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

by Craig Halloran

  He pressed the spear to his lips and spoke in Ancient Elvish.

  The spear extended. Snap. Three feet. Snap. Four feet. Snap. Six feet. The spearhead grew, widened, and brightened. Shum hopped up in the saddle and stood tall. He readied his spear over his head. He closed in. Five horse lengths. Three lengths. He dove at the ettin.

  ***

  Ettins aren’t as slow and stupid as they look!

  Bayzog’s protective spell did little to calm the fear in his belly now. Instead, he was riding for his life. A monstrosity of hair, heads, and yellow eyes followed him. Feet almost as big as his horse were ready to crush him. I’ll never leave home again.

  Shum appeared, riding hard, eyes narrowed, right on the giant’s heels.

  Yes! Follow him, ettin!

  He glanced forward. The open plains to freedom waited. He glanced back over his shoulder.

  No!

  The ettin was still coming. Closer. One world-shaking foot after the other. He tried to think of a spell. Anything. I can’t ride and cast.

  The ettin’s long arms stretched toward him and touched the horse’s tail.

  “Shum!” he yelled. Where did he go?

  The ettin roared, “I HAVE YOU NOW!”

  Bayzog cracked the reins.

  “No!”

  Shum reappeared, standing on the saddle, a spear as tall as a man glimmering in his hands. He was heading right for the ettin. One ettin head turned his way. The ettin stopped, whirled, and braced itself for impact. Shum leapt off his horse with his spear high over his head.

  The ettin swung both fists at the same time. They came together like a clap of thunder. The elf and ettin tumbled to the ground. Shum disappeared under its bulk.

  “No!” Bayzog yelled, pulling on the reins. The horse kept galloping. He pulled harder, but the horse kept going. The ettin’s form disappeared behind the dale and out of sight.

  “What do I do?”

  CHAPTER 13

  Pain. I was familiar with it. I’d been in pain before. But not like this. The first ettin was squeezing me to death with both hands.

  I tried to yell, but I couldn’t get enough air. It came out like a frog’s croak. “Brenwar …”

  All four ettin heads laughed.

  “Dragon man hard to squish,” the first ettin’s one head said. Then its other head said, “I likes a challenge.”

  “Let’s just eat him,” the second ettin’s one head said. His other head said, “My belly groans.” Both of its heads smacked their lips.

  The first ettin’s mouths both watered, dripping spit all over me. “Wonder if he tastes like fish, with those scales.”

  Eaten! I can’t let this happen.

  I flexed my dragon arms as hard as I could, pushing out with my elbows.

  My dragon arms pushed back the first ettin’s grip on me just enough that I could gulp in some air.

  I yelled, “Brenwar!”

  The second ettin came closer. Its one head said, “He’s loud.” Its other head said, “I don’t like that!”

  “SILENCE!” all four ettin heads yelled.

  My ears were ringing. It made me dizzy, they yelled so loud.

  “You!” Brenwar yelled from somewhere.

  I gazed all around. The ettins did as well.

  “What do you want?” the second ettin said.

  I spotted Brenwar, a vial of bright liquid in his hands. He tipped it up and drank it down. Eyed the ettin and yelled back up.

  “I bet your rotten teeth can’t gnaw through dwarven hide,” Brenwar said. “I bet my beard you can’t even catch me.” He teetered back and forth on his feet. “Stupid giants!”

  I had no idea which potion Brenwar had drunk. Perhaps it made him fast, like me. Well, maybe not that fast. Or hard as stone. Invisible, maybe.

  But nothing happened.

  The second ettin reached for Brenwar.

  “Move, you stubborn dwarf!” I yelled.

  My dragon arms weren’t even getting tired. I could breathe just fine now. I wriggled, but I still couldn’t get out of the first ettin’s hands. If I stopped pushing out with my elbows, I would suffocate. I was stuck.

  Brenwar just stood there. Shaking his first. Screaming at the giant. He was going to die. I was going to die. I could feel it.

  The second ettin reached down and snatched Brenwar up from the ground.

  “TIME TO SQUISH DWARF!” its one head said. It started to squeeze, and both of its heads groaned, “HURK!”

  I almost turned my head. I yelled instead. “Put him down!”

  The first ettin, the one who held me, the one whose spit was all over me, was laughing now with both heads. Low. Loud. Evil. “Hum, hum, hum, hum, HUM!”

  Brenwar didn’t even flinch. Instead, his beard got bigger. So did his head.

  “WHAT?!” both the second ettin’s heads said together.

  Brenwar was laughing. Growing. Six feet. Ten feet tall.

  The second ettin dropped him on the ground.

  Brenwar kept growing. Fifteen feet. Twenty. He was the biggest dwarf in Nalzambor. A bearded mountain.

  The second ettin stepped back, gaping.

  Brenwar closed in on him. Socked him in the gut with a fist as big as a boulder.

  WHOP!

  The ettin doubled over. A chorus of cheers went up from villagers and soldiers.

  Brenwar grabbed the second ettin by the shaggy hair on its two heads and clonked them together. The ettin staggered back. Fell.

  “Make him stop!” the first head of the ettin holding me said. Its other head said, “Stop him, or I’ll crush you like a bug!”

  “Crush me,” I said, “and you’ll make him mad. And you don’t want to see him mad.”

  All four eyes blinked, drifting among me, Brenwar, and its brother.

  “Maybe you should help your brother,” I suggested.

  “Quiet, dragon man!” it said with both mouths, narrowing all four eyes at me. It was getting mad. Thinking.

  I struggled.

  Its grip was like iron bars around me.

  Brenwar and the ettin thrashed over the ground. Rolling. Punching. Cursing at each other. I didn’t know how long the potion would last, but I didn’t think it would last long.

  POW!

  Brenwar took a solid shot in the jaw. Shrugged it off. Punched into the ettin’s ribs. Quick. Powerful blows. One right after the other.

  BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP!

  “Stop it, dwarf!” the first ettin’s one head cried. His other head said, “Or I’ll kill your friend.”

  Brenwar paused. Looked over. Giant drops of sweat beaded on his head. His broad chest heaved.

  “NO!” he said. Then he socked the ettin again.

  “What?” I said.

  The angry first ettin squeezed harder.

  My dragon arms gave in. My eyes bulged out of my head.

  Zzzzzap!

  The hairs stood up on both of the first ettin’s heads. Its grip fell open. I dropped to the ground. Sasha was there, delicate hands glowing with flecks of energy.

  Withdrawing Fang, I croaked in my frog voice, “Thanks, Sasha, but you better get out of here.”

  I blushed at how funny I sounded and gulped in some air. Whew!

  The first ettin roared, “RRRRRAAAAHHHH!” It looked down and boomed, “WHO DARES?”

  “Fast!” I said.

  Sasha ran.

  “You better help me,” I said to Fang.

  I banged the blade on the ground. Nothing!

  “Drat it, Fang! I need you!”

  The blade shimmered with blue light, almost mocking me. I shook my red mane. I was getting frustrated. But I had a bigger problem to deal with: the first ettin.

  Both its fists came down.

  I jumped out of the way.

  “Fine, then,” I said to Fang. “I’ll do it the hard way!”

  I darted between the ettin’s legs. Chopped halfway through the back of its foot with Fang and my dragon arms.

  It howled and hoppe
d after me, fingers stretching for my neck.

  But I was fast. Angry. Stronger now than ever. My blood was up, too. And I could breathe. I’d had enough of this. I poked its hand. It howled again. I ducked under a fist. Hopped back from a kicking toe. Stabbed Fang into its other big toe.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” both of its heads yelled. It was hopping up and down on the foot with the bleeding big toe.

  I did no such thing. I struck out at its legs. Hit one. Then the other. I wanted to punish it.

  It wailed. It begged. Finally it fell.

  “No more, dragon man!” “Stop now!” It waved its bleeding hand in my face.

  I cut off a finger.

  It howled and rolled.

  “Dragon!” Brenwar yelled. He towered over me. Hands on hips. “Get ahold of yourself.”

  “Would it show mercy to me?” I said, raising the sword over my head. “To the people it’s hurt? Killed?”

  “No,” Brenwar said, “but it’s evil. You’re good.” He nodded to the ettin that was out cold behind him. “Besides, I think they’ll tell us what we want to know now.”

  I took a deep breath. I was shaking.

  The ettin was bleeding. Badly.

  I didn’t feel bad. I felt frustrated.

  “This is your fault, Fang.” I slammed him into the sheath. “Well, start the interrogation then, giant beard!”

  “Don’t you dare call me a giant ever again!” Brenwar poked me in the chest with his oversized finger. “And settle yourself down, Dragon.”

  I walked away, clutching my ribs that ached from the first ettin’s grip.

  “Dragon.”

  It was Sasha, coming after me.

  “Just go away,” I said.

  She stopped, a sad look on her face, and turned away.

  I just wanted to be alone. How can I fight evil when I can’t kill it?

  CHAPTER 14

  “Urk!”

  All four eyes of the ettin widened. Shum had gotten it right in the heart. The great elven spear jutted from its chest.

  “Ugh,” he said, removing his spear.

  Shum had been fighting for hundreds of years. He’d killed and hunted many beasts, some mystical, some natural. Killing didn’t bother him. It was survival. Him or them. Such was the Roaming Rangers’ way.

  He closed the ettin’s eyes and muttered in Roamer, “May Nalzambor make good soil from your wicked bones.”

  He called for his horse.

  It trotted over.

  Shum hopped on, muttered a word.

  The spear collapsed to little more than a pointed rod that he tethered to the saddle.

  He looked for Bayzog.

  The wizard was gone. Safe now, he hoped.

  “Good,” he said. He patted his horse on the neck. “Let’s go.”

  Over the plains, across the creek, and into the forest he went, picking up the trail where he had left off. The ettin had made it easy. Branches were broken or crushed on the forest floor. It had been sloppy, trying to find the woman.

  Even an ettin can be cautious. It must have been in a hurry.

  His horse nickered.

  Shum stopped. Cupped his ears and closed his eyes. His nose crinkled.

  The sweat of ettins caught his nose. Pungent. Like a rotting rain.

  “Ah,” he said, “more mystery, it seems.”

  The scent and trail led him to a crater. Not one of the small ones that littered the hot lands in the south, but a huge crater a mile across, filled with rocks and greens. It was the biggest crater he’d ever seen. An inverted mountain. Its sides were lined with caves, clefts, and other openings.

  “You better wait here,” he said to his horse.

  This crater was different. Ancient. Mysterious and out of place. Maybe it had been carved out by the giants or dwarves at one time. Maybe it led to the mines. His keen eyes scanned it from one rim to the other.

  “Ah,” he said. He hopped over the lip and―nimble as a spider―climbed down the wall.

  It was deep. A hundred feet down, maybe two in some places. The farther down he went, the more he heard. He pulled his cloak up to cover his head. The fine hairs on his arms stood on end. His hand fell to his sword. He sniffed. Shook his head.

  Not good.

  The bottom of the grade was a forest of rocks and trees. Birds, dark and black with yellow eyes, darted in and out of the treetops. The sunlight was blocked by the rim, bringing darkness early. Shum could see the warm patterns of the creatures that scurried.

  The smell became stronger the farther toward the middle he went. On cat’s feet he moved. Swift and quiet. He could hear them better now.

  Voices. Harsh. Unfriendly. Threats were made. Whips were cracking.

  Women sobbed and cried.

  He climbed a tree, fingers digging into the thick wood and knotted branches. Up he went. Across a branch toward the sounds. He hunched down and narrowed his eyes.

  Goblins.

  Wolf faced, hairy, and ugly.

  Gnolls.

  Thick-skinned, yellow-eyed minions.

  Village women.

  Dozens of them sat in a barren clearing. A camp. Sewing nets similar to what he used for fishing, hunting, and trapping.

  It was a surprise. Why would poachers be aligned with giants? Shum made a quick head count. Five gnolls. Nine goblins that he could see. It would take hours of scouting to cover the rest of the crater. He watched. Waited. The goblins stood guard, hand axes on their belts or in their hands. The gnolls ate slabs of meat and barked out orders. Every so often, a gnoll would come and go out of sight, but no others returned. Manageable.

  The women’s fingers worked hard at the nets. He could see they were frightened, hungry, and thirsty.

  “Water, please,” one said. She held her hands out.

  A goblin walked over, held out a jug, tipped it to its lips, and gulped it down. It wiped its mouth and shook the jug in her face, the water swishing around.

  She clutched for it. The goblin jerked it away. Swatted her in the face with its other hand. The goblins laughed, holding their little pot bellies, mocking the cries and tears of the women.

  Shum had seen enough of that. His blood stirred. The muscles in his jaw tightened. Roaming Rangers weren’t the aloof clan the other races made them out to be. They believed in doing right wherever there was wrong. Slavery was wrong. Goblins were wrong. Gnolls were wrong. He slid his sword from his scabbard. It was time to make it right.

  He hopped out of the tree. Strode right into the camp, sword resting on his shoulder.

  The goblins froze. The women stopped working. Silence fell among them. The gnolls didn’t even notice.

  “Let the women go,” Shum said, looking down at the goblins.

  “Huh?” a goblin said, turning his way.

  “What?” a gnoll dropped its bowl on the ground and snatched up its flail.

  The others jumped to its side, reaching for weapons. “You dare!”

  The gnolls were big. Bigger than orcs. Bigger than Shum. He wasn’t much of a threat to them at first glance.

  “Kill him, the trespassing elf, goblins!” the tallest of the goblins ordered.

  No hesitation. No fear. The goblins raised their axes and charged.

  Swish! Swish!

  The women screamed.

  Two goblins fell dead at Shum’s feet. The other goblins stopped, blinking.

  The lead gnoll’s lip curled over its long canine teeth. Fear was in its eyes. It looked like it might consider talking.

  Shum decided to give it another try.

  “Let the women go,” Shum said, “and no harm will come to you.”

  The goblins, the remaining seven, had him surrounded now. Axes poised to attack him from all directions.

  “Come any closer, little minions,” Shum said, “and I’ll finish the rest of you.”

  They backed off a step, maybe two, eyes darting between him and the gnolls.

  “I know what you are,” the gnoll leader said. “You’re one o
f those rangers. A Roamer. Is that so?”

  The gnolls’ eyes were all intent on him. Reputation alone could win battles, stop wars.

  “I am.”

  The lead gnoll started laughing. The others followed suit, weapons jangling with their armor.

  “Does something amuse you?” Shum said.

  “Hah!” The gnoll hitched its foot up on a log and slapped its knee. “You really do have a big belly. Kinda like an orc.”

  “Your insults won’t earn you any mercy,” Shum said, “and my patience thins. Let the women go. I won’t ask again.”

  It coughed a laugh.

  “There’s more of us in this crater than you know, Ranger. I think you better surrender.” It picked its slab of meat back up and tore off a chunk with its teeth. “Might even have you for dinner.”

  If there were more, he hadn’t seen or heard them. But the tactic was sound. Even for a gnoll.

  “Well,” Shum said, “I hope you have enough for all of us.”

  The gnoll stopped chewing. Looked around.

  “All of who?”

  “Surely you didn’t think I came alone. A half dozen arrows are pointed right at you.” Shum held his hand straight up. “Awaiting my signal.”

  Every pair of eyes shifted from tree to tree. But Shum’s gaze was steady. Right on the gnoll. Not blinking.

  It raised its arm and smiled.

  “I’ve got a dozen in the trees,” the gnoll said, “and they’re all pointed at you. Your bluff has been called, Ranger.”

  “I don’t think so,” Shum said.

  “I do,” the gnoll grinned. The leader dropped its arm.

  Clatch-zip!

  Clatch-zip!

  Shum spun away from the first bolt that found a home in a gnoll. The next bolt ripped into his thigh, sticking through one side to the other. He dropped to a knee.

  “Argh!” he said.

  The village women cried out.

  “Didn’t see that coming, did you, Ranger?” the gnoll said. “Kill him!”

  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.