War In The Winds (Book 9)

by Craig Halloran

  Struggling with the metal cuffs, she eyed him as he went away.

  If I could reach my magic, I’d set fire to your tattooed head.

  ***

  Rerry and Samaz held each other’s gaze for a moment as the group resumed its movement. Rerry, the younger, light-haired and fair, scooped up a stone. Avoiding the guard’s eyes, he tossed the stone back to Samaz, who snatched it out of the air and slid it under his robes.

  “Mother,” he said, catching up to her, “are you alright? You are limping.”

  Two lizardmen cut him off and shoved him backward.

  “Enough!” he said, surging forward. “I’m just checking my mother, serpents! You’re the ones slowing us down, not me!”

  The lizardmen, both of which had thick muscles bulging under their scales, hemmed him in dangerously, spears lowered between neck and belly.

  Rerry raised his hands and backed away, glancing at his ailing mother. “Alright. Alright.” He fell back in step with the horse that led them. The lizardmen stayed close, to either side of him. He checked out the steel on their hips.

  One day, I’ll turn you all into boots.

  He took a quick glance over his shoulder at Samaz. The thickset part-elf dropped the stone on the ground and returned a quick nod.

  Good, Rerry thought, good.

  For weeks on end, at every opportunity, he or Samaz had been leaving markings on stone or in wood by any means they could. It was an elven distress sign that Bayzog had taught them when they were little. The problem was, Rerry didn’t think there were any elves for at least a hundred miles except them. He trudged along.

  No harm in trying. No harm at all … unless we get caught.

  CHAPTER 3

  Brenwar’s hammer came up and banged down. Orange sparks danced off the red-hot steel. Sweat dripped from his forearms and sizzled on the blade’s hot metal. Sleeveless and with his leather apron soaked in sweat, he’d been hammering on and off for hours, working day and night in the forge. His mind was restless. He took out his aggravations by beating on steel, day in and day out.

  After cooling the blade, he laid it in the corner with other fine weapons he had made and took a seat on a three-legged wooden stool. Head down and sighing, he mopped the sweat from his brows. He felt empty inside. Restless. The great halls and mighty walls of his home, Morgdon, did little to dull his edge.

  “Ahem.”

  Brenwar lifted his chin and found himself looking into the bright eyes of Pilpin.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “I just thought I would stop by and see how you were doing,” Pilpin said. He walked over to the racks of weapons Brenwar had made: hammers, knives, swords, and axes. All well fit for dwarves. Pilpin picked up a pair of matching hand axes and twirled them around. “These are excellent.”

  “Then make excellent use of them elsewhere, will you?”

  Pilpin stuffed them in his belt and adjusted the neck of his chainmail armor. “Don’t mind if I do.” He sauntered a little ways through the forge. It was a large room with three bright furnaces glowing orange. It was Brenwar’s personal forge, and he’d been using all three. “Say, are you sure you can’t use some help down here?”

  “No,” Brenwar mumbled. “But I’m sure someone could use your help elsewhere.” Brenwar rose from his stool and glared down at Pilpin. He towered over the small dwarf by over a foot.

  “Nope.”

  It was clear Pilpin wasn’t going anywhere, and why should Brenwar want him to? They were the last of the dwarves sworn to protect Nath Dragon. They had done so together for more than twenty-five years.

  Brenwar had been distraught ever since Pilpin arrived, alone and with the news that a dragon had killed Devliik and all the others. But it did him some good to know that justice had been served to the murdering satyrs, Faylan and Finlin. Of course, there was still the issue of Gorlee having gone missing. The changeling was a mystery, but the best candidate to take care of himself. Shum and Hoven, the elven Roamers, would keep an eye out for him in their travels. Snarggell the Crystal gnome had gone on his own. That was one thing Brenwar was glad for. And then of course Nath… All of this gave Brenwar plenty to think about, and he didn’t like company that interrupted his thoughts.

  He shrugged his heavy shoulders and said to Pilpin, “Alright, grab a hammer. Let’s forge.”

  Pilpin’s small bearded face brightened.

  “Really?”

  With his oily forearms, layered in muscle, Brenwar picked up a smallish anvil and tossed it to Pilpin.

  “Put that over there.” He pointed. “And straighten those blades yonder.”

  “Aye,” Pilpin said, lumbering toward the spot and resting the anvil on a stout wooden block. “Brenwar, have you heard any news of late? Or rather, have you had any other visitors?”

  Brenwar poured molten steel into an oversized war-axe mold. It was shaped with twin blades and had a long spike at the end. Nasty thing. “No,” he said, “other than my wife.” He nodded toward another corner. “Help yerself.”

  A small table was layered in food, making Pilpin’s mouth water. Sweet cakes, breads, cooked meat, cheeses—and a small barrel of ale on either side.

  “Seems you do have all you need down here,” Pilpin said, driving his hammer down on his first blade. “But, I was wondering if she reported any recent news to you.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well…”

  Bang! Pilpin drove the hammer down.

  “…there have been dragon sightings. Strange ones.”

  Bang!

  “There are all kinds of dragons,” Brenwar said, “many of which have never been seen or will never be seen.”

  Bang!

  “Yes…” Pilpin said.

  Bang!

  “…But these dragons are special, they say. They soar blacker than night in the sky.”

  Bang!

  Brenwar’s brow furrowed.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  “How do you mean, blacker than night?”

  Bang!

  “Black. Black-scaled. Such as the legends say.” Pilpin swallowed. “The likes of Nath Dragon.”

  Brenwar froze. A chill went through his veins. It can’t be. It cannot be. Unsure of what to do with himself over the passing weeks, he had holed himself up in Morgdon, waiting for word. A sign from Bayzog. From the Roamers. Something. Dwarves were patient, Brenwar as patient as any, but now his patience ebbed.

  “Who says they saw these dragons?” he said. “Men? Orcs? There are terrible rumors all over the city.”

  “They say terrible things are happening everywhere,” Pilpin said, switching out one blade for another, “and all the sources say the rumors are true, despite the ‘Truce.’ The dragons and armies of our enemies thicken.” He slapped another blade on the anvil.

  Bang!

  “Our forces thin.” Bang! “So it seems.”

  “When did you hear of this?” Brenwar said, pushing the vat away.

  “On and off over the past week.”

  Bang!

  Brenwar eyed War Hammer. His weapon rested on a nearby steel table, along with the box that held the bracers given to him by Balzurth. His breastplate and other gear adorned a dwarven mannequin.

  “Let me finish this axe,” he said, “and you temper those blades.”

  “Then what?” asked Pilpin.

  Bang!

  “Then we go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Wherever my hammer takes us.”

  Pilpin nodded and smiled.

  Bang!

  CHAPTER 4

  The Roamers. Ancient. Elven. Stalwart. Vulpine. Trapped.

  Shum dived for cover.

  A dragon swooped over his head, tail lashing out and striking the rocks, before soaring up into the air again. Bigger than two men, the dragon and one of its brethren had cornered them in a narrow chasm. The dragons, cherry scaled with barbed black wings and tails, hissed and spit blasts of fire at them. Flame tongues, they were called.
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  Shum dashed across another chasm behind another rock. Hoven was there. His arm dangled at his side, and his sleeve was seared to his skin.

  “Can you fight?” Shum said.

  “Certainly,” Hoven said, wincing. “I just wish I had my spear with me.”

  Whoosh!

  The second flame tongue dragon whipped overhead, blasting a streak of fire into the stone and then darting back up in the air. Its serpentine neck twisted around. Its eyes were glowing red flares. Tail and wings black. Cursed. The dragons struck quickly, again and again.

  Shum peered over the rocks and up the walls of the chasm. He and Hoven had opted to split from the other Roamers in an attempt to divide the dragons. Instead, both dragons had followed the two Wilder Elf brothers. The flame tongues were crafty. Patient. Capable of setting the entire chasm on fire.

  “Suggestions?” Hoven said. His elven sword, keen and fanciful, was white-knuckled in his grip.

  “If we can take one, we might scare the other off.”

  Above the rim of the chasm, the dragons circled and spat flames. The small bushels of brush quickly caught fire, and the chasm was full of smoke. Shum squinted his eyes. The big elf handed his brother a spear and said, “I’ll lure one in.”

  Hoven spun the spear around, lengthening it one-two-three times. He eyed the sky and nodded. Shum crawled up on the rock, blades ready at his sides. Dragon hides were tough, but his elven steel was a match for the smaller flame tongue. He stretched his blades in the air, shouted a challenge in Elvish, and muttered an incantation.

  The dragons dove, two red darts streaking toward him, closing in. Flames shot from their mouths. A wash of fire covered Shum from head to toe. The first dragon’s mouth rushed at him, wide open.

  Shum struck, cutting the dragon’s nose with one blade and clipping its wing with the other.

  The dragon barreled into him, backing him into the rocky chasm. The beast skittered over him. Claws tore into his face, gashed his thigh.

  “Agh!”

  Shum rolled to one knee.

  The dragon squared off on him, rearing back on its hind legs, towering over him. Its neck coiled back, its lungs filled, and dragon fire whooshed out.

  Shum hunkered down. The heat was excruciating, suffocating, but nothing burned. His spell held, for now. He rushed in. The first blade skipped off the dragon’s dark cherry underbelly. The second lanced into the dragon’s shoulder.

  The dragon snarled, hind claws flashing.

  Shum ducked, rolled, struck, dodged, and struck. Claws clipped him. Teeth snapped at him. The speed of the bigger foe was amazing. Swift. Fluid. Punishing. Shum parried its claws.

  The dragon turned its hip and swung its tail around.

  He jumped. The spiked tail caught his booted heel and flipped him onto his back.

  The dragon pounced. It pinned his arms to the ground. Its claws dug into his flesh.

  “Have at it, dragon!” he said.

  The dragon’s head coiled back.

  Sshlunk!

  Hoven’s spear lanced through its neck.

  The dragon bounded backward, wriggling its neck. Its claws dug at the spear. Fire exploded from its mouth, engulfing its head in flame.

  Hoven locked his good arm under Shum’s shoulder and dragged him away.

  The dragon exploded.

  An earsplitting roar filled the sky, and the second dragon dove at both of them with flames surging from its mouth.

  Sshlunk!

  A great spear penetrated the dragon’s belly. It veered left and crashed into the side of the chasm.

  Another Roamer appeared on the rocks. He bounded through the chasm with the supple ease of a wild animal. Two blades sprung from his hips. The Roamer pounced on the back of the flame tongue and put the beast’s thrashings to an end.

  Glitch!

  A puff of smoke came from the great lizard’s lips, and its bright eyes winked out. The younger Roamer cleaned his blades and sheathed them. A warm smile was on his face that went well with the rugged ranger garb he wore.

  Hoven nodded and said, “Well done.”

  “Well done indeed, Liam,” Shum said, steadying himself.

  Without a word, Liam nodded. Then his eyes drifted toward the sky.

  Another flame tongue circled.

  Blood dripping to the ground, Shum gathered his swords.

  “Roamer up,” he said.

  A moment later, the dragon dove.

  Liam went for the spear in the dead dragon’s belly, but the beast had wedged it into the ground.

  “On guard, Liam, or take cover.”

  Eyes flame-ridden with hatred, the third dragon closed in.

  A great flying bulk slammed into it, driving it into the chasm wall. The two monstrous creatures rolled down the cliff side and into the gorge.

  The Roamers rushed over.

  The cherry-scaled dragon had locked up with a great winged ape. Massive fists pummeled the dragon, heavy blow after heavy blow. The dragon reeled. Recoiled.

  The winged ape tore into it with savage power. Dragon claws tore at the hairy beast. Fire scorched its hide. The ape locked its arms around the dragon’s neck and slammed the dragon’s hornless head into the wall, full force.

  Fire spewed from the dragon’s mouth.

  The muscular arms of the great ape bulged.

  The dragon roared one last time before its neck snapped.

  Shum, Hoven, and Liam kneeled as the great Sansla Libor walked over. He towered over them a full eight feet in height. The savageness was gone from his eyes, but not the power.

  “Arise and be healed,” Sansla said in a distinctly elven voice. “We have much more work to do.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “They’re so small,” Ben said to Bayzog, eyes fixed on the dragons. “Almost tiny, like field mice.”

  Bayzog rubbed his eyes and held his head. Weary, he rested his arms on the table and eyed the dragons with intent. They were wondrous. Three of them, scales bright in color. A citrine yellow, a scarlet red, and a cobalt blue. Sharp and scintillating as the sun. Each prowled over his table, and they growled back and forth at one another.

  Ben stretched his index finger toward the citrine one. “Can I touch one?”

  “I wouldn’t advise that.”

  The tiny citrine dragon widened its jaws, and a bolt of lightning flashed out.

  Zap!

  Ben lurched up. Eyes wide and hair standing on end, he collapsed on the floor. Shaking, he crawled up to his elbows.

  “Are you alright?” Bayzog said, holding back a chuckle.

  The rangy warrior shook his head, peering at the table.

  The dragons peered back at him. A puff of smoke came from the red one’s mouth, and a puff of blue acid from the cobalt’s.

  Ben eased up and away from the table. “They pack a punch.”

  “I’m sure it’s not personal,” Bayzog said. “Dragons in general aren’t too trusting of people. You should know that by now.”

  Ben shrugged and took a stool farther down the table. He smacked his lips. “I taste metal.”

  “That’s better than death,” Bayzog said. “You should be more careful.”

  “Aye,” Ben said, rubbing his head. “So, are they really dragons?”

  “Yes, and I didn’t even know that such a breed existed until I came across them in my studies.”

  “Why did you summon such small ones?” Ben said. “I thought you’d need something bigger?”

  “I need something our enemies won’t notice.”

  “Are they easier to control?”

  Bayzog shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I’ve never controlled a dragon before.” He rested his fingers on the jaxite stones and concentrated. Come, he thought. Come.

  One by one, the dragons paraded over and sat back on their haunches. Their tails swished behind their backs, heads cocking.

  “I think they like you,” Ben said. “What are they called?”

  “The Elvish word is long, and I’m
not sure how to pronounce it in Common.”

  “Eh, well, how about I call them dragonettes?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “So, what do these tiny dragons eat?” Ben asked. “Flowers and such?”

  “People.”

  “People!”

  Bayzog smirked.

  “It’s good to see you in better spirits,” Ben said to him. “But honestly, how can they help our cause?”

  “They are small, fast, and virtually undetectable,” Bayzog said. “And remember, dragons are outstanding trackers.” He set some articles of clothing on the table, items from Sasha, Rerry, and Samaz’s wardrobes. “Seek,” he whispered to the dragons. “Seek.”

  The dragonettes snorted and sniffed the items. One by one, they raised their heads to him in a sort of salute.

  “I have to admit,” Bayzog said, “this is going better than I expected.”

  Ben nodded.

  ***

  It had taken Bayzog hours to cast the summons, and upon completing it, he had fallen over in exhaustion. That was three days before this morning, when the dragonettes appeared. How they’d gotten into his home, he didn’t know. All that mattered was they were here and they seemed to be doing his bidding. He took a breath and sent his thoughts to them.

  I’m seeking my wife and my sons. I miss them. I need them. Can you help me?

  The dragonettes growled back and forth at one another and traipsed around. They butted heads with their tiny horns.

  Bayzog felt the jaxite stones warming under his palm. He had control of the tiny dragons! At least, he thought he did. Still, better to ask than to order in such delicate circumstances. He wanted to earn their trust and respect. It was better that way. He couldn’t control them forever, or at least, he didn’t want to. With or without the jaxite stones.

  Their wings buzzed to life the same as a hummingbird flies. They lifted off the table and darted through the air, zipping back and forth in the wink of an eye. Briefly, they circled Ben’s head, causing him to duck. They zipped in front of Bayzog, roared, then headed upward through a crack in the wall and disappeared from sight.

  “Did they flee, or are they doing what you told them?” Ben said, peering up at the rafters.