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

by Craig Halloran

  “Just one, High Priestess,” he offered a smile. “Do you want him alive, or do you want him dead?”

  CHAPTER 21

  I was covered in darkness. Suffocating. I could barely move my arms and legs under all the weight. I’d faced death before. Fought my enemies. Beat them with cunning and steel. But now I was in the fight of my life against the elements. My foe was vast and undeterred—the very earth itself. I tried to scream again, but the dirt choked off my words. I had undone myself.

  I thought of my father. I wondered how long it would take him to realize that I was gone forever. Even worse, I had failed him altogether. I would die of shame. Without honor. Failing my charge.

  NO!

  I could not let that happen. I had to hang on. I just had to! I took one last gasp and counted.

  One… Five… Eleven… Twenty… Thirty… Sixty… It seemed this was it. None could save me. My face must be turning purple now. Good bye, Nalzambor.

  “WAKE UP!”

  I wasn’t sure if I heard that or not.

  “WAKE UP!”

  I felt myself being pulled from my grave.

  “NATH! BREATHE!”

  I could hear.

  “BREATHE!”

  It was Brenwar. Or someone who sounded very much like him.

  “This ought to help,” he said, putting the weight of the world on my chest.

  “ULP!” gasp “URK!”

  I felt that. Hunks of dirt flew from my mouth as I spat, rolling back and forth on the ground. I coughed and hacked until my face became numb.

  I’m ALIVE!

  I managed to wipe the dirt from my eyes. The sunlight was, well, like sunlight on my face, but it had never felt so good before. The next thing, I saw Brenwar, his bulging arm outstretched, helping me to my feet.

  “I hope you found what you were looking for,” he said. “And I think we're even. Well, I’m pretty sure I’m still ahead, that is.”

  I shook the dirt out of my hair. Fang was still in his sheath. Thank goodness I had not lost him. I slung my pack from my back and reached inside. The orb was still secure.

  “Well, if I’d died, I would have expected you to use this to free the blue razor.” I managed a smile. “Thank you, Brenwar.”

  “Ah, it’s nothing.”

  He stepped back as I opened my arms wide. “Stop that, Dragon. I said stop—”

  I picked Brenwar up off his feet, hugged him like a bear, and swung him around. I felt joy. The joy of being alive. The joy of being able to fight for the cause of good once more. Being an adventurer, a hero, someone that does right instead of wrong doesn’t mean you won’t be put in the thick of danger. If anything, you’ll find yourself in the middle.

  “PUT ME DOWN, NATH DRAGON!”

  I dropped him.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t contain myself.”

  “You ever do that again,” he shook his fist at me, “and I’ll kill you myself.”

  “I know. But right now, I’m so happy to be alive I don’t care. Here.” I extended my arm.

  We bumped forearms, inside then out. “Better?”

  “Better.”

  I held out the stone, letting Brenwar take a closer look.

  “What do you think?”

  “Dwarven made. Definitely.”

  I shook my head. But I wasn’t going to disagree with the person who just saved my life. I’d do that later.

  “Seems we have plenty of time to make it back, but I still don’t understand why Corzan didn’t think he could handle that. A magic user, even one not so powerful, should have been able to outwit a horde of ghouls. And the trap? A well-prepared magic user could handle that as well. Not much of a guardian, if you ask me. At least not to protect a Thunderstone.”

  Brenwar stretched his short limbs and yawned.

  “What? I was paralyzed, you know.”

  “How’s the wound?” I said, looking at the ghoul's bite.

  “Wound? That’s not a wound,” Brenwar scoffed. “Now let’s get going down the mountain. I’ve had enough of these ghouls, tombs, and fluffy caterpillars.”

  I raked the dirt from my hair and dusted off my clothes. I must have looked terrible.

  “Say, where’d all the caterpillars go? They usually stick around for hours.”

  “Who cares?” Brenwar said, stomping away.

  Not a blotch of pink, blue, yellow, or purple remained. I actually enjoyed watching them walk around on their tiny little feet. But their job was far from over. The ghouls lay dead, some covered, some not. The caterpillars never left their work until it was finished unless there was danger.

  “Brenwar … something’s wrong.”

  I could feel the hair on my chin tingling when a black shadow blotted out the entire sun. A heavy wind stirred about me.

  “You got that right,” Brenwar said, eyes up, jaw down.

  WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! WOMP!

  Oh no! There it was. Big. Monster big. Perhaps this was the guardian Corzan had spoken about. Clearly it was not something he could deal with.

  “That’s one big dragon,” Brenwar said.

  The dragon blotted out the sun as it loomed over us like a gargantuan bird of prey. His steel scales were like hammered metal. His nostrils flared with open fire. His claws were bigger and sharper than the deadliest spears. His horns, one broken, were as long as me. His tail was like a great serpent, swishing back and forth, shattering tombstones like twigs. Perhaps this was what I'd seen in the moonlight the night before. It had been so distant then.

  I backed away. He snorted. His hot breath was like a furnace. His eyes, ancient as the stones, bore down on me like I was an insect as he approached. My father was far bigger, but I was used to him. This dragon was bigger than most I encountered. Much bigger. Bigger than rhinos, elephants, or a team of horses.

  I drew my blade and swung it in front of me.

  The dragon didn’t blink.

  I was scared.

  “Nath,” Brenwar said, “what do we do?”

  I didn’t have an answer to that question. In most cases, I rescued dragons; I didn’t confront them. Even in my youth, the dragons had avoided me, both inside and outside the Mountain of Doom, or Dragon Home. It was lonely. That much I easily remembered. Being born of dragons but still not one of them. Oh, I still had dragon friends, not many―and family, too many―but over time, we’d gone our separate ways. I’d even had dragon teachers, too, but none of them had prepared me for this. Not even my father, I think.

  I raised my arm.

  His teeth snapped together in a clashing chomp that could have taken my arm off.

  I moved away, but he cut off my path with a massive head that swung from one side to the other. I wasn’t going anywhere. Not if he didn’t want me to, that is.

  “Just stay back, Brenwar. I’m not sure if he’s for or against us.”

  I usually was big, fast, and strong, but not with this one. Right now, I was little more than a meal, shiny toothpick included. I mustered my courage, or what was left, anyway. The truth was that I wanted to run for it, but instead I locked with his gaze.

  Inside, I was trembling like a leaf. Before me, a steel dragon. A fighter. A warrior. A soldier. I could tell by the scars on his body and the tears in his wings. A remnant of the Great Dragon War, he had to be. Yet there was another remarkable thing. The markings. Bright spots, green, orange, and yellow mixed with blue, adorned his frame, aglow with what looked to be arcane symbols. I’d never seen a dragon marked in such a way before. Perhaps he was enslaved or cursed.

  Arms up, sword pointed down, I displayed the sign of surrender, trying to back away. I wasn’t about to strike if he didn’t strike first. I felt his tongue whip past my cheek then back again.

  “What do you want me to do, Dragon?” Brenwar said, tucked behind a tombstone.

  “Be still!”

  I stopped. I couldn’t just back down. All I needed to do was get back off this mountain. He came closer, massive head inches from my face, his hot breath
ruffling my auburn hair. I opened my mouth to speak. He bumped me with his snout, knocking to the ground like a toddler. I was in trouble now. He pinned me to the ground with his nose.

  “Dragon!”

  “Be still, Brenwar!”

  Now, I could stab the dragon, maybe put out his eye or scar his nose. They didn’t like to be hit in the nose or poked in the eye, for that matter. But that tends to make one mad. And I’ve told you before about dragon breath. Small dragons don't hold so much, but a big steel dragon like this? Well, it could turn the entire mountaintop to flame. I put my dragon hand on the top of his nose.

  “Peace and Home,” I said.

  You may have been wondering whether or not I can speak Dragonese. After all, I am a dragon, and I should be able to speak Dragonese―and I can. But just because I can speak to them doesn’t mean they will speak to me. I was a very talkative and lonely boy growing up, but sometimes a speaking dragon gave me more than I wanted. When they did talk, it might take hours or days. And right now I didn’t have time for a long conversation. But I said it again, in Dragonese, anyway.

  “Peace and Home.”

  He snorted hot smoke, keeping the pressure on my chest.

  Now it was time to worry, not that I wasn’t already. Dragons were like most people: sometimes it was very difficult to tell if they were good or evil. This dragon, so far, was not giving me the friendly vibes that I was hoping for. The more pressure and uncertainty rose within me, the more I wanted to strike. For all I knew, his mind was battle damaged. His connection to his own kind lost. His eyes were heavy upon me. Any wrong moves and he was going to incinerate me. I tried to keep perfectly still.

  “Peace and Home.”

  Who are you?

  He spoke. It was a jolt, rocking my mind. Not vocal … mental. This was good.

  “The Son of Dragon Home,” I said.

  You are a man, but you smell like a dragon. Another wizard come to deceive me!

  It pushed me across the grass.

  “No! Not a wizard, a dragon! Son of Halz—”

  Whack! The dragon reared up on his legs with a roar so loud it shook the very mountaintop.

  “Brenwar!” I yelled. “What did you hit him for!”

  The dragon filled his lungs with a big gust of air, and all I could think was RUN!

  CHAPTER 22

  A dwarf, either overprotective or overeager to fight, had started all this. I didn’t have time to think about that, though. I ran. Fast. The sound of a roaring flame erupted in my ears. I dove behind the nearest tombstone. A bath of fire surrounded me, hotter than the hottest thing I’d ever known. I swear I could feel my blood beginning to boil beneath my skin.

  Dragon breath didn’t last long. It didn’t need to, and I felt nothing but relief when it stopped. The air, once as hot as a stove, was now smoky and chilly. One extreme to the other. The green grass, once fertile, now was brown and smoking.

  “Take that, steely beast!” Brenwar yelled.

  The dragon’s roar was like a thunderstorm. Brenwar swung another mighty blow into the dragon, who stomped the earth, huffed fire through brandished teeth, and turned on Brenwar.

  SWHACK!

  The steel-colored tail licked out, whipped across Brenwar’s chest like a striking snake, and sent him spinning head over heels, over both my head and the mountaintop's edge. Brenwar wouldn’t like that. It was the second time in two days he’d been flung through the air like a toy, but there wasn’t much to be done about it now. And I had myself to worry about.

  Brenwar’s abrupt departure left me alone with the dragon. An angry one at that. I could fight or try to surrender, but my gut told me he wouldn’t want any part of my surrender. I remained with my back pressed against the tombstone and got Fang ready. If he came after me, I’d only get one shot. A kill shot, possibly. But I wouldn’t kill a dragon! I just had to stop him. But how could I do that before he killed me?

  I could hear him crushing the stones beneath his heavy feet as he made his way toward me. His head, long neck, and horns emerged before me. I fought the urge to thrust Fang down on his nose. It would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill or subdue. I tried the only thing I could think to do.

  “Peace and Home!” I yelled. “I am one of you!”

  He eyed me the way a cat eyes a mouse before dinner.

  I could only feel his anger. His curiosity from earlier was long gone. Only the hardened soldier from the Dragon Wars remained. His final mission was to protect this mountain. Protect the Thunderstone from invaders like me.

  If I could presume such a thing, but I couldn’t think. I could only feel right now. Fear. It stiffened the joints between my bones. Real fear was not something I was accustomed to. Move. Move. Move. I was too late.

  A geyser of flame spewed from his mouth.

  I was coated from head to toe in blistering heat. Agony. Pain. Fear. I stabbed Fang through the flames and into the soft flesh in his mouth.

  The flames stopped as he cried out, recoiling on his paws, eyeing me with great suspicion now.

  I patted out the flames on my shoulder. What had happened? Why wasn’t I burned alive? I should be dead now. I could sense his surprise as well as mine.

  He snorted. Shook his massive head. Tore a mausoleum from the ground with his great horn and stepped back. Perhaps he was willing to listen now.

  I stroked my hair. It was still thick and warm in my fingers. How had I survived those flames? “Will you listen now, mighty one?” I was trying Dragonese once again. “I’m not here for harm. For good.”

  You!

  I could hear him in my mind. Ancient. Irritated. Potent. This dragon hadn’t even gotten warmed up yet. But I’d earned some respect.

  The Thunderstone is my charge. My ward. My duty. My fate. My curse. Give it to me. Or die, little dragon.

  Dialogue is a good thing. And I certainly had a better advantage than fighting. I liked these odds. I lowered my sword, and I chose my next words with care.

  “You are a great one. As big as I’ve ever seen. As powerful as they come. How has this stone entrapped you? Perhaps I can help—”

  GIVE IT TO ME… OR DIE!

  My head ached. This dragon was holding back something. I could sense it. As intimidating as he was, he was desperate. I’d learned a few things about curses, too. I had a feeling the Thunderstone was protecting me, warding me from him. He needed it, though. I tried bargaining.

  “The Thunderstone is mine. But I’d be willing to show it to you if you tell me your story, mighty one with scales as strong as iron.” Flattery always helps, no matter how big and bad a dragon might be.

  SHOW ME FIRST… OR DIE!

  I opened my mouth to speak—

  OR DIE… AND REMEMBER, I’VE NOTHING TO LOSE. NOT LIFE. NOT TIME.

  Now he was letting me know in a nice way that he was being patient. I saw no harm in it. If I wanted to get off this mountain alive and save the blue razor, I’d have to give a little. I removed the stone from my belt pouch and revealed its smoothness from the cloth. It emitted a warm glow from the blue marking on the stone.

  AH… MY TORMENTER. MY JAILER! MY LIBERATOR! GIVE… IT… TO… ME!

  Ah, now I understood the curse. The dragon could not take what was not freely given. A common curse, but a strong one. Bonding, in some cases, forever and ever.

  “The story, mighty one. I’ll have that.”

  A growl rumbled in his throat. He shook his neck and fluffed his wings, stirring the air.

  So be it, little dragon. A wizard, vile and despicable, duped me into service. Powerful he was, the Thunderstone the greatest source of his power. So envious was he of other wizards, he refused to relent his power. Mortality. The shortcoming of man. They thirst for such power, only to acquire it quickly and see it fade just as fast. The wizard did not want to share his power when he passed. He bonded me. Cursed me. Tricked me. I’m to protect the stone upon his death. I have been for centuries, sometimes flying far from the mountain―only to be drawn back.
r />   I pitied him. I pitied all dragons in danger or exile. And had I not sworn to save them? Save them one and all. Those who would let me, that is. Some didn’t want to be saved. They just wanted to be left alone.

  “How can I help, mighty one?”

  Give me the stone.

  “Why do you need the stone? I thought you only needed to protect it. Why didn’t you just dig it out and take it yourself?” I couldn’t assume the dragon was telling me everything.

  I can only take what is freely given. The wizard promised to return and give it to me long after his death. A lich, he said he’d be. I must possess the stone to be free. I can take it with me wherever I go and protect it. Give it to me. My patience thins. He looked up into the sun. A sad look came to his hardened eyes. A longing for the sky and the freedom it offered.

  “Perhaps we can break the curse.”

  He slammed his clawed fist into the ground. NOT POSSIBLE! GIVE ME THE STONE!

  No. I needed the stone to free the blue razor. And in case you’re wondering why I didn't just tell him so, this steel dragon, he couldn't have cared less about the blue razor. I just knew. But perhaps I could free them both.

  “I’ll make you a deal, mighty one!”

  A DEAL? THERE WILL BE NO DEAL! DEATH YES! DEAL—NO!

  “If I die, you remain cursed. Stuck on this mountain, staring at a stone that you cannot touch. I can help you.”

  He shook his head and neck. Bared his fangs and teeth and snapped in my face.

  I cannot burn you, but I can eat you.

  Apparently, the curse prevented him from eating me so long as I had the stone. His mouth stopped inches from my head, and he got a sad look in his eyes. I held my arms out.

  “Just hear me out, great one. Give me one day. I must take the stone to free a friend. Once I’ve done that, I’ll bring it back and give it to you. If I don’t return, well, you can come after me and kill me. I am a man of my word.”

  HA! HA! HA!

  Of all the fearful things the dragon possessed―his claws, his tail, his breath―it was his laughter that scared me most.