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

by Craig Halloran

  CHAPTER 19

  Kryzak stood alongside a stone-hewn doorway in the midst of a temple ruin. Columns and rubble scored the grounds of what had once been a fine work of man. Such ruins were scattered over the land of Nalzambor. Many of them served as hideouts for the Clerics of Barnabus, and many of them held secrets. Catacombs and caves lay below the surface of some, and others were portals from one to another. It was powerful and ancient magic the Clerics of Barnabus had harnessed long ago to serve their will and spread their destructive ways.

  “And there are only the four of them guarding Nath Dragon?” Kryzak said.

  The young satyr nodded his head.

  “That is all, High Cleric. Only a few leagues away and heading south toward Morgdon,” he said, raking his hoof over the ground. “I can take you straight to them. We can stop them and capture them. But there is a price for our services.”

  Kryzak swung his war mace over his broad shoulder with one arm and took two steps forward. The satyr looked up at the man twice the size of him and swallowed.

  “What is your name?” Kryzak said.

  “Finlin.”

  “And this price, little hooved one,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

  The satyr’s thumbs rolled between his clasped fingers, and his eyes bounced back and forth.

  “The dwarf, elf, woman, and a small dragon would suffice.”

  “Hah! You think too much of yourself, horned rodent. What would you do with them?”

  “We shall make a feast of them,” it said. “A fine dining—”

  Kryzak slung his mace into the dirt.

  The satyr hopped back.

  “Don’t jest with me, satyr! Your legends only frighten children, not the likes of me.” Kryzak poked the satyr with his mace. “What will you do with them?”

  The satyr cringed and said, “High Priest, do you really care what we do with them?”

  Kryzak moved his head from side to side, and his thick neck cracked. He showed a toothy grin and jutted his chin out.

  “Gutsy. Foolish, but shrewd. Fine, make a legendary pot of stew with them, but you aren’t getting a dragon,” Kryzak said. He then ran his mailed fist over the stone archway and muttered something.

  The satyr looked around. There was only Kryzak, him, and the moss-coated ruins.

  “Who are you talking to?” the satyr asked.

  “Stand back and you will see.”

  Kryzak backed up from the stone doorway. Two huge slabs of stone jutted from the ground, standing twelve feet tall, and another stone cut in a semicircle was laid over the tops of them, perfectly aligned. Kryzak slipped his gauntlets from his hands and dropped them to the ground. He rubbed his fingers together, kneeled, and stretched his arms out wide. Chin up, eyes closed, an incantation spewed from his lips.

  “Oleenapaaaawwwwn… Oleenapaaaawwwwn… Oleenapaaaawwwwn… ”

  The tattoos on his bald head pulsated with life.

  The satyr stepped back, biting his nails.

  A swirl of dark colors filled the archway, and a grey mist rolled out and covered the grasses and the ground.

  The satyr couldn’t see his hooves. His heart beat faster. His tiny horns tingled. He couldn’t take his eyes from the archway. And time seemed to stop.

  A woman stepped through. She was tall, dark, and raven haired. Her eyes were like black pearls.

  Kryzak didn’t move, but his eyes popped open. A crease formed on his brow.

  The satyr fell to his knees. His gaze remained on the woman. Her eyes glossed over him, bringing a chill, before falling on Kryzak.

  “Rise, Kryzak,” she said. Her voice was polished and commanding.

  Kryzak rose. His fingers twitched at his sides.

  “High Priestess! I was not expecting your audience.” His strong voice trembled a little, shaken. “It was not my desire to disturb you.”

  She sauntered through the mist, looking around with her arms folded over her robes. She was graceful and purposeful when she moved.

  Finlin felt his heart flutter. He feared her yet was drawn to her.

  “You’ve summoned much without my consultation, Kryzak. Did you think it would escape my notice?” she said. “You must have tracked down many dragons. And so soon?”

  His feet didn’t move, but he turned the best he could to face her.

  “I have the greatest dragon of all in my grasp,” he said.

  “Oh,” she said. She stepped in front of Finlin and rubbed the hair between the horns on his head. His hoof pounded the ground. “And how is that?”

  “Nath Dragon,” he said. “He sleeps.”

  Her fingers stopped and she turned.

  “Tell me more,” she said, stepping away.

  Finlin felt his heart sink. His fingers stretched through the mist and after her. Oh, my queen!

  “This satyr is my spy, and he’s trailed them and heard their speech. Nath Dragon slept months the last time. They suspect he’ll sleep just as long again. He’ll change. They fear the change is bad for him. I suspect that is good for us.”

  A black tail rose out of the mist and struck Kryzak across the face. He was lifted from his feet and disappeared into the mist. The tail slithered under the fog and jerked Kryzak back to his feet by the neck. His face was red.

  Finlin trembled, eyes searching the mist, backing away. What is that thing?

  “Satyr,” she said.

  “Yes?” Finlin blurted.

  “Are you certain of this?” Her eyes probed his. He could feel it in his bones. “Every bit of it?”

  “As certain as I am of my hooved feet,” he said, bowing. “I can take you right to him. Anything you please.”

  The black serpent tail lifted Kryzak farther from the ground. His feet dangled over the mist, and his fingers dug at the scales. He tried to speak but couldn’t. He was choking.

  “I feel you’ve done well, Kryzak,” she said. “Possibly better than I hoped. Nath Dragon is changing even sooner than expected.” She lowered him and faced him eye to eye. “Would you still die for me, Kryzak?”

  His hard face dipped up and down.

  “Good,” she said, smiling a little. She gave his forehead a kiss.

  The tail squeezed his neck until his big body went limp. She flipped the body through the air, and it disappeared through the swirling portal.

  Finlin shook without control when she turned and faced him.

  “What are you shaking for, fawnish man?”

  “Why-why d-did you d-do that?” he said. “You said he’d d-done well.”

  Her tail petted the hair between his horns, and she showed him an icy smile.

  “And he had done well, but his part is over.” She coiled her tail around his waist and lifted him to face her. “No one is indispensable.” She checked her colorful nails. “And I tired of him. Will you still help me?”

  Finlin nodded vigorously. “What would you have me do?”

  She set him down. The tail patted his horned head. “I want you to lead my servants. Do well and reap the rewards. Fail and suffer my disappointment.”

  “Will do. Will do. Will do,” he nodded fast. “Will do.”

  She walked away and stepped into the portal, but before she disappeared she said, “Come.”

  A big creature, like a man but with scales and black wings, followed.

  Finlin gasped. He hadn’t seen it there before.

  “Eep!”

  Something scaly and big as a pony brushed by Finlin’s feet. He jumped four feet off the ground. A big face with long whiskers turned toward him with bright cat eyes. It licked its lips and bared its fangs.

  Finlin froze.

  The feline fury followed Selene into the archway, and they disappeared from sight.

  He couldn’t tell if he was thrilled or scared. His heart pumped like a racing horse’s. He waited, pacing back and forth before the swirling archway. What was going to come through there next?

  What do I do? What do I do?

  A large figure step
ped out of the archway and waded into the mist.

  Finlin stopped pacing.

  The figure wore crimson cloth robes. Thick-thewed arms emerged from the sleeves. A great scepter of dark metal was clutched in one hand. A horned metal helmet in the image of an angry bull covered his face. His eyes were dark behind the eyelets.

  Finlin looked up at him and stepped backward. “Who are you?”

  Something snorted behind the mask.

  Finlin stepped aside as the figure marched right past him.

  More figures emerged. Lizard men with spears and swords led small, gray-scaled dragons on leashes. There were a dozen of them, sleek and black winged. Bald men with tattooed heads followed. Their robes were simple, their faces grim and hard. They carried clubs, maces, and flails. All in all, there were more than a score of lizard men and acolytes. They formed ranks on both sides of the arches.

  The man in the bull mask stood at the end, leaving Finlin alone facing the archway.

  “Awkward,” he muttered. He turned in time to see a great shadow emerge and swirl off the arch and come forward. He darted to the man in the bull mask.

  A dragon, bigger than him, appeared. Its long neck was dark copper, and streaks of black stretched all over its body. Its eyes were like fire and its breath smelled of acid. It lumbered forward on soft feet, bigger than two horses. A great terrifying beast. A lone figure sat saddled on its wingless back: a petite young woman with a curtain of long, white hair flowing from a mostly bald head. Jewels adorned her robes, which enhanced her figure. She sat perched high in the saddle with her arms folded on her waist.

  My, she’s pretty. He combed the hair between his horns with his fingers.

  Her light eyes found his.

  “I am Marlay, a priestess of Barnabus,” she said. “And you are?”

  “Finlin,” he said, stepping from behind the warrior.

  “Lead the way, Finlin,” she said, chin up and eyes forward. “We have a sleeping dragon to catch.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “I was scared,” Sasha said to Bayzog. “I, I’m so sorry.”

  “Darling, it is all right. I understand.” His voice was soothing, and he reached out and held her hands. “Please let it go. It will pass. It happens to all of us.”

  “What if it doesn’t pass?” she said, hugging him. Sobbing.

  They were two days into their journey to Morgdon and still had days to go. Sasha had been very quiet, strangely so, and it had irritated Bayzog. So he had pressed. Slowly. Gradually. Politely. Until she broke. A flood of tears had come.

  “If it doesn’t, it doesn’t,” he said. “We’ll just be cautious.”

  She looked right into his face. Her beautiful features were contorted with deep fear and worry. He’d never seen her so. Not ever.

  “I was so scared. I just stood there, helpless and frozen. Watching and doing nothing. You have to be able to count on me, Bayzog, and you can’t now. Not ever.” She looked away and started to walk away. “Ever again.”

  They’d stopped traveling for the day, but Brenwar and Ben were gone gathering food and making camp. He hadn’t left her side since.

  “Sasha, come back,” he said. “Let’s talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about!”

  He let her go. The river. The river where Nath Dragon almost drowned had triggered it all. Sasha, after almost drowning herself deep in the tunnels of the crater, had become terrified of drowning again. Bayzog had wondered what happened in that moment he swam in and helped Nath and Ben in the water. Sasha wasn’t there, and she’d loved water. She was even a better swimmer than him, though they didn’t go swimming often. But they did travel the lands from time to time and had been to the Dragon Pond several times. She had loved it there.

  He tossed a rough sack on the ground and snapped his fingers. Slowly a tent took form. He slipped inside and waited. It was best to leave her alone at times like this. He didn’t like her being out there alone, not after he’d lost her once, but he’d take his chances.

  He pulled a golden locket from his robes, opened it up, and muttered an incantation. A small image of Sasha formed. He could feel how close she was and feel her heart in his palm. He sighed. She was safe, and he could sense Ben and Brenwar were nearby as well.

  ***

  The peaks of the mountain ranges of the dwarven city of Morgdon could be seen if Bayzog squinted his keen eyes. He felt uncomfortable with the unfamiliar, particularly with being an elf in a dwarven land. But Brenwar hadn’t seemed bothered in Elome, so why should Morgdon bother Bayzog?

  Don’t overthink it. You’ve still got days to go.

  He searched for Sasha. She rode in the front, not far from where Brenwar led, towing Nath on his stretcher. They had hardly spoken since last night.

  Despite the dry weather, his elven bones felt cold. He wished Shum were still here. The Roaming Ranger had brought him a great comfort. Shum had been older, at least by a few hundred years or so, and his wisdom was needed. Perhaps Shum could have convinced Brenwar that Nath would be better off elsewhere.

  His eyes drifted back over Nath, and he sighed.

  He wasn’t sure if Nath being out was a good thing. It certainly left them vulnerable. In all truth, he was excited to see what happened. What kind of change would Nath go through? Would it make him stronger? More savage? It seemed the more Nath changed, the less control he had, but dragons weren’t impulsive creatures.

  He should have more control than he had. If he gets any more powerful, he might not listen to any of us at all.

  He looked up to the clouds. They were dark, and even though it hadn’t rained, he hadn’t seen much sunshine the past few days. Something didn’t seem right with the world. Not at all.

  Be as prepared as you can be. Wise as a dragon. Slick as a snake.

  It wasn’t an elven saying, but he liked it, wherever it came from.

  “Bayzog,” Ben said, riding up to him, “may I join you?”

  Bayzog nodded.

  “Why, certainly, Ben.” Ben’s typically loose and smiling face was drawn tight. “Is there something on your mind?”

  Ben’s eyes met Bayzog’s and glanced away just before he said, “Evil.”

  Bayzog felt his tongue catch in his throat, but he didn’t show surprise. There were very few things that rattled him, but this word coming from this young man did. He offered a simple smile.

  “Do you want to discuss it, or were you making a confession of sorts?”

  “Well, uh,” Ben said. His long face turned a little red. “I just don’t understand how…” He reached back and scratched his head. “Ah, never mind.”

  “No, no,” Bayzog said, “It’s a good topic, Ben. Well, in the sense that it’s much better to talk about it than ignore it. You see, the way I understand it, evil doesn’t want us to discuss how to deal with it.”

  Ben blinked his light-brown eyes, leaned forward in his saddle and said, “Go on, please.”

  “All right then.” Bayzog cleared his throat and tapped his chest. It felt good to talk about something like this. “Ben, let me see if maybe I understand some of your thoughts, and remember I’m no sage, but I am part human, and at some point I was a young human like you. So it’s possible … well, actually, I’m certain I’ve asked the same question. What is evil? What is good?” He eyed Ben. “Am I on the right track?”

  “I think so.”

  “Maybe, just maybe, you are wondering how we know whether our actions are good or evil. Right?”

  Ben nodded.

  “And you want to be sure about that, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Ben, there is no easy way to explain it, but I offer this.” Bayzog locked his violet eyes on Ben’s. “There is evil in all of us.”

  Ben’s eyes widened like saucers.

  “Sounds really bad, doesn’t it?” Bayzog said.

  Ben blinked a few times. “Yes, but does that mean there is good in all of us as well?”

  “Cer
tainly.” Bayzog grabbed his canteen, pulled off the top, and took a drink. He offered it to Ben.

  The young man shook his head, and one of the horses nickered.

  A stiff breeze came and blew hair into Bayzog’s eyes. “But it’s often buried deep beneath the surface, choking, you might say.”

  Ahead, he noticed large birds dipping in and out of the distant tree tops. The bright leaves on the trees started to bend, and lightning flashed behind them. The hairs on his arms rose.

  There’s that feeling again.

  “It sounds more confusing than it should be,” Ben said.

  “There is a fine line between the two, but a good heart will warn you.”

  “How do you know which is which?” Ben asked. “There are so many things to consider. I mean, I’m good, aren’t I?”

  Bayzog chuckled.

  “Of that I have no doubt. Don’t let your mistakes confuse you, Ben. Or guilt either,” Bayzog said. “Those are traps evil prepares for you. They can distract you or immobilize you. Doubt and worry are deadly.”

  “Oh,” Ben said. “But …”

  Bayzog interrupted.

  “Listen, good wants you, all of us, to be free. Evil wants to enslave and control things. And when in doubt, ask yourself this: which is easier? Doing the right thing or the wrong thing?”

  Ben looked up at his brows and rubbed his chin. A moment later he said, “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you’re a farmer, right?”

  “I was a farmer. Now I’m a soldier.” Ben’s brows buckled. “Aw, I’m not even that anymore.”

  “Sorry, Ben, but let me continue. Is it easier to steal the food from the farmer or farm the food yourself?”

  “Steal it, I guess, but nobody better steal my food.” He shook his fist. “They’ll get busted up for that.”

  “So stealing’s evil, right?”

  Ben sat up in his saddle and nodded his head.

  “Right!”

  “What about what happened with the Golden Ore in your village? Those brigands could have bought it or bartered for it, but instead they stole it. What do you call that?”

  “Evil.”

  “Would you ever do that?”