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

by Craig Halloran

  Father lowered his head all the way to the floor, his face a dozen feet from mine, hitting me with a snort of hot air. I felt like an insect when he said, “I’ve been in your shoes and walked the same path, and I know what you are thinking. You think like a man. It’s time to grow up and think like a dragon. Now, with all my heart and wisdom, it is time for me to go. Take care, Son.”

  He reared up, went around the throne, and melded into an enormous mural of himself that was painted brilliantly on the wall. All of a sudden I felt alone. His presence, for the first time in my life, seemed gone. It was clear that he was serious about my scales, and I’d better be getting serious as well.

  I spent the next few hours shuffling through the piles, loading a sack with anything I thought might help me, knowing full well it was up to me, no matter how many tricks I had in my pack. I departed, taking one last long look back at the mural of my father and wishing that I was on the other side of the grand painting as well. Brenwar awaited me, leaning against a wall, arms folded over his barrel chest, bushy black brows raised with alarm.

  “You live!” he said, more in a grumble, but a surprised one.

  “Ha! You didn’t really think he’d kill me, did you?”

  “I would’ve.”

  “For what?” I demanded.

  Brenwar slammed my scabbarded sword into my chest.

  “For stealing.”

  “Borrowing,” I said, correcting him. “Besides, it was mine to take anyway.”

  “I know.”

  “You did?” I said, surprised. “But how di—”

  “Just keep walking, chatterbox. I’m ready to go. I feel so blasted small in this place. And there’s no ale or dwarves…”

  Brenwar kept going on, but I couldn’t listen. My mind was too busy wondering if this would be my last time at home or not. My scales! I had my doubts I could do it, but determined I was, and a good bit deflated, too. How could I ever be a great dragon like my father? I didn’t even have one scale.

  Brenwar Boulderguild

  CHAPTER 6

  Brenwar’s stout legs were too slow to keep up with my long-legged pace, so we rode on horseback. Otherwise he’d complain the entire way. I wasn't usually in such a hurry, so I normally preferred to walk, but I felt a degree of haste these days. Northward we went, toward the five great cities.

  The Human city of Quintuklen was filled with magnificent castles and shining towers that overlooked vast rich and reaching farmlands.

  The dwarven city of Morgdon was a mass of stone blocks and metalworks, like a dwarven-made mountain, grim and impenetrable.

  The elven city, Elomelorrahahn, which I just called Elome, the most majestic of all, was hidden in the fog and forests.

  The Free City, Narnum, hosted all the races, at least all those not so monstrous, damaging, or tormented. It was a trade city where all the merchants from all the races came to do business, and I found it the most exciting of them all.

  The most dreaded, not so vast or appealing, was Thraagramoor, or just Thraag, grim as a mudslide, crumb poor, and run by the orcs, ogres, and goblin sorts.

  “Well,” Brenwar said, “which way will it be?”

  The Mountain of Doom lay in the south, leagues and days from the others. The cities were each two weeks' ride from each other. They formed a rough circle, with Narnum, the Free City, hosting the middle. Everything in between was unprotected and dangerous land.

  “Free City, as if you didn’t know,” I said, hoisting my canteen to my lips.

  “I thought we were to be rescuing dragons and such? There’ll be no dragons in that city.”

  “Ah, but is there not talk of dragons wherever we go?” I was grinning.

  “I say we go to Morgdon first, then. My kin will be happy to see you again.” He stroked his beard. “Not so much as me, but they’ll be glad.”

  Visiting with dwarves was almost as bad as visiting with dragons, except the dwarves were always working, drinking, smoking, or frowning. Their voices were gruff, their conversations short, but they also took time to host their guests. They liked to talk about the things they built and the battles they fought in—with vivid detail. But if you’d heard one dwarf story, you'd heard them all. I was polite when I said, “How about on the way back then, Brenwar?”

  He grunted, kicked his short little legs into the ribs of his horse, and charged forward. “To Narnum it is then, Nath! But by my beard, they’d better not have run out of dwarven ale, else I’ll drag you back to Morgdon by your ears!”

  I couldn’t help but smile as he spurred his mount, the hot air of the sun billowing in my recently chopped hair thanks to those dreaded orcs. It would grow back before we made it to Narnum City, where I could find an elven barber to refine it with a dash of magic here and there.

  We traveled dusk to dawn, over the plains, through the woodlands, over some mountains, through some small lake towns, and well past the ruins. All the way we chatted with caravans and merchant trains. It was spring, and farmers, miners, and merchants were moving along the dusty and cobblestoned roads, taking their wares to every city in the north.

  As usual, I heard the same rumors of war, for there were battles and skirmishes everywhere. There were soldiers from many races, all eager to lay down their lives to make money for their families. Brave men we met, and I admired them all. Of course, there were others, too, up to no good. Some spoiled and bold and others as crooked as a busted dog's tail. But I didn’t chat too long. I had heard it all before. I’d fought in wars myself.

  Nearing the end of the tenth day, my hips were sore from all the hard riding, and words couldn’t describe my elation when I saw the tiniest tip of a spire in the middle of Narnum City.

  “Brenwar! We’re almost there. Two hours' ride at most, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Aye, I can’t see it, but I know the road as well as you. I knew when we were five hours away three hours ago.” He snorted. “I knew we were a day away a day ago. I see no reason for celebration. It’s not like we haven’t been here before.”

  “Ah, it’s just better to actually see it. Having the goal in sight. Can’t you ever get excited about anything?”

  “I’ll be excited when I have a barrel of ale under my bones and a full tankard as big as my head. It looks the same as it always has: not dwarven.”

  Well, I was happy. The past few months I’d been outside the cities, tracking down dragon poachers and hunters. Life wasn’t all fun and games for me despite all my advantages, but when I went to the city, I made the most of it. And anyway, a place like Narnum, a mix of everything in the world, was where I went to find the ones who tried to hunt dragons.

  This city in particular was different from the rest. A mix of everyone tried to thrive here, and for the most part it worked out. All of the races, good and bad, had a say in Narnum, which for lack of a better word was nothing more than a giant marketplace ruled by many dukes and earls that feuded with one another most of the time, paying little attention to the troubles of the people if they were not their own. There was never enough for most of them, and what they gained, they quickly lost. At least that’s how I'd seen it over the past two hundred years.

  A tower rose more than three hundred feet tall, like an ivory tusk had burst from the ground. It was a beautiful thing. Massive windows adorned its circular walls where an outward staircase spiraled upward like a green vine. I could see tiny bodies moving and peering through the bay windows. I dreamed about the day I’d be able to fly around that tower, wings spread wide, soaring through the air. But for now I was a ground pounder, same as the dwarves and men.

  The closer we got, the more people we saw, dozens becoming hundreds, hundreds becoming thousands as we approached the only great city that had no walls. A river flowed through the city from east to west. I could see the tall buildings, some reaching more than a dozen stories tall, but most were not so tall at all. There were guardsmen and garrisons all along the way. The protection of the city was well paid for. The citizens, hard wo
rkers, liked it that way, and I didn’t fault them. I’d want my efforts protected as well.

  The roads were paved with cobblestones and brick. The markets thrived with activity as we trotted deeper into the city. A half-elven auctioneer worked the stage in the marketplace, selling pieces of jewelry to a crowd of excited onlookers. He was dashing, not as dashing as me, but his lips were as fast as a hummingbird's wings. Banners marking the neighborhoods fluttered in the air. Children played in the fountains, and some begged for coins. Women aplenty hung from the windows, whistling at me, to Brenwar’s chagrin.

  “Quit ta’ flirting, will you! Let’s find a tavern, eat, drink, and make grumpy!” He was hollering at me.

  One buxom gal was yelling my way, “Handsome warrior, will you come and stay with me tonight? I’ve the softest lips in all of Narnum.”

  “I can see that,” I said, momentarily mesmerized.

  The women kept calling to me, one compliment following the other.

  One shoved the other, saying, “No, my lips are softer.”

  “You are so gorgeous, and look at those broad shoulders! I will massage them all night.”

  “Your handsome eyes, are they your mother's or father's? I’ve never seen gold in a man’s eyes, not even an elf's. So splendid and superb,” a comely gal with long lashes noted, posturing from her window.

  I stood and gaped at all of the wonderful things coming from their painted lips. I couldn’t help myself.

  Smack!

  Brenwar jostled me hard in my side.

  “Come on, Nath Dragon!”

  I didn’t budge … spellbound. Flattery was a weakness of mine, something my father had warned me about, but it didn’t seem to ever sink in. I didn’t want to fight what they were saying and saw no reason to, either.

  “In a minute,” I shrugged. “As you were saying, ladies.”

  They all laughed and giggled as Brenwar took my horse by the reins and dragged me away.

  “Fool!” he grumbled. “You’ll never learn, will you?”

  “I hope not,” I said, waving at the ladies, whose attentions faded from me and coated the next traveler with their wares and pleasantries. I frowned.

  “Whatcha frowning fer? You’d think you’d learn by now.” He thumped his bearded chest with his fist. “Next time, I’ll lead us in. You always go the same way. You’re as drawn to those sirens as an orc is to stink.”

  “Am not!”

  Through the city I went, my passions subdued, the sun dipping over the horizon. I led us into a less-traveled part of the town, through some alleys and well off the commoners’ path.

  “Let’s try this one,” I said, pointing at a tavern, dark and dangerous, three stories tall, constructed of timber, and roofed in red clay tile. It gave me a shivering feeling. "There’s plenty of trouble to find in there." So in I went, oblivious to the stranger’s eyes that followed me from the road.

  CHAPTER 7

  There was music, hollering, and tale telling inside, and I liked that. Mostly men of questionable pedigrees, long gazes, and hard faces. The smell of roasted pheasant filled the air, and I was ready to eat. Brenwar pushed his way past me and saddled up to the bar.

  “Ye got dwarven ale?” he asked a tall, bald man wearing a black apron.

  I took a seat alongside him, paying no attention to the stares glaring on my back. This city was used to travelers of all sorts coming and going all times of the night, but this place was one of those that kept close to its own.

  “The same for me and two full pheasants, not charred, either.” The two coins that I plunked on the table widened the barkeep's restless eyes. “And your undivided attention when I ask.”

  The barkeep slipped away, a small woman appearing moments later with two tankards of frothing ale as big as her head. Brenwar gulped his down in several large swallows, let out a tremendous belch, and looked at me.

  “You can have mine,” I said, turning my attention away from the bar and toward all the people inside.

  Two men, one a bald giant, another part orc, each laden in muscle, arm wrestled over the wiles of a dainty girl with a look of trouble in her eye. A coarse group of men and women sat at a long table near the stone fireplace in the back, the adventuring sort, somewhat like me, some of them casting nervous glances over their shoulders.

  An elven man wearing light-purple garb and long, pale-green hair sulked in the corner and played a black lute of many strings for a small group of swooning women. His music was wonderful and strong. All in all, the tavern, a roomy little hole, was nothing compared to so many other taverns that tended to be much larger and more occupied. Still, it offered what I’d been looking for: trouble.

  Three orcs sat in the back, beady eyes glancing my way and back. Another man, long and gaunt, sat huddled in the corner fingering a blade, his tongue licking his lips as he gazed at me like some kind of meal.

  At one end of the bar was a fair-haired woman, a long sword strapped on her full hips, her tongue as coarse as that of the hulking man she accompanied, the one who had sneered at me earlier. I wasn’t so sure they presented the kind of trouble I was looking for, but they were trouble. The kind that conspire and thieve. Rob graveyards, fight fiends and ghouls for gold. Kidnap women, sell children, and don’t look back on their deeds with regret. Of course, my father would tell me not to be so judgmental, but I could detect evil, and it hung as heavy as a wet blanket in here. But did they trifle with dragons? That was what I was here to find out.

  Brenwar’s elbow rocked me in the ribs.

  “Time to eat,” he said.

  Two steaming pheasants greeted my senses with a delightful aroma. One thing you could say about these rundown taverns of disreputable ilk: they tended to have tasty food. My stomach rumbled, and my mouth watered. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I started eating, tearing off big hunks at a time. Brenwar grunted and almost smiled, trying to keep the juicy bird meat out of his beard.

  “Say,” I said to the barkeep, shoving a gold coin his way, “I’m in need of some dragon accessories.”

  The man glared at me and said, “I don’t know a thing about that, and it’s best you take such business elsewhere.” He shoved the coin back

  I shoved it back saying, “Beg your pardon, sir. Then a bottle of wine will do.”

  He hesitated, took the coin, and pulled a bottle down from the top shelf, setting it down and pointing to the door. “Once it’s gone—you’re gone.” His eyes grazed the pommel of my sword on my back. “No dragon talk in my place.” He turned and left.

  “Cripes!” Brenwar said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Why don’t you just scare off every dragon poacher in town? Why don’t you go ask for some orc accessories as well?” He glared at the orcs, still huddled in the corner, grunting with dissatisfaction over something.

  I slapped him on the shoulder and said, “You eat and drink; I’ll do the rest.”

  As we sat and gorged ourselves on bird meat and wine, I felt the tone in the room shifting. The patrons that sat near us began to fade away elsewhere. Many of the patrons seemed to stiffen, some leaving and more notorious sorts arriving. The men began to bristle and brag, their comments about their exploits designed to catch my ear. Like most bad people, it seemed they didn’t like me. Despite my rugged armor and attempt to blend in, I looked more than formidable. So far as I could tell, I was the tallest man in the room, my shoulders, arms, and chest as knotted and broad as the rest. What they hadn’t noticed about me before, they had noticed now. But I didn’t come here looking for a fight. Or did I?

  I tapped the big brute at the end of the bar on the shoulder.

  “Do that again, and I’ll cut off your hand,” he warned.

  “No doubt you would try,” I said, smiling over at the fair-haired woman with the curious and inviting eyes. “I’m in need of dragon accessories.”

  “Get out of here!” He shoved me away.

  Dragon accessories were a profitable business. A single scale was almost worth a piece
of gold. Dragon teeth, scales, skin, claws, and horns, whether they contained magic or not, were highly prized possessions that adorned many wealthy citizens. It was a practice that made me sick, seeing my kind displayed for fashion. Dragons were the same as the other races but treated like something different. Of course, not all dragons were good, but most people viewed them all as bad.

  I shoved him back.

  “You touch me again, you’ll be the one to lose your hands.” No one shoves me around.

  The fair-haired woman forced her way between us, pushing her angry friend back with both hands, saying, “No blood here tonight.” Then she whirled on me, poking her finger in my chest. “Go and sit down. I don’t know what game you're playing, but I’ll not stand for any talk of dragons. We fight for gold, not poach.”

  “I can see that now. But I pay well. Pardon me,” I said with a slight bow, retaking my seat. That ought to get them going, I thought.

  The man and woman warriors grumbled with each another, then departed, but she gave me one long look over her shoulder as they went. Now Brenwar and I sat and waited. The barkeep continued to glower at me, but he didn’t throw me out as long as we kept paying, and Brenwar was still eating and drinking. So I sat, noted all the scowls, and waited and waited and waited. I was a dragon, so waiting wasn’t such a bad thing for me. But words travel faster than the wind sometimes. That’s when two lizard men wandered in, both taller than me, crocodile green, dressed like men, and armored like soldiers. Their yellow eyes attached themselves to me first as they ripped their daggers out and charged.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lizard men. Big, strong, and fast like me, except not nearly as smart, but that didn’t really matter when all they wanted to do was kill you.

  I slung my barstool into one, cracking it into timbers over its head.