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

by Craig Halloran

  “You’ve seen him!”

  “Aye, fought him off, we did.”

  “Where? Where did you see him?”

  I had their full attention now. Both of the elves were hungry for every last detail. But I wasn’t going to tell them anything if they didn’t tell me what I wanted to know first.

  “What is it, and why are you after it?” I asked.

  Shum shifted in his spot, his double chin dipping, eyes narrowing a little.

  “I cannot say. Dragon, tell me, did you wound him? Did he wound you?”

  I leaned forward.

  “An arrow shattered on its hide. My sword licked at its skin, grazing it a few times, but I did get one good lick in. It grabbed Brenwar and—”

  “Dragon!” Brenwar warned.

  I held my tongue a moment and then finished.

  “And it was gone. Shot into the moonlight and disappeared. In all truth, Shum, the beast, monster, or whatever it was… well, it was glorious and dangerous.”

  The tension in the air evaporated. Their faces looked relieved. I couldn’t tell if it was a good or a bad thing. Something wasn’t right. Awkward, I'd say.

  “So, what do you call this beast?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t have a name. It is a new threat, you might say, and Hoven and I are charged with its capture. I don’t think anyone that faces it in combat would live. And I must say, Nath Dragon, the fact that you're still standing after facing off with it is inspiring. All the others who've encountered it are dead.”

  Shum was sincere. Both the elves feared it. It seemed their charge was a life-or-death matter.

  “How long have you been tracking it? Perhaps we can help,” I said.

  Shum shook his head and said, “Years. We haven’t seen it in years, either. We just follow the signs and the stories. It seems the creature does have an affinity for these hills, however. It dwells here at times. Of that much, we are certain. But its terrors are reported all over the lands.”

  “There are many terrors,” Brenwar said.

  “And that makes him all the more difficult to track.” Shum rose to his feet. “I’m grateful for the information, and perhaps I can be of some assistance to you as well.”

  “You sure you don’t want our help?” I said, rising.

  “It’s our problem. I see no need for you to endanger yourselves. But we do share much in common as trackers. You want dragons, and I want that monster. I honor what you do, Nath Dragon, rescuing the great lizards.”

  I didn’t like the name “lizard,” but he meant it in a reverent way, so I let him continue.

  “We’ve seen dragons in the Shale, but not many. Still, where the rivers meet and beyond the horizon over the mountain lies a graveyard. They say many bones can be found there, of all the races and all the monsters, even dragons. Treasure hunters and adventurers traverse from time to time, but the risk is high.” He stood up and stretched his long arms. “Poachers lie in these hills as well. They have hidden outposts and make many traps for dragons. The dragons like the seclusion here but not that the poachers have invaded. Their lives are in danger. Of course, we’ve come across many dead poachers, as well… many scorched to the bone.”

  “And what of the winged ape, Shum? What happens if we come across its path again?”

  Shum and Hoven’s piercing eyes locked on mine, and they both shook their heads.

  “Run. Hide. Don’t cross with it again if you want to live, Nath Dragon. The creature is dangerous. Much more so than it appears. Consider yourself fortunate.”

  Brenwar bristled at the remark and said, “And we're supposed to believe two potbellied elves can take it and we can’t? Hah! Now that’s a laugh.”

  “Watch your boast, dwarf,” Shum warned. “Roaming Rangers are some of the best fighters in all of Nalzambor. I suggest you save your energy for the trials you face ahead. We are not your enemy, and you should be glad of that.”

  Shum donned his cloak and extended his hand. Elves were tall in some cases, even taller than me. Shum and his brother Hoven were half a head shorter but just as heavy if not heavier. We braced arms, and I could feel the power in his grip.

  I said, “Thanks for the warning, brothers. And thanks for the information.”

  Without another word, they departed, two ghosts disappearing into the dimness of the forest. I wondered if I’d ever see them again. The Wilder Elves. The Roaming Rangers. One thing was certain: they were hiding something. I was pretty good at detecting that. But what it was, I wasn’t sure.

  “Let’s go, Brenwar. And I’ll lead this time. We’ve got some dragons to save.”

  CHAPTER 7

  It took a day and a half before we made it to where the two rivers merged. They weren’t big rivers but small ones, the kind you could throw a stone across, or skip one if you were really good. Which I was.

  Brenwar sat on top of a tree stump as I shook the last bit of shale from my boots. Lucky for me, the terrain changed where the rivers met. The travel would be on softer ground―dirt and moss, ferns and flowers―once we crossed the river and headed up the mountain. I was still bothered by the encounter with the Roaming Rangers, though.

  “Brenwar, what did you make of those two?”

  “They looked a pair of pretty ogres.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. Don’t you find it odd that they don’t want us to fight that winged ape? Wouldn’t you think that if it was so dangerous, they would want us to help them kill it?”

  He hopped from his stump.

  “An insult, it was. Thinking the two of us couldn’t take that thing. We’ve faced greater dangers than that. I’ve faced greater dangers on my own, and I still have my arms, legs, and head to show for it.”

  “Agreed.”

  I squatted over the river’s edge and doused my face with water. It was an insult to think they didn’t need our help or that we were overmatched. After all, I had chased the creature off. Of course, that was with Fang in my hand. If I hadn't had it, I wondered if things would have turned out differently.

  “Do you think we’ll ever see them or it again?”

  “Doesn’t matter, Dragon. You focus on the dragons. You don’t need to meddle in other ones' matters.”

  Brenwar was right. There was nothing I'd rather than do than toil in the affairs of the other races. I loved coming to their rescue. I loved to hear the stories they told about me. It was an addicting elixir, the sounds of my accolades like honey on my tongue. I couldn’t help but want to assist them. However, my father had told me time and time again that men, elves, dwarves, and all kinds have to help themselves at times.

  “Well, I still would like to see them again. My, big hips and bellies on elves. I never would have imagined it in my lifetime.”

  “Me neither, but I couldn't care less if I never saw them again,” Brenwar said, refilling his canteen.

  “Why?”

  He gave me a dirty look and said, “'Cause they're elves.”

  I laughed then took a forlorn look back over my shoulder. If we came back this way, and I would do everything in my power to see to it that we did, I was going to check on them. After all, the Roaming Rangers were renowned trackers, but Nath Dragon was a tracker of his own renown as well. And if they couldn’t find that winged ape, then my bet was that I could.

  ***

  With the Wilder Elves miles behind us, it was time to focus on finding dragons now. They were family, and it was my charge to rescue them from their own greedy and self-destructive habits. That’s right, I wasn’t the only dragon with issues; there were plenty of others as well. For example, some dragons became so greedy and obsessed with precious items that they’d kill for them. And thanks to them, most dragons had bad reputations with the peoples of Nalzambor.

  As a matter of fact, you might be wondering why most dragons didn’t reside in Dragon Home, or rather the Mountain of Doom. That’s because, like me, they were curious and often sought a hoard, a life, or treasure of their own. Face it, dragons didn’t like
to share. Still, plenty maintained a peaceful existence beyond the halls in Dragon Home. Of course, that’s probably because they slept so much.

  Up we walked, down we walked, around the mountain we went when a glimmer of steel caught my eye.

  “See this?” I said, kneeling down and picking up the handle of a broken sword.

  “Aye,” Brenwar added, “a battle was near.”

  Farther up the base of the mountain we went, which was more like a slanted forest on a hill. I found some blood on the leaves and on the ground. I readied my bow and listened. The wind whispered in my ears, and the scent of death was near.

  “Do you smell that?” I asked.

  “All too well.” Brenwar brandished his war hammer. “Let’s go.”

  On cat's feet, I wove in and out of the trees, my senses on high alert, my bow ready with a magic arrow. I wasn’t taking any chance of that winged ape getting a jump on me again. But my blood was charged for a fight. I could still smell the hair and breath of the beast. It was strong in my memory.

  I stopped. There was breathing ahead, somewhere in the trees. An unseen enemy beyond.

  Brenwar gave me a signal and moved farther up in the woods out of sight.

  I pushed a branch and leaves from my face. Ahead in the forest lay a clearing where a battle had indeed been fought. There was a charred body and another one broken and dead. The breath I’d heard moments earlier was gone. So far as I could tell, the danger was long gone.

  I stepped into the clearing to continue my investigation. The bodies, charred and still smoking, were goblins. I hated goblins, too, and I bet that doesn’t surprise you. They were some of the most notorious dragon poachers of all. I ran my fingers over an impression in the ground. Dragon tracks! My heart thumped harder in my chest. Looking at all the signs, broken branches and stirred-up dirt, I’d say at least twenty goblins had trapped one dragon and dragged him down. But what kind of dragon was it?

  The body smoking on the ground was my best clue. The goblin's leather armor was dry and brittle. Its sword was fused to its hand, and all its hairs were singed from its body as if it had been hit by a lightning bolt. A blue razor. That was the type of dragon I thought had done this. Fast, fast as lightning, and its breath a jolt from the heavens. I hadn’t seen one in decades.

  “Brenwar,” I said. No response. He must have been onto something, but I wasn’t worried. There was never a reason to worry about Brenwar, and if he thought you did, he’d be insulted. There was a glint of light in the dirt at my feet like a piece of shining metal. A dragon scale. I picked it up, as big as two of my fingers, a metallic blue. It had been a blue razor, all right, a dragon more known for its speed than its strength. Blue razors didn’t grow to be very big, no bigger than a horse, and judging by the tracks, this one wasn’t much bigger than a pony. Now, you would think that a dragon would be really hard for something as stupid as a goblin to catch, but goblins aren't stupid, just ugly. Orcs are stupid. That’s why they're dangerous. Don’t forget that.

  The goblins, or in this case, dragon poachers, had been hunting dragons for centuries, and they’d developed tools and weapons to use. They used netting and slings to trap the dragon’s wings, and all the rest they did by force. The goblin charred to a crisp on the ground was given the honor, as his goblin leaders would have convinced him, to absorb the dragon’s breath. Volunteering his own death to capture a dragon would bring the fallen goblin's family great honor.

  I could see the entire scuffle between dragon and goblin playing out in my head. The blue razor sniffing out a small hoard of treasure and gathering it with his small hands into a pouch under his wings. I bet you didn’t know that, did you? Dragons have pouches and other secrets as well. The goblins shooting a net over the dragon, pinning his wings so he couldn't fly to escape. Next, the first goblin charges at him only to be scorched alive. Another goblin attacks and is downed under the power of the striking dragon’s claws. His breath exhausted on the first goblin, the sheer number of goblins overwhelms him. I was sad thinking about the dragon's capture. If Brenwar and I had come sooner, maybe we could have prevented it.

  There was dragon blood in the dirt as well. Not much, but enough to know the dragon was injured and in jeopardy. On a positive note, dragons are worth much more alive than dead. At least ten times more, and it made perfect sense that the goblins would be searching for buyers.

  Brenwar emerged from the woods, scratching his black beard as he said, “I found wagon tracks and a large path up ahead. They’ve been moving half a day, if that.”

  I slipped my magic arrow back into my quiver and hooked Akron.

  “Let’s get moving, then,” I said.

  I stepped, stopped, and turned. I could feel eyes on me. The hair on my neck rose. The breathing that had come and gone was back, but it was heavier and louder than before.

  “Don’t move,” a coarse voice warned from somewhere behind my back.

  CHAPTER 8

  I froze. It wasn’t my inclination to freeze; that wasn’t natural. Not when someone had a bowstring stretched and an arrow pointed at my back. At least, I supposed my aggressor did. No, I wanted to move and move fast, but Brenwar's eyes suggested otherwise. Whoever was behind me needed serious consideration.

  “Arms up, I suppose?” I said. I’d been in this situation before. They always wanted your arms and hands where they could see them.

  “Just turn around and keep your hands where I can see them,” it demanded.

  See, I told you they’d want to see my hands. So I spread my arms out to my sides as far as I could reach them and turned.

  It was a goblin. And it was one a little higher up on the frightful scale. Goblins come in a variety of shapes. Some are taller than dwarves, others as tall as a man. Some heavy, some thin. Not much different than men, except they never bathe, and they have an affection for mud and dirt. They abhor crossing a river and will languish and brag to one another of their grimy coats. If you ever want to make a goblin mad, really mad, give him a bath. It’s torture. They hate water.

  This goblin stood tall, his muscles thick, hands meaty, greasy brown hair hanging over his shoulders. He wore leather armor and a necklace of small bones tied around his neck. One of his long, pointed ears was cut off, and the other displayed a painful-looking earring chained to his nose. Even goblins have their own sense of fashion, I suppose. But the worst thing about this goblin was that he had the drop on me.

  “A dragon poacher,” I said, “except it seems that you are missing a dragon.”

  I got the feeling he didn’t care for where my conversation was headed. The aim of the goblin's arrow rose from my chest to my face. He wasn’t going to miss.

  “Drop all your gear―both you and the dwarf—and toss it over, quickly.”

  Brenwar was rumbling behind me.

  “There’s only one. Take him.”

  I objected.

  “You aren’t the one with an arrow pointed at you.”

  The goblin's eyes narrowed, and he let out an awful hiss.

  “Foolish dwarf, more are coming, don’t you know. I’m the scout. Now leave your gear, and I’ll let you go. Tut-tut!”

  Goblins aren’t patient or kind or merciful. If they say they won't hurt you, they're probably lying. If they say they have more support coming, they are lying. Goblins are liars. They'll say anything to get what they want and then cut your throat, but they’d rather cut your throat first.

  This goblin, judging by his size, figured he'd shoot me down and then battle Brenwar. I didn’t want to get shot, not from this close. Besides, I’d already been shot just a couple days ago.

  “Dragon,” Brenwar said, “I’m not yielding to any goblin.”

  You see, this is one of the problems you have traveling with dwarves: they aren't going to bargain with anyone, especially with those evil races. Brenwar would rather that he or I died first.

  The goblin spat a big glob on the ground and smiled wide. I swear I could see bugs crawling around his teeth.


  “The dwarf is foolish,” the goblin said as he pulled back the bowstring, “and you get to die.”

  Twang!

  I plucked the arrow from the air, inches from my nose. The look on the goblin’s face said it all as I held the arrow in my dragon arm.

  “Impossible!” I gaped in my own incredulity. I hadn't even had time to think; I’d just reacted, or at least my arm had, anyway.

  Brenwar pounced on the goblin, his stone-hard fists raining down blows, knocking the goblin unconscious. He kicked the goblin in the ribs once more for good measure and dusted off his hands.

  “Did you see that?” I said, marveling at the arrow.

  “I saw it, all right. Luck is all, Dragon. All you had to do was duck.”

  I tried to recall the last thing I’d been thinking. Duck! Dodge! Dive! Evade! Any of those things I was committed to, but catching an arrow? Well, that never entered my mind. I squeezed the arrow in my grip and snapped the shaft with my dragon thumb. What else could my amazing arm do?

  “Quit playing with it, will you?” Brenwar tied up the goblin with some rope and stuffed a gag in its mouth. “We’ve got to find dragons now. This one stayed behind for some reason or was tracking back. Methinks they're worried they might be followed.”

  “Other poachers, you think?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time." Brenwar slung the goblin over his shoulder. “You know that. Now carry my sack. Daylight's burning.”

  “What are you going to do with the goblin, Brenwar?” I held my nose. “It stinks.”

  “Evil stinks. You should be used to it by now.” He started hoofing it up the mountain. “When it comes to, I'll beat what we need out of it, but there ain’t no sense in waiting for that when the poachers have a lead on us.”

  I slung Brenwar’s pack over my shoulder along with mine. His pack was twice as heavy. Of course, most of the stuff was mine anyway, so I shouldn’t complain. But it didn’t do my ailing leg much good. So I tried to block out my discomfort, opting to marvel at my incredible arm all I could. It was fast! Insanely so, and I liked it.