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

by Craig Halloran

  “I read something that I can only assume is true.”

  Sasha came to stand beside him, eyes intent on the pages.

  “What does it say? You know I can’t read it yet.”

  He said nothing.

  “Bayzog, what does it say?” she demanded.

  He cleared his throat.

  “The ancient scribes say…

  And the black dragons were vanquished, and peace was on Nalzambor until the black dragons returned. So it was. So it has been. A Circle. And the last black dragon shall envelop the world forever.

  He closed the book and finished, “... this is much bigger than us. I feel for his father. I feel for the world.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “Blasted wizards!”

  I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t mad, but I wasn’t happy. Bayzog hadn’t really done anything wrong other than disappoint me. He was holding something back, something big, something bad―about me; I could feel it in my bones. So I wandered, alone on horseback, through the streets from one side of the city to the other.

  “What to do?” I mumbled, drawing a few stares from passersby.

  The night wasn’t much different than the day in Quintuklen, just darker and quieter. I didn’t care for it. I liked watching the people, but tonight, I wanted to be alone. I wanted to sulk. But I knew better. Instead, I headed for the wall, near where we came in.

  “Should I go or not?” I said. I hated to leave empty-handed. I had come here to find out about the dragons, and I couldn’t leave without something.

  Above, the moon was full like a brilliant pearl, casting dark shadows in every corner. I had an idea. I just needed to find the Clerics of Barnabus. Like Brenwar would say, “Face the problem axe up and head on!”

  The Clerics of Barnabus were the problem. Find them; find the dragons. They’d been looking; I’d been hiding. I decided to take my problem straight to them.

  “If I were a cleric, where would I be?” I was gazing up at the moon when it hit me. “The Sanctuary.” There were always clerics there.

  It was early morning when I arrived at the bubbling fountains just outside The Sanctuary’s gates. Within, monuments and statues were covered with dew, and clerics in a colorful variety of robes were milling about. The Clerics of Barnabus were easy to spot, and within seconds I spotted a few tattooed foreheads. My first urge was to gallop over there, snatch one, ride off, and beat the information out of him. But, I donned my cloak and pulled my hood over my head. Leaving my horse, I moved in.

  About twenty feet away from them, I took a seat on a bench, head down and listening. There was no loud talking in The Sanctuary, but there was a lot of whispering. And much of it was in a language you couldn’t understand. The Clerics had their ancient dialects in which they spoke, but I’d picked up on Barnabus words over the years, sort of. But it was Common I heard.

  “We’ve many to sell. Small ones. Dead or alive, as you will,” one Cleric of Barnabus said, speaking to a Cleric in stone-colored robes. I could feel my blood run hot. The Stone Clerics drew their power from the rock, and they weren’t noble. According to them, the stone was neither good nor bad, only the one who threw it.

  “I’ve no need of such things.”

  “Any word on dragons?” the Cleric of Barnabus asked. “We aim to keep the world safe from the menace. Keep them under control we must.”

  “You can tell those tales to the regular folk, but I know better. Most dragons are as good as you are evil. Be gone with you, I say.”

  “Pardons and blessings, stone wielder.” The Cleric bowed and slowly backed away.

  Good for him. I’d have to remember that. The Clerics of Stone were neutral, but they weren’t fools. It was good to know.

  The Clerics of Barnabus split up, spreading the word about dragons from one group to the other. One of them had the attention of a small group in gold lace with heads hidden under their purple hoods. I didn’t recognize the order, but there must have been a hundred different ones in Quintuklen. I got up, stooped down, and picked my way through the people. It was getting crowded.

  Ten feet away, back turned, I was leaning on a monument when an odd feeling overcame me. Peering around, I caught the eyes of another cleric of Barnabus who quickly glanced away. They couldn’t have seen me, could they? I didn’t exactly fit in, but there were all sorts of robed figures and cloaked characters in the Sanctuary. I turned away, took a moment, and glanced back. He was gone.

  “We have a yellow belly, with pollen breath that turns one to stone,” I overheard one cleric say. “Some of the dragon tykes that don’t have breath yet, they make fine pets, when broken.”

  I bunched up my fist and fought the urge to walk over there and punch him in the face. I could barely stand it. Patience. Look. Listen. Learn. I might explode first.

  “Where do we meet?” the cleric in the purple said.

  “Five leagues west, in the Crane's Neck. After the sun sets tomorrow. Gold only.”

  “Agreed.”

  That’s all I needed to hear. As I turned to head back to my horse, it felt like a bucket of ice water hit me when someone said, “Dragon!”

  CHAPTER 31

  “Delicious, simply divine,” Finnius said, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin.

  Good food was hard to come by in the Temple ruins, but the lizard men were excellent hunters, and the acolytes, when prompted, were decent cooks.

  Thumping his fist on his chest, he burped as an acolyte refilled his goblet with wine.

  “At least the cellar kept the bottles in order all these centuries, and it would be a shame for it all to go to waste, wouldn’t it?” he said, eyeing the cage that sat on the small table.

  The pixlyn woman was there: tiny, pink, knees drawn up, head down.

  “Oh, you can speak to me, little faerie. As a matter of fact, I’d like to hear you sing. They say the song of the faeries is a beautiful and magical thing, but I’ve never heard it.”

  Finnius pulled the cage closer and peered in.

  “What do you say?”

  She didn’t budge.

  He slammed his fist on the table.

  “SING!”

  She flinched, then rubbed her tiny fists in her eyes, sniffling.

  “Oh, how adorable.” He tapped the cage. “Little pixlyn, sing for me, else I’ll pluck your husband's wings off when he arrives.”

  Her bee wings buzzed as she hovered up, nodding her head.

  “Oh, I have your attention now, don’t I? Sing, little one. I want to feel the mystic words you hold. Sing to me,” he beckoned, “share your powers… or die.”

  Her tiny little mouth opened up, and beautiful words flowed out. Not words men could recognize, but a beautiful, ancient language. Harmonious and delightful.

  Finnius sat back and sighed, letting the music fill him from head to toe.

  “Wonderful,” he muttered. He'd been weary, but no more. His once-spent energies from his mission now recharged. His mind refreshed and cleared.

  “Excellent,” he muttered, slumping back, tears forming in his eyes. So pure, so good, so amazing. It was nothing like he’d felt before.

  Something banged into the pixlyn cage.

  Finnius lurched up, rubbing his watery eyes.

  “What?”

  The male pixlyn was back.

  Finnius shook his head, saying, “What is the meaning of this, pixlyn?”

  The little man’s tiny mouth was a buzz of words.

  “I see. Hmm… Excellent, I see. Nath Dragon is on his way already.” He clapped his hands together. “My, won’t the High Priestess be pleased. Tell me. Tell me about it all.”

  Finnius muttered a spell and sprinkled powder over the pixlyn.

  The words of the pixlyn were high and garbled momentarily, and then a sound of man came forth.

  “It took me no time to find the man. I told your men who he was and where to go. Your men spread word as I watched. The man overheard the conversation about the dragons. Your men spoke to your men in
disguise. The man you want believed it. He and they travel this way now.”

  “Hah!” He slapped his knee. “Keep me posted then, pixlyn! Go! Spy!”

  The tiny winged man flew into his face and said, “My mate?”

  “Yes, well, she’ll be quite all right,” Finnius flashed a wicked smile, “assuming she keeps her wings, assuming you do as you are told and I don’t have to clip her wings. Now go!”

  CHAPTER 32

  Brenwar’s stomach growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so hungry. His horse bent its neck toward the stream and began to drink. His stomach growled again.

  “Ah, be quiet, will you?” he said, reaching into his pack and withdrawing peppers and bread. He took a bite. “That might hold you, until we find Dragon, that is.”

  He hadn’t eaten since he left, or slept either. He rubbed his mount's neck, watching the trout swimming upstream. He’d like to fish, but he didn’t have time.

  “It’s a shame you horses don’t eat fish,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  The horse nickered, raising its neck. Brenwar got a sour apple from his saddlebag and fed the horse. At some point, the horse would need rest, he knew. And stopping in the next village might be in order.

  “I hate stopping,” he grumbled.

  “Me too,” a deep voice responded from the nearby trees.

  Brenwar jumped from his horse and rolled over the ground, rising with his war hammer ready.

  “Who said that?”

  The woods were tall, green, and quiet. Only the wind and rippling waters hit his ears.

  “Easy, dwarf,” a tall figure said, stepping from behind the trees. “Remember me?”

  Brenwar squinted his eyes beneath his bushy black brows.

  “Bah! You’re one of those fat-bellied elves.”

  “And you’re one of those short-legged orcs,” the Wilder Elf replied.

  “I see you’ve got a death wish, don’t ya?” Brenwar said, pointing his weapon. “Come, then, I’ll make a fine grave for you!”

  Eyes twinkling in the light, Shum laughed like a man laughs at a child. With the grace of the elves and girth of a large man, he approached, swords silent on his hips. He clasped his hands over his belly and said, “I mean you no harm, dwarf.”

  “That may well be, but I can’t say the same.”

  Brenwar moved in, taking a chop at Shum of the Roaming Rangers’ legs.

  The elf sprang away.

  “Stop!” Shum held out his arms. “I’m not here to fight, as much as I’d like to teach you a lesson.”

  “A lesson!” Brenwar rushed.

  Shum jumped back, Brenwar’s axe clipping his cloak.

  Brenwar would fight anyone, anyplace, anytime. Especially an elf. They bothered him. Not so much as orcs and giants, but still, they were elves. Dwarves and elves: both on the side of good, but unable to get along since the days their races were young.

  “You would strike me down when I’m not even defending myself,” Shum said, aghast.

  Brenwar swung.

  Shum dove.

  “I would.”

  He chopped.

  Shum rolled.

  Brenwar kept coming, swinging, chopping.

  Shum was off balance as he waded into the waters.

  “Stop it, dwarf! I apologize,” he said, holding his arms out.

  Brenwar swung his war axe into water-laden log where Shum’s toe had been.

  “For what?”

  “Calling you a short-legged orc.”

  Brenwar stopped and pointed at him.

  “No one calls a dwarf an orc and lives.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t call me a fat-bellied elf.”

  Brenwar’s black eyebrows cocked over his eyes.

  “But you are a fat-bellied elf.”

  Shum huffed, dragging himself out of the water, towering over Brenwar, and replied, “And proud of it.” He extended his arm. “Can you talk, Brenwar?”

  They bumped forearms, outside, then inside.

  “Aye,” Brenwar said, “what is it you want?”

  “Nath Dragon.”

  Brenwar walked over to his horse and fed it another apple.

  “Why?”

  Shum’s jaw tightened.

  “I think we need his help finding our king again.”

  Brenwar pulled himself up onto his horse.

  “I don’t know where he is.”

  “But you’re looking for him; I know. I’ve been following you since you left Morgdon. I was waiting for him, but he never came, only you. I’ve been trying to figure out what was going on, but I didn’t realize you’d lost him until now.”

  Brenwar stiffened in his saddle, saying, “What do you mean, days? I got attacked by brigands, and you didn’t help!”

  “And you handled them quite well. I respect your skills, Brenwar, and I’d have aided if needed.”

  “Humph! What makes you think Dragon can help you find your king? You’re the best trackers in the land, aren’t you? Why would you need Nath?”

  Shum ran his long finger back and forth on his chin and said, “It’s just a theory, really, but we think they are linked. They have the same needs.”

  “Pah,” Brenwar started leading his horse away. “They aren’t linked. He’s an elf or an ape, and Dragon is a man, or a dragon. He shall tend to his affairs, the dragons; you attend to yours, the elves or… er the apes.”

  “We’re all linked whether we admit it or not. Dragon has a curse. My king is cursed. It’s a common evil they share.”

  “It’s your king, not mine, not his. And, Nath is not evil, and I can’t say the same for your king.” Brenwar waved as he galloped off. “Goodbye, fat-bellied elf!”

  Shum shook his head, watching him go as he said, “I can walk faster than that little horse can run.” He took off at a trot. “You’re getting my help whether you want it or not, dwarf. Too many lives depend on it.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “Dragon!”

  I whirled, knocking a man over. It was Ben. Despite the bewildered look on his face, I could have killed him.

  “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed under my breath, lifting him up and with haste guiding him away.

  “Bayzog—”

  “Keep it down, you idiot,” I hissed through my teeth.

  Every eye in the sanctuary was looking.

  “Sorry, Drag—”

  I squeezed his arm.

  “Quiet, will you?”

  “Ow,” he whined as I dragged him to where my horse was as discreetly as I could.

  His horse was next to mine.

  “How did you do that?” I said, grabbing the reins and getting out of The Sanctuary.

  “Bayzog did it, how I don’t know. I was talking to him, and he said you’d be here, and I said, ‘Where?’ and poof, here I was. He said you needed to come back, that he had some information for you that could help.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, Dragon, did I do wrong again?”

  “Get on your horse,” I ordered.

  I was angry. If Ben had shown up seconds earlier, it could have ruined everything, and I wasn’t so sure it hadn't. When I glanced back, all the bald heads and purple robes were gone.

  “Great.”

  I led; Ben followed.

  “Are we going back to Bayzog’s?”

  “No.”

  “He said you’d say that, but he also said, um…” he looked up into the sky, “It’s your burial, not mine.”

  “Figures.” Lousy wizard! “Listen, Ben, you didn’t do wrong, but you aren’t coming along, either. I’m taking you to the Legionnaires to be with your uncle.”

  Ben shook his head.

  “No! I don’t want to go. Please, I want to stay with you! I’m ready, see?” He pulled his cloak open, revealing a well-fitted tunic of leather armor. A nice sword and dagger were belted at his sides. I could tell by the pommels they were elven made. He even had boots to go with it.

  “So, you think if you g
et some armor that fits and sharp and shiny blades, that makes you a soldier? You haven’t even had any training, Ben. You almost died once on the way up here, and now I’m heading into the mouth of danger. You think you’re ready for that? Do you?”

  Biting his lip, he fingered the pommel on his sword.

  “We’ll just go back and see what Bayzog says. It was important.”

  “No, Ben. I’m on my own from here. Now don’t follow me anymore.”

  Good luck or bad luck Ben was, according to Bayzog. The part-elven wizard had a way of reading people.

  “Bayzog said I should come, no matter what.”

  I stopped my mount.

  “Really, Ben, how well do you know Bayzog? You barely spent a minute with him in there.”

  “Well, it’s not him so much as,” he smiled, “Sasha. Ooh … She is so beautiful.”

  “And troublesome, Ben.” I got closer and checked his blades. “Fine steel for a wizard to keep. What else did they give you?” I reached into his belt pouch. Two potion vials were within. “What do these do?”

  “He said I’d know when to take them.”

  I slapped Ben upside the head.

  “Ow!”

  “You don’t know when to do anything!”

  I’d had enough and headed for the wall. It was time to make way for the Crane's Neck, and I didn’t care whether or not Ben followed.

  “So be it, Ben. It’s only your life.”

  ***

  The trip was long. Not because it was far, but because my tongue was tired from trying to convince Ben not to go. He wouldn’t have any part of it, however.

  “It’s my life; I’ll do what I want with it,” he’d decided, saying it over and over, with his chin up.

  Oddly, he was starting to remind me of Brenwar―aside from his shivering in the rain.

  The Crane's Neck wasn’t hard to find. It was a valley of enormous rocks, some of which looked to be left over from a battle between the giants. I followed a faint trail over the brush and climbed up a rocky cleft that overlooked the Crane's Neck. It was a rock, stretching fifty feet in height, shaped like a long, flowing neck. The setting sun peeked from behind the dark clouds, shining on the beak-like peak at the top.