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

by Craig Halloran

  Gorlee hooked the man beneath the arms.

  The wind stirred, and a whoop of cries came up and out of The Deep.

  The center of the black water stirred and started spinning in a swift circle. A dark oily form rose in the middle, dripping with sludge and goo. The guards scurried to the other side of the bars and slammed the gate shut. Gorlee heard one guard’s armored knees knocking.

  “Get away from there!” the veteran guard said. “Get away!”

  The phantom, a towery faceless ghoul, stretched its elongated arms out and made a shrieking howl. The ghostly hands engulfed the unconscious man’s entirety and pressed him deep down into the sludge.

  Gorlee stood chin up, facing it.

  The phantom tilted its head and shrieked again.

  Gorlee hunkered down, covering his head and waiting. At last, Gorlee felt the phantom’s hands engulfing him, too. Ice raced through his veins, and down he went, spinning and spinning and spinning.

  ***

  Coughing, Gorlee struggled to his knees. The prisoner lay beside him, wide eyed and shaking. Above, the well of The Deep showed a dim light hundreds of feet up. All signs of the phantom were gone. He reached over and touched the man. The prisoner jerked and sputtered.

  “Eh,” Gorlee said, wiping slime from the man’s face. “I’ll check on you later.” He rose to his feet, swaying, and staggered forward until he regained his balance. A long corridor of cut stone and ancient symbols let out into several illuminated tunnels. He could hear shrill cackles, rustling chains, and the scuffle of bare and booted feet.

  Hmmm…

  He rubbed his chin, summoned his power, and shape-shifted. His mannish frame shrunk a foot. His arms corded up with muscle. Long yellow nails grew from the tips of his fingers. He tore off his uniform shirt, ripped up his pants into tatters, then said in a raspy voice, “I’m a goblin.”

  Though he didn’t remember much about The Deep, he knew there were plenty of creatures from all the races down here. He’d heard the guards and their stories. He hobbled along the corridor and followed the stairs up into another level of caves that led to an overlook over a grand chamber hundreds of feet wide and deep.

  He took a few quick breaths.

  Even in this cavernous expanse, the stale air was rank with sweat. Suffocating. Covering his nose, he spied down below. Scores of prisoners milled about: men, orcs, half-orcs, gnolls, goblins, lizardmen, and even a few halflings. More lay still on the ground. Others, blemished and shaking with fevers, huddled in corners. Some sat with their legs dangling over the ledges up here, near the small tomb-like caves that encircled the arena.

  Hunched over and dragging a foot, Gorlee made his way along the rim and climbed down one of the ladders that led to the bottom floor. Not a single eye drifted his way. He wrung his goblin hands.

  Excellent.

  Now he just had to find the part of him that was missing. The part that called to him from its burial down here. He milled about, staring at faces and listening to conversations.

  The prisoners were all marred in some way or another. An orc was missing both eyes and one leg. A bugbear had no teeth. A halfling was covered head to toe in warts and chattering rapidly to himself. Many were hapless, but some were formidable. Another goblin with ruddy skin and both fingers missing from one hand bumped into him and muttered a curse. Its beady eyes bore into him.

  Gorlee turned away. He’d spent months blending in. Imitating anyone and everything. Serving Selene’s dark purposes. The last thing he needed to do now was to draw unwanted attention to himself. Disguised or not, until he found whatever it was he was looking for, he needed to lay low. At least until he figured it out.

  A firm hand grabbed and squeezed his shoulder. He turned and found himself face to face with the goblin.

  “I don’t remember you,” it said in Goblin. “What is your name?”

  Some of the other prisoners gathered around, hemming the pair of them in. Gorlee balled up his fists and slugged the fingerless goblin in the jaw. A raucous chorus of cries went up, and a circle of bodies closed in.

  The goblin, dismayed, picked up a stone and lunged at Gorlee. It drove the stone into his gut and socked him in the head. Gorlee punched and kicked. It clawed and bit. Blood dripped over his eyes. He wrapped the goblin in a headlock.

  “What you do!” the goblin cried. “What you do!”

  There was fear in its voice.

  The crowd chanted, arms pumping, at the two of them.

  “To the death! To the death! To the death!”

  Gorlee squeezed the goblin’s neck, making its eyes bulge. It tugged and pulled at his arm, but Gorlee held him fast. He had no love of goblins.

  But he was no killer, either. Not yet at least. He released the goblin.

  It fell to its knees, coughing and wheezing.

  A bugbear shoved him forward. Other prisoners began shoving him as well.

  “To the death!” they demanded. “That is how we live.”

  It seemed there was a code in The Deep. That in order to keep the peace, such squabbles among the prisoners were made fatal.

  Gorlee set his jaw and filled his hand with a stone.

  The rank bodies resumed their clamor.

  “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

  It was a dark and depraved moment.

  The goblin dove onto his legs and drove him to the ground. Gorlee struck a blow to its back, drawing a howl. Back and forth they tussled, one rolling over the other. The goblin locked its claws on his neck. Gorlee swatted it in the ribs with the stone, bringing forth a grunt. The pair locked up arms and legs. It butted its mangy head under his chin. He held on.

  Buy time. Buy time.

  Gorlee glanced through the faces in the crowd. He could turn into any one of them and get away, if they closed in just a bit more.

  Need another escape.

  Suddenly, the crowd dispersed at the sound of a thunderous voice.

  “WHAT HAVE WE HERE, A BATTLE?”

  The triant, Bletver, lorded over them, leering downward with hairy knuckles dragging the ground. Part giant. Part troll. Gorlee knew something of what it was, based off the stories he’d overheard. But deep inside his mind, a spark flashed.

  “He started it,” the goblin squealed. “Mercy, Lord Bletver. Mercy!”

  “I DO NOT RECOGNIZE THIS GOBLIN.” Bletver snorted the air. “BUT ALL STINK TO ME.” He bent his great mass downward.

  A bright yellow stone dangled from a chain on his neck, catching Gorlee’s eyes.

  That’s it! I can feel it!

  His grip on the goblin loosened, and it twisted from his grasp. It went down on knees and elbows.

  Bletver’s arms lashed out, snatching them both from the ground in his oversized hands. Gorlee’s eyes bugged out, and his bones groaned.

  “PERHAPS I KILL YOU BOTH!” The triant’s eyes fixed on Gorlee. “YOU ARE UNFAMILIAR. AND A STRANGE SCENT CONSUMES YOU.” His throat rumbled. “ODD, YET FAMILIAR.”

  Gorlee stared at the yellow stone hanging on Bletver’s sagging neck. Inside, the stone throbbed and swirled. He stretched his fingers toward it.

  “Eh … you like that?” Bletver said. “Well, that is mine!” It heaved Gorlee up and slammed him to the ground. Its hand began to grind him into the stone floor.

  Gorlee absorbed the stone’s features and became harder than the rock itself.

  “WHAT IS THIS?”

  Gorlee regained his feet and now stood a stone goblin. And kept on growing.

  Bletver’s dark eyes widened.

  “NO! NO, IT CANNOT BE!”

  Gorlee stood eye to eye with the triant now and watched it back away.

  “YOU!” Bletver chanted. “IT CAN’T BE!”

  “Give me that stone,” Gorlee said, holding out his hand.

  Bletver engulfed it with his great hands.

  “NEVER!”

  Gorlee pounced. He picked up Bletver and slammed him to the ground.

  Some of the other prisoners gathered
what they could and attacked Gorlee. He grew another size larger than Bletver and let his stone fists loose.

  WHAM!

  WHAM!

  WHAM!

  WHAM!

  Bletver reeled. The Chamal Stone slipped out of his fingers.

  “NO,” Bletver whined, “NO, not again...”

  Gorlee smashed the yellow stone on the rock floor, into a thousand pieces.

  Its essence filled him. His memories flooded his mind.

  Tears streamed from his eyes. He dropped to his knees with his face lit up with elation. A broad smile formed on his rock-goblin face.

  “Time to go,” he said, swatting away his assailants. He turned back to Bletver. The triant sagged against the chamber wall, chin buried in its chest. It didn’t even glance his way.

  “Go,” Bletver grumbled, “and return never again.”

  Gorlee sauntered out of the chamber and squeezed back down the corridor that led him to the pit. The other prisoner was gone. He rubbed his chin and looked up into the well of The Deep. He recalled the icy grip and daunting powers of the phantom.

  I did it once. I can do it again!

  He reached up, dug his rock hands into the rock walls, and started shimmying up the well. The howl of the phantom shrieked in his ears. Its black ghostly form coated him like black ice and tried to force him down.

  “We meet again,” Gorlee said.

  He scrambled up the tunnel with the phantom shrieking inside his mind. The blood in his veins became icy water, but he did not slow. He could feel the phantom’s anger and hatred tearing at him from the inside.

  Gorlee’s goal was the beacon of light at the top of the well. He had to get up there and help his friend, Nath Dragon. His own deceptions and guilt fueled his inner fire of determination to make things right.

  “You couldn’t stop me last time,” Gorlee grunted, “and you won’t stop me now!” He laughed. “Ha! Twice I will have escaped your precious Deep!”

  The phantom was a force. A guardian with a mission. It had little intelligence of its own, just a mission: don’t let anything escape this tunnel. That was all it had ever known.

  The higher Gorlee climbed, the more the monster’s energy faded. Near the top, it drifted away, its mission a failure.

  “I’ll be,” Gorlee said with a grin. The phantom was gone. His fingers reached the rim, and he changed form again, back into the guard named Jason. Climbing out of The Deep, he found himself standing naked in front of the other guards. They all gaped at him. He covered himself and said, “Sorry, Commander, but I seem to have lost my trousers.”

  Gawping and scratching his head, the veteran guard said, “I can’t believe that’s all you lost. Now fetch yourself a new uniform and stay away from the rim.” He tossed Gorlee a cloak. “Sultans of Sulfur, young men do the most foolish things!”

  CHAPTER 20

  Riding on horseback south of Narnum near where the three rivers met, Nath and Selene shook off the drizzling rain. A host of soldiers rode and walked before and after them, weapons and armor creaking and jangling. They’d ridden for days, visiting small towns and cities, and the people heaped his praises. By all of his observations, things were becoming prosperous and back to normal. The people smiled and cheered. The children showed no long faces. But the armies of Barnabus were always near, like slow-moving rainclouds in the background.

  He shifted in his saddle, eyeing the sky. The feline fury circled in the air. It wasn’t alone, either. Dozens of grey scalers swooped through the sky in tight formations, accompanied by red horned dragons as well.

  “How do you control them?” Nath said. “I see no jaxite stones in your possession.”

  “Those stones are for the overlords,” she said. “These dragons you see here, they serve the same cause as me. Their service is voluntary.”

  Nath thought about Snarggell and all they’d sacrificed to put an end to the jaxite stones. He’d killed the lurker and removed the crystal gnomes from the cursed Floating City, but it seemed the damage had been done already.

  “Do they speak to you?” he asked her.

  “How do you mean?”

  He shrugged.

  “I see,” she said. “No and yes. I’ve earned their respect, and that’s why they stay. It’s not easy to control dragons.”

  “That’s why you need the stones.”

  “Even without the stones, the dragons would have made their choices sooner or later,” she said. “All dragons ultimately serve themselves.”

  Nath had rescued countless dragons over the years, so he knew they did have selfishness in common. They could be good, greedy, selfish, nasty, and surprising. Only one that he recalled in all his years had ever thanked him. The dragons, even to him, were still a mystery. His father said dragons were good, but many were fallen. That’s why you needed to watch out for them. They could be deceived as easily as men.

  “They are our brothers and sisters, Nath,” Selene continued, “and they want the same peace that we want. Give it some time, and you will see that.”

  “And what of Gorn Grattack?” He eyed her. “Does he want peace, or does he want power?”

  “It takes power to maintain peace. At least, that is his way. Don’t get power confused with force, Nath. Don’t get distracted. We are making progress, I believe.”

  The feline fury landed between them. Its mane of hair rose on the back of its neck, and its eyes were intent on Nath.

  “Seems this dragon is talking to you,” Selene said. “What does he say?”

  The fury didn’t communicate as most dragons do. Not through thoughts or speech. Instead, it nudged his leg, and Nath could feel the heaviness within its being.

  “He’s seen something ahead. It’s treacherous and worrisome.” He tugged the reins of his horse. “Lead the way!”

  The feline fury sprang into the air, wings beating. Nath kicked his horse into a gallop and trampled by the soldiers, keeping the fury in sight. The magnificent dragon diminished into a speck and joined a circle of grey scalers that drifted in the sky. Behind him, Selene rode. Galloping through the high grass, he slowed. Smoke rose over the tree line. Thick and yellow. A strange pungent stink lingered in the air.

  “I know that smell,” Nath said. He whipped the reins. “Ee-Yah!”

  Another two miles of hard riding, and his horse and thoughts came to an abrupt halt. The forest valley was a battlefield. Soldiers. Dragons. And none of them moved.

  “No,” Selene said, horrified. “No, it can’t be.” She trotted her horse alongside the smoking corpse of a huge dragon and hopped off the saddle. “Inferno!” She lay down between his scorched skull and broken horns, sobbing. “I-I can’t believe it.”

  Nath felt numb. Inferno wasn’t the only fallen dragon in the valley, just the biggest. There were dozens scattered all over. Some torn to pieces and others smoking corpses. Blue streaks, grey scalers, green lilies, sky raiders, white lotus flares, and even an orange wizen. Trees were crushed and uprooted. Craters were blasted in the dirt. He covered his nose and coughed, eyes watering. He’d never seen or imagined such a spectacle of war before. A war between dragons! Their blood drenched the earth. He clenched his jaw and fists. A swell of anger pounded inside his chest.

  A host of soldiers rode in behind them. Nath stopped the leader and said, “No one better pluck one bone, horn, scale, or anything from any of them.” Nath poked a hole through the man’s chest plate with his claw and rent a rift in it. “Do you understand?”

  The commander in full plate armor nodded.

  “As you wish. Any defilers will meet with their deaths.” He bowed and dispersed his men. “I’ll put my best men on watch at once.” He glanced at the sky. “And ready our troops for any other circumstances.”

  Nath dismounted and made his way through the carnage. It wasn’t natural, dragons killing one another. Oh, he had seen dragons scuffle before, but this was different. This, indeed, was war.

  He kneeled alongside an orange blaze dragon, much like the on
e he’d rescued in the orcen outpost so long ago. He pushed the lids down over its frozen stare. He stroked its metallic orange neck.

  How can this be?

  Other races fought all the time. They battled, warred, and skirmished, but this battlefield left a great hole inside him. He stood up and wiped his eyes.

  I can’t let this continue to happen. I can’t.

  ***

  “You should eat something, Nath,” Selene said, motioning to a plate of food that was piled in front of him. “It will comfort you in times like this.”

  “I’ve no appetite,” he said, leaning back on a small chair made for travel. He sneered at his meal.

  The pair of black dragons sat inside an extravagant tent big enough for twenty people. Carpets lay on the ground. Deep colorful tapestries were hung. It had all the comforts of the city, aside from a bed. There were large plush cots instead.

  Selene made her way out of her seat and poured steaming hot liquid from a kettle.

  “Some tea, perhaps,” she said. “It helps my mind rest.”

  He frowned.

  “Nath,” she said, easing her hips on the table, “there is a Truce, at least there is on our end.”

  “You mean your end.”

  She shrugged. “As I see it, it was not my dragons that struck first. Inferno was ambushed.”

  “There must have been a reason,” Nath said.

  “There is a war, and not all wars are fought with battle. There are more subversive tactics than that.” She pushed the tea toward him. “Drink. Talk. Listen.”

  He took a sip from the cup. “Happy?”

  “Now is not a time to be happy,” she said. “Now is a time for mourning the lost. And a time for planning.” She stroked his hair. “Nath, we’ve made a Truce with the races, but a truce with the dragons is another thing entirely. And I don’t think they would have acted on their own without orders.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her and said, “What are you trying to say?”

  “I think you know what I’m suggesting.”

  He stiffened in his chair and pushed her hand away.

  “You think my father is responsible for this? Do you?”

  “You are thinking the same thing, Nath,” she said, grabbing his chin and staring straight into his eyes. “My dragons were attacked without provocation. You saw that.”