Eyes of the Dragon (The Chronicles of Dragon, Series 2, Book 4) (Tail of the Dragon)

by Craig Halloran

  The room filled with new warmth. The hairs stood up on Nath’s arms, and as a soft golden glow formed around his father, he closed his eyes. The entire room was bathed in new light. Brenwar and Laylana were transfixed. Deep inside Nath’s belly, he was uneasy.

  Should Father be doing this, whatever it is?

  But Nath’s feet were glued to the floor, and all he could do was watch.

  The heavy lids over Sasha’s eyes lifted. New life gleamed in her eyes. Raising her wrinkled hands, she rested them on Balzurth’s forearms. Her head tossed back, and she gasped for air. Head still back, her mouth was hanging wide open. Something dark began to seep from her pores, like tiny black droplets of rain. It gathered above her like a small cyclone in the air and floated over Balzurth.

  No!

  Nath wanted to stop whatever was happening. His raw instincts told him something was horribly wrong. He shifted his gaze from his father back to Sasha. She was refreshed and rejuvenated. Decades of life had returned. Her eyes watered like a new rain.

  Just then, Balzurth lifted his hand into the dingy swirl. Like a hive of angry bees, it attacked and burrowed into his skin. The golden light faded to nothing, and the warmth was gone.

  Following a long moment of silence, Sasha said in a voice like honey, “Nath, is that you?”

  He rushed over to her and clasped her hands. “Yes, yes, Sasha, it’s me.”

  She did a double take between him and his father. “Then who’s this?”

  The gold in Balzurth’s eyes had turned to black, and he sat still as a stone.

  “It’s my father,” Nath replied, but the cold expression on Balzurth’s face sent spiders crawling down his legs.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Ben,” Bayzog said under his breath. “Get to the chest. Now.” He watched as Ben darted for the stables.

  The door to the small house cracked open, and Jad peeked out.

  Bayzog pushed his head inside and said, “Please. Stay quiet and stay in there.” The door creaked to a close. As he turned away from the house, the man and the hideous troll-like giant turned and faced him.

  “What do we have here, an elf?” It was a humongous giant who spoke in a polite, measured tone contrary to his face. “Strange place for an elf.”

  “Strange indeed,” said the warrior wearing the iron helmet. He slid his sword out of the scabbard. The blade had a living shimmer swirling in the metal. “What brings you to these parts, elf?”

  “I’m just passing through,” Bayzog replied. He moved away from the house, positioning himself between the aggressors and the open fields behind him. He ran his fingers down this staff and added, “Perhaps you monsters should do the same.”

  Placing his fingers—which were unnaturally long even for his size—on his chest, the monster said, “I was only stopping in for a bite. I get very hungry moving from town to town. And my ears are still ringing from all the screaming.”

  “There will be no more screaming here,” Bayzog said.

  “Oh?” The giant troll lifted a brow. “Are you sure about that?” He hurled the fence post across a field into one of the nearest neighbors’ homes. The beam crashed right through the window. Startled voices cried out. Cupping his ear, the monster said, “That sounds like a scream to me.”

  “What do you want with these people?” Bayzog said. “They’re no threat to you.”

  The warrior came forward. “Perhaps they should be. The weak deserve the slaughter.”

  “They’re not weak,” Bayzog defended. “However, it is weak to take advantage of hardworking people.”

  “Oh, we have a politician among us.” The giant clapped his hands together and bowed a little. “Tell us your name and your platform. Maybe we’ll vote for you.”

  All Bayzog was trying to do was buy time in hopes that the people of the town had enough sense to slip out and find safety. The man and monster before him were killers. He could see it in their black eyes. He could smell it on the giant’s rancid breath. They had no guilt. They sought devastation. But why? Even the giants that were taking over the towns weren’t slaughtering people en masse. They were just controlling the masses with fear. Now this. “Why don’t you tell me your names? After all, you’re our guests.”

  “There’s no point in that,” the warrior said.

  Taking a long step forward, the giant said, “I am Bletver, a triant. This is my boss, Rybek the Devastator. We are servants of Eckubahn, here to spread his blessing throughout Nalzambor.”

  “By killing people?” Bayzog said.

  “We like to consider them mercy killings,” Bletver said.

  “Be silent, triant.” Rybek blocked Bletver with his arm and stretched out his sword. “Elf, if you’re going to attempt to stop us, I suggest you get on with it. But I’ll show you mercy if you hand over that staff of yours.”

  Bayzog planted the staff in the ground. The wind picked up, blowing strands of his hair in his face. “The only way you get this staff is if you pry it from my part-elven hands.”

  “I’d be delighted.” Rybek started his advance.

  Bayzog pointed the staff at the triant Bletver. The gemstone centered inside the nest of wood that cradled it flared with amber light. A bolt of energy shot from the Elderwood Staff and smote Bletver in the chest with a clap of thunder.

  The triant toppled over and fell hard to the ground. His chest was smoking, and he lay still.

  Bayzog pointed the staff at Rybek. “Don’t take another step.”

  Resting his sword on his shoulder, Rybek said, “And if I do?”

  “I will turn you to dust.”

  “And here I was planning on turning this entire village to dust.” Rybek lifted his shoulders. “Well, plenty of things will be dust once this is over.”

  Bletver rose to his elbows. Looking down the length of his nose, he saw his smoking chest and said, “What in a bearded wart hit me?”

  “Stay down, triant,” Bayzog warned. He pointed the staff between the two of his enemies. “Stay down or just crawl away.”

  “It’s going to take more than your little stick to stop me,” Bletver said. “Now the fight becomes interesting.” With speed that belied his grotesque girth, the triant sprinted away, making a beeline for a nearby house and calmly announcing, “Incoming.”

  Rybek attacked.

  Bayzog pointed the staff at the armored warrior and turned loose its power. A bright beam of energy struck the fighter’s striking blade, which turned aside the blast.

  Rybek shuffled back several steps, regained his balance, lowered his head, and charged.

  Without hesitation, Bayzog loosed the staff’s firepower again.

  Sword swinging, Rybek knocked the bolt aside, kept churning, and powered his body into Bayzog’s. The jarring impact knocked the staff loose from the half elf’s fingers.

  Bayzog moaned under the weight of Rybek’s crushing body. The warrior was a big man, and with the armor, he felt like he weighed a ton. Fighting, wrestling, and punching weren’t Bayzog’s ways.

  In an instant, Rybek had him pinned down on the muddy ground with the blade at his throat. “It seems I didn’t have to pry the staff away from you after all, now did I?” Rybek clamped an iron grip over Bayzog’s throat and squeezed. “Now tell me, bastard elf. Who are you?”

  A crash of wood followed by screams caught Bayzog’s ears. The triant’s reign of terror had begun. The horrified cries multiplied. Choking out the words, Bayzog replied, “You are not worthy of my name, you murdering monsters.”

  Applying more pressure to Bayzog’s neck, Rybek replied, “You are right about two things. We are murderers and we are monsters. Prepare to die, nameless bastard that you are.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “How are you feeling, Father?” Nath asked.

  Balzurth didn’t reply at first.

  Instead, Sasha embraced him. He patted her back without speaking as she thanked him several times. Her body was shaking against his, and finally she broke off her embrace.

&
nbsp; That’s when Balzurth said, “Eh, I’m quite well, Son.”

  Nath watched as the gold in Balzurth’s eyes overtook the black, driving away the inky murk that had been there. “Are you certain?”

  Hands on his knees, Balzurth said, “I think I would know if there was something wrong with me.” The richness returned to his voice. “But what’s important here is for nothing to be wrong with this young lady. How do you feel?”

  “Exquisite.” Sasha hugged Balzurth again.

  Nath didn’t think his father had been all there the first time Sasha hugged him. No, while what his father had done for her was wonderful, he couldn’t help but think a price had been paid. His father, though vibrant in appearance, sat hunched over a little bit.

  He’d better be fine.

  Margo entered the room with a tray filled with food. “What’s all the commotion about? Why is everyone so excited?”

  “Margo!” Sasha said. “What are you doing here?”

  Staring over Sasha’s shoulder, Margo said, “Is this another episode?”

  Smiling, Nath shook his head and said, “No, my father has healed her.”

  Brenwar made a skeleton fist and pushed it up in the air, saying, “We need to celebrate!”

  For the next couple of hours, the friends gathered around the table, talking and enjoying themselves. Everyone was thrilled for Sasha, and she couldn’t stop thanking Nath and Balzurth.

  Now refreshed and with the color back in her cheeks and her pretty eyes as bright as the moon, Sasha became serious. “I remember terrifying dreams about my sons. You know I have to go find them.”

  “Ben and Bayzog are only a couple of days away from us. We’ll catch up with them in no time and continue our search for Rerry and Samaz from there,” Nath said to her. “I’m confident we will find them.”

  “When you catch up with them,” Margo said, “will you please send Ben back home? I’m sorry, Sasha, but I miss my man. And the girls are sick without him.”

  “I insist on it,” Sasha replied. “Don’t you fret. Families need to be together during these dark times.” She placed her hand on one of the spell books stacked on the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some preparation to do.”

  “Sasha, are you certain you’re ready to venture out so soon?” Nath asked as he stood up from the table with the other men. “You might need more time and rest.”

  “I’ll never rest until my family is back.”

  ***

  Getting back out of the city proved easier than getting inside had been. Sasha merely read a scroll, and they popped over the wall to the outside. It was early morning, and the dew was heavy on the grass. Balzurth was ahead, but he wasn’t leading. Nath was. His father had been quiet since they’d begun the next leg of their journey. The weird thing was that Balzurth was talking to himself in Dragonese. His words were faint, and Nath couldn’t quite catch them enough to understand.

  Marching alongside Nath, Brenwar said, “What’s wrong with your father?”

  “You’re asking me? You know him better than I do.”

  Brenwar had a more serious than normal look on his face.

  “I’m joking,” Nath reassured him. “But no, I do have a strange feeling about him.”

  Pawing his black-and-gray–streaked beard, the dwarf replied, “I’ve got that tickling the hairs on my toes feeling, too. He’s off. The ever slightest, but enough.”

  Nath adjusted the strap that held Fang between his shoulders on his back. “I can only imagine he’s adjusting.” He scratched his arm with his golden-yellow claws. His black scales were back. True enough, they seemed to have restored the air of purity he’d earlier lacked. Taking a look behind him, he noted Sasha and Laylana chatting away. The fire that had burned inside him for Laylana was now gone.

  Perhaps I should suggest that Father restore his scales.

  “Take the lead while I have a moment with you know who?”

  “Aye.”

  He glided back past his father.

  Balzurth’s stare didn’t change its course. It was half in the trees and half in the sky, searching for something. His arms were swinging like he was in a grand parade.

  Nath snapped his fingers before his father’s eyes.

  Balzurth swatted at Nath’s hand, came to a stop, and said, “Huh?” He gave Nath a spacy look. “Oh, yes, Son. What is it I can do for you?”

  “That was really incredible what you did for Sasha.”

  “I know, I know. It had to be done.”

  “I’m feeling better, myself,” Nath added.

  Staring at the clouds that drifted overhead, the Dragon King said, “What was wrong?”

  “My scales. I have them back.”

  Balzurth nodded.

  Nath took his father by the elbow and pulled him to a stop.

  Balzurth jerked away, saying, “Unhand me, boy!”

  Pheasants that had been hunkered in the tall grasses scattered into the air. Standing with the distant woodland at their backs, everyone in their party came to a stop. They stared right at Balzurth.

  Balzurth’s face became angry. His frown deepened. Casting a glance at all of them, he took a deep breath and let it out again. His stern features eased, and the slightest smile formed when he said, “Apologies. I am deeply distracted with our situation. It troubles me.” He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Lead on. I’ll follow. Please, it will do my heart good.”

  With a nod, Brenwar resumed his trek, pushing through the waist-high grass. The women followed.

  “Son, what is it that you were trying to say to me?”

  “I was trying to suggest that you might need your scales back in case this world is getting too deep for you. And I say that with the utmost respect.” Nath patted his father’s wrist. “My scales certainly made a change in me. I’m glad you shared that with me. Otherwise, I might not have known.”

  “You know, Son, sometimes even I can forget myself. You help remind me of the mistakes I once made, and that’s not a bad thing. As a matter of fact, you remind me of a mistake that I’m making now.”

  “You, a mistake? Give me a moment while I have Brenwar hammer it out on a tablet.” Nath was a little astonished. “I really don’t know what to say, but what do you mean?”

  “My power is not a frivolity. Even I can get carried away with it. I’m a dragon, not a man. I need to act like it.”

  “So, when you healed Sasha…did you harm yourself?”

  “No regrets, Son.” Balzurth changed the subject. “So where are we off to, exactly?”

  “Quinley is the first stop. It’s where I met my dear friend Ben.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Inside the stables, Ben opened the creaking lid of a wooden storage box. He hustled out Brenwar’s strongbox and laid it on the ground. He was dripping with sweat. It had been a long time since he faced men and monsters the likes of those he’d just seen. The ugly one was bone chilling. The iron helmet on the other sent a wave of terror straight through him. Depressing the dwarven medallion on the box, he popped the lid open.

  Sssray-Boom!

  An explosion outside shook the hay from the loft, dropping filaments over his clothes.

  “Gut up, Ben. Gut up!” he said, encouraging himself. The phrase was something they’d said in the Legionnaires during their rigid training. “Oh, I wish I had Akron.”

  All around Quinley, his people started to shriek and yelp.

  He grabbed the gauntlets and slipped one on. His sweaty hands were sticking to the leather. Using his teeth, he pulled on the second one. Power filled his limbs. He found his bow hanging on a wall, snatched it up, and grabbed his quiver. In two long strides he was back outside, surveying the chaos.

  Bayzog was down on the ground, with the iron warrior holding him down by the throat. Ben nocked an arrow, pulled back the string, and let the missile sing. The arrow struck the warrior in the helmet’s temple, knocking his head. Bayzog’s hands charged up with white light and knocked his assailant as
ide.

  Scrambling to his feet, Bayzog yelled at Ben, “Help them! Help them! Get them away from Bletver!”

  “What’s a Bletver?”

  The wizard pointed at the triant that was running roughshod through the houses and crushing Ben’s frightened people.

  “Noooooo!” Ben cried. He fired arrow after arrow into the monster’s bulk. The arrows stuck like cactus needles.

  But Bletver paid them no mind at all. He continued on the warpath.

  Ben took off at a dead sprint right at the horrible monster that was yards away from tearing another innocent home apart. With the force of a charging steed, he tackled the monster by the leg and drove it to the ground.

  “Ugh!” Bletver said. “What in the deep well hit me?”

  Ben planted his feet on the ground, tangled Bletver’s greasy hair around his wrist, and with his free fist started punching the triant in the face.

  “Leave”

  Whack!

  “my”

  Whack!

  “people”

  Whack!

  “alone!”

  Whack!

  Bletver’s skull was as hard as a rock, but Ben kept on hitting it anyway.

  “Quit hitting me!” Bletver said. The triant flailed on the ground like a spoiled child. “It stings something ghastly!”

  Ben punched the face that was almost as big as him in the neck and nose. He drove his fists in hard with the gauntlets of power. Jumping onto Bletver’s body, he smote him in the belly, sending up ripples of fat that shook Bletver’s sagging chin.

  “Ooooof!” the triant cried. And then in a speech more formal than his face, Bletver said, “This is getting out of control, little man!”

  Ben punched like a mule kicks.

  Bletver sat up. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I’m going to make you pay for it!” He scooped Ben into his hands and gave him a squeeze. “I’m going to make you pop!”

  “Never!” Ben said, flexing his iron-powered muscles. Veins bulging in his neck, he began to wriggle free. “And by the way, your breath stinks!”