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

by Craig Halloran

  “Come on, will you!” his voice echoed from behind the dripping rocks.

  “Huh,” I muttered, squeezing through a dark crevice I’d overlooked. I’m a dragon. I’m not very keen on dull rocks and such things.

  It was muddy and damp by the time I traversed the crevice and made my way inside. The cave was small, just a little taller than me, with passageways in several directions. Brenwar drew a deep breath in through his nose, moving from one passage to the other. He tipped his chin and led, boots splashing.

  Now, of all places, I was stuck in a series of caves beneath the mountain with a glowing sword in my hand, fighting for foot- and handholds, unable to tell if we were going up or down. I had to trust Brenwar with that. But I’d be lying if I said the dark caves didn’t worry me. I wanted to get back outside already. I’ll take the rain over darkness any day.

  “I hope it doesn’t flood,” Brenwar said.

  I could see the waters rising at my feet.

  “What do you mean?”

  Brenwar looked down at the water and said, “The rains must be getting heavy now.” He shrugged. “Nothing to worry about now, we're flooded in.”

  My breath grew thin.

  “What?”

  CHAPTER 12

  Twist. Turn. Crawl. Climb. Scrape and sweat. It was like that every agonized step of the way. I wiped the mud from my face and accidentally rubbed it into a scrape I’d gotten on my cheek. I could only imagine what a mess my hair was now. I should have tied a few knots in it. I felt like I was suffocating down here, too.

  “Are we there yet?” I asked. It might have been the hundredth time for all I knew. I’d lost count after thirty.

  Brenwar didn’t slow, climbing up over a ledge, plodding through a shallow lake, whistling a cheerful tune. He couldn’t be more happy underground. He was like a pig in mud. Me, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I’d rather fight a hundred goblins. Something about being in these caves with no sense of direction got the better of me. I wasn’t in control, and without Brenwar, I might get lost—probably would, actually.

  Now, you’re probably thinking that dragons live in caves, and that’s true, many do, and it’s not so bad when you have a lot of room and you know your way through. But this? No thanks. I liked having the open air to look at and everything beyond.

  “Here,” Brenwar said, standing in a spring of water burbling at his feet, pointing upward.

  I could see a faint light, a brown hole you might say, among the all-encompassing black. It flickered. My heart leapt in my chest. A torch or lantern was near.

  “You think we're at the top?”

  “Think? I know it. Just twenty yards below that hideout.” He thumped his chest. “I told you so.”

  I sheathed Fang and allowed my eyes to readjust to the darkness. I could see the ceiling better now. A circle of dim light. It illuminated the both of us now.

  “What do you think that is?”

  Brenwar pointed.

  “A well. See all these stones?”

  There was part of a formation that had crumbled at the base. It was possible that the people who had built the hideout had abandoned the place once the source of water dried up or was destroyed. Most ruins had thrived at one time or another, but time, war, famine, and the elements destroyed the greatest cities in the world. It happens as sure as the sun and moon set in the sky every single day.

  “So,” I said in the dark, “how do we get up there?”

  “I brought us here. It’s up to you to do the rest.”

  “You don’t think there’s another entrance farther along?”

  “No. There’s no other entrance at all. This is the one. Trust me. I know.”

  I rubbed my chin and gave some serious thought to this one. I couldn’t jump twenty feet in the air, and I couldn’t fly, either.

  Brenwar growled, fumbled through his pack, and pulled something out. A rope. A grappling hook was attached to it.

  “You could have mentioned that you had that among your assets before. It would have spared me troublesome thoughts.”

  “Do I have to think of everything, Dragon? What would you do without me?”

  “I guess I would have just gone through the front door.”

  “This was your idea,” he huffed.

  Brenwar whirled the hook on the rope and slung it upward toward the hole. Clank.

  I slapped him on the back.

  “Great shot!”

  I tugged the rope and nodded.

  “You go first,” he said. “I’ve done more than enough already.

  Up I went, hand over hand, foot after foot, until I could clearly see the outline of the well that once stood. I hung in midair and listened. I always gave it sixty seconds or so. You had to make sure the coast was clear. No sounds, no rustles, no footsteps or voices. It seemed we’d found as good a place to enter as any. I climbed over the lip of the well and shook the rope. I could hear Brenwar coming, but it would take him awhile. Dwarves aren't the fastest climbers―or the fastest anything, for that matter. But I couldn’t complain. So far, so good.

  That’s when I heard voices. My hand dropped to my hilt. Goblins. Two of them, chatting back and forth, coming my way.

  “Guards!” I whispered into the well. Brenwar only had about ten more feet to go. “Drop if you have to.”

  “I’m not going to drop—”

  “Sssssh!”

  The room I was in was big, at one time a common area of sorts, long abandoned with very few places to hide. I glided toward the wall farthest from the well and squatted in the shadows. Yes indeed, the goblins were a patrol, making their rounds. I had suspected it, but my wishful thinking had gotten the better of me. I couldn’t let them see the grappling hook or Brenwar. I had to stop them or the alarm would be sounded and the entire hideout would swarm with goblins.

  Here they came, side by side, both big, the size of men, wearing helmets and armed with spears. They didn’t look my way, but one was carrying a torch, and the other’s yellow eyes were fixed on the well.

  I reached for my bow, then thought better of it. I could hit one, but I couldn’t kill it fast enough. Its screams would send a warning. Drat! That left me with Fang. Oh, if I could just sneak up and chop them down, it would be so easy. That wouldn't be such a good idea, either. Too risky. That left me with my wits. My brain. Oh … and my dragon arm. What wonders would it allow me to get away with? Could I get away with it in time?

  “Huh. You smell something, brother?” one goblin said to the other.

  It sniffed the air.

  This was it. They’d be onto us any second. I had to spring.

  Then the speaking goblin farted and said, “I bet you do now. Heh-heh.”

  The other took a deep snort and said, “I can do better than that,” and let one rip.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or be sick as the foul odor wafted to my nostrils. Yech!

  They both let out some rugged chuckles and took seats on the well's stony rim, the grappling hook right between them, and farted again.

  I don’t think Brenwar’s going to like that.

  “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ooh!” the goblin laughed and patted his belly. “I’m hungry.” He reached inside a pouch, stuffed some bugs in his mouth, and crunched them up. “Mmmmm. Take some.”

  I needed to kill them now. I wanted to kill them now. And the foul smell started to make my eyes water and my stomach churn. What I really wanted to do was run. I had to escape the stink.

  “What is this, brother?”

  Oh no! The goblin had discovered the grappling hook.

  “Eh … hmmm, that looks like a—urk!”

  It looked like one of the goblins was sucked down the well. The other opened its mouth to scream. I flew across the room and cracked it across the jaw before the first syllable came out. Its yellow eyes rolled up in its head just before Brenwar jerked it down inside the well and climbed out.

  “Great goblin farts!” Brenwar exclaimed, holding his nose, stamping his boots.r />
  “Quiet,” I warned, holding my nose as well. “I wouldn’t call them great.”

  “Well, what would you call them?”

  My stomach wrenched in my belly, and I spit up into the well.

  “The words evade me; now let’s get out of this stink hole.”

  As I stepped away, Brenwar jerked me back.

  “Let’s lighten the load,” he said, slipping off his pack and setting it over in the shadows.

  I tossed him mine. Brenwar set them side by side, unfolded a cloth that got bigger and bigger, and covered the packs up. He muttered some words, and our covered packs blended in with the stone. It was another one of those delights he’d brought from my father’s throne room: a Cloth of Concealment, and it was helpful all the time.

  He lumbered over, swinging his arms, war hammer ready.

  “Better get going; it won’t be long before they miss those two.”

  I looked back at the well. I’d say we had an hour at most.

  “Let’s go.”

  The hideout was a network of rooms and tunnels, some lit, some not, carved from stone. From room to room, corridor to corridor, there were sparse furnishings, few decorations, and here and there, runes were written on the walls. Nothing extraordinary. It seemed many races had used this place as a hideout over time, though. We moved in the shadows, darting from alcove to alcove, avoiding the light and the sounds of anything coming. Other than the two guards we’d encountered, there was nothing. No chatter, no shuffling of feet, not even the crick of a cricket or the scurry of a rodent.

  I stopped a moment and gathered my thoughts. The goblins must have felt safe in their hideout, and maybe only a couple of guards were needed to make the rounds. Still, it was weird. It wasn’t usually this easy sneaking into any place, and even though we had put some thought into it and come through the utmost back door, something was eating at me.

  Brenwar jostled me with his elbow and sniffed the air.

  “Smell that,” he said.

  Ah, indeed I did. It was goblin brew. The making of swill. The mix of sweat. We were getting close to the goblins, but where was the dragon? “Follow me.”

  Now, when it comes to saving dragons, there is only one thing you need to concern yourself with: getting them free of the net, shackles, or cage they're in. If you pull that off, any dragon is smart enough and fast enough to do the rest on his or her own. In a flash, they’ll be gone, which probably explains why they never thanked me or stuck around to help. Which always bothered me. After all, I was putting my life on the line, and I had the scars to show for it.

  “TUMBA—TUMBA—TUMBA—TUMBA …”

  It seemed the goblins were singing, or celebrating, perhaps. I was guessing that dragon, a rare blue razor, would be very valuable. But they weren't going to collect a single coin. I would see to that. I swore it!

  We squatted down behind a balcony that overlooked a great hall. Peeking over the ledge, I could see boiling vats of goblin gruel and swill bubbling on beds of red-hot coals. There was a throne at the end of the hall on which a massive humanoid sat, covered from head to toe in deep-purple robes. The goblins ate, drank, sang, and wrestled with one another… at least thirty of them that I could see. It was a celebration.

  “That’s a lot of goblins,” I said.

  “Aye.”

  I felt a knife in my heart when I noticed the dragon curled up inside a heavy iron cage. A girl, at that. My keen eyes picked up the lighter belly and long, dark eyelashes. That made me sad and mad at the same time.

  “Let’s move,” I said, unfolding my bow, Akron. Its workings snapped to, the bowstring coiling around the wood and into place. I was ready. I was ready to take them all on.

  Brenwar grabbed my elbow and pulled me back. I jerked away.

  “Easy, Dragon. Give them more time to celebrate. They’ll by drunk soon enough. Easier to strike them.”

  Well, soon enough wouldn’t be soon enough for me, but I conceded.

  “And what happens when the patrol doesn't return?”

  “Well, let’s hope they don’t remember.”

  I kept my eyes on the robed figure on the simple stone throne. Mysterious and powerful he or she seemed, yet unmoving. The figure felt evil, though. I felt compelled to launch a magic arrow into that hooded skull. Take down the leader and they all fall down. Darn that need not to kill! I resisted, slipped my arrow back into my quiver, and, against all my compulsions, I waited.

  CHAPTER 13

  Dragons. Caged. Quiet. Unhappy. Finnius had never seen so many of them before. The door he'd been shoved through, the one he swore he’d taken before, had led him elsewhere. Where had Selene taken him? He dabbed his handkerchief on his head. Mercy! It’s hot in here. He tugged and rapidly jerked at the neck of his sweat-soaked robes.

  “What do you think?” Selene said, reaching out and stroking the whiskers of a cat-faced dragon.

  Finnius stayed back.

  It was as big as a horse, feline in its features, with a dark red belly and red scales. Two tails whipped back and forth, banging against the walls and the iron on the cage, its eyes penetrating and evil.

  “Care to pet it?”

  Finnius kept his arms folded in his sleeves. There was no way he would pet that thing. He was close enough already. But how did he answer without sounding too fearful?

  “I’m just fine, High Priestess. But, if you insist.” He shuffled forward.

  A wry smile came across Selene's lips as she said, “Your caution is warranted. Come any closer… and he’ll kill you.”

  Finnius backed away, his face recoiling.

  “You should have seen what happened to the last one who got too close.” Selene patted the dragon on the nose, drawing a part purr, part roaring sound. “The poor man sizzled and fried. Skin bubbled right off of him.”

  Catching the dragon’s eye, he gulped. Its eyes glowed with a sinister yellow light.

  “Er … how exactly did that happen, if I may ask?”

  “Some other time. Now walk with me.”

  The room was more or less an underground stable, but instead of being filled with horses, it was filled with dragons, all of which were restrained in one way or another. A chain was cuffed to each neck. A muzzle on all of their snouts except for the catlike red one. It was different than the rest. A creature of its own free will.

  She flipped her hair over her shoulders as she made her way to a smaller stall. A green dragon the size of a large dog was curled up in a ball. Shackled and muzzled the same as the rest.

  “How well do you know your dragons, Finnius?” Selene said.

  A question. Any answer could be wrong or right. It all depended on the mood Selene was in, which seemed to be pretty good at this time. But he’d seen her put a fellow acolyte to sleep before, permanently, for saying "Yes," which was the correct response, but she'd wanted to hear "No." He cleared his throat.

  “Just what I have read, which, I am sorry to say, is little.”

  “And what have you read about what we have here?”

  “A green lily?”

  “Good, keep going.”

  “Well, unlike most dragons, it feeds off plants, not animals. Can be snared with honey or gold. Flies less and walks more, with a preference to hide in the heights of the trees.”

  “Ah … well done, Finnius.”

  He smiled a little.

  “And can you tell me the most important part about this dragon?”

  Finnius pulled his shoulders back a little and lifted his chin.

  “The breath weapon. A stream of yellow powder. Like pollen. It paralyzes.”

  “Not bad, Acolyte. Not bad at all. But that’s not all it can do.” She pointed at the back of the dragon. A row of yellow scales flared up and down its back. “Those humps. Poisonous. Rare and pure. Assassins will pay a very high price for that.”

  “How do you extract it?” he asked.

  “There is only one way to do that. You have to kill it.”

  A little someth
ing tugged at Finnius's heart just then.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  What was that, sympathy? It couldn’t be.

  “Pardon, High Priestess. Eh … I was of the impression you were keeping them alive. Just some confusion on my part.”

  She shook her head, saying, “Come.”

  He followed. He’d probably follow her anywhere. Drawn like a frog to a lily pad. He could not help it.

  She took a seat along a bench in the back of the stables and patted a spot for him.

  “Dragons are much like people. Well, they're better than people in most regards. They can be guided down the paths of good or evil. Some are born of evil dragons, but most are born of good dragons. Do you recall the Great Dragon War?”

  Who didn’t remember the legends about those wars when people and dragons battled side by side for the preservation of good-natured Nalzambor? The entire mission of the Clerics of Barnabus was to begin that war again and triumph this time. But in order to do so, they would need more dragons. Whoever controlled the dragons controlled the entire world. Free dragons, free world. Enslave the dragons … destroy the world.

  Finnius dabbed his head again before stuffing his handkerchief under his robes. His sweating slowed from drops to a fine trickle. Finally, he felt comfortable. “Yes, High Priestess.”

  Selene’s face darkened, and her eyes were like burning coals.

  “We lost then, our numbers decimated because we were careless.” She poked him in the shoulder. “One, we didn’t have enough dragons.” She poked him again. “Two, we didn’t kill enough before we started.”

  He could see the regret in her eyes, the anger, a fire deep in her mind, as if the battle was still going on. In a sense, it still was. Most of the world didn’t know that, though. The strange thing was that she spoke as if she had been there. But the Great Dragon War had taken place hundreds of years ago. Selene looked much too young to have lived that long.

  She continued.

  “As for the green lily dragon, well, if he doesn’t submit to my will, turn from his better nature, then what is left of him will fetch a fine price on the markets. Those yellow humps, just a couple of them garner enough gold to fund a war.”