The Chronicles of Dragon Collection (Series 1 Omnibus, Books 1-10) (21 page)

CHAPTER 28

It was a quiet trip down the mountain, through the forest, and across where the small river went into the Shale Hills. I was frustrated. My arm was still as black as coal, and saving the dragons had given me little comfort at all. I felt empty, left out, and as confused as ever. Even Brenwar seemed perplexed.

Dragons! I'd saved a steel dragon, and all the thanks he’d given me was advice to talk to Fang. The fact that he knew my father―well, I presumed, seeing how they shared a forge―bothered me most. Certainly, he could give me a little more advice now that the curse was lifted. And what did he need the Thunderstone for, anyway? It had helped him. Maybe it could have helped me, too. I punched a tree.

“What’s the matter with you?” Brenwar said.

I took a seat on a fallen log.

“All this work, and for what? My arm's no different than when I started.” I held it out. “See!”

Brenwar took a step closer, squinting.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking,” he said, “I haven’t really taken a good look at it.” He rubbed his chin. “I thought you said it was all black.”

“It is,” I said, eyeing my forearm and wrist. “What other color do you see?”

“White.”

I fanned out my clawed fingers and turned my hand in the sunlight, saying, “Where?”

“In the middle of your palm.”

“It’s just the sun’s reflection off the scales, I don’t see a th—”

My lips froze. My heart stopped. A small group of scales in the middle of my palm had turned white. A thrill went through me, like the first time I flew on my father’s great back as a child.

“Brenwar!” I exclaimed. “Can it be I’m on the higher road of doing good things?”

He didn’t say anything, but he was smiling, in a dwarven way, a broad smirk, if anything.

I pumped my dragon fist in the air, jumped high, and shouted with joy! I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so good in my life. I was finally getting somewhere.

“Maybe it’s spreading, Brenwar?” I gave my hand a closer look. “My hand might be completely white by tomorrow, you think?”

He shrugged and said, “I hope so.” He slapped me on the back. “You’ve done well, Dragon. But I still think you’ve got many good deeds to go.”

I felt in my heart that saving the blue razor and helping the steel dragon had gotten me over the hump. I’d saved many dragons of late, but those two were different, the circumstances more tough. Perhaps I wasn’t challenging myself enough. I needed to investigate further the whereabouts of more dragons. I knew there were more out there.

“I’m coming home soon, Father!”

***

I had a spring in my step, and my wounded leg was less bothersome as we traversed the black shale. I had two things on my mind: my dragon arm and the Roaming Rangers, Shum and Hoven. It had only been a few days, but I wondered if they’d had any luck finding the winged ape. I wanted to track it. Fight it. Defeat it. I couldn’t explain why, but I did. It was just another menace that needed to die before someone else did.

“Where are you going?” Brenwar asked, wiping his sweating head on his forearm.

I pointed with my dragon arm toward the hill where we’d last seen the elves. I felt more comfortable using it now. A bad thing had turned good in my eyes, and I loved it all the more.

“Just checking on those—”

“No! You need to focus on the dragons. The elves can solve their own problems, and the men can as well. Come now, I thirst for dwarven ale.”

“But—”

“Come!” Brenwar said, marching off with determination.

I didn’t have to follow him, and he didn’t have to follow me―unless my father had told him to, but Brenwar never said. I eyed the hill where the elves were holed up and some of their traps were set. I was dying to see them again. I had never seen elves like that. Potbellies on elves. Hah! Who’d have imagined such a thing?

“All right,” I said, heading after Brenwar. We walked on mile after mile until the sun began to set in our sight. “You hungry? I could use some good meat about now.”

“I’ll find a spot and start a fire.”

I unslung Akron.

Snap. Clatch. Snap.

It was ready

“I’ll fetch the meat.”

I hadn’t made it a mile from camp when I heard a muffled cry. A struggle was ahead, and without thinking, I rushed for the danger. Darting in and out of the trees like the swiftest of deer, I emerged in a clearing. Shum and Hoven, the Wilder Elves, were interlocked in battle with the winged ape. It was hairy and blue-black with a slight blue sheen, roaring into the face of Shum, its mighty, long fingers wrapped around the neck of another ranger I’d not seen before.

Twang!

My first arrow hit it square in the back, and it let out a roar.

It turned.

I reloaded.

Brawny muscles, black claws, and dripping fangs charged me, faster than the fastest bull I’d ever seen.

Twang!

It ducked.

But my aim was low, intentionally, and the arrow exploded into its shoulder.

The winged ape crashed to the ground.

I ripped out Fang and charged.

“Dragon! Dragon!”

I couldn’t let the evil beast hurt or kill another thing. I chopped at its stomach.

It rolled away, bounced up, and swatted me in the face. It was fast. Like a striking cobra.

I stabbed.

It turned.

I slashed, grazing its arm.

It swung its big paw at me, nails nicking my face.

I countered and clipped its legs, drawing blood.

It backed away.

“Come on,” I said, taunting it with Fang’s glowing blade. I was ready for it. I was ready for anything.

It eyed me, two red coals gleaming under its heavy brow. It was smart, thinking about its next move. But I was ready.

“You heard me! Come on, monster!”

It pounded its chest, lowered its shoulders, stretched out its mighty, thewed arms, ready to scoop me up, and charged.

It came.

I swung.

It leapt high in the air and left me gawping before dropping on me like a load of stones. The eight-hundred-pound ape drove me hard into the ground.

Fang fell from my grasp.

It pinned my neck to the ground and roared in my face. It was strong, like oxen.

I kicked its stomach, twisted my wrist free, then clawed at its eyes.

It punched and punched me like a boxer. I found this odd, even in the midst of my face being punched in. It was bigger, stronger, but it was a beast; I was a dragon.

I drew back and punched it in the nose with my fist. I swore I heard it laughing as it shrugged the blow off and hit me back. Stars exploded in my eyes. I was getting beaten like a dusty rug.

A Wilder Elf jumped on its back, which one I couldn’t tell.

With one arm, the winged ape flung him away.

I pulled my knees to my chest and kicked it in the stomach with all I had. To my surprise, it tumbled to the ground. Gasping, I rolled left and grabbed my sword.

Two more elves dove at the winged ape. They both fought hard before it slung them off like water. Another pair, from where they came I don’t know, threw a large net at the beast. The net sailed beneath its feet as it jumped high in the air. How many of these elves were there, anyway?

I saw my chance. The ape had the elves in sight, not me. I lowered my sword, rushed in, and stabbed at its belly. It twisted a split second before I got there, but I struck a blow. The beast let out an odd cry, almost elvish, as its massive shoulders dipped to the ground. I had it where I wanted it now. Fang gleamed as I raised it above my head for the final strike.

“No!” someone screamed.

A Roaming Ranger slammed into me, knocking me to the ground. Another jumped on top of me, followed by another.

“What are you doing?” I screamed at them.

The winged ape groaned, holding its wounded side as it lifted its chin to the sky. Its black wings fanned out, flapped a few times, lifting it into the air, above the tree lines, and out of sight.

“Get off of me!” I said, kicking one of the elves in the gut. I was mad now. Why did the elves mess things up?

“Nath Dragon!” one of the rangers said, extending his hand to me. It was Shum. “We do not want him dead! We want him alive, and you’ve fouled things up.”

“Fouled things up? Are you jesting? It was beating the tar out of all of you. Why wouldn’t you want that beast dead, anyway? It’s a killer!” I shoved his hand away.

“It’s our king,” Shum said, glumly.

“Your what?” I said, eyeing the others.

There were five of them now. One just as tall and heavy as the other.

“Our king, Sansla Lybor.”

“Let me guess...” I hated to say it, but I did, “…he’s cursed.”

***

Not long after that, Brenwar arrived, huffing and puffing. Shum and Hoven had finished the tale of their cursed king. I felt for them. For more than a decade, they’d tried to trap him, and this was as close as they’d been in a while. I wasn’t sure if I’d messed things up or not, but I only meant well. But as they left, I sensed their disappointment.

Shum said to me as he left, “You stick to your own, Nath Dragon. We’ll stick to ours. And remember, Sansla Lybor is little more than a shadow of his glorious self now, but the curse within him is vengeful. He’ll not forget that wound you gave him, but perhaps we’ll find him before he finds you. Watch the skies. Farewell.”

One thing was for certain: there were too many curses in this world! I had enough of my own problems to worry about. I eyed the white spot on my hand. It was a start. A dozen dragons freed, dozens more to go.
One dragon at a time, Nath Dragon, one at a time.

“Come on, Brenwar. I think I’m ready for the dwarven home, Morgdon, for now.”

Terror at the Temple

The Chronicles of Dragon: Book 3

By Craig Halloran

Prologue

The draykis. Big. Silent. Deadly. Finnius the acolyte of Barnabus had never seen or imagined anything like them. Men, with dragon parts grafted onto their bodies by magi: scales, talons, and another one with wings. Not just any men, but fighting men, men of skill and cunning. And they had something cornered, a dragon of all things.

They’d trapped a yellow streak dragon inside the mouth of a large cave. It was bigger than any one man, slender and about fifteen feet in length. Its spiked tail whipped out like the head of a snake, taking out one draykis’s legs. In an instant, the draykis was back on its feet, charging. The dragon breathed a plume of white ash, engulfing the dragon man. The draykis turned stiff as stone where he stood.

Whack!

A draykis caught the dragon across the nose with his club as another draykis jumped onto its neck. Only a fool would wrestle a dragon, but the draykis were unrelenting, fearless. The yellow streak dragon bit one on the arm, clawed another on the face, but he was young and confined to a tight space. The fourth draykis appeared, the one with dark wings and a red-scaled face, swinging a club. As the dragon men held the yellow dragon down, the winged draykis beat it until it fought no more. Finnius had never seen men take a dragon so quickly before. Nor with such brutality, either.

“What would you have us do now, Acolyte Finnius?” the winged draykis said.

Finnius watched as the other two bound the defenseless dragon's mouth and wings. He could see the look in the dragon's eyes, drained, defeated. That look thrilled him as he walked over and stroked the dragon's dark-yellow belly.
Quite the catch. Quite the catch, indeed. High Priestess Selene will be pleased with this one.

“Fetch a cart while this one thaws,” he said, pointing his finger at a draykis that was coated in white and perfectly stiff. “And don’t touch him—”

At that moment, a draykis touched the coated draykis and started to freeze.

“Either!” Finnius grunted as he turned back toward the draykis leader. “Fetch the cart while we wait for them both to thaw out.” He shook his head. “Did I tell any of you to touch one another? Hmm? Did I? No! You follow orders. Explicit orders. Now fetch that cart and the rest of the acolytes, dragon man.”

“As you command,” the draykis said, ruffling his wings before heading outside the cave.

“You,” he pointed at the last one, “stay with the dragon. We cannot afford to lose our bait for capturing Nath Dragon.”

CHAPTER 1

Morgdon. Home of the dwarves. I was a captive here.

“Come on, Brenwar,” I pleaded. “I’m ready to go. It’s been three weeks already.”

“Ah, but the Festival of Iron has just started. We can’t leave now: you haven’t even seen the best part yet,” he replied, marching down a crowded street.

The opening parade had begun a week ago, and it hadn’t finished yet. The dwarves only celebrated the Festival of Iron once in a decade, and they put a lot of effort into it. I stopped to watch as a regiment of dwarves marched by in full plate armor, with only their beards and weapons hanging out. They were in perfect cadence, every booted foot in step, not one out of a thousand dwarves out of line.

“How many soldiers are there, anyway?” I asked, looking over Brenwar’s head. I was the tallest person in the entire city, at the moment, anyway.

“Oh, I can’t tell you that, but I might entertain a guess.”

I’d been asking questions every day for weeks. It helped pass the time. A certain question in particular always came to mind: “When are we leaving?” Still, I had to respect my host.

“One hundred thousand?” I said.

“No.”

“Fifty thousand?”

“No.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

A tiny dwarven boy was standing on the shoulders of his father, smiling at me and holding nine fingers up.

“Ninety…” I said.

The dwarven boy, whose beard had not started yet, showed six fingers.

“—Six thousand?”

Brenwar turned. I could see the surprise in his stony face. His eyes flitted from me to the boy and back to me when he said, “Humph… close enough.” He eyed the boy again, stroking his beard, and said, “Ye should mind your own business.”

I put my arm over Brenwar and walked him away, saying, “Ah. It’s no wonder you all look so grumpy all the time. You don’t encourage fun when you’re young.”

“Fun is for the foolish. A dwarf’s work is never done. We don’t run around looking for things to smile about all the time.”

“You would if you could smile like me,” I grinned.

He shook his head, saying, “That smile would be much prettier accompanied by a nice long beard.”

I rubbed my clean-shaven face. I was the only beardless man in Morgdon, aside from the women and children. Of course, many of the women did have beards, and I never got used to that. It just didn’t seem natural, a fuzzy-faced woman, but they could all cook a delicious feast. I’d give them that.

“Brenwar, honestly, when can we leave?”

I was restless. Now that I had a white spot on my dragon hand, I wanted to save the dragons more than ever. I felt like a piece of me was back, like my honor had returned. I hadn’t been motivated before, but now I was more motivated than ever. And I couldn’t help but wonder:
What do the white scales mean
?

“Soon, Dragon. Come now,” he said, reaching over and grabbing a tankard of ale from the booth of a dwarven ale master. He quaffed it in one gulp and belched like a man-sized bullfrog. He patted his belly and grabbed another round and thrust it in my face. “Drink and be merry. Be merry and drink.”

“I’m fine, thanks. Now, Brenwar, let’s go,” I groaned. “You know I have dragons to fetch.”

“Wait until the song's over,” he said with a wink.

“What song?” I said. “There’s no one singing.”

That’s when I saw a smile from behind his beard as he raised his booming voice to the clouds and sang:

“HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…”

Instantly, thousands of dwarves joined in.

“Home of the dwarves! Morgdon! Home of the dwarves! Morgdon!

We make the finest steel and ale. Morgdon! In battle, we never fail! Morgdon!

Home of the dwarves! Morgdon! Home of the dwarves! Morgdon…”

The singing went on and on, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. As much as I didn’t want to sing, I couldn’t help but do just that. The robust dwarves put everything they had into the moment. They jumped, swung, tapped, drank, and sang all at the same time. I’d never seen so many happy dwarves before, and it made me happy, too. There was no better army in all Nalzambor than an army of dwarves. They’d fight until their hearts were black and blue.

“Home of the dwarves! Morgdon! Home of the dwarves! Morgdon!

We make the toughest armor and ale. Morgdon! In battle, we never turn tail! Morgdon!

Home of the dwarves! Morgdon! Home of the dwarves! Morgdon…”

When it ended, I was fulfilled. The dwarves were ready for anything. I was ready for anything.

Brenwar slapped me on the back and said, “What did you think of that?”

“I liked it!”

I decided I should make the most of it. You just couldn’t let every day of your life be filled with worry. "Trust in the greater good instead," my Father would say. So I did. After all, Morgdon was a fantastic city with the boldest architecture I had ever seen. A suspension bridge crossed from one side of Morgdon to another. The buildings and towers were all square-cut stone, but not just any stone: many stones of many colors, not bright, but not all dull, either. Where you didn’t see stone, you saw metal. Burnished, hammered, polished, or riveted, it adorned their bodies, faces, buildings, and all places.

“Look at this, Dragon! Ho! You are in for a treat!” Brenwar pointed.

The parade was still going strong. The regiment of dwarves had marched on, but I could still hear their heavy boots pounding the ground like a steady heartbeat. I followed Brenwar’s arm that pointed upward. A group of dwarven men was sitting in the sky.

“How are they doing that?”

They each sat in a tiny seat at the top of a pole that was ten stories tall, four of them in all. Beneath them, big dwarves with broad chests held them up on shafts of iron, eyes straight forward as they marched along. Every eye was filled with wild wonder as the dwarves stood high atop their perches and bowed.

“Are they crazy! What are they going to do?”

“Just watch, Dragon!”

A wild dragon couldn’t tear my eyes away as one dwarf saluted, teetered backward, and fell.