Whoom!
He pinned it to the ground by the neck and unleashed the full fury of his dragon fire. Its claws raked at his scales. Its thoughts cried mercy. But nothing could save it from Nath’s wrath-filled heat. It died with its own eyes scorched inside its sockets.
Nath slumped over. He lay on the ground shaking. The night sky wavered. Smoke and firelight made an eerie look in the sky. He hurt. He bled. The dragon’s claws had torn through his scales into his flesh. There were even black blisters in many spots. He clutched his queasy stomach.
I’d be dead if not for that vial.
Getting on his monstrous hands and knees, he searched for Fang, lifting up burning trees and tossing them toward the river. But there was no sign of Fang.
Sultans of Sulfur! Could I have lost him?
Perhaps being bigger was the problem. Maybe he just needed to wait until he got smaller.
He can’t be far.
He stared into the sky at the Floating City that hung above. He could see the dragons, still perched on their roosts. Not a single one had moved. He beckoned for them.
Come. Come and play.
Thumping his chest, he coughed a little. At his feet, the first bull dragon lay still. Wings broken. Nath wondered what it had meant when it spoke about his father. Why had his father spared them the first time? How do you spare something that wants to kill you?
He’d spent the majority of his life saving dragons, and now several had died by his hands. He wasn’t supposed to kill. He’d been told it was different when a war was going on, but he couldn’t make sense of the difference.
Isn’t the war between good and evil always being fought?
He felt sadness. Despair. He stroked the bull dragon’s horns. Despite the dragon’s ferocious and terrible nature, it was still a beautiful thing. A spectacular mix of power and beauty. A shame it had been corrupted. A shame for them all.
Nath let loose and bellowed. After that, he pushed through the burning woods and located the crystal gnomes, who still formed a lump of stone. He picked them up with a grunt and walked back into the woods. He set them down and renewed his search for Fang. Perhaps the gnomes could help, if they ever thawed out, so to speak.
He tossed more burning trees toward the river, stomped and patted some fires out. Others he made into a huge bonfire until all the flames were under control. But there was no sign of Fang. Even with his excellent dragon vision, things were still harder to find in the dark than in the light.
He yawned, stretched his arms high into the sky, and sat down. Horses galloping through the forest caught his ear. They were coming his way. Seconds later, the riders emerged. Three of them had astonished looks. It was Brenwar, Bayzog, and Ben. The others were stone-faced Wilder Elves, and to his surprise one of them was Shum.
“What have you done to yourself this time?” Brenwar bellowed.
Nath kneeled down in front of them with his eyes fixed on Bayzog. His heart swelled.
“You’re alright then?” he said.
Looking a little squeamish, Bayzog climbed from his horse and said, “Never better.”
Nath slapped his hands together in a clap of thunder.
“Will you contain yerself!” Brenwar yelled. “You’ll wake our dead enemies with all that racket.”
“Oh, they’re awake alright,” Nath said, lowering his voice. He pointed back at the Floating City. “Green eyed and bony tailed.” He smiled. He was so happy to see all his friends alive and well. He pointed at Ben.
The strongly built man held Akron in his hands and offered an approving nod.
Nath continued. “Seems we have some things to sort out. I suppose we should start with you, Shum. How is Sansla Li—”
Nath’s vision spun, and a moment later everything went black.
CHAPTER 11
“I can barely stand this place anymore,” Rerry said to his brother Samaz. “Look at all of these melon heads. It’s revolting.”
“Keep your voice down,” Samaz said. The big-shouldered part-elf sat on a bench beside him, head low, eyes up. They’d been sitting for over two hours, looking for any sign of their mother, Sasha. “You know their ears are as big as their heads.”
Rerry rose up in his seat a little, violet eyes bright.
“Was that a jest?”
“More fact than jest,” Samaz replied, adjusting the sleeves on his robes, “any fool can see that.”
“Watch what you say, Brother.”
“Watch how loud you say it … Brother.”
Rerry eased back on the stone bench and started drumming his fingers on the hilts of his swords. He had the steel frame of a man but the grace of an elf. They sat in Quintuklen’s Gardens of Worship, in the favorite spot of their mother. Over the years, it had become the lone spot among hundreds that was their favorite spot to share. There had been a time, years ago, when Rerry ran away, only to be found by his mother, sleeping on this very bench.
“This will be our safe spot,” she had said to him. “If there is any trouble, this is where you come. But when we get home, you’ll have to do all of Samaz’s chores and some others.”
It was one of the few times Rerry didn’t bother to disagree. He hadn’t wanted to run away, but pride hadn’t let him go home either. He was just glad his mother found him. Plus, he’d been hungry.
“So you sense anything?” he said to Samaz, back in the now.
Samaz shook his head, his pale eyes flashing a little. The deep-chested part-elf rolled his eyes and sighed.
“I told you it doesn’t work like that.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Rerry said. “Find a way to make it work. You’re just sitting here doing nothing.”
“And you’re just sitting here doing nothing as well, aside from the bickering.”
A very tall man walked by, glowering at him. He wore a dark robe, was bald-headed with tattoos all around, and had a crow-like quality about him.
Rerry hoisted up his boot on the bench and tugged on the laces. “Good day,” he said to the crow-faced man. “How’s the weather up there?”
The man lifted a brow, shook his head, and vanished into the gardens.
Rerry scowled.
“Bald-headed tattooed freaks,” he muttered under his breath. “Need to stick a sword in all of them.”
“Watch what you say,” his brother warned under his breath.
“Who’s listening? The plants? The trees?” He grabbed a sunburst daisy and spoke into it. “Hello, flower, I want to skewer all the Clerics of Barnabus. Now run along and tell them about it.” He released the flower. “Sheesh.”
“Your silly mouth isn’t doing Mother any favors.”
“Pah,” Rerry said, turning away. He didn’t care. Every year, more people joined the ranks of Barnabus. They shaved their heads and got tattoos. They filled the gardens with chanting, praying, and pestering. They filled the streets with horrible singing. Rerry had friends once, but now most of them had fallen into the clutches of the disturbing acolytes of Barnabus. They made his stomach crawl.
“How much longer should we stay?” Samaz said, dashing sweat from his brow. “She could be anywhere by now. Perhaps one of us should wait at home in case she returns.”
“So you can read more scrolls?”
“I might find something useful. You never know.”
“You tried that,” Rerry said, frowning, “and it didn’t bear any fruit whatsoever. We wait here until the next crowing.”
Samaz pulled his legs up into a cross-legged sitting position and closed his eyes.
“Oh great,” Rerry said, shaking his head, “sleeping upright will help.”
He waited. Watched. People of all sorts were milling about, babbling about Barnabus and the war. They said the same things they always did.
Barnabus will overcome evil.
Barnabus will crush the dragon hordes.
Barnabus will win the war. Save us all. Hail Barnabus.
It was lunacy. The last dragon Rerry saw had been cha
sing people through the city with a bald rider on its back shouting commands while it wrought havoc. He knew which dragons were good and which were bad. His father Bayzog had told him how to tell the difference between good and evil.
“Just watch and listen to the things they do,” Bayzog had said. “Evil cannot hide its nature for long. It always outs itself. Just be careful that you don’t get too close to the web it spins. If you get caught, you might not ever get out.”
He rested his head in his hands.
Aw Father, I wish I were fighting at your side. I wish Mother would hurry back, too.
“Excuse me,” a pretty voice said.
Rerry’s head popped up. A mature woman of stunning beauty stood before him. Her lustrous black hair was peppered with white. Her peach gown clung to the generous curves of her body, and her features were elven. Rerry swallowed hard, and his heart started racing.
“Yes?” he said, coming to his feet. He smiled. “Can I help you?”
“I don’t believe so,” she said, taking his hand, “but I believe I can help you.”
“How…” Rerry started, blinking. Her beauty filled his eyes. Her touch was so soothing, and a strange melody tickled his ears. “How can you help me?”
He didn’t notice, but Samaz stood by his side, just as entranced as he was.
“I’m going to take you to your mother, Sasha.” She brushed her fingers over his ears. “Would you like that?”
All Rerry wanted to do was nod, and that was all he did.
She led them both by the hand, deeper into the gardens, underneath the overhanging tulip vines into a tunnel encircled in flowers and thorns. Rerry took a quick glance back. The city he’d known as home had vanished. He didn’t care one bit.
CHAPTER 12
“Well, it’s not Morgdon, but it will do,” Brenwar said. With a small torch he carried in his hand, he lit a lantern hanging from a wooden support post, eyeing the surrounding structure’s craftsmanship. “Certainly not dwarven.”
He, Ben, Bayzog, and the Roaming Rangers had traveled without stopping for two days now, south of the Floating City. The Roaming Rangers had led the way to an ancient and long-forgotten location, a small fortress carved in the mountains. They all agreed it was the safest place to keep Nath Dragon while they waited for him to shrink from his enormous form. The Elven Steeds had towed him here, deep into the fortress.
“He’ll be safe here with us,” Shum said, tilting up a chair that lay on the chamber floor. “You are all welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“Stay as long as we like? Har!” Brenwar said. “He’s not staying here for long. If anything, he’s going to Morgdon.”
“But we agreed,” Shum started, setting his swords on the dust-ridden table, “that he would stay with us.”
“For a spell,” Bayzog said, moving between the two. “Not for an unknown duration.”
“We have our charge,” Shum said, touching his fingertip to a candle sitting on the table. He muttered and the wick lit up. He nodded to Hoven, who took the flaming candle and worked his way around the chamber, lighting the lanterns. The light alleviated the dimness, but the mood did not lighten.
“I have a charge as well,” Brenwar said. “And I won’t be going anywhere without Nath. Not now. Not ever.”
“I said you could stay,” Shum said, “as long as you like, but he stays with us.”
Brenwar bristled. His fists bunched up at his sides. “We’ll see about that!”
“Hold on,” Bayzog said. “Who gave you this charge, Shum? You never told us that.”
Shum dragged a couple of wooden chairs their way, took a seat, and said, “Please sit. I’ve a feeling we’ll be here awhile.”
That’s when Ben entered the chamber, dragging the now-shrunken Nath on a stretcher behind him. He lowered the braces of the stretcher to the ground, mopped the sweat from his brow, and started rubbing his shoulders.
“Whew! Even normal size, he weighs thrice as much as he looks.” Ben shook his head, and a sad look crossed his face. “I don’t like this, Bayzog. It was twenty-five years the last time. I’ll be ancient if I live another twenty-five more.” He loosened Fang from his shoulders, kneeled down, and lay the blade down by Nath’s side. “We have to wake him up this time. We need him.”
Brenwar grunted. He could agree that they needed Nath now more than ever. He’d never seen such large forces of evil before. Without Nath, he didn’t think Nalzambor would hold up much longer.
“As you were saying, Shum,” Bayzog said, breaking the silence, “who gave you this charge? I’m guessing Sansla Libor.”
Shum shook his head. Hoven returned the candle to the table and took a seat beside his brother, resting his hands on his belly.
“The King,” Shum said.
“Sansla, then,” Bayzog said.
“No,” said Shum, “the King.”
“You mean the Elven King, then?” Brenwar said. “Pah! I don’t follow the orders of elves. You’ll have to do better than that. The king of Morgdon, perhaps. Or are you following the orc king now? Pah! Pot Belly.”
“You know the king I am speaking of, Brenwar, personally, but you have not spoken with him in a long time.” Shum’s eyes drifted and rested on the dwarven chest. His chair groaned when he leaned forward. “He told me this: ‘Tell Brenwar Bolderguild I have not forgotten that he has borrowed something of mine.’”
Brenwar’s fingers froze in their search of his beard, and his fuzzy mouth formed an “O”.
“The Dragon King,” Bayzog said, rubbing his hands on the thighs of his robes. “You saw him?”
“I’ve spoken with him, or rather, he spoke to me,” Shum said, glancing at Brenwar, “rather clearly.”
Recovering, Brenwar folded his arms across his chest and said, “Preposterous. What else did he say, then?”
“He said we were to find Nath and aid him and his efforts in any way we could.” He gestured to all the Roaming Rangers in the room. “That’s why we are here.”
“Humph, anyone can say that. Besides, I’m the one charged with aiding him, not you. Ask Nath,” Brenwar said. He walked over and kicked Nath in the ribs with his boot. “He’ll tell you.”
“Is it so hard to believe?” Shum said.
“We have your word, but have no proof.”
“What about the chest?”
“I’m sure Nath blabbed to you about that. As much as he talks, I’m sure he told everybody.” Brenwar kicked him again. “Wake up, Dragon!”
“Stop doing that,” Ben said. “You could hit him with your hammer and it wouldn’t do any good. You know that.”
“Agreed,” Bayzog said. “Now sit, Brenwar. Let’s finish this conversation.”
“Oh! Well certainly,” Brenwar said, hustling over to his chair and resuming his seat. “Why don’t all of you deceitful elves continue to humor me?”
“Deceitful?” Bayzog started.
“Yes, deceitful!” Brenwar hopped back to the ground and punched his fist inside his hand. The Elven Roaming Rangers didn’t bother him. It was the fact that the Dragon King had spoken with them that bothered him. It made him doubt himself. Feel like a failure. The Dragon King must not be pleased with his efforts. And Brenwar was ever confident. The dwarf had never doubted his efforts until now.
“Brenwar Bolderguild,” Shum said, “I assume you’ll be by our side for the duration. We all have to protect him.”
“And what about this war? There won’t be anything left to fight for by the time he wakes up again,” Brenwar said, now pacing. “And I don’t want to spend the next several decades with elves, Roaming Rangers or not.”
“Hoven,” Shum said, turning to his brother, “would you mind? I think now is the time.”
“Aye, Brother.”
As Hoven departed, Brenwar took to Nath’s side. His friend had dried blood on his face, and his scales were blistered and ruptured. He appeared dead, other than the gentle fall and rise of his chest.
“Let’s clean him up,�
�� he said to Ben. “I don’t like seeing him like this.”
Brenwar had been looking after Nath for over one hundred twenty-five years, and he’d never seen him in such bad shape. It hurt him. He felt like a failure.
“Brenwar,” Ben said, wiping the blood from Nath’s face. “If I’m not around the next time he wakes up, will you tell him … just tell him that it was good knowing him. I was honored.”
The words sank into Brenwar’s heart, softening it like a pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I’m going to make sure you’re here to tell him yourself.” He patted Nath’s chest. “He’s going to wake up. Soon. He has to.”
The chamber fell silent, the firelight flickering in the draft, casting shadows on the solemn faces of the men. No one was ready for another twenty-five-year dragon sleep. None had yet recovered from the exhausting efforts of the last one.
Hoven returned with a small wooden chest in his hands. He handed it to Shum, whose chin rested on his fist and elbow.
“Ah, excellent,” the Wilder Elf said. “Brenwar, come. This is for you.”
Without looking up, Brenwar said, “I’m not interested.”
“But you should be,” Shum replied. “It’s for you, from the King.”
Brenwar perked up and said, “Is that so?”
Shum nodded.
“What is it?” Brenwar asked, making his way toward the table.
“I don’t know. All he said to me was, ‘Give this gift to Brenwar with my thanks. And tell him job well done, but it’s not over. Do not fret. Aid comes. But this will help in the meantime.’”
Brenwar set the box on the table and opened it, with Ben and Bayzog watching over his shoulders. His brows popped up. A pair of metal bracers woven in intricate patterns with lustrous metal gleamed within the velvety box. Rugged, but beautiful.
“Whoa,” Ben said, “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
Brenwar rubbed his fingers over the smooth configurations of the polished metal. The craftsmanship was beyond excellent. He’d seen them in the Dragon King’s chambers and commented on them once, only to never see them again. He’d wondered what happened to them.
The Chronicles of Dragon Collection (Series 1 Omnibus, Books 1-10) Page 94
