The Chronicles of Dragon Collection (Series 1 Omnibus, Books 1-10) (45 page)

CHAPTER 15

We had them. Two ettins slugged along over the grassy knolls with their four chins down. Arms shackled behind their backs, they led the way, one heavy footstep after the other. A host of Legionnaire riders accompanied us along with Ben and Garrison, who ran along on foot.

“Dragon,” Ben said. “Can I ride with you? My legs are tired.”

“No, Ben,” I said. “Commander’s orders.”

“But—”

“None of that now. Why don’t you scout ahead or something?”

“Aw,” Ben said, drifting back with a frown.

Sasha rode alongside me.

“Are you feeling better now?” she said.

I felt ashamed. The way I’d shunned her earlier was wrong. Even worse, I’d have to admit it. I couldn’t treat her like Brenwar treated me and hold a grudge for days, weeks, or months.

“I’m sorry, Sasha.” I didn’t look at her. “I really am. It’s just—”

“Don’t explain yourself,” she said. “I understand. After all, you had just come out of a battle. Men are different when their blood runs hot. I wish Bayzog would get upset every once in a while. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his cheeks flush.”

I looked at her, smiling a little.

“Well, maybe he doesn’t have any blood.”

“Dragon!”

“Sorry,” I said.

She giggled.

“No, that was funny. I think we needed it, but I am a bit worried. Do you think he’s all right with Shum? I don’t know anything about him.”

I reached over and patted her arm.

She didn’t flinch or pull away, which surprised me.

I said, “I’m sure he’s all right. The Roamers are the greatest Rangers in Nalzambor. He couldn’t be any safer if he was with me.” I squeezed her arm. “And thank you.”

“For what?” she said, staring at my arm, stroking it with gentle fingers.

“Er … well, saving me, Sasha. That ettin nearly popped my head off.”

“Oh, ho ho, don’t sound so surprised, Nath. Did you think I was just going to stand there and let you get all the glory?”

“Well, uh…” I rubbed the back of my head. “It’s just, I wouldn’t want you to endanger yourself on my account.”

She rolled her eyes. “You men wouldn’t make it through the day without us women,” she said. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to know that.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. “Nath,” she said, still rubbing my arm.

She was trembling inside. I could feel it.

“Truth is…” She swallowed, looked me in the eyes. “I was terrified. I don’t know how I did it. I just did.” She squeezed my arm. “My heart starts beating like a rabbit just thinking about that. Did I really do that, Dragon?” She looked forward at the ettins. “Those things are huge.”

Now I was laughing.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Tell me, Dragon.”

“All right, it’s just an old saying, is all.”

“And the saying is?”

I took a breath. “Little women make big men stumble.”

“That’s it?” she said. “That’s not so bad.”

“Well, that’s not all of it, but that’s all that applies in this case,” I said, trying to pull my dragon arm away.

She held firm. “I want to hear the rest of it.”

“Loud women make a boastful man grumble. Pretty women make all men bumble. Wise women make a proud man humble.”

“Hmmm,” she started, “I think I like the last part best. Is that a song?”

I nodded.

Her eyes brightened. “Can you sing, Dragon?”

I shrugged.

“Really,” she said, “please sing for me. I love singing. I sing all the time, but sometimes Bayzog has to quiet me down.”

“Why don’t you sing, then?” I suggested.

“You first,” she said.

“Well, it’s been a while, but I think I can remember a few verses.”

Yes, I could sing. Dragon music was the oldest in Nalzambor, and I knew many songs. Long as rivers. Ancient as the oldest forest. Songs men and women had never heard and never would hear. It had been so long I wasn’t sure I could do it anymore. I could try something in Common at least. I cleared my throat.

Sasha’s eyes brightened.

“In the meadow, the dragons play, their scales sparkle—huh?”

“Why’d you stop, it sounded so—”

“Sssssh,” I said. I could hear something. Horse hooves coming our way.

“What is it?”

“Not what, but who. Yah!” I galloped off.

“Where do you think you’re going, Dragon?” Brenwar said. He had resumed his normal size.

I kept going, racing up the hill, leaving the Legionnaires and ettins far behind.

A lone figure on a horse rode over the crest. It was Bayzog, with a woman draped over his horse, sleeping, I hoped. “Dragon! Thank goodness I’ve found you!”

Brenwar had come, too. We rode right up to one another. Formed a triangle of horses.

“Are you all right, elf?” Brenwar said. “Where’s the big belly?”

Bayzog took a breath. “He’s a couple leagues back. Dragon, I’m sorry. He was fighting with an ettin.”

“Who is she?” Brenwar said.

“One of the villagers, I assume. We were close. She escaped and the ettin came after her.”

“Bayzog!” Sasha said, riding right up to him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, dear. It’s Shum I’m worried about.” Bayzog’s stern face was wracked with grief. “I left him. The horse wouldn’t stop and I, I couldn’t leave the woman.”

“Shum can handle himself, I’m sure, Bayzog. Come on, Brenwar,” I said.

“Come on? Hah, I’m already going, Yah!”

“Bayzog. Sasha. Stay with the Legionnaires. Help them keep an eye on those ettins.” I snapped my reins and off I went.

***

There’d been a battle, all right. An ettin was face first in the ground, dead as a stone. There was no sign of Shum.

“Took an ettin all by himself,” I said, looking at Brenwar. “Pretty impressive, you have to admit.

Brenwar kept his arms folded across his chest. “Humph. It probably died laughing at his belly.”

“Brenwar,” I said, “would it kill you to give an elf some credit?”

“Don’t know. I’ve never done it before. But it just might, so I’ll not chance it. Ever! Humph. Luck. Elves have lots of it. Even the big-bellied ones.”

“Let’s go,” I said. “It’s getting dark.”

“So?” Brenwar said. “Monsters die in the night as easy as in the day.”

We followed the hoofprints.

I couldn’t get the image of the dead ettin out of my mind. It was now a lifeless clump of hard bone and muscle, soon to be sweet soil for the world. But it ate at me.

Shum was good. Very good. And he’d killed it.

Why couldn’t I do that? If it came down to me and an ettin, what was I supposed to do, knock it out? It wasn’t possible.

“Outsmart it,” Brenwar said.

“What?” I said. “What’re you talking about?”

“I can see the look in your eyes, Dragon,” he said. “You want to know why Shum can kill an ettin and you can’t. How you fight evil without killing.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.”

“Yes you were.”

I hated it when Brenwar was right. Crusty old dwarf.

“No I wasn’t!”

“If you say so,” he said, “but I can answer you this. You can outsmart an ettin. That’s how you beat it. But can you outwit evil? That’s the question.”

“Put a sword through it,” I said, riding off up ahead.

Dwarves don’t know everything anyway. They just think they do.

But the question gnawed at me.

Outwit evil.
My father had said that. Many times. In hours-long form. And it had never sunk in until now. How do you outwit something that kills and destroys? Shows no mercy or compassion?

We navigated into the forest. It was dark, but my eyes didn’t have a problem with that. The horses had little trouble navigating, either. They were well trained, accustomed to hard travel and treacherous terrain.

“Whoa,” I said.

“What is it?”

I motioned up ahead. Something was moving. And it wasn’t a small creature that scurried but something much bigger.

“Wait here.”

Brenwar started to object but I was already gone, a shadow slipping through the foliage. Not bad for a dragon. My ears caught more rustling. I hunched down. Something was coming right at me.

Clop. Clop. Clop.

Shum’s horse emerged. It stopped, dark eyes looking right at me. I made my way over. Grabbed the reins. Felt the saddle.

“Where’s Shum?” I said.

The horse pulled away as if saying, “Follow me.”

A rustle caught my ears. I whirled around. It was Brenwar fighting through the pine branches.

“Stay with the horses,” I said.

“The horses can stay with themselves,” he said, “besides, I smell something as well.” He snorted. “Ettins and something else.”

“Just come on,” I said.

Shum’s horse led. I followed, Brenwar huffing right behind. I wasn’t sure what Brenwar smelled, but there was something in the air. It didn’t blend with the smells of the forest.

The horse stopped. Nickered a little.

“What have we here?” I said. It was a crater. Strange to see. Like a gargantuan spoon had dug it all out. The rising moonlight lit up the trees of the thick forest below. “What do you make of it, Brenwar?”

He peered over the side, glancing back and forth, squinting. He shrugged.

“Let’s go.”

“That’s pretty steep, Brenwar,” I said.

“It’s just a hole in the ground,” he said, shuffling over the edge. “It’s not a cli—
ulp
!”

“Brenwar!” I jumped out, reaching for him.

He disappeared over the rim. I heard him tumble and complain. I followed his dark, sharp rolling. Heard his grumbling. Then nothing. My keen eyes searched for a sign. Anything. He was gone. This crater was deeper than I thought. I started after him.

“Should have tied a rope to him,” I said, climbing.

“Dragon!”

I heard a voice. It was faint, but it was Brenwar.

“What?” I yelled back down.

“Watch out for—”

There was a rustle. Then nothing.

Brenwar!

CHAPTER 16

Elven steel sang. Goblins died. One. Then two. Shum, hobbled, a bolt in his leg, was all over them.

The third goblin chopped its crude axe at his midsection, glancing off his leather armor.

Shum popped it between the eyes with his sword hilt.

It cried out and flailed.

Clatch-zip!

Shum dove onto the ground.

The bolt sank into the dirt by his face.

He rolled. The bolt in his leg snagged, drawing tears from his eyes.

The goblin swung wild after him.

Clatch-zip!

The goblin stopped. Fell face first to the ground, a bolt stuck in its back.

Shum scrambled for cover. He pressed his back to a boulder and took a breath. The Roaming Ranger was calm. Collected. He’d been in plenty of fights before. He slid his dagger from his belt. Both hands were filled with sharp elven steel.

Clatch-zip!

The bolt whizzed high over his head. It was a good thing. The shooter wasn’t the best shot, but he had Shum pinned down. Crossbows took more time to reload than bows, too. He could take advantage of that. He was fast, but not as fast as he’d been. Not with a bolt stuck in his leg. He grabbed the shaft and yanked it out.

The women screamed. Running every which way.

One of the gnolls barked and chased after them.

The others, the leader particularly, he’d lost sight of.

“Ranger!” the gnoll leader growled. “Come out!”

Shum tied a bandage over his thigh. Lifted his hand over his head. Waited.

“Are you surrendering, then?” the gnoll said.

He didn’t reply.

Clatch-zip!

Another bolt shot high and to the left of his fingers. Gritting his teeth, blocking the pain in his leg, he charged from behind the boulder.

The gnolls were waiting. Three of them. One lowered its spear at his chest.

Shum swept it away with the flat of his sword and plunged his elven dagger into its chest.

The gnoll leader roared. Its spiked flail whirled like the wind. Lashed out like a snake’s tongue, catching Shum in the chest.

He doubled over. Tumbled to the ground.

Clatch-zip!

The bolt whizzed past his head and stuck in the ground between the gnoll’s legs. Its eyes widened. “Stop shooting, fools!” The gnoll twirled the spiked ball of steel over its head and brought it down again.

Shum rolled left.

Up it went. Down it came.

He rolled right.

Bang!

The flail got him in the thigh.

“Hah!” the gnoll said. “Not so tough for a Ranger, are you?”

Shum pushed himself back over the dirt, chopping back and forth with his longsword, keeping the gnoll at bay. His sword was a superior weapon to the crude flail, but the gnoll swung with fury. Power. Juttering his arms with every blow. It didn’t help that his leg was banged up and bleeding. Shum was concerned. Was he overconfident? Foolish? He’d just killed an ettin, after all. Couldn’t he handle a handful of gnolls and goblins?

An elven proverb danced is his head.
Death comes from any corner.

The gnoll kept swinging. Harder and harder. Every blow fast and heavy.

Shum dropped his dagger. Wrapped both hands around his sword.

Clang!

The flail chain wrapped around his blade. Locked the weapon up. The gnoll heaved, ripping Shum’s sword from his hand. The gnoll’s dog face let out a howl. It tossed its weapons aside, bared its claws, and pounced on Shum.

***

My dragon claws dug into the rocky dirt of the crater wall, making it easy to climb down. I caught myself wondering if I could scale city walls with them, and then I forced myself to concentrate on finding my friend.

“Brenwar!”

Still, I heard nothing. I hopped from one foothold to another. Traversed gaps and ledges like a critter. I had to admit, I was getting used to this climbing. Having two clawed hands made it much easier.

A hundred feet I descended. It was dark above and below me now. All I could make out were the outlines of the crater rim and the treetops below it.

“Brenwar!”

Great Guzan! I couldn’t believe I’d lost him. The climb wasn’t so risky, but Brenwar wasn’t the best climber. The last time we’d climbed, I’d tied a rope around him.

He must be getting old or something.

Straight down I went, sliding on the steepness of the crater the final fifty feet. There was no sign of Brenwar. I sniffed the air.

There was that smell again. The one from earlier. The one Brenwar mentioned. What was it? Not as bad as orcs, but bad.
Ew!
I felt as if I should know, but I’d forgotten somehow.

I scanned the ground and the trees, looking for heat. Anything. I could see small creatures nesting. Some scurrying through the night, but not much of anything else. I ran my hands over the ground. My touch was sensitive. So sensitive I felt like I could almost taste the ground with it.

“Come now,” I said, “a crusty old dwarf couldn’t have gotten too far.”

On hands and knees, I searched. I sniffed. I was an excellent tracker. But it took a while when I was dealing with new terrain. The out-of-the-ordinary wouldn’t be as plain.

“Ah, there it is. There it is, indeed.”

Whatever it was had tossed a net over Brenwar and dragged him away. But what? That was the question. I looked for prints. I found them, and they weren’t at all what I expected.

“Oh no,” I said. I readied my bow.
Snap. Clatch. Snap
. And darted along the trail. Brenwar was in trouble.