Terror At The Temple (Book 3)

by Craig Halloran

  I liked Sasha. She was all about the truth, which was uncommon for a wizard. And as I’ve said, wizards, magic users, and necromancers could not be trusted. Not even an old friend like Bayzog. When it came to power, they had their weaknesses. Sasha, however, wasn’t like that. What she lacked in Bayzog’s power, she made up for with integrity.

  “Well?” she said, tapping her bare foot on the floor.

  Bayzog flittered his fingers and muttered the strangest words.

  Where one fireplace blazed in the corner, cushioned chairs and a sofa accompanied it now.

  “Shall we?” he said, arm extended to the corner.

  I limped over and slumped into the furniture.

  “It would have been nice if I'd landed on this sofa, rather than your hard floor.”

  Sasha readied me a drink from the serving station.

  “Coffee, Tea or—”

  “Wizard's Water would be fine.”

  She smiled, saying, “Excellent choice.”

  She poured a red melon-colored drink in a crystal glass and served us all.

  Bayzog hoisted up his glass and said, “To old friends.”

  “And dead enemies,” I added.

  I drank. Smooth, bitter and invigorating, I felt my mind and body begin to rest. Tea, Coffee, wine, Ale did little for me, but the wizard's magic elixir did much. It filled me, refreshed me and cleared my senses.

  “Ah… I needed that.” I clopped my glass on the table and leaned towards Bayzog. “So, tell me what you saw, Wizard.”

  Sasha leaned his way as well, her beautiful eyes intent on his face.

  “Dragon, listen, it’s not something that I think is worth mentioning. I can’t confirm any of it.”

  “Bayzog, tell him!”

  Bayzog, the epitome of poise, slumped back in his chair, face drawn up with worry.

  Sasha gasped, “Bayzog, where are your manners?”

  He sighed, one eye open, one on my arm.

  “Dragon, your arm, its curse is much worse than suspected.”

  CHAPTER 29

  “How much worse can it be?” I said. “And besides,” I showed him the white scales in the palm of my hand, “I think it’s getting better.”

  Sasha took my hand in hers and traced her fingers over it.

  “I’ve never felt live Dragon scales before, at least not on a man,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”

  That made me feel good. After all, how could something beautiful be bad? I knew I was good.

  “Sasha, please, can’t you tell he’s enough in love with himself already?” He paused, looking at me. “You like it, Dragon. Don’t you? The raw power it contains.”

  I reached over, refilling my glass of Wizards Water.

  “Wouldn’t you, Bayzog?”

  “Power, yes. Cursed power… no. Listen, have you ever seen a Black Dragon before?”

  I shook my head.

  “There’s a reason for that,” he said, sitting back up in his chair. “They’re all dead. They all died in the last Dragon war.”

  “So?” I shrugged. “I’m sure many Dragons died off in the last Dragon war.”

  Rising to his feet, Bayzog walked over to the fire, rubbing his hands.

  “How much did your father tell you about the last Dragon Wars?”

  I had to think about that. My father had told me many things, but he never spoke about the Dragon Wars, and I’d never really given them much thought until now.

  “I see,” Bayzog continued. “Just so you know, legends say that it was the Black Dragons that started the last Dragon War.”

  I fell back in the sofa, glancing at Sasha’s eyes. I could see she was worried.

  “And my father killed them?” I asked.

  Bayzog shook his head slightly, saying, “We don’t know that he killed them. Any of the Dragons could have killed them. But, they were the cause. They were the solution.”

  I pulled my arm from Sasha. It was no wonder my father was so furious with me. Black Dragon's scales. A reminder of the war. But why did I have them? I was good, after all.

  “Bayzog, how come I’ve never heard of this: the Black Dragons, the War? You’d think I would have crossed paths with it by now.”

  “There are legends and histories, some true, some not, in some cases neither, others both.”

  “That’s not really an answer.”

  “Well, the Dragon Wars might be over, but the evil remains. Much of it is hidden from our eyes, but some of it is right in front of us, mixing the truth with lies.”

  I took another drink because I was feeling weary again.

  “Like the Clerics of Barnabus?” I sighed.

  “Do you know the legend of Barnabus, Dragon?” Sasha said.

  “Well enough, I suppose.”

  “Oh, show him, Bayzog. Show him how the story unfolded.” She batted her eyes at him. “Please.”

  He frowned at first and then smiled, saying, “You know I can never tell you no.”

  She huffed. “You tell me no all the time.”

  “Only when I study.”

  She whispered in my ear.

  “That’s all the time.”

  He brushed his black hair past the point of his elven ear and said, “I heard that.”

  Then with a twitch of his fingers, the flames swirled into a sea of color. In the flames, the image of a mighty man appeared, fully armored, carrying a great sword over his shoulder.

  “Barnabus,” Bayzog said. “One of the few Legionnaires who aided the good Dragons in battle.”

  The image of Barnabus was doused in flames as a Dragon appeared from behind.

  “I love this part,” Sasha said, hugging my arm.

  Barnabus turned and ran his sword right through its heart. The flames roared out, and only Barnabus remained. You could see nothing of the man, only his armored metal shell.

  “Barnabus, the histories say, killed the last Black Dragon. It was his bravery and his sword, Stryker, that ended the war. But the Clerics of Barnabus would have Nalzambor believe differently. Under his name, they claim to protect us from all kinds of Dragons, claiming they are evil, dangerous. We know better, but most people don’t. They fear the Dragons. They loathe them. They capture them and sell them from the temples of Barnabus.”

  “Oh, I hate those clerics!” Sasha said, reddening. “I’d kill them all if you’d let me.”

  “It’s not our fight, Dearest.”

  I eyed Bayzog, saying, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Holding his hands up, he added, “At least not yet. Dragon, I’m fascinated by you and your kind, but it’s the people I protect, not Dragons. That’s your charge. But,” he bowed, “I’ll help you with whatever you can do.”

  I felt that Bayzog was holding back. Wizards always did.

  “Tell me where the Dragons are?”

  “I can’t help much there, Dragon. They’re hiding. The Clerics have their ears, and they have been as thick as wolves' fur out there. And then you, you of all people, come strolling into this city, knowing full well they’ve a bounty on you.”

  I jumped to my feet.

  “How did you know that?”

  He rolled his eyes.

  I threw my arms up.

  “Of course! Of course you knew! Alright Bayzog, if you don’t want to help, just say so.”

  I slammed my glass down on the table.

  Sasha grabbed me, saying, “Dragon, behave yourself. You know Bayzog means well.”

  “Does he? Sorry Sasha, but I don’t have time for games. I took the risk coming here certain you would help me out. But all you offer is fairy tales and water.” I glared at Bayzog. “Let me out of this crazy place.” I scoured the room but saw no door.

  “Calm yourself, Dragon,” Bayzog demanded. “You need rest, and your fresh wounds need to be healed. Have a few hours of peace. I’ll see if I can find something, and you can leave when I do.”

  “Let me out now, Wizard!”

  “You’re a guest; you can leave whene
ver you wish. But what about your friend, Ben? Will you abandon him as well?”

  I'd forgotten about Ben, but I didn’t care. I just wanted out of there.

  “Yes. Goodbye, Sasha. I hope you stay well.”

  She kissed me on the cheek and said, “Be careful.”

  I shot Bayzog another look, and then I closed my eyes. Remembering how this went, I thought of the front door. I opened my eyes and saw the gargoyle knocker. Behind me, the stairs. Maybe I’d been hasty. Maybe I’d been rude, but I had things to do.

  I stomped down the stairs.

  “I don’t need your help anyway.”

  ***

  “Bayzog! What is wrong with you?” Sasha said. “Dragon is our friend, and he needs us.”

  He sighed as he took her by the hands and said, “Yes, he does need us, but we cannot help him. Only he can help himself. If he can’t… we’ll all need help.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bayzog strolled over to his massive table and opened his book.

  “I read something that I can only assume is true.”

  Sasha gathered beside him, eyes intent of the pages.

  “What does it say? You know I can’t read it yet.”

  He said nothing.

  “Bayzog, what does it say!” she demanded.

  He cleared his throat.

  “The ancient scribes say…

  And the Black Dragons were vanquished, and peace was on Nalzambor until the Black Dragons returned. So it was. So it has been. A Circle. And the last Black Dragon shall envelope the world forever.

  He closed the book and finished, “... this is much bigger than us. I feel for his father. I feel for the world.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “Blasted Wizards!”

  I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t mad, but I wasn’t happy. Bayzog hadn’t really done anything wrong, other than disappoint me. He was holding something back, something big, something bad―about me; I could feel it in my bones. So I wandered, alone on horseback, through the streets from one side of the city to the other.

  “What to do?” I mumbled, drawing a few stares from passersby.

  The night wasn’t much different than the day in Quintuklen, just darker and quieter. I didn’t care for it. I liked watching the people, but tonight, I wanted to be alone. I wanted to sulk. But I knew better. Instead, I headed for the wall, near where we came in.

  “Should I go or not?” I said. I hated to leave empty handed. I came here to find out about the Dragons, and I couldn’t leave without something.

  Above, the moon was full like a brilliant pearl, casting dark shadows in every corner. I had an idea. I just needed to find the Clerics of Barnabus. Like Brenwar would say, “Face the problem axe up and head on!”

  The Clerics of Barnabus were the problem. Find them; find the Dragons. They’d been looking; I’d been hiding. I decided to take my problem straight to them.

  “If I were a cleric, where would I be?” I was gazing up at the moon when it hit me. “The Sanctuary.” There were always clerics there.

  It was early morning when I arrived at the bubbling fountains just outside the Santuary’s gates. Within, monuments and statues were covered with dew, and clerics in a colorful variety of robes were milling about. The Clerics of Barnabus were easy to spot, and within seconds I spotted a few tattooed foreheads. My first urge was to gallop over there, snatch one, ride off, and beat the information out of him. But, I donned my cloak and pulled my hood over my head. Leaving my horse, I moved in.

  About twenty feet away from them, I took a seat on a bench, head down and listening. There was no loud talking in The Sanctuary, but there was a lot of whispering. And much of it was in a language you couldn’t understand. The Clerics had their ancient dialects in which they spoke, but I’d picked up on Barnabus words over the years, sort of. But it was the common tongue I heard.

  “We’ve many to sell. Small ones. Dead or alive, as you will,” one Cleric of Barnabus said, speaking to a Cleric in stone-colored robes. I could feel my blood run hot. The Stone Clerics drew their power from the rock, and they weren’t noble. According to them, the stone was neither good nor bad, only the one who threw it.

  “I’ve no need of such things.”

  “Any word on Dragons?” the Cleric of Barnabus asked. “We aim to keep the world safe from the menace. Keep them under control we must.”

  “You can tell those tales to the regular folk, but I know better. Most Dragons are as good as you are evil. Begone with you, I say.”

  “Pardons and Blessings, Stone Wielder.” The Cleric bowed and slowly backed away.

  Good for him. I’d have to remember that. The Clerics of Stone were neutral, but they weren’t fools. It was good to know.

  The Clerics of Barnabus split up, spreading the word about Dragons from one group to the other. One of them had the attention of a small group in gold lace with heads hidden under their purple hoods. I didn’t recognize the order, but there must have been a hundred different ones in Quintuklen. I got up, stooped down, and picked my way through the people. It was getting crowded.

  Ten feet away, back turned, I was leaning on a monument when an odd feeling overcame me. Peering around, I caught the eyes of another cleric of Barnabus who quickly glanced away. They couldn’t have seen me, could they? I didn’t exactly fit in, but there were all sorts of robed figures and cloaked characters in the Sanctuary. I turned away, took a moment, and glanced back. He was gone.

  “We have a Yellow Belly, with pollen breath that turns one to stone,” I overheard one cleric say. “Some of the Dragon tykes that don’t have breath yet, they make fine pets, when broken.”

  I bunched up my fist and fought the urge to walk over there and punch him in the face. I could barely stand it. Patience. Look. Listen. Learn. I might explode first.

  “Where do we meet?” the cleric in the purple said.

  “Five leagues West, in the Crane's Neck. After the sun sets tomorrow. Gold only.”

  “Agreed.”

  That’s all I needed to hear. As I turned to head back to my horse, it felt like a bucket of ice water hit me when someone said, “Dragon!”

  CHAPTER 31

  “Delicious, simply divine,” Finnius said, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin.

  Good food was hard to come by in the Temple ruins, but the Lizard Men were excellent hunters, and the acolytes, when prompted, were decent cooks.

  Thumping his fist on his chest, he burped as an acolyte refilled his goblet with wine.

  “At least the cellar kept the bottles in order all these centuries, and it would be a shame for it all to go to waste, wouldn’t it?” he said, eyeing the cage that sat on the small table.

  The pixlyn woman was there: tiny, pink, knees drawn up, head down.

  “Oh, you can speak to me, little faerie. As a matter of fact, I’d like to hear you sing. They say the song of the faeries is a beautiful and magical thing, but I’ve never heard it.”

  Finnius pulled the cage closer and peered in.

  “What do you say?”

  She didn’t budge.

  He slammed his fist on the table.

  “SING!”

  She flinched, then rubbed her tiny fists in her eyes, sniffling.

  “Oh, how adorable.” He tapped the cage. “Little Pixlyn, sing for me, else I’ll pluck your husband's wings off when he arrives.”

  Her bee wings buzzed as she hovered up, nodding her head.

  “Oh, I have your attention now, don’t I? Sing, Little One. I want to feel the mystic words you hold. Sing to me,” he beckoned, “share your powers… or die.”

  Her tiny little mouth opened up, and beautiful words flowed out. Not words men could recognize, but a beautiful, ancient language. Harmonious and Delightful.

  Finnius sat back and sighed, letting the music fill him from head to toe.

  “Wonderful,” he muttered. He'd been weary, but no more. His once spent energies from his mission now recharged. His mind refreshed and cleared.


  “Excellent,” he muttered, slumping back, tears forming in his eyes. So pure, so good, so amazing. It was nothing like he’d felt before.

  Something banged into the Pixlyn cage.

  Finnius lurched up, rubbing his watery eyes.

  “What?”

  The male Pixlyn was back.

  Finnius shook his head, saying, “What is the meaning of this, Pixlyn?”

  The little man’s tiny mouth was a buzz of words.

  “I see. Hmm… Excellent, I see. Nath Dragon is on his way already.” He clapped his hands together. “My, won’t the High Priestess be pleased. Tell me. Tell me about it all.”

  Finnius muttered a spell and sprinkled powder over the pixlyn.

  The words of the Pixlyn were high and garbled momentarily, and then a sound of man came forth.

  “It took me no time to find the man. I told your men who he was and where to go. Your men spread word as I watched. The man overheard the conversation about the Dragons. Your men spoke to your men in disguise. The man you want believed it. He and them travel this way now.”

  “Hah!” He slapped his knee. “Keep me posted then, Pixlyn! Go! Spy!”

  The tiny winged man flew into his face and said, “My mate?”

  “Yes, well, she’ll be quite alright,” Finnius flashed a wicked smile, “assuming she keeps her wings, assuming you do as you are told and I don’t have to clip her wings. Now go!”

  CHAPTER 32

  Brenwar’s stomach growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so hungry. His horse bent its neck towards the stream water and began to drink. His stomach growled again.

  “Ah, be quiet, will you?” he said, reaching into his pack and withdrawing peppers and bread. He took a bite. “That might hold you, until we find Dragon, that is.”

  He hadn’t eaten since he left, or slept either. He rubbed his mount's neck, watching the trout swimming upstream. He’d like to fish, but he didn’t have time.

  “It’s a shame you horses don’t eat fish,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  The horse nickered, raising its neck. Brenwar got a sour apple from his saddle bag and fed the horse. At some point, the horse would need rest; he knew. And stopping in the next village might be in order.