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

by Craig Halloran

  I coughed again. No smoke. No fire. Doing my best impression of a dragon, I forced out a roar of air. Nothing came out.

  “Hmmm… perhaps it was a side of effect of the potion,” I said to myself. That happens, you know. I shrugged it off. It was time to go, but where to? I stretched my arms and legs and raked my fingers through my hair.

  “Freedom!” I yelled, stirring the birds in the trees. “Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha!”

  I ran! Long legs cutting through the woodland like a wild stag’s, I ran hard and long, with nowhere in mind to go. I was free. Not that I’d been a slave, but without Brenwar tagging along, I was liberated. Too often, he'd slow me down and nag.

  “Quit looking at your arm.”

  “Focus, Dragon. Focus.”

  “Slow down.”

  “I need ale.”

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I killed an ettin?”

  It wasn’t all that bad, most of the time, but there was nothing like being alone without anyone to answer to. I could do what I wanted now, and I was going to. This time, I was going to rescue many dragons on my own. I think that might better help my cause.

  I ran several leagues before I came to a stop beneath a shady tree and took a seat. Wind in my hair, civilization long from sight, I had all the peace and quiet I had ever wanted.

  “Ah, now this is the life!”

  Finger on the white-scaled spot in the middle of my dragon hand, I found relief.

  “I guess it’s all right to kill bats, then.” And why wouldn’t it be? After all, that bat had been picking on me. I tapped my fist on my chest as another fit of coughing began, but the taste of sulfur in my mouth was gone. “Finally! That’s much better.” I took a pull from the canteen in my pack.

  It was midday now, and I had a lot on my mind. Where was I going to go to find the dragons? And I didn’t want to find just one. I wanted to find several at a time. I knew they were out there and that the most likely spot was one of the Clerics of Barnabus temples that were scattered and hidden throughout the world.

  “Not a good idea,” I said, rubbing my scales on my dragon arm. Such a fascinating thing it was. I tried to imagine what it would look like in white. “If I were a careless dragon, where would I go? Hmmmm.” I also wanted to get as much distance between me and Morgdon as possible, and I had to think about that as well. If Brenwar came after me, where would he think I’d go? Nalzambor is a very large place, with each major city several hundred leagues from the others.

  The Free City of Narnum was the closest and filled with the most trouble, the kind I like, that is. Pretty faces from all the other places gather there in celebration.

  The Home of the Elves, Elomehorrahahn, or Elome for short, is a fantastic place hidden in the mist and trees. Their surrounding forests are well guarded as they like their privacy, and as far as I knew, they didn’t meddle with dragons. They were jealous is what I always figured.

  Thraag, or Thraagramoor, the home of the orcs, is simply too smelly to go near. I’d had my fill for a while in Orcen Hold.

  That left Morgdon, which I had to avoid, and Quintuklen, where I hadn’t been for a while. The humans lived there, and I’d had some friends there. Perhaps it was time I checked with some. I missed their colorful ways and wonderful things. The humans had the most zeal for life compared to all the others—simply put, because they didn’t live so long. They gave "living life to the fullest" new meaning, and I could relate to them better than to the rest. Especially now, when I had a sense of urgency within me.

  But Quintuklen was a long way off, and I could probably rescue a dozen dragons by the time I got there. But there were many men and women in that city that knew an awful lot about dragons. Humans had poachers as well. Wizards, clerics, sages―many of them with questionable character―wanted the dragons, our magic, and the secrets that we held.

  I could hear Brenwar's voice in my head as if he was here saying, “There’s nothing but troubles and temptation for you in the cities.” I sighed. I was focused. I could handle those distractions now if need be.

  And of course, there were still all the small cities, towns, and villages spread out and in between. I would just head that way first.

  “Perhaps I should buy a horse.”

  I had a long, long way to go.

  ***

  By nightfall, I’d made it to a small town called Quinley, a thriving farming community. The buildings were well constructed, the people amiable but wary. I respected their hard-working kind, but I was certain they didn’t care for a stranger like me. I fit in like a shiny button on a potato-sack shirt. Not that they were dirty, but grubby from all their hard work. I almost opted to remain outside to avoid the stares, but the steady rain convinced me otherwise, so I entered. My coins were as good as any, and I was certain they wouldn’t mind my business, so inside the nearest establishment I went.

  My stomach growled as the scent of hot food aroused my senses. I could taste the roasted lamb and baked rolls in my mouth already. One thing about the well-fed people in the countryside: nobody made better buttered bread―and the vegetables were always fresh and delicious. Patting my tummy, I smiled as I walked in, keeping my dragon arm concealed under my cloak.

  “Can I help you, er, sir?” the innkeeper asked. He was tall and lean with a nice head of brown hair, for a man. He wore overalls underneath his apron and had a white scar on his clean-shaven chin. It was probably from some sort of farming accident as a child. He seemed all right, but his eyes were busy.

  “I need food and a room for the night,” I said.

  “Eh,” he started, wiping his greasy fingers on his apron, “we don’t have any more rooms.”

  He was lying. There was no one else on the floor except me, him, and a table where a young couple sat. A pair of passersby like me, judging by their traveling cloaks and boots. They eyed me. I eyed them back until they turned away. I looked the innkeeper square in the eyes.

  “Are you sure you don’t have any rooms? I’d hate to think I came all this way, to the wonderful town of Quinley, home of the finest carrots and heifers, only to find they don’t have any rooms. Perish the thought!”

  The innkeeper showed me a toothy smile as he leaned back and I leaned forward.

  “Er… it’s true.”

  The innkeeper jumped as I rapped my knuckles on the bar.

  “Well that’s just horrible!” I said. And it really was, for him, because I was starting to get mad. I didn’t like it when people lied, and it was even worse when they did it without batting an eye. Something strange, very strange was going on in Quinley. But that wasn’t any of my business. Getting some hot food and a dry room was. I continued.

  “And I suppose you are out of food, too?”

  The innkeeper nodded his head.

  A comely older woman emerged from the kitchen with two plates full of hot food. She stumbled as she saw me, eyes blinking, as she plopped the meals onto the couple's table. The woman turned toward me, pushed her hair back, straightened her shoulders, and smiled before casually making her way back to the kitchen. I smiled back and waved. Then I turned my attention back to the innkeeper.

  “I suppose that was your last meal… eh, innkeeper?”

  Palms up, he shrugged, smiled, and said, “Y-Yes.”

  LIAR!

  Now, I was hungry. Really, really hungry. And tired. I wanted food and a room, and they were going to give them to me. Liar, liar, britches on fire! And all those years, I'd thought the country folk were nice.

  “What are you eating over here?” I said, walking over to the other travelers. “Smells good!” Something was wrong here. Why would they serve this ordinary man and woman but not me? Sure, I had beautiful gold eyes and a wonderful mane of auburn hair, on the frame of an extraordinary man, but that’s no reason to exempt me. Is it?

  “Go away,” the man said, hand falling to a small dagger at his side. “Just passing through, and we don’t want any trouble.”

  “I don’t want any trouble either, my fri
ends. But I really don’t want to sleep in the rain.” I turned back to the Innkeeper. “Or on an empty stomach!”

  A silence fell over the room. I could sense the innkeeper didn’t want any trouble, but I was certain he’d seen stranger men than me before. There were many other races that had come into this place. I could tell by all the unique objects that decorated the walls: elven shoes, a dwarven shovel, and even the two-pronged forks of the orcs.

  The waitress returned, a swagger in her hips, a smile on her lips, and a bowl of soup with a biscuit in her hands.

  “Jane, no,” the innkeeper warned, reaching for her.

  Dipping her shoulder and shuffling over to me, she nodded and said, “Take this quick, and go.”

  I took the bowl from her and said, “Thank you, but why?”

  She stared up at me and said nothing as she licked her lips.

  That happens sometimes.

  “Jane is it?” I said. “That’s a pretty blouse you’re wearing, and your eyes and ears, so pretty. Are you part elven?”

  She blushed.

  “No, none at all.”

  “Jane! Get back in the kitchen! You're causing trou—”

  Two large men pushed through the door, each soaked from head to toe. One cursed the rain, the other shouted out loud.

  “Ale! Food! Now, innkeeper. It’s a lousy night, so it better be good. And none of that watered-down brew you have, either.”

  “You should have gone,” Jane whispered. “It’s not safe here.” She scurried back to the kitchen.

  Behind me, the couple were taut as bowstrings, heads down, chewing quietly.

  I had the feeling they weren’t expecting these men’s company.

  “As you wish, enforcers,” the innkeeper said, fixing two tankards. “Right away!”

  The men tossed their cloaks on a rack in the corner. Thick shouldered and heavy, each wore steel on his hip: sword and dagger. Strong chinned, beady eyed, and rugged, they had the look of enforcers. It seemed the friendly farm city of Quinley was under control of an unfriendly element. They were the kind that riled me.

  Sluuuu-urp!

  “Mmmm… that’s good soup,” I said. “You should try some, fellas.”

  Both men perked up, big hands falling to their swords. I don’t think they were accustomed to anyone else’s voice in the room, especially one as deep and rich as mine. They looked at each other and then at the innkeeper, and one said, “I told you not to welcome any strangers.”

  The innkeeper set the tankards down and said, “I d-didn’t, sir. I told him we had no food and no rooms, but he’s persistent.”

  One enforcer slid back out the door. The taller one’s eyes drifted to my sword Fang that hung in its scabbard. He swallowed before he said, “This inn is closed, traveler. Set your soup down and be gone.” He nodded at the door.

  “But it’s raining,” I said, “And I’m really tired and hungry. So I don’t think I’ll be leaving right away. But maybe tomorrow.”

  “Don’t be a fool, traveler. You don’t know who you’re tangling with.”

  I wanted to laugh, but I slurped another spoonful instead. The big man’s eyes started to twitch. I don’t think he was accustomed to anyone standing up to him. I should be worried about who I’m tangling with? He’s the one who should be worried.

  “Tell you what,” I said, digging my spoon deeper into my bowl. “How about you leave, ugly face and all, and come back tomorrow when I’m well rested and gone?”

  “What?!”

  The innkeeper ducked behind the counter. The couple behind me got up from their table, heads down, and darted up the stairs.

  “I’m sorry,” I said much louder this time, “I didn’t realize you had trouble hearing. I SAID—”

  A half dozen well-armed men burst through the entrance―and one of them was bigger than two put together.

  CHAPTER 5

  Inside the pillars of an old temple ruin, Finnius the Cleric of Barnabus was brewing something. Trouble.

  “In order to catch a dragon, you have to have a dragon,” he muttered, adding some ingredients to a mystic pot of stew. “Shaved scales and ogre nails. Blood from a vorpal snail.” He sniffed the bubbling cauldron. “Yech. I never really did like this part.” He covered his nose with the sleeve of his robes, saying, “Anything for High Priestess Selene.” On he went, adding one more defiling component after another as the smell and activity of the cauldron became stronger and stronger.

  “One more thing is all,” he said, wiping the sweat from his head then wringing his hands. He produced a tiny vial of blood Selene had given him. She had told him it was the key ingredient of the spell. He dumped it in, and the entire cauldron lurched, smoked, sparked with gold fire then bubbled and dimmed.

  “Acolytes, bring me the prisoner.” He smiled. “It’s ready.”

  Yes, catching the bait, the yellow streak dragon, was one step. Luring Nath Dragon was the next, and it would be awfully hard to lure someone with bait when you didn’t know where he was. The last he had heard, Nath Dragon had been in the Shale Hills. Many of the clerics had reported this, but that was weeks ago, and Nath Dragon hadn’t been heard from since.

  “Must find him. Must find him soon,” he said.

  The High Priestess was very clear about that. She wanted results. She had expectations, or she’d have his head. The fact that she’d taken a shine to him was odd, but he knew he had skills that others did not. He figured at some point she must have noticed.

  “Ah, here you come,” he said, taking a seat on a stone bench.

  Two acolytes approached, robed from head to toe in dark purple with silver trim. Their heads were bald, and the tattoos on them were very little, expendable at this point. Each man carried what looked to be a large, covered bird cage. Bowing, they set the cages down.

  Finnius crossed his legs and draped his locked fingers over his knee.

  “Hmmmm.”

  The truth was that he wasn't so certain if this would work or not, but he didn’t have any other ideas, either. Typically, when Nath Dragon entered one of the larger cities, he knew about it immediately. The Clerics of Barnabus were thick in those places, and the man was about as discreet in his activities as a weasel in a hen house. But of late, Nath Dragon had been lying low, and that complicated things. Selene’s expectations must be met. He wasn’t about to disappoint her.

  He lifted the cloth cover from the first cage. A man, standing about one foot tall, stood inside, tiny arms crossed over his little chest. He had two wings. Like a hummingbird's, they buzzed on and off behind him. He was a pixlyn: rare, and almost impossible to catch unless you had honey from the trees where the stump giants sat.

  “The time has come to earn your freedom, little pixlyn.”

  It turned away.

  “Oh, come now. It won’t be so bad,” Finnius said, digging a large spoon into the bubbling cauldron. “Besides, failure to carry out my order will result in certain death.”

  The pixlyn shrugged. He was a handsome and obstinate little thing whose eyes glowed with a faint blue fire.

  Finnius snorted as he approached, holding the spoon of bubbling goo up to the bars.

  The pixlyn held his nose.

  “Oh, I suggest you reconsider,” Finnius said, nodding to the other acolyte. “Especially since it’s not you I’m threatening.

  The man removed the cloth from the other cage.

  “It’s her.”

  The pixlyn man let out a tiny cry of alarm. A beautiful pixlyn woman with radiant pink eyes and bee's wings shivered inside her cage. The pixlyn man's hummingbird wings made an angry buzz as he zipped back and forth in his cage, slamming into one barred side and then the other.

  Finnius laughed. He loved seeing good creatures suffer, and it was especially delectable when it was the suffering of one loved one for another.

  “Settle down now, pixlyn. All you have to do is seek, find, and report. Of course, what you’ll be searching for could be anywhere in all of Nalzambor. Now, ta
ke a sip, a big one that will fill your little gut, and on your way you shall go.”

  The tiny woman rose up in her cage, her squeaky little voice objecting in a language only the pixie-kind could speak. Both their tiny little hands grabbed the bars as they faced each other. Tears went down the little woman’s cheeks.

  “How adorable,” Finnius said. “Now drink!” He banged the cage with his hand. “Or I’ll kill you both right now!”

  Dejected, the little pixlyn man grabbed the spoon, gulped its contents down, and wiped his mouth.

  “Good… Good-good-good. That will make you strong and help you find Nath Dragon’s trail.” He opened the birdcage door. “Go now, go! The longer it takes, the less likely she lives.”

  The pixlyn grabbed the woman’s tiny hands on the bars, kissed them each, and with the speed of an arrow, he disappeared.

  As the tiny woman sobbed in her prison, Finnius tossed one of his men an empty vial and said, “Get me those tears.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Now there were six of them and one of me. They had leather armor and swords and even helmets on, too. Not the kind of odds I expected in a small town like this. And to think, all I wanted was a room for the night and some food.

  “Sorry, fellas, but I think I just finished the last bit of food,” I said, setting the bowl on the table. I patted my belly and burped. “Pretty tasty, though, worth the wait until tomorrow. Say, any of you ugly men happen to have a toothpick on you?”

  “Shut your mouth,” the one who’d hung back in the room said. He came closer, the rest of the enforcers at his sides and spreading out except one, the big one, abnormally large, who looked like he had part giant in him. He was almost eight feet tall, and his big and meaty arms were crossed over his barrel chest as he blocked the exit.

  I backed up until I bumped into the table. What was I going to do now? I couldn’t fight them all—or could I? They came closer, wary, weathered, and scarred, one just as mean looking as the other. A well-trained bunch of goons, mercenary and ex-soldier types, men for hire judging by the steel jangling on their hips. They were the kind of men who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt or kill.