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

by Craig Halloran

  “Strong words, my dear.” He cleared his throat, lifted his brow. “Try to ignore them. They’re ignorant of their actions. Born that way. It’s a shame. I used to think there was good in everyone, but over the centuries, I’ve come to know better.” He squeezed her hand. “But what I have learned is even worse.”

  “What’s that, Bayzog?”

  “I’ve learned about the evil that resides in all of us. The evil that lurks beneath the surface of love and hate. The good roots without the strength to grow out. How it’s so much easier to do the wrong thing instead of the right. I worry, Sasha.” He looked up to the clouds, a frown forming on his face.

  “About me?” she said, following his gaze.

  Night was almost upon them. The clouds that drifted were black and the stars behind them gone. A strange fog rolled over the grass. What had earlier been a blustering day in the sun had become a land more sinister. A distant flash of lightning caught her eye.

  “Yes, of course I worry about you,” he said. “I sometimes wish you hadn’t come. I want you safe. I fear I can’t always protect you.”

  “I don’t expect you to. I have to learn how to protect myself.”

  “And you’ve done well with that,” he said, “but I wanted you here with me, Sasha. I needed you here with me.”

  A chill went through her. Bayzog never needed anything from anybody.

  “Why?”

  He looked her straight in the eye.

  “In case none of us make it back.”

  Her heart stopped. Then started again. At least it felt like it did. What was he saying? What did he mean?

  “Bayzog, I’m certain we’ll make it through this. We’ll find the Ocular of Orray, heal Dragon, and then things will be as they were.”

  He shook his head.

  “The climate changes. Even though my elven instincts aren’t as sharp as they used to be, I know. That’s why I wanted to have you with me. I wanted you by my side, selfishly, just in case.”

  “Just in case what?”

  She could see her reflection in his violet eyes when he said it.

  “Just in case we’re near the end of this world.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Shum pulled his knees up and caught the full force of the gnoll’s greater weight on his chest. He locked his hands around the creature’s wrists and hung on. Shum was centuries hardened by training and battle, his muscles as taut as steel. But he was no match for the raw strength of the gnoll. Its thews were thick. Savage. More animal than man. Its dog face snapped at his neck. He turned his face away. Hung on with all the strength he had in him.

  “Time to die, Ranger!” Saliva dripped from its mouth. “I’ve never tasted a Roamer before.” It snapped at him.

  Shum shoved it back. Still lithe, he got one foot underneath the gnoll’s hard belly. “Not today, gnoll!” He thrust. Lifted the gnoll up and over the top of his head.

  It let out a howl, crashing into the dirt.

  Shum dove for his sword.

  The gnoll regained its feet and pounced right onto his back. Its claws tore into him.

  His elven leather kept him from being torn to shreds.

  They thrashed back and forth over the dirt.

  Whop!

  The gnoll punched him in the face, drawing bright spots in his eyes.

  Jab! Jab! Crack!

  The gnoll howled. Jumped off, holding its nose.

  The creature might be bigger, meaner, stronger, but Shum was smarter, faster, and tougher. And he knew the weak spots of all the races. He spotted his sword. Limped over and snatched it up. “One more step, gnoll, and it will be the end of you,” he said, shuffling forward.

  The gnoll backed away, eyes darting from side to side.

  The women and other gnolls were gone. Hiding. Leaving the two of them in the darkness. The only light came the small campfires’ glows.

  “Surrender, gnoll, or meet your—”

  Clatch-zip!

  Shum’s sword fell from his grip.

  The gnoll let out a triumphant howl and charged.

  ***

  I was on alert. Eyes peeled. Ears sharp.

  That smell. That smell in the air. I knew what it was. The prints on the ground gave me a good idea. Trouble. The kind of trouble wise people sought to avoid. The kind of trouble that was hard to get out of.

  I hurried along. They could move fast, even with Brenwar. Possibly faster than me. One mistake on the trail and I myself could be in jeopardy.

  I stopped. Looked. Listened.

  Something rustled over the ground yards ahead. I could’ve sworn I heard Brenwar grumbling under his beard.

  I nocked an arrow, a normal one, and sped after him. I jumped along, winding through the trees, my footfalls light as feathers.

  There he was. A clumped dwarf fighting in a net surrounded by pines and a floor of pine needles. I didn’t see anyone else. Still, I remained hidden.

  “Dragon!” Brenwar said. His voice a loud hush. “They’re gone. Get me out of this net!”

  I peeked at him.

  His dark eyes were right on me.

  I wasn’t sure how Brenwar could see me, but he could always find me when I was close. I never knew for sure if it was my scent or his vision, but the only way to escape him was to outdistance him.

  I crept over, withdrew a dagger, and quickly cut at the net.

  “Hurry, will you!” he said.

  “Stop struggling, will you!”

  “You’re not the one in the net.”

  I laughed.

  “Stop laughing and hurry. You spooked them, but they’ll be back. They always come back.”

  I cut at the cords. It wasn’t easy.

  “Use your claws, Dragon!”

  “Oh, good idea.” I cut. One. Two. Three at a time. “Nice.”

  “How many of them?” I asked.

  “Two.”

  “Two that we know of.” I sawed away. Brenwar was almost free.

  Clop. Clop.

  Clop. Clop.

  I wanted to stop, but I didn’t. I ignored the sound. Kept cutting.

  “Hurry!” Brenwar said.

  A flutelike sound drifted into my ears.

  My head started spinning. My fingers turned numb. Limp.

  Brenwar’s eyelids fluttered. His meaty hands clamped over his ears. “No!” he growled.

  I couldn’t say anything. My tongue felt like water. But I could see. Both of them. Shadows in the forest coming out of the darkness. One was male, the other female. Each pressed a set of small pipes to their lips. Tiny horns protruded from their heads. They stood on stout legs with the hooves of mountain goats.

  Satyrs. Crafty and merciless.

  The music tore at my mind.

  I screamed, but I couldn’t hear myself. I had to move. Had to escape. Run. Flee. I knew the stories. I knew the tales. Whatever the satyrs captured they kept. Never to be seen again.

  ***

  Shum lay still, eyes closed, his mouth full of pine needles, a crossbow bolt sticking through his back. Bleeding. Over him, the gnoll leader gloated.

  “Great shot!” it said. “Now get down here. It’s time to skin him.”

  Shum remained still. Ears picking up his surroundings. The gnoll leader kicked him hard in the ribs. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. The gnoll walked away, footsteps crunching over the ground, and picked up its flail. The air whistled as it twirled around. Another pair of footsteps approached. Followed by another. There were three of them.

  “Get those bows ready. If he moves so much as a hair, shoot him.”

  “Isn’t he dead?” one said, cranking back its string.

  “If he’s dead, he won’t feel it,” the leader said. “Of course, he’s a Ranger, so you can’t be too cautious. Humph. Go ahead. Put another in him. Right in the heart. Maybe between the ears. That’d be a funny trophy now, wouldn’t it?”

  They snickered a howling sort of sound and stretched their strings.

  Shum had been in tight spots
before, but this was ridiculous. Death comes from any corner. The darkness sings. Hands under his belly, he scratched at the dirt. Tapped the world’s power. He was an elf, attuned to nature and magic. Using it when needed to save others. To save himself. He focused. Concentrated. Stretched out the powers he summoned.

  “What is this?” one of the gnolls said. Its crossbow trembled in its hand. The wood creaked and groaned.

  “It’s cursed!” said the other. The crossbow in its hand warped too. It let out a cry.

  Both crossbows were now twisted like roots. The strings snapped. The gnoll leader let out an angry cry.

  “It’s the Ranger, you fools!” It jumped forward, swinging its mace. “Draw your blades! Have at him before he escapes.”

  Shum felt the flail coming down. In a blink he dove into the gnoll’s legs, toppling it over. He kept on going, blocking out the blinding pain in his legs and his back. He had to free himself.

  The gnoll snatched his leg.

  He kicked it in the face. He was free.

  The other two were coming. Drawing their weapons. Still gawking at the twisted crossbow and bolts that writhed on the ground.

  Shum went for his sword, snatching it from the ground. He wished he could keep running. Into the forest. Lose them. Survive. Fight later. He was bleeding too badly, though. It was fight now or never. He stopped. Turned.

  They swarmed him.

  The first one was big, clumsy.

  Slash!

  It died.

  The next lunged. A big axe in its hands. Shum sidestepped.

  Crack!

  Drove the pommel of his sword into the back of its head. It was out.

  “You’re good, Ranger,” the leader said. “But yer bleedin’ to death, too. I think I’ll watch. Wait for the reinforcements to arrive.”

  “Trust me, gnoll, you’ll be dead cold before they get here.”

  “Is that so?” it said. “How you figure?”

  Shum swayed. A wave of nausea hit him. His chin dipped. His knees buckled.

  The gnoll barked at him. “You’ve got nothing left. I’m taking you out.” It came at him. Savage. Powerful. Flail spinning like stars in the air. Its eyes widened. It caught the steely eyes in the elf. It tried to stop, but couldn’t.

  Shum struck like a cobra. His blade went in one side and out the other.

  The gnoll leader died, mouth wide open.

  “They always fall for that,” Shum said, removing his blade and fetching his dagger. Still ailing, he hobbled after the women.

  CHAPTER 19

  It was strange. The music the satyrs summoned bent my knees, my ears, even the trees right before my eyes.

  The little beady-eyed horn-heads were full of surprises. Deceivers. Stealers. Enslavers. And dragon poachers. They loved dragon charms, bones, teeth, and scales more than gold itself.

  I fought for my focus. Locking my eyes on their twisting and distorted faces, I yelled. At least I think I did.

  I could see my bow, Akron, in my hand that I could not feel. An arrow was stuck between my numb fingers. I fought against the music. The horror. The carnival erupting in my mind.

  Come on, Dragon! Do it! Do it or you’re done for!

  Muscles straining, I forced my dragon hands to respond. Shaking, I nocked the arrow. I rolled onto my back. I think I did, anyway. I couldn’t feel anything. It was as if I was watching someone else’s hands draw back the string. An out-of-body experience of sorts. I took aim at the nearest obscured image before me and let the arrow fly.

  The snapping string cracked in my ear. Not tight, but slow. The arrow drifted away from me at an agonizing pace. Even an ettin could have dodged that slow arrow.

  I felt my breath thinning. Drops of sweat fell in front of my eyes. All I wanted to do was escape the madness. Sleep. Find my legs and run. But at the moment, I could do nothing. Just suffer the insufferable sound of the pipe-playing satyrs.

  “Uh!”

  The music shifted. Stopped.

  My head pounded like a drum, but my vision began to clear.

  The male satyr clutched at its belly. Its pipes were no longer pressed to its lips but lay on the ground.

  The woman dashed over on her hooves, distraught and full of worry. She leaned her mate back in her arms. Tears swelled in her eyes.

  The male gasped for breath. Clutched its side. Looked right at me. Then at my dragon arms. Its eyes widened, and it whispered to the female satyr.

  I gathered my feet under me and stumbled over. I didn’t want to see him die.

  Brenwar beat me there.

  Crack!

  He walloped the female in the back of the head with a leaden bag called a Dwarven Sap.

  She pitched forward, knocked out cold in her mate’s lap.

  “Brenwar,” I said, “did you have to be so gruff? She’s a—”

  “She’s no she. It’s a satyr. A monster. About to kill us both.”

  Crack!

  He stomped her set of pipes under his boot. Crushed them into the ground.

  The male satyr let out a whine. Like a goat.

  Pop!

  Brenwar slugged it in the jaw. It fell over. He snatched its pipes off the ground and crushed them in his hands.

  “What about his wounds?” I said.

  “It will live.”

  We grabbed the net and bound them up. Satyrs―little taller than dwarves, not as wide―weren’t very formidable without their pipes.

  Still, I was a little surprised Brenwar hadn’t killed them.

  “So, you think they won’t come after us again?” I said. “There could be more, you know. Maybe an entire herd of them lurks in this crater.”

  “Then I suggest we get out of here before they get out of this,” he said, storming off.

  I guessed it was my turn to follow. I gave the satyrs one last look. They never looked as bad as they seemed. They looked almost peaceful with their faces calm and expressionless. I just hoped I’d never hear those pipes playing again. After Brenwar I went.

  ***

  We found a camp.

  “Look at this,” Brenwar said. He was kneeling beside some dead goblins. “Look at how clean that cut is. That’s elven steel. Shum must be close by.”

  I inspected the gnolls. Three of them were dead. Big ones, too. All bigger than Shum. I could tell by the dirt it had been a hard-fought battle. A nasty one, judging by the blood.

  “Looks like he went this way,” I said, “but I don’t think he was followed.”

  “Hmmm,” Brenwar said, “look at this.” He held out what looked like a crossbow, but the wood was twisted.

  I picked up a bent bolt. “Now this is something. Pretty impressive.” I waggled it in Brenwar’s face. “Wouldn’t you say?”

  “Pretty sad if you ask me. Pot Belly must not be much of a fighter if he can’t get the upper hand on the likes of these. Using magic. Pah!”

  “Of course,” I said, rolling my eyes behind his back. “What was I thinking? Let’s go.”

  I took the lead this time. My keen eye picked up drops of blood on the ground, the needles, and the stones. There were footprints now. Many. I could smell the women, some of them still touched by the natural fragrances of the flower and vegetable gardens of the village.

  “Brenwar,” I stopped. Hunched down. Something was coming.

  Brenwar leaned over my shoulder. Farther down the crater, a large group of people was coming. We waited. Closer and closer they came. The silhouettes became familiar. One, taller than the rest, was limping. Wheezing a little.

  “Shum!” I said, dashing up to him.

  Two women were holding him up, his long arms draped over their shoulders.

  “He saved us,” one woman said. “Saved us all. Killed all those nasty dogs and goblins!”

  Indeed, he had saved them all. Every last one by the looks of it. The women all chattered among themselves. Excited. Free.

  “Shum,” I said, bracing him over my shoulder. “Are you all right? Can you make it?”
/>
  “Just,” he said, wheezing. “Just get me out of here, Dragon. Take me to my horse.”

  “Pah!” Brenwar said, rolling his eyes at me. “I bet he wants us to carry him, too.”

  ***

  The brisk wind picked up, chilling Bayzog’s bones. The warmth from the Legionnaire fire looked good right now, but he remained back in the dark, peering toward the crater.

  “Come, Bayzog,” Sasha said, taking his arm. “You need some food. The soldiers have plenty, and their tales are very exciting.”

  He turned his eyes toward the ettins that now sat on the edge of the camp. They kept looking into the sky. What they were looking for, he couldn’t imagine.

  “I appreciate it,’ he said. “I really do. Perhaps you can bring me something.”

  “As you wish, Bayzog.” She pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

  Being around men left Bayzog a little uncomfortable. He was more elf than man and never felt his human part was well received. And he didn’t have the color of the humans, either, at least not in terms of personality. He was resolved. They were vibrant. Most of them, anyway.

  Staring into the sky, he noticed the dark clouds seemed to lower like a fog that fell rather than lifted.

  “That’s odd.”

  It wasn’t uncommon for the night air to become misty, but not so early in the night. Over by the campfires, a haze was dropping over the men’s heads. But they kept talking and eating, and many of them were smoking pipes. His nose crinkled.

  He looked at the ettins. They were fifteen feet high sitting. But he could see their heads no more.

  “Bayzog,” a man said, approaching from the camp. “Have you have seen such a fog before?” It was Ben, trying to fan the haze from his face.

  “No, have you?”

  “Great Guzan!” a soldier said. “I can’t even see my roll-up. Stop smoking, will you!”

  “That’s not my smoke,” another soldier exclaimed. “It’s this infernal fog. It’s thicker than a mud hole!”

  “Get out of my way!”

  A chill went right through Bayzog. Suddenly he couldn’t see a hand in front of his face.