Trial of the Dragon
The Chronicles of Dragon, Series 2, Book 6
By Craig Halloran
Trial of the Dragon
The Chronicles of Dragon, Series 2, Book 6
By Craig Halloran
Copyright © 2016 by Craig Halloran
Amazon Edition
TWO-TEN BOOK PRESS
P.O. Box 4215, Charleston, WV 25364
ISBN eBook: 978-1-941208-75-5
ISBN Paperback: 978-1-941208-76-2
www.craighalloran.com
Cover Illustration by Joe Shawcross
Map by Gillis Bjork
Edited by Cherise Kelley
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Publisher's Note
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
MAP
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
FROM THE AUTHOR
About the Author
MAP
CHAPTER 1
Nath sat in the throne room of Dragon Home. He was alone, sitting on the very throne from which his father, Balzurth, had lectured him countless times. His body was ten times too small to fill the seat. That was how he felt, too small to fill his father’s clawed footsteps. He was still a man, not a dragon. He scooted over and leaned on the golden arm of the grand chair.
Father, you can’t be dead. Why did you die?
For weeks he had relived his father’s death. Over and over, he’d seen the crafty titan Isobahn run Balzurth through with the Spear of Barnabus. It happened just when Balzurth was moments away from eliminating the head titan, Eckubahn. His father’s powerful breath had been cleansing the world with fire at that moment, only to be cut off by the tip of a spear.
He can’t even have a burial.
His claws dug into the soft metal of the throne arm.
I don’t even have his body!
Nath hopped off the chair, landing hard on the array of coins that jingled on the ground. Scattering thousands with a sweep of his foot, he stormed through the grand treasure-filled chamber and snatched up the precious figure of a wild bear wrought with silver. The ornate figure was bigger than his head. He glared into the green emeralds that made up its eyes for a moment and then hurled it from one side of the chamber to the other. The figurine struck one of the huge support columns, skipped off the wall, and landed in the pile with a crash of glass.
Nath perked up.
What was that?
Wading through the piles of treasure and countless valuables, he stormed over to the source of the sound. Brows knitted together, he muttered to himself. He’d done much of that lately. “Why do you need all this treasure? All people do is fight over it. Why hoard it all, because it’s pretty?” He scooped up a diamond bigger than his knuckle then flung it aside. “If all this treasure can’t bring my father back, then what good is it?”
He stopped at the spot where he had heard the crash. The sound shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, there were plenty of vases and statues in the great hall. Still, he couldn’t fight the bad feeling that he’d broken something that wasn’t his. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Aw, I’m the Dragon King now. I can break what I want. Who’s going to punish me?
He caught a glimpse of himself in a broken piece of mirror. It had been part of an oval mirror that had sat half buried in the treasure ever since he could remember. It was bigger than he was.
“Huh?”
He pulled the mirror out and leaned it against the column, gazing at the shattered image of himself. Several pieces were missing. The longer he looked, the more his image contorted.
“Yes, I look just how I feel: broken, with many pieces missing. Sometimes it stinks to be me.” A piece of mirror fell out of the frame. “Oh, and it keeps getting worse. I just can’t stop falling apart.”
Shoulders hanging, he sluffed through the coins, circling the throne room. He had spent so much time walking around in the chamber that he had made a track through the treasure. He came to a stop behind the throne and stood looking at the great mural filled with dragons. All of them were painted as real as life itself. In the bright sky the dragons flew, so real that he swore he could touch them. Yet something was missing.
Eyes watering, he said, “Father, you should be here. I should be dead.”
Nath again recounted his mistakes, reliving his errors.
If I had been able to handle my responsibilities to begin with, Father would still be safe in the world beyond the mural. If I had just listened more, I wouldn’t have made so many stupid mistakes. Now you’re lost to me, Father, when I need you most.
He touched a fingernail to the mural in a spot where the sky was icy blue. It was warm on his scales beneath his index finger. The images shifted. The dragons painted on the sky faced him with angry eyes. He took his finger away and moved on, pacing in deep thought for hours. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d talked to another person, but he knew the last words he’d had with his friends and family were ones of anger.
I’m still mad at them.
Nath wanted to go back to Narnum. He wanted to find his father’s body and bring it back. He didn’t care if he needed a thousand dragons to pull it off. It was the right thing to do. However, his friends had different ideas. They had overpowered him and taken him away. Despite all the great strength he had as a man, it was no match for Selene, Sansla Libor, and Slivver. They had held him fast until his temper cooled enough that he could be reasoned with. However, he still simmered. After the last bout with all of them—including his mother, Grahleyna—he’d holed up inside the throne room, giving them all a final order:
Do not disturb!
After all, he was the Dragon King.
It was a hard time. There were many things in the throne room that made him think of his father. Countless things. When he was a boy, the throne room had been his favorite place to play. Balzurth would sit on his chair, which was really more of a gigantic stool than a throne, and chuckle.
His rumblings and hot breath gave the extravagant room special life. All the while, Nath would dress up in the variety of clothing and assortment of armor that were scattered about. There were weapons too—knives, swords, maces, and bows. He mastered them all, imagining himself conquering one monster after the other. One time he’d picked up a wizard’s wand. Not understanding how to use it, he had shot his father in the rear end with it.
He laughed. He cried. He felt like he was dying inside. Finally, after he’d wallowed in self-pity up to his ears, he recollected something his father had said a thousand times and that he had never heard.
“It’s your life. You have to live it, not me.”
Nath pushed himself up off the coins that slid around his feet and headed for the towering doors. Taking a deep breath, he pushed them open.
CHAPTER 2
In southern Nalzambor between the Mountain of Doom and the dwarven home of Morgdon were the settlements, a rugged stretch of land filled with small towns put together by one race or another. Farmland was scarce, making it tough on the people, who thrived on their privacy but openly traded with everyone in the lands. The settlements were in the valleys and hills, made of wood and stone buildings that blended in with the rock and land. The resilient people were a quiet lot, hard at work, tilling what little fields they had and feeding the livestock. Most of them were human, but occasionally a halfling would pass by. Sometimes dwarves and elves passed through. They traded, refilled their supplies, and moved on.
Such wasn’t the case at the moment. A group of dwarves—eight in all, covered from their necks to their toes in beards and armor—were sticking around. They asked questions. They were obviously searching for someone.
Rerry and Samaz sat inside a small farmhouse on a pair of stools, eating some eggs and grits. Rerry smiled at the dark-headed farm girl who served them. She tore her eyes away, giggled, and hurried off after he flashed his teeth.
“Stop drawing attention to us,” Samaz said to him. Head over his plate with his shaggy black hair covering his eyes, he spooned in a mouthful of grits.
“Oh, don’t be so jealous.” Rerry lifted up out of his seat, peeking after the woman. “She’s a fetching little thing. I might ask for her name.”
“Fine, get her name. Maybe she will bring us a meal after the dwarves capture us and throw us in one of their league-deep dungeons.”
“Try not to worry so much. They aren’t looking for us specifically.”
Rerry stood up and made his way over to where the barn’s entrance stood open to a full view of the surroundings. The small barn sat on an overlook of the valleys below. From its unique vantage point, he could see the buildings that wound through the valley. About fifty yards away he saw Captain Scar and his men talking to the dwarves that had been hanging around longer than they—according to Scar—would normally stay.
He shooed a chicken away with his foot. “Go away, or I’ll have my brother scarf down more of your children.” The chicken clucked and moved off. With his eyes intent on Scar and the dwarves, he tried to imagine what they were saying.
Pretending to read Scar’s lips, he said, “Hello, Mister Dwarf. My, that is a fine beard. Can I cut it off and make a blanket out of it?”
Imitating the dwarf, he said, “Touch my beard and I’ll poke your other eye out.”
“Then I wouldn’t be able to see how short and ugly you are.”
“Ugly? Say it again and I’ll make a belt out of that scrawny body of yours!”
“No you won’t!”
“Yes I will!”
Rerry stopped talking to himself at the sound of girls giggling. He peeked up, seeing some little kids in the hayloft. They covered their mouths, but the laughing still came out. “The show’s not free, you know. At least give me some applause.”
Someone clapped. It was the farm girl. On ginger feet, she walked up to him, a little shy, and said, “Mother says I need two silvers for the meal. I’d give it to you for free if I could.”
He placed three coins in her warm hands. “There’s no need for charity… Uh, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Nell.”
The children in the loft made kissing noises.
She yelled up at them, “Stop that, you little monsters.”
Rerry couldn’t help but laugh. Still holding her hand, he said, “I’m Rerry. You know, we shouldn’t have waited so long to have a formal introduction.”
“Why is that?”
He noticed Scar coming back. The hardened elven soldier wore a mask of concern. The dwarves eyed his back every step of the way. Scar moved into Rerry’s line of sight, blocking his view. He was mouthing the words, “Get inside!”
“Nell, it’s possible I might be moving on today, and it pains my heart to know we might be parting company so soon.”
“Mine too.” The comely young lady with locks of honey and brown dangling half over her eyes lifted up on her toes, kissed his lips, and hurried away.
Agape, he watched her vanish and said as he touched his lips, “What was that?”
Samaz turned on his stool, got up, and said, “I’d call it a kiss goodbye.” He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. “Or maybe it was just a polite thank-you for the extra coin you gave her. That’s how these pretty girls make a living.”
“Are you saying she wasn’t sincere?”
“Yes.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“Of what, having more coins left than you?” Samaz slapped Rerry on the back. “Don’t be so defensive. I’m only teasing you.”
Scar arrived and practically shoved them both inside, saying, “Why don’t you just walk down there and kiss the dwarves! For all the trees in Elome, you can’t keep your head tucked in, can you, Rerry.”
“Those walking beards couldn’t make me out from that far. I look like nothing but a commoner. From a distance, that is.”
“Hah. Have you ever been interrogated by a dwarf?’” Scar said.
“No.”
“And you don’t want to be. He grilled me. Me! Who is he to grill me? A dwarf has no right. With that said, he let out plenty about the search for Nath Dragon.” He poked Rerry in the chest. Eyeballing his surroundings and noting the children above, he switched his speech to Elven. “He mentioned Nath Dragon’s allies: Brenwar. A man called Ben. Oh, and this name might sound familiar: Bayzog. Funny, they also mentioned his wife Sasha and his sons Rerry and Samaz. As a matter of fact, they even gave descriptions. Very accurate, I might add. To be clear, he didn’t seem convinced that I hadn’t seen you. With that said, it’s time to go. Plenty of people have seen your faces, but at least they don’t have your names.”
Rerry blanched. His fingers fidgeted at his side.
“You didn’t blurt out your name, did you?” Scar said.
“Well, she wouldn’t say anything if I told her not to.”
“Don’t be a fool. She will if someone offers her so much as a piece of gold. These people can’t afford to turn that down. Would you blame her?”
Rerry shook his head. He searched the barn with sad eyes, but he didn’t see her. “Fine, then. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 3
Across from one another, Bayzog and his wife sat in a grove of holly trees, holding each other’s hands. They’d been doing so awhile now. Nothing stirred them—aside from the wind that rustled the leaves from time to time, whipping them into their faces. A pinkish amulet glowed on its chain around Sasha’s neck. Bayzog’s Elderwood Staff lay across his lap, also glowing with a life of its own at the top. Mystic energy from the objects swirled together, uniting them in an array of beautiful colors.
Standing guard among the trees, Ben was transfixed. The hypnotic energy filled his eyes and added new strength to his limbs. He squinted and finally turned away. Rubbing his temples, he blinked several times, clearing his head.
Well, I stood it longer this time than last time.
Bayzog had told him not to linger around and stare at what the
y did, but Ben couldn’t fight his fascination with magic. It was especially tempting now that he was older, getting on in years. His joints ached to the point where it always hurt to bend over. His knees cracked when he squatted. A little magic here and there to hopefully save his behind in battle was something he thought about often. He’d asked Bayzog and Sasha to teach him a few things, and Sasha had made a few attempts, but he didn’t have it in him. He rolled his aching shoulders.
Maybe I should have stayed a farm boy. Nah, my back would still ache. And I wouldn’t want to miss a day with Nath Dragon.
Nath was quite possibly the best thing that had ever happened to Ben in his life. The fascinating warrior had left him awestruck the first time they met. He had wanted to be like Nath, but even better, they had wound up becoming great friends. Now Nath needed all the help he could get, and Ben didn’t want to let him down. Instinctively, he reached over his shoulder, grasping for the magic bow, Akron. He found empty air, but the bow always seemed to linger on his shoulders. He shook his head.
How did I lose it?
Nath had trusted him with the powerful weapon, and now it was gone, stolen by thieves—and even worse than that, it had been used, allegedly, to commit murder in Nath Dragon’s name. Ben lost plenty of sleep over it, trying to recall every detail of his life from the time he had last seen the bow until he discovered it missing. There just wasn’t any evidence—except one thing.
There had been a day when his wife, Margo, was acting strange. Even his daughters, Tristan and Justine, thought so. Margo didn’t recall anything out of the ordinary at all, but Ben’s gut told him she’d been in two places at once. That was the hard part to swallow, because it didn’t make any sense.
If I hadn’t lost the bow, neither of those leaders would have been killed. The elves and dwarves wouldn’t be blaming Dragon. They wouldn’t be hunting after him.
He cracked his neck from side to side. Shaking life into his stiff arms, he made his way over to Brenwar’s chest, which sat on the ground against a pile of mossy stones. He peeked over at Bayzog. The part-elf wizard’s face remained a mask of concentration. Ben enjoyed taking a look inside the chest from time to time. He undid the hasp and opened the lid.
Trial of the Dragon (The Chronicles of Dragon, Series 2, Book 6 of 10) (Tail of the Dragon 7) Page 1
