Ruune was almost finished. It was a massive cannon standing eight feet off the ground on a tripod of thick iron legs. The elves and dwarves had put large sections of moorite tubes together, wide enough to fit someone’s head inside. It was braced down on the tripod, sitting in a bracket that could swivel left to right and up and down. An oversized spyglass was perched on the top. Two seats were lined up behind it. Below it was an iron stomach, a furnace waiting to be fed. There were gears and handles laid out in an intricate array. An oversized stepladder led up into the seats. The marvelous contraption towered over them all.

“You really think this can knock that city out of the sky?” Brenwar said.

“I don’t know,” Haarviik said, offering a dwarven grin, “but I can’t wait to try.”

The Apparatus of Ruune