Nath ripped Fang out of the ground. His fingers felt like fire, but he held on. His head beaded in heavy drops of sweat.
“I will not let go!” he said, fighting the agony.
Fang’s blade shimmered and winked with life. Orange and blue colors swirled in the metal of the blade. It hummed. Moaned. Angry. Urging Nath to release it.
“I will not!” Nath said. He staggered in the grove. “You’ll have to burn my fingers off first!”
Water. Nath wanted water to douse the blade in to cool his fingers. But no stream or any creek trickled nearby.
Don’t think about water. Think about control.
Fang! You are mine! A gift from my father. You serve me. I do not serve you!
The blade flared with mystic fire and let out an angry moan.
Nath could feel the scalding heat up to his elbows. His great arms juttered. His teeth clenched.
Fang! Listen to me! Stop this! Stop this madness now!
The blade shook in his hands from a force of its own.
“I will not let go, Fang! Not until you succumb to me!”
The dragon heads on the hilt started to move. Streams of smoke poured from their nostrils. They let out tiny roars.
Nath’s hands started to smoke. The white scales on his palms burned.
“Fang! Enough of this!”
Nath’s body trembled. His great muscles convulsed. He fell to his knees with his scales sizzling. His own mind screamed. His fingers begged to recoil.
I cannot! I will not!
Nath fell on his back screaming. Birds scattered from the trees. Branches shook. He held on, fighting the pain until his mind began to black out.
“Fang,” he whispered. “You are my friend. I need you. But you must trust me.”
The bladed metal swirled with scintillating colors and heated up in one great burst. Nath felt every ounce of its power rush through him like lava, and it swept him across the ground. He held on and on and on. Everything hurt from head to toe, but he held on.
“Fang,” he managed to say, “trust me again.”
The blade winked out. The metal cooled in his hands. Nath let out a long, sweaty sigh and said, “Thank you, my friend. Thank you.”
He rolled to his knees and pushed himself up with the blade. He peeled one hand away.
“Uh.”
His hand was swollen, and it trembled like a leaf, but there was no burn on it. He checked his other hand, and it was the same.
“Whew,” he said, dashing the sweat from his eyes. “I’m glad you got that sorted out. And I’m gladder to have you by my side. I never would have made it this far without you.”
He hefted Fang over his shoulder, picked up the scabbard, and searched for his horse. Minutes later, he was riding back toward his friends. When he got there, doubtful faces greeted him, but he was all smiles.
He stretched Fang out over his head and let the steel blade shine in the sun.
“Saddle up. It’s time to vanquish evil.”
***
Bayzog rode easy, studying a piece of mystic shard in his hand. The bright fragment’s powers were gone, but some mystery remained. How did the forces of Barnabus harness its power? The crystals were almost impossible to mine and shape, but somehow they managed to do it. It was a grave concern.
“Worried, I see,” Nath said, riding up alongside him.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Well,” Nath said, “you always look concerned about something.”
“It’s that bad, is it?”
“For an elf, maybe, but for a man, maybe not so bad. So, tell me, what are you thinking?”
Bayzog wanted to ask the same thing, but Nath had made his plans quite clear. He was heading straight for the River Cities to find out what was going on with these crystals. Not a subtle strategy but a bold one instead.
“I’m thinking only one person is capable of making these things,” Bayzog said. “Maybe a few, and the more we close in, the more heavily guarded they will be.” He glanced back at the forest and fields behind him. “Not to mention, we are most likely being pursued from all angles, thanks to your efforts at the bridge.”
Nath sat tall in the saddle with a calm look in his eyes and said, “The path is broad to where we go, and we won’t be so easy to find.”
“And when we get there?”
“We’ll come up with something.”
Nath pulled his horse to a stop and craned his neck toward the sky.
Bayzog scanned the sky but heard nothing.
“Get into the woodland,” Nath said. He made a sharp whistle ahead.
Brenwar and Ben turned in their saddles.
Nath pointed toward the woods and mouthed, “Quickly.”
They all led their horses deep into the edge of the forest, where Nath stopped and waited.
***
Bayzog peered up through the pines. A distant sound caught his eyes and came closer.
Whump. Whump. Whump. Whump. Whump.
Wings beat against the wind in the sky, dragon shrieks called out in the air, shadowy forms glided over the branches, and his heart beat in his throat. It sounded like more than a dozen of them. He turned back at Nath.
Nath held his arm out and finger up.
Splintering shrieks were like bells in his ears. The horses shifted, snorted, and stamped. Bayzog rubbed his horse’s neck and whispered in its ear. The fine beast calmed.
After the dragon shadows passed, the shrieks faded. Bayzog heard Ben sigh.
“Noisy things, aren’t they?” Nath said with a smile.
“That was awfully close, wasn’t it?” Brenwar remarked.
“True,” Nath said, “but I’ll always hear them coming.”
“Is that so?” Brenwar said.
“Yes, yes it—”
A shadow circled above and dropped just outside the tree line with a whump. A dragon crept toward them with its long neck swaying back and forth. With its piercing eyes locked on Bayzog’s, it charged forward.
CHAPTER 8
Gorlee stood flat footed, looking up. The monstrous figure looked down on him from twelve feet above. Its head was bald, and its broad face rested on a thick neck like an ugly troll’s. Its chest was broad and hairy, and its grey skin was clammy like a fish. Its arms were long and thick like an ape’s, and its knuckles almost clawed the floor.
What are you?
“What am I?” it said. “I know you wonder.”
Gorlee shrugged and tried to ignore the stench of its breath.
“Confident this one is, ah ah ah,” it said. It pointed a fingernail tipped like a spear at him. “Perhaps you think me a troll, but trolls don’t speak like me and you, do they?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Gorlee said. “The only trolls I’ve ever known are dead.”
“Ooh,” the creature said with a smile of broken teeth, “I like that. Hmmm … maybe you think me a giant?”
Gorlee gave the monster a closer study. He knew the races. He’d spent his entire life mimicking them, and he thought he’d seen all of them. But this thing was different. The eyes of trolls were dull and stupid. This thing’s eyes showed cunning. He’d seen plenty of giants, too, but none with arms so very long before, either. Its legs were short, and there were strange ridges in its skin, but its mouth looked a mile wide. Maybe it’s cursed. Maybe it’s a demon from the depths.
“I don’t care what you are,” Gorlee said.
Its pinkish eyes widened and blinked.
Gasps and hisses could be heard among the other voices. Slowly, they came forward from the shadows into the cavern’s light. Most of them were long haired and unkempt, but normal in size. What was left of their clothes was in shambles. Men mostly. Orcs, gnolls, and goblins were among them.
It poked him in the chest.
“I am a triant. My name is Bletver. My mother was a troll and my father a giant.”
“I think that is one of the worst things that has ever been bred, er, I mean said.” Gorlee yawned and cov
ered his mouth. “I guess that explains the present company of scary faces you keep. He yawned again. “And what a fine establishment you have set up. How much to rent one of these caves?”
“Oh ho ho,” the monster said, “I’m going to enjoy you.” It crept closer and eyed his chains. “My, you must be special.” It flicked Gorlee’s shackles. “I’ve not seen moorite in an age. Take a look at this, boys.”
The faces crowded in.
“Indeed, you are special. Very special, as the phantom did say.” It huffed and leered at Gorlee. “Who are you, and how did you get those scales?” It brushed its arms with the back of its fingers.
Gorlee felt ill, and his stomach was still turning. The multitudes were pressing in and tugging at his chains. It took everything he had to not take a swing at them. To not change and escape the chains. But the desperation in their eyes left a feeling of pity in him. These people were condemned. Some of them might have been soldiers that fought against the forces of Barnabus. Others might have been failed enforcers of the same. The monstrous humanoid was their warden, and he probably already had his henchmen scattered among the crowd, feeling him out. And the phantom, that was the gatekeeper of the deep.
“I’m just one of you now, it seems,” Gorlee said. “When do we eat?”
The monster clapped his hands.
“You are a delight to my dungeon.” It laughed. “A man of wits and games. Well now, let’s see what we can do to make our guest more comfortable. Let’s get you out of those chains.”
“That would be kind.”
“Bring an axe and block!” it shouted.
The crowd parted, making a pathway for a large humanoid that approached. Its head and shoulders were covered in shaggy black fur, and it stood taller than the others. Broad and muscular, it came with a large block of wood tucked under one arm and a great axe slung over its shoulder.
A bugbear. They have all the worst down here. How quaint.
It dropped the heavy block of wood on the ground with a snort and clutched its axe in both hands.
“I don’t think that blade is of much use against moorite,” Gorlee said. He laid the chains across the block. “But you are welcome to take a whack.”
The monster’s chuckle was low and wicked.
“Oh, we know our plans can’t break those chains. But removing your hands from your wrists? That’s another thing.”
Gorlee jerked his hands away.
“What?”
“Grab him!”
A surge of bodies seized him, pinned him down, and held his arms in place. “Aw, don’t worry, Nath Dragon, with any luck, your dragon skin will hold.”
No it won’t!
“And,” the monster continued, “you will have passed your test. Of course if you fail, you’ll be doomed like the rest of us.” He signaled to the bugbear.
The axe flashed up over its head.
CHAPTER 9
Finlin the satyr kept his joy to himself.
I love it when she makes mistakes.
He tossed a small, rough sack over his shoulder and belted his scabbard around his waist. He carried two daggers only and kept his pipes tied close to his neck. The rest of the camp bustled with activity, and the march to seize another city began. One hundred motivated soldiers of Barnabus in heavy gear and arms moved through the hills like an invincible python. The draykis could be seen positioning themselves in the fore and middle of the ranks. Their eyes were alert and their commands not subtle.
“Perhaps you should tell them,” Finlin suggested to his sister.
She clenched her fist in his face.
“I said not a word of this.”
The pair remained behind. Quiet. Faylan toyed with her hair and chewed on her lip. She didn’t like to make mistakes. In the case of their capturing Nath Dragon, neither one of them could be certain who that really was.
“Well, perhaps it was him. Maybe his hair is just different. I don’t see how you could have suspected anything different.” He tried to sound reassuring. “Whoever it was, it fooled everyone. Even the draykis. I’m proud of you, Sister.”
“Oh, shut it, you little horned toad.” She punched him in the arm. “I don’t need your reassurance. I just need you to keep your mouth closed and do as you’re told. I’ll deal with the High Priestess if the time comes. And you will not admit to knowing anything otherwise.” She patted the dagger on her chin. “I’d hate to think my brother would turn on his sister.”
“No, never,” he said.
“Good,” she said, trotting away, “Idiot.”
Watching her go, Finlin entertained two schools of thought. If the High Priestess discovered what they had hidden, they’d both be punished. He was certain it would be a fatal thing. Another thought occurred to him as well. If we are caught, no doubt my sister will turn on me. He noted the draykis heads towering among the ranks. The hulking dragon-like humanoids should have known if they’d captured someone other than Nath Dragon. Wouldn’t they have said something? Maybe they had kept quiet about it, wanting Faylan to fail. No one really liked her that much, particularly the draykis. After all, she controlled them. A stubby, goat-legged woman ordering such renowned monsters around couldn’t sit too well.
Finlin caught up with the ranks and walked alongside. The faces of the races were far from pleasant. Hard, grim, mean, and not a smile among them. Metal rattled on their shoulders and hips. A sizable force to take over a small town or city.
When we take over, I wonder what happens after that. What kind of reward is in it for the likes of us?
He thought of his home at the Crater. He longed to be back there.
If only I could slip away without notice. The smell of this army is becoming alarming.
He trotted toward the front and caught up with his sister.
“Shall I scout ahead?” he asked.
She frowned at him and said, “Be back by dusk and not a crack of light later.”
***
“They move,” a dwarf said, reporting back to Pilpin. It was Horn Bucket. He had a rusty beard and half an arm left on one side. “Southeast and winding toward the villages. A strong force, and those oversized lizards are with them.” He adjusted his wooden helmet with the elk horns sticking from it. “Shall I head back out?”
“Come with me,” Pilpin said.
They’d been keeping a close eye on the satyrs and the small army, probing for opportunities and weaknesses. So far, nothing had presented itself, but it was only a matter of time. The dwarves had a saying, “If it’s not dwarven, then it has a weakness.” A motley army of the wicked races couldn’t be cohesive. Especially under the lead of a woman satyr. But they were strong. Merciless. They’d pummeled town after town with iron gauntlets.
Back at their camp, Devliik accepted the news and gathered all his men.
“Smaller bands of dwarves have taken greater numbers,” he said, thumbing the blade of his axe. “But it’s those draykis I’m concerned about. At the moment, we are outmatched by them. Their skin is thick as steel.” He huffed. “It’s the satyrs we want to extract, but once we do, we’ll have the entire army after us.”
“Better they come after us than after the next village,” Pilpin said. “A good thing.”
“Aye,” Horn Bucket added.
“I agree,” Devliik said, “and we ride, but they don’t.”
“Perhaps they won’t miss the satyrs if we take them,” Pilpin suggested. “And the one seems to control those draykis. Perhaps if we finish her, we can finish them. Or scatter them maybe.”
“How far to the next settlement?” Devliik asked.
“At their rate,” Horn Bucket said, “I’d say four days. Six if they move toward a greater city, and they’re more than capable of taking one. They’re slow, but they’re in no hurry, either.”
“Death is never in a rush,” Devliik said.
“And what of that dragon?” Pilpin said. They’d witnessed Gorlee being snatched away by a great dragon. It was part of the reason they n
eeded to follow the satyrs: in order to find out what had become of him. “What if it comes back?”
“We just better get this done before it does come back,” Devliik said, “or there might be a toasty grave for all of us.”
CHAPTER 10
The dragon tore through the brush and barreled toward Bayzog. It was a young grey scaler but bigger than two men put together. Its claws tore through the dirt and brush, and its mouth opened to roar.
Nath went for Fang.
Twang! Zip!
An arrow streaked into its neck, cutting off its roar.
It reared up.
Twang! Zip!
Another arrow stuck in its belly.
The dragon thrashed on the ground, its tail swiping around. Nath leapt over the tail and brought his sword down. The dragon moved no more.
Sadness overcame Nath. His heart was grieved. He kneeled down and closed the dragon’s eyes.
“There is no other way,” Brenwar said, stepping up behind his shoulder. “It’s us or them.”
“I’m not supposed to kill my kind,” Nath replied, holding back tears. “I’m not supposed to kill at all. What have I done?”
“We’re at war,” Brenwar said.
Nath looked back at Brenwar and said, “Do dwarves kill dwarves? Do elves kill elves?”
“It happens. We all squabble and skirmish,” Brenwar reminded him, “and it’s a shameful thing when it happens. And this isn’t the first time. Dragons have fought and killed dragons before. I was there when the last war happened.”
Nath sighed. He knew the stories. The history. The tragedy. There had always been good and bad dragons. He’d spent a lifetime trying to rescue both. In the case of the grey scalers, there was little good in them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t worth saving.
He got up and said, “Ben, you’ll need those moorite arrows.” He tilted his head and listened. If more grey scalers were coming, he didn’t hear them. “We’d better get moving.” He took a lasting look at the dead dragon. How many more have to die before this is over? He got on his horse. “Let’s go.”
***
The Chronicles of Dragon Collection (Series 1 Omnibus, Books 1-10) Page 79
