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

by Craig Halloran

  “Sansla Libor!” Bayzog exclaimed.

  Everyone―man, elf, dwarf, and monster―stopped and watched.

  High in the sky, energy crackled from Marlay’s fingers. Tendrils of energy dug under the great winged ape’s fur.

  Sansla held on, his ape face in agony. Higher and higher he soared.

  Marlay’s face was filled with rage. Her screams shattered the air.

  There was a bright light and an explosion. The two plummeted hard to the ground.

  A long moment of silence followed.

  Please be dead, Bayzog thought.

  His heart stopped when the small, lithe form rose in the tall grass and staggered forward. There was a scowl on her lips, and her eyes locked on Bayzog. He could read her lips.

  “I broke another nail. You’ll pay for this.”

  The acolytes ran to her aid.

  Sansla Libor’s large form rose high above the grasses. He roared and beat his chest with his great fists.

  Marlay whirled around, screaming, “Noooooo!”

  A blast of energy slammed into Sansla’s chest.

  He snarled.

  Marlay blasted him again.

  He charged right through the next blast. A second later, he had the tiny woman in his great clutches.

  “Let go of me, you beast!” she yelled. “Let go of me—”

  Crack!

  Marlay’s life ended, and the acolytes froze until Sansla tossed her body aside like a doll.

  Then they bolted away, afraid of him.

  Sansla bounded right after them. He caught one in one hand and one in the other and smashed them together.

  Bayzog cheered.

  A lizard man shoved him into the ground.

  “Ahem,” another voice said, “lizard face.”

  Krang! Krang!

  Brenwar knocked them down one right after the other. “Get off of my wizard!” The dwarf stretched out his hand and lifted Bayzog to his feet.

  “Sasha!”

  The lizard man whisked her away.

  Sasha grabbed its back and yelled something.

  Zzzzzrt!

  The lizard man lurched, stiffened, and teetered to the ground.

  Sasha dusted the energy from her fingertips.

  Bayzog ran up to her and caught her hands in his. “Are you all right?” he said.

  “I’m woozy, but I’m well enough. How are you?”

  Bayzog looked around. Brenwar had the lizard men on the run, and Sansla Libor was tossing acolytes around like dolls. The winged ape was fearsome.

  After all evil had fled or died, Sansla stopped in front of the pair of them, nostrils flared, chest heaving. Sounding more ape than elf, he spoke to Sasha.

  “I heard your summons. Strange, but I could not ignore.” His dark face jerked a little. “Such desperation. Such evil. Grrrr. You … must … go.” He turned his big frame around and glanced at Nath. “He lives?”

  “Yes,” Bayzog said, “And we’re taking him to a safer place until he wakes.”

  Sansla moved away from them and pointed. “The bronze dragon comes.” He looked back at Bayzog. “Get on your horses. I’ll slow him down.”

  There was a terrible roar far away from them. It seemed the Potion of Floating had worn off, and now the bronze dragon stormed their way.

  “On the horses, everyone!”

  “What about Nath? We can’t gallop with him behind us,” Brenwar said.

  “I can help,” Sasha said. She slipped a vial out of her robes and held it out. “This is what is left from the Potion of Floating.” She dabbed some on Nath and the stretcher and rubbed it in. “This should last a bit.”

  “Ben!”

  The tall country boy lumbered over, shoulder sagging. He grabbed the reins of his horse and stuffed his boot into the stirrup.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, exhausted.

  Everyone mounted up, and Brenwar eyed the stretcher behind him.

  “Well?”

  “It’ll work! Just start moving,” Sasha said.

  They started at a trot, and gradually the stretcher lifted Nath from the ground. Bayzog looked back at Sansla Libor.

  The big ape waved his huge arm. A second later, they were galloping away until the battlefield was long out of their sight.

  “Sasha,” Bayzog said with his hair whipping in his face. “You did well. Your summons spell, I believe―I know―saved us all.”

  She smiled. “I told you it was a great spell.”

  CHAPTER 26

  They made it as far as the first run of forested hills and found shelter in the rocks. It was evening, and the rain had come in a downpour. Over the rocks, Brenwar and Ben stretched a canopy that kept them dry. It wasn’t an ordinary canopy, either, but something Brenwar had kept rolled up on his saddle. Another treasure from Dragon Home.

  “It’ll keep you dry and warm, even cool during the hot seasons and such,” Brenwar grumbled, wringing out his beard. “Made for man, not dwarf. The harsh elements are a dwarf’s best friend. Well, that and ale.”

  “I’m thankful, Brenwar,” Bayzog said. He cast a quick spell that made a small pile of rocks begin to glow red hot.

  Sasha was dripping wet. She shivered and said, “Yes, many thanks.”

  “Me too,” Ben said, nodding.

  The ground dried out quickly, thanks to Bayzog’s magic fire. As soon as it did, he sat down and leaned back against one of the warm rocks nearby.

  Sasha sat next to Bayzog and leaned against his shoulder.

  “That was a close one,” Brenwar said. “You did well, all of you. I believe our friend Nath would be proud.”

  “It was close, all right,” Bayzog said, “but my concerns are far from over, Brenwar.”

  Brenwar grunted.

  “They knew Nath was down and they wanted him this time. They sent a small army after him.” He shook his head. “They’ll still be coming after him. Wherever he goes, war will follow.”

  “He’ll be safe in Morgdon,” Brenwar said.

  “But will Morgdon be safe from him?”

  No one said anything, but at least Brenwar was thinking.

  At the moment, there was peace in Nalzambor. No major wars were stirring. According to Laedorn and the elves, the orcs had started to press, and the atmosphere of the world was getting prickly. And now it seemed that the evil forces at work wanted Nath Dragon―alive, not dead.

  Bayzog could imagine why: to spark the next Great Dragon War. He feared that Nath would be the prize of that war.

  “They want to turn him, I fear,” Bayzog said. “We can’t let them have him. We don’t need to risk an all-out war, either, and you know as well as I do, Brenwar, that the dwarves require little provocation. Our enemies are counting on that.”

  Brenwar huffed. “The dwarves won’t overreact, and I assure you that he…” he pointed at Nath “…and the rest of us will be plenty safe in Morgdon. We have plenty of places to hide him.”

  “Didn’t you lose him the last time?” Bayzog said.

  “No! Don’t you worry. He’s asleep now. He was plenty awake the last time.” He pointed at Bayzog. “We’ll keep a close eye on him.”

  Bayzog closed his eyes and rested his cheek on Sasha’s head. She was sound asleep. Across from him, Ben was yawning and stretching out his long arms. Inside himself, Bayzog’s human side felt a thousand years old.

  Close calls with death will do that to you, I suppose.

  Bayzog missed his home in the City of Quintuklen, the perfect sanctuary for study, rest, and quality time with Sasha. She’d turned his dull lab of magic into a home, and her good spirits kept him entertained. Now, for reasons he didn’t entirely understand himself, he sat in the harsh elements where the word “relax” had no meaning.

  He stroked Sasha’s soft hair as her chest rose and fell gently on his. He felt guilty she was here, but she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. She’d made that clear.

  That’s what people who love each other do. They stick toget
her.

  It was one of those things he’d learned to understand in his experience with the conflict between good and evil.

  Love grows. Evil destroys.

  His eyes drifted over to Nath, who lay still as a corpse. Without saying so, they’d all pledged to protect their friend from one end of Nalzambor to the other. And they probably weren’t going to get much help, so they’d better take what they could get.

  “To Morgdon on the morrow, then,” he said to Brenwar and closed his eyes. A moment later he slept.

  Brenwar, eyes alert, huddled over Nath’s deep-sleeping form and brushed the hair from his face. “We’re going to get you back to Dragon Home one day. I swear it.”

  ***

  Nearby, two horned forms huddled over the rocks with their necks craned: Finlin and Faylan, the satyrs. She tugged on his shoulder and led him away, their hooved feet gently passing over the rocks.

  “Morgdon, pah,” she spat, “I hate the dwarves and their city. I wish a gargantuan sinkhole would swallow it up.”

  Finlin giggled.

  She smacked him across the face.

  Whap!

  “Now is not the time for laughter. Now is the time to plan.”

  “Who do we tell?” he said. “Marlay is dead, and all of her followers have died or fled. Do you suppose that we can snatch the dragon man on our own? The reward would be great, would it not?”

  She gored him in the head with her horns.

  “Ow!” he said. “Stop that, will you?”

  “Ow? Don’t be such a fawnee boy, Finlin. You need to get tougher.” She pushed past his shoulder and down the rocky slope. “I’ll take the message to the clerics. You follow the dragon man. Be sure to leave a trail―and don’t use your pipes unless you absolutely have to.”

  “As you say, as you say.”

  Whap!

  “Ow!” Finlin said, rubbing his cheek. “Stop doing that.”

  She glowered at him.

  Whap!

  He started to speak but bit his tongue. He glowered back at her.

  “That’s better,” she said.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Morgdon!” Selene slammed her fist onto the arm of her throne. “Gorn Grattack will not be pleased!” She grabbed her golden goblet and slung it across the room. Not an acolyte or a lizard man moved. The draykis remained tall, still, and silent near her sides.

  At the foot of the dais, the satyr woman, Faylan, kept her eyes and horns down.

  Selene’s tail slid over the marble floor, hooked around Faylan’s leg, and dangled her upside down. “I am not pleased with this news, little fawn. How did this happen?”

  Faylan crossed her arms over her chest and said, without trembling, “The winged ape showed up and ripped your servants apart. All the acolytes and lizard men dropped like bleeding stones after that. Your lone remaining dragon, the bronze one, was negated. That winged ape diverted its path, but me and Finlin followed them all the way to the rocky cliffs of Morgdon.”

  Selene looked into the steely eyes of the satyr, trying to decide whether or not she should rip them out. The evil goat-legged woman was brassy, borderline sassy, and maybe a bit too much to swallow. However, Selene needed her for now, which bothered her. And the fact that Faylan knew it bothered her even more. But the satyrs had at least survived, and they were excellent spies. She dropped Faylan on her horned head.

  “Morgdon, Morgdon, Morgdon,” Selene hissed more than said. “I hate dwarves, so stalwart and strong. It will take an army to pry him loose from there.”

  Faylan backed away.

  Selene smote Faylan with her tail and sent her spinning across the floor.

  The satyr woman didn’t move. Still as a possum.

  “What to do,” Selene said under her breath. “What to do.”

  Nath Dragon was in a deep sleep. Gorn Grattack had talked to her about that. Her lord had told her to seize the opportunity. Nath might sleep for weeks, months, or even years. And it would be easier to turn him when he wasn’t fighting against them. But even with Nath Dragon down and sleeping, his friends had foiled her plans and even killed her most precious servant, Marlay. That was what angered her most of all.

  She resumed her seat on the throne, and her drulture landed on the arm. She stroked its head and long neck. “Have you ever eaten a satyr before?”

  The colorful drulture flashed its teeth in the direction of Faylan, stretched its neck, and hissed.

  “Too big?” Selene said. “I could always feed you a piece at a time.”

  Faylan clenched where she lay.

  Selene sighed.

  She wanted to avenge Marlay. She had adored the dedicated and adorably evil woman who now was gone. Killed by a cursed elf, of all things. An elven monster, Sansla Libor, the Roamer King. Someone was going to pay for that. Pay dearly.

  “Hmmm,” she said, twisting her hand in her robes, “every dwarf, elf and good human that gets in my way is going to pay. And those dwarves will wish they’d never taken Nath Dragon in at Morgdon. Every village and every town within leagues of their mountains will cry for mercy. Because I’m going to ruin them.”

  She stood up and stepped down from the dais with fists at her sides. “We’ll burn their crops! Ransack their homes! Soil their fertile land with innocent blood! They’ll have to turn him over to me. That will be my ransom for peace!”

  She straightened her robes down over her excellent figure.

  “Get up, goat woman. I’m not finished using you yet.”

  CHAPTER 28

  “Ugh,” Nath said. “My head’s killing me.”

  Slowly he sat up, squinting his eyes. The light was dim, blurry, and wavering, but it felt like he was waking up to the dawn’s bright light. Something covered his mouth and face. It was sticky. A thin layer of webbing. He peeled it away, swung his legs over the edge of the slab of stone he sat on, and rubbed his aching eyes.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” he said. Opening his eyes for what seemed like the very first time, Nath Dragon took in a sharp breath. “Where am I?”

  He sat on a slab of granite like an altar, big enough to hold three men. The room was an octagon, with a lone candelabrum flickering above. It was sparse, but the stonework was magnificent. Round columns were carved from the stone, and the floor was tiled in patterns he did not know. It made him think of the tomb in the Shale Hills where he and Brenwar had confronted the steel dragon with the Thunderstone.

  He slid off the slab and began walking around. He wobbled and stumbled.

  “Guzan,” he said, grimacing, “my legs are leaden.”

  The chamber was big enough to hold a hundred people if not more, and a single iron door straight across from him was the only exit.

  “Where in Nalzambor is this?” he said. “Brenwar?”

  There was no answer.

  He shook his head and rolled his neck. It cracked and felt funny. He stretched out his great arms and locked them behind his neck, yawning a long yawn.

  “How long have I been sleeping this time? Feels like months.” He swallowed hard. “Oh no.”

  He held out his arms. His clawed hands jutted out of the heavy green robes that covered him. His fingers seemed the same as they had before, but the nails seemed a little longer and thicker. He reached back and rubbed his neck.

  “What?”

  He felt a series of bumps on his neck.

  They felt like hard, rigid, protruding scales.

  “No!”

  He grabbed the heavy robes that covered his chest and tore them off.

  His chest was covered in black scales that reflected the candlelight.

  “No!”

  Gaping, he stared at the long nails on his scaly toes and fell back against the granite altar. “This can’t be,” he said, grabbing his head and shaking it in his hands.

  “My face!”

  He ran his scaly fingers all over it and found long locks of his auburn hair. His chin was covered in a beard. He stormed through the room, looking for an
ything that might give him a reflection of his face. But only the door was there, and it showed nothing.

  Gently he traced his face with his fingers once more. “I think it’s still the same.” He gave himself a once-over. Everything he could see was covered in scales. And they weren’t smooth like a snake’s, either.

  “What is this?” He ran his hand over the armor-like ridges on his arms. They were as hard as rock and metal. “I don’t think I’ll need Brenwar’s breastplate anymore.”

  He combed his fingers though his long hair in front of his face and shook his head. “It’s never been this long before. I wish I could see myself … I bet I look magnificent.” He sauntered through the chamber. “But first things first. Where in Nalzambor am I?”

  The last thing he remembered was eating enough food to feed an army, sitting at that magic table down by the river with Brenwar, Bayzog, Sasha, and Ben. Licking his lips, he could still taste the pie on his tongue…

  His tummy rumbled. Worry crossed his features.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” he said.

  He walked over to the iron door, started to pound on it, and stopped. He’d been assuming Brenwar must be on the other side, or another of his friends, but what if that wasn’t the case?

  What if he was captured?

  If his enemies had him?

  And his friends were dead?

  The Clerics of Barnabus could easily be behind it. He pressed his ear to the great metal door and closed his eyes.

  A minute passed, then two. Nothing.

  “Hmmmm,” he said, rubbing his chin and eyeing the torches high above him.

  The flames didn’t flicker or waver, and no wispy smoke billowed from them.

  “Magic is behind this.”

  He ran his hands over the great columns with ancient carvings in them. He tested the tiles on the floor. He knocked on all the walls high and low, but the chamber was as solid as a mountain of stone.

  He punched his fist into his hand. Ground his teeth. Let out a puff of smoke. “I need out of this tomb.” He took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his lungs, “BRENWAAAAAAAAAR!”

  His voice fell flat. Not even an echo. Nath felt alone. Scared. Angry.