The Chronicles of Dragon Collection (Series 1 Omnibus, Books 1-10) (87 page)

CHAPTER 3

Sasha sighed.

“What is it, Mother?” asked her eldest son, Rerry.

Rerry was a fine young part elf, little more than twenty years old. He had sandy hair and violet eyes like his father and was spry and well built, taking from his human side. He sat on a stool at Bayzog’s great table, rubbing oil on the blade of his longsword. He wore a light vest and fine trousers and always looked relaxed.

“I think it’s these walls,” she said, rubbing a trinket on her necklace. It was enchanted. Something Bayzog had given her in case of trouble. It sparkled like a star when it hit the light right. “I miss my walks in the gardens.”

Rerry hopped off his stool.

“Let’s go, then.”

“It’s late,” Sasha said, brushing her auburn locks from her eyes, “and it’s dangerous.” She rubbed her son’s shoulder. “You know that.”

He backed off and whipped his blade around.

“I can handle it. I’m already a top swordsman in my class.”

“Yes, I know. You tell me every day.”

“Well, I am,” he shrugged, slashing more patterns in the air. “And many don’t like me, being so young and all. But I practice. That’s what being the best is all about.”

“Just put it away,” she said, pulling her sleeves down her arms. She shivered. There was fighting everywhere, and Bayzog was out in the thick of it.
I think Rerry inherited the bravery that Bayzog kept buried.
She yawned and fought it.

“Why do you do that?” Rerry asked.

Sasha looked puzzled. “What?”

“That,” he said, setting his sword aside and pointing out her mouth. He mimicked her yawn.

“What, yawn?” she said, feeling startled.

“Is that what you call it, a yawn? Do you do that when you’re tired?”

His words hit her like a bag of sand. She walked over to the great mirror that hung over one of the fireplaces and studied her face. Her eyes had the slightest hint of crow’s feet, and there were faint wrinkles on her forehead.
Oh my.
She’d never thought about it before!
Elves don’t yawn.
She fixed a glass of Wizard Water and sat down on the sofa.
I’m getting older while they all stay so young.

Rerry hopped up on the sofa arm and said, “Let’s go to the gardens. You need some fresh air.” He twitched his lips. “A horse ride in the country, maybe. It’s been years since we rode.”

It was true. They used to ride all the time, but now things were dangerous. The soldiers of Barnabus were everywhere, and Sasha and her boys had to be careful. Given their elven heritage, they had to conceal it. In the case of Rerry, his features were more man than elf, but his energy was extraordinary.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Ah, Mother, you always say that. You can’t stay cooped up so much, and you can’t worry so much about Father.”

She took a drink of Wizard Water. The revitalizing nectar warmed her skin. She looked at her son.

“I don’t worry about your father so much. He can handle himself. It’s you and your brother I worry about.”
And myself.
I’ll be old and gray before they’ve even grown up.
She took another sip.

“Mother, we can’t live in fear of what is to come. If we live in fear, then our enemies win.”

“Is that what your father said?” she asked.

He sat down and put his arm around her shoulder. “No, that’s what you said about ten years ago.” He took her by the hand and pulled her up. “Now let’s go.”

She kissed his cheek and said, “You’re a fine boy, Rerry.”

“I know.”

She laughed.

“What about your brother? Should we ask him along?”

“No, I want this to be fun.”

CHAPTER 4

The Deep. Transparent darkness covered Gorlee’s entire body from head to toe. His mind raced. His flailing was futile. He couldn’t move.
What is this blackness?
Above him, Kryzak showed a triumphant sneer. That man hated Nath Dragon. Gorlee wondered why.
I should have escaped! I should have escaped!

Cold covered him like damp snow. He couldn’t feel his breath, but it wasn’t lost, either. The only thing he could feel was his heart racing inside his chest.
Thump! Thump-Thump!
The murky blackness began to move. Kryzak’s form swirled out of sight.

As if he were in a drain, Gorlee swirled downward faster and faster. Black waves rushed by his ears.

Madness! Pure madness!

His belly churned. His toes and fingers tingled at the tips as he spun in the vortex.

Nooooooooo!

It went on. Spinning and spinning. Minutes. Maybe hours.

Please stop! Please stop!

The spinning slowed. The darkness lifted. His body came to a stop.

Sultans of Sulfur! Thank you!

On hands and knees, he felt the cold ground beneath him. Holding his stomach, he struggled to rise, but the room was still spinning. He collapsed on the floor, spinning and spinning. Gradually, it came to a stop.

Finally.

He pushed himself up into sitting position and rubbed his neck.

Where am I? What test is this?

He tilted his head upward. A tiny round light shone impossibly high above him. The entrance.

“Gads!”

His voice echoed off the rocks that formed the inner ring of the Deep.

A blackness hovered above. It moved like a cloud. Bright spots in it stared down on him like eyes.

A chill crept down Gorlee’s spine.

Not again!

The blackness drifted down until it stood above him in a man’s shadowy form. A smoky arm lifted from its ethereal body and pointed down a great hall.

Gorlee’s eyes were glued to it.

A phantom!

There were legends about the phantoms of Nalzambor. A race in their own right. Mystical. Powerful. Keepers and guardians of many things.

Gorlee swallowed and shook his head, summoned his courage.

“Are you the warden of the Deep?”

It didn’t speak so much as it breathed a cold and eerie
Yes
.

The illness in his stomach returned.

This is horrible.

He glanced upward again. The Deep appeared to be as far below ground as the Great Tower of Narnum was above.

Dwarves must have done this. But I have no Brenwar!

The phantom raised its ghostly arm again.

Go … or … die …

Gorlee turned and faced the hallway. There were green torches—magic, he surmised—running as far as he could see.

“You know, Selene will be very upset if you lose me,” he said, chains rattling on his ankles as he stepped forward. “And I can only assume you are the only way in and out of here … so don’t oof—”

A blood-curdling cry echoed down the hall. Gorlee stopped, looked, and listened. He noticed one thing. The phantom was gone. He had never felt so alone in his life.

CHAPTER 5

Nath abandoned his horse and trudged into the forest with the scabbard of Fang in his hand. He eyed the finely crafted hilt of the blade. Ornate dragon heads with gemstone eyes stared back at him. He leaned it against a tree and stepped away.

Fang hadn’t been kind to him of late. He rubbed his palms. He could still feel Fang’s burning hilt in his grip. This “sword with a mind of its own” had been made for him, but something was wrong. The great blade didn’t like him anymore. Not since his last long hibernation. And change.

He rubbed his chin. Kneeled down and eyed the weapon.

“Fang,” he said. He grumbled and stood back up. “What am I doing?”

Fang had always been unpredictable. It unloaded its great powers when it wanted to and not when Nath wanted it to. He’d never had control of it.

They say I’m unpredictable, too. Hmmm. Perhaps that’s it.

Nath walked over to the sword, took a breath, and pulled it out of the sheath. The metal was cool on his palm.

“That’s better,” he said. He cut the weapon through the air in circles. “Much bett—
ouch
!”

He jammed the blade into the ground and blew on his hands.

“Blast you, Fang! I’m your master, you are not mine!”

He kicked some pine needles off the ground.

“Aw, I don’t need you anyway! I can do this without you!”

He ripped a hunk of wood from a tree.

“Stupid sword!”

Nath was angry. He was hurt more. It seemed that Fang didn’t trust him anymore. Even worse, Fang was a blade that his father had made for him. It was special. Fang’s resistance reminded him of his failures. It didn’t like the bad inside him.

“I’m not evil,” he said through clenched teeth. He took a seat and leaned back against a tree. “This is no way for a man to behave.” He rubbed his side. That nasty little splinter in his ribs started to bother him. He combed back his mane. “Great.”

Earlier in the day, Nath had felt all powerful. Stronger. Faster. Invincible. His confidence had risen to new heights when he beat the grey scaler. But there were more dangerous things in Nalzambor than grey scalers. What if there had been two of them? Could he have handled them both?

I am strong but am I not wise.

He needed every advantage to protect himself and, more importantly, his friends. He needed all of his friends. Fang in particular.

“What good is a sword that you cannot hold?” He eyed the sword. “Father made you for me, didn’t he?” Nath got up and pulled his shoulders back. “Didn’t he?”

His father’s strong voice echoed in his head.
You make things to serve yourself as well as others.

Nath stretched out his fingers and held them close to the hilt.

“I’m not letting go this time, Fang,” he said, bringing his fingers closer. “Not even if my hands catch fire.”

He wrapped up the hilt and squeezed. His fingers felt like they were cauterizing in fire. He screamed.

“Eeeeeee—Yaaaaaaaaah!

***

Wood burned. A small campfire glowed and crackled. All the faces around it were glum. Bayzog huddled in his tattered robes. Brenwar sulked and grunted.

Nath Dragon was gone again.

“He said he’d be back,” Ben said, turning a spit of elk meat over the fire. “And at least he left us dinner.” He smiled at Brenwar. “Lordy, that was something.”

Brenwar huffed and chewed on a hunk of meat.

The dwarven warrior looked like he’d fought a thousand battles in a day. His black beard was raggedy, and his chest plate was dented and beaten. The remnants of his clothes were in tatters, and his boots had holes in them.

“What are you staring at, man?” Brenwar said, ripping off a hunk of flesh with his teeth from the bone. “You don’t like what you’re seeing. Don’t like my boots? They’re two years old, you know, and just worn through.”

“Don’t
man
me, dwarf,” Ben said. “I don’t want to hear all of your fussing. You should be grateful Dragon is alive. I know I am.”

“Ah yes, you’re just so giddy. A child playing with fire.”

“What are you talking about?” Ben said. He wanted to shake Brenwar.

“I see that look in your eyes, human,” Brenwar said, slipping his hand onto the war hammer’s handle. “You think you can tangle with me? Do you?”

“I’m just making conversation,” Ben said, getting to his feet. “But if you want to—”

“I think that is quite enough,” Bayzog interjected. He’d been sitting quietly, eyeing the flames. “We have to focus on our enemies, not make enemies of one another.”

Ben resumed his seat on the grass, eyeing Brenwar.

“Don’t you stick your lip out at me,” Brenwar growled.

“Brenwar, you’d bicker with a tree,” Ben said, fixing a piece of meat.

“And I’d win.”

“Only a dwarf would claim to win an argument with a tree,” Bayzog said.

Brenwar glared at him.

Bayzog raised his palms.

“And I see nothing wrong with that.”

Bayzog rubbed the amulet under his robes. It was times like this he missed Sasha and his sons the most. He hadn’t seen them in a long time, and that wasn’t so bad for the elf in him, but the human inside him missed his wife. Every time he got to see her, she had changed so much.
Focus, wizard. Focus.

“Brenwar,” Bayzog said, “why don’t you finish telling me about Nath’s father?”

“No.”

“Well, tell us about Dragon Home.”

“You mean the Mountain of Doom?” Ben said. “Brenwar, you’ve been in it? And you’ve seen the King Dragon?”

“Of course I have.”

“All these years and nobody tells me anything,” Ben said, frowning.

“Stop complaining,” Brenwar huffed. “And you didn’t ask, did you?”

“Well, it would have been nice to have known,” Ben said.

“Dwarves don’t gossip.”

“It’s not gossip! It’s just conversation among friends. I’d like to have some understanding of who and what I’m fighting for.”

Brenwar stiffened.

“If you don’t know what you’re fighting for, then you shouldn’t be fighting.”

“Well,” Ben said, “I’ve been fighting so long, I guess I’ve lost track of all of that. Please remind me.”

“Wizard,” Brenwar said, tossing an elk bone away, “you fill him in. My mouth is too sore for this chatter.”

“But it’s not too sore for eating,” Ben said.

Brenwar got up, clenched his fists, and disappeared into the woods.

“You’d think,” Ben said, “given his years, he’d be less temperamental.”

Bayzog opened his mouth to speak, but Ben cut him off.

“I know, he’s a dwarf.”

Bayzog liked Ben, but he envied the man, too. Ben had faith in Nath. Much more than he did. Bayzog had doubt. Concern. And those were not good things.

“Ben, evil destroys love, joy, and peace. Wouldn’t you agree, based off what you’ve seen?”

“I know,” Ben said, shaking his head. “I know. It’s not patient or kind or good, so to speak.”

“And it lacks self-control. It lies. It twists. It digs at each and every one of us.” Bayzog sighed. “But we have to resist those temptations it offers. Ben, I miss my family. I love them more than anything, and there is nothing I’d rather do than go home and huddle with them and let the world end how the world ends. But I can’t.”

Ben bobbed his head.

“Well, you could,” Ben said, “But I understand. I had a family too, only to see those minions take them. If I’d been there, then maybe I could have saved them. It eats at me every day. I miss them.”

“So why do you fight?” Bayzog said. “Why do you go on?”

“Because I don’t want other families to go through what I went through. I want to help end this. I want peace on Nalzambor again.”

“Then you do know why you fight this war. Your reasoning is sound and wise. You are a good friend, Ben.”

“Do you think we’ll win?” Ben asked.

“All I know is that we have to.”