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

by Craig Halloran

  CHAPTER 32

  Ben punched and kicked. The weight of the soldiers overwhelmed him. A mailed fist struck him in the face. A strong arm tore his sword free from his hand. Ben head butted one with his rock-hard chin, drawing forth a groan.

  Whop!

  Pow!

  He saw bright lights. His limbs went numb. Ben was strong, but his strength was no match for the other soldiers. Lizard men and gnolls were brutes by comparison. Ben curled up into a ball. They wailed on him with hard kicks and heavy fists. His armor was the only thing keeping his bones from being splintered. Finally, the beating stopped.

  “Get me a flail,” a gnoll said, glaring at him. It had a mouthful of big yellow teeth like a dog.

  Ben struggled to his feet, huffing for breath, swaying, and bleeding. There were four of them and only part of what was left of him. He could feel his face swelling.

  “What’s the matter, dog face? Don’t you know how to finish a beating?”

  Another gnoll kicked him to the ground. It barked and howled in his face. Gnolls liked to torment their foes.

  He spat blood and got back to his knees. Spread his arms wide. “Say, get an orc over here to do your job. At least they hit harder.”

  The gnoll strolled over, swishing its flail from side to side. It pointed its long, hairy finger. “Break jaw. Break body. Break spirit,” it said with a fiendish grin. “They kill.”

  Ben lowered his hands. Fang still hung on his belt.

  “Well,” Ben began, clutching his side, “you might want to let an orc in on it if you want to succeed in all three things. So far, you’ve not succeeded in a single one.”

  The gnoll snarled. Its flail whizzed to life. It jumped at Ben’s swing.

  In a flash, Ben slid Dragon Claw out of Fang’s hilt and ducked.

  Swish!

  He jabbed Dragon Claw into the gnoll’s belly, drawing a fearsome howl.

  The other gnolls and two lizard men froze, watching their comrade fall. A split second later, Ben ripped Fang out and charged his stupefied attackers.

  Fang’s blade cut the air with an angry howl. Its sharp blade cut the lizard men down in two strokes. A shadow closed in on Ben’s back with heavy feet. He launched Dragon Claw out of his hand and into the last gnoll’s chest. Down it went. Dead.

  Ben wiped the blood and sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm. Fang, once cold in his hand, was getting hot. He shoved it back in the sheath, staggered across the grass, and collected Dragon Claw. Its steel almost burned to the touch.

  “Mercy, Fang,” he said, stuffing it back into its hidden spot in the hilt. He blew on his hand. “But thanks.” He scanned the grass for his own sword and picked it up, turned and locked eyes on Brenwar. The dwarf was looking up. Ben lifted his head. Circling dragons were looking down.

  “Great Guzan.”

  ***

  The last two decades had toughened Bayzog up, but he still tried to avoid getting his robes dirty at all costs. That effort had failed him today. A gnoll snarled over him. Chomped its teeth. Raised its dagger with murder filling its eyes.

  Bayzog summoned his strength and swung the Elderwood Staff at its feet.

  It hopped over the staff in a single bound and landed by his head. Dropping to its knees, it pinned Bayzog to the ground by his neck and squeezed. Drool dripped from its mouth, and the small bones rattled on its necklace.

  “You’ll make a fine prize, wizard.”

  Bayzog clocked it in the head with his staff again, making a hollow bonk sound. The blow wouldn’t have hurt a squirrel.

  The gnoll sneered and laughed. The dagger rose over its head—Bayzog’s life flashed in his eyes. Sasha. His boys. In a flash, the blade came down.

  Chuk.

  The gnoll missed his ear by inches.

  “Not yet. No, no. Not yet,” it said, choking Bayzog until his face turned purple. “Don’t move.” A clawed fist punched him in the gut.

  “Oof!”

  The Elderwood Staff fell from his grip. The gnoll snatched it from the ground and let out a triumphant howl.

  “More pleasure busting your bones with your little staff until I break it on your head.”

  Bayzog held a shaking finger out. “Wait,” he croaked, sitting up and clutching his stomach.

  “Death cannot wait,” it said, swinging the Elderwood Staff to its full zenith.

  Bayzog forced out a word of power.

  “Gaarmahngee.”

  The Elderwood Staff flashed.

  The gnoll’s wolfish eyes widened. Pish! Its entire being incinerated. The staff fell through its dusty fragments and onto the ground. The wind took the rest of the gnoll specks away like ash.

  Bayzog crawled to his staff, used it like a cane ,and pushed himself up to his feet.

  “Would have been nice if Brenwar had seen that.”

  Whump! Whump!

  Bayzog jerked around, wincing.

  Ben and Brenwar stood back to back with a pair of grey scalers surrounding them.

  A shadow glided overhead.

  He didn’t want to look up, but he did.

  I can’t believe there are three of them.

  CHAPTER 33

  Nath grabbed an orc by the backs of its arms and slung it into two others. A lizard man popped up on his right, swinging a heavy iron blade. Nath caught the blade with his fingers and yanked it free of the lizard man’s grip. Its snake eyes widened, watching Nath slowly bend the blade in half like a piece of cheese.

  “If I can do that to steel, imagine what I can to do you,” Nath said, frowning.

  The lizard man looked left, then right. No one else was around. It backed away toward Jordak’s Bridge, turned, and ran.

  “And the smartest shall survive,” Nath said, scanning the area.

  He’d been fighting for minutes, and it showed. The soldiers of Barnabus were heaps on the ground. Some groaned. Others crawled. Many were still like stones. He didn’t care. He’d had enough of them tormenting his friends.

  Nath jogged over to the barracks and camp of the soldiers of Barnabus and made a quick inspection. He checked all the small buildings and tents. No sign of his friends. He nodded.

  Good.

  He took a deep breath.

  And goodbye.

  He exhaled fire from his lungs. Instantly, the camp of Barnabus caught fire. Flames roared all around. The entire camp would be cinders within the hour.

  Nath pumped his fist and sprinted down the road.

  My friends better be fine.

  Foot- and hoof prints were plentiful and fresh in the mud. As best Nath could tell, the soldiers didn’t have too much of a head start. He lengthened his stride and ran near the pace of a galloping horse, ignoring the nasty itch in his side.

  That should be better by now.

  He buried it in the back of his mind. He had friends to help. As he ran, he scanned the soft, green edges of grass along the road.

  Maybe they doubled back.

  He and Brenwar had done that often in their days roaming Nalzambor alone together. It was effective in losing pursuers if you were smart and quick about it.

  One clawed foot after another, he splashed over the mud and slowed. He noticed the impression of Brenwar’s boot along the edge. A thrill went through him.

  He’s alive. That means they’re probably all alive.

  The soldiers were numerous, however. Two dozen and heavily armed, clearly pursuing. Nath wondered if his friends might split up and divide the forces. There was no sign of that, and it made him wary.

  What is Brenwar doing?

  He picked up the pace. Ahead, the sun began to peek over the meadows. Wildflowers in bright colors popped out among the grasses. The wind whistled in his ears as he ran. Something troubled him inside. A nagging feeling in his neck. A tightening between his shoulders. He glanced toward the sky.

  Far away, a small flock of black birds circled like vultures. They dipped and dove in the sky. Nath ran harder. It was difficult to see what kind of bird
s they were in the bright sunlight. A half mile farther up the road, he could see the long necks and great wing spans.

  Those aren’t birds. Those are dragons!

  He went into a sprint.

  One dove out of sight, followed by another, leaving one alone to keep watch from above.

  They’re attacking!

  CHAPTER 34

  “What do you say?” Pilpin said to Devliik.

  They’d tracked the second satyr high into the mountains, only to start another weaving downward trek again. Now they stood on a crag in the rocks overlooking a deep valley. Devliik was propped up on one knee with a long brass spyglass to his eye. He handed it over to Pilpin with a grunt.

  “Got a host of them down there,” he said, rubbing his wooly brown beard. “That’ll be a mighty amount of graves to dig unless we can bury them all at once.”

  “Bury them?” Pilpin said, peering through the spy glass. “What if Gorlee’s still in there?”

  “We’ve been watching for hours. He ain’t.”

  “We can’t know that for sure,” Pilpin said. “He could be in any one of those tents.”

  “I don’t think so,” Devliik said. “Why, are you wanting to go snoop around?”

  “Well,” Pilpin started, but stopped.

  Devliik was in charge. He was fine and experienced commander in the field. Pilpin followed him without question, but he wished he knew where the big dwarf stood in terms of finding Gorlee.

  “I want those murdering satyrs,” Devliik said, making a spit. “I want to find our friend, too, but I don’t see any sight of him down there. I don’t see any of them scaly lizard soldiers, either. They’ve moved off to somewhere and must have Gorlee with them.”

  “Shall we go around and peek?”

  “Maybe that’s what they want us to do,” Devliik said. “Perhaps we should flush them all out.”

  “The entire host? There must be over a hundred. Quite a risk when all we want is the satyrs.”

  Devliik spat.

  “This is war, and those are orcs and such. We don’t make friends with them. We kill them, else they kill others, like our friends.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Bang!

  Gorlee jumped.

  Bang!

  Up on his feet he went, head whirling.

  The ropes constricted, and down he went again.

  He groaned and slowly made his way back to his feet.

  The rain had stopped, and rays of sunlight split the clouds in the sky.

  Bang!

  He turned and faced the sound of the aggressor. A tall figure with huge shoulders shrouded in a dark purple robe stood in front of the cage. A heavy war mace swung back and forth like a pendulum in his gauntleted hand.

  Gorlee didn’t say a word. He just stared back.

  Heavy eyes went up and down him, eyeing his scales. Most of the man’s face was shadowed, but Gorlee could see the tattoos. A hard expression. A glimmer of metal armor under the big man’s neck. The man stared at him as if he should know him or was waiting for him to speak.

  This is your test, Gorlee. This is your fate.

  His stomach groaned. His legs felt weak and his neck was heavy. He checked his hands. Still clawed. Still scaled. Good. It wasn’t uncommon for a changeling to wake up as someone else. Dreams, especially bad ones, could do that to them. But it had never happened to Gorlee. Not yet, at least.

  Moments passed as he tried to think of things Nath would say.

  I accept your surrender.

  It seems the flies like you.

  I know an orc that is taken with you.

  Nath had an unusual way of finding humor in the gravest things. He also had a sharp tongue and wit about him, too.

  I guess when you’re a dragon, it’s easier to get away with those things.

  The cleric wasn’t alone. Behind him stood several more acolytes with their hoods pulled down. Colorful tattoos decorated their heads in bright and exotic colors. They had chains and shackles in their hands. Moorite, by the looks of the metal.

  Great.

  Two other figures stood looming in the rear with black wings folded over their backs. Draykis. A higher order of the lizard mankind. The part-man, part-dragon undead creatures were something Gorlee had come to dread. Their cold eyes disturbed him. They had no value for life, as true life was no longer in them. He thought of the dwarves.

  I hope they are free and clear of those evil goons.

  The lead cleric raised his war mace up and brought it down on the lock.

  Whack!

  It fell to the dais on the roof in two pieces.

  “Step back,” the man said in a heavy voice.

  Gorlee backed up a few paces, while the other robed servants opened the door. In moments, they had Gorlee’s arms and legs chained and shackled. His wrists were bound behind his back. Tight. Uncomfortable.

  “Come out,” the large man said.

  Gorlee stepped out with a flutter in his stomach. He felt less free and secure.

  An incantation was muttered by the hooded man.

  The mystic ropes that bound him slipped off his body and coiled up on the ground.

  An acolyte picked up the rope, held it out, bowing, and said to his leader, “For you, Kryzak.”

  Kryzak grabbed the rope and smote the man across the face with his mailed fist, knocking him to his knees.

  “Lord Kryzak,” the war cleric said. “Imbecile.” He turned his attention to Gorlee. “You may speak now.”

  Gorlee said nothing. His thoughts raced in his head. Kryzak. He should know that name. He’d heard it before in stories. But there were so many. Kryzak. Who is that? He eyed the man with defiance. His stomach made a loud rumble.

  “Too hungry to speak, Dragon? Has your sharp tongue weakened over the years?” Kryzak pushed his shoulder. “And you seem so much more, uh, formidable with all those scales. I’m certain they’ll fetch a fine price on the market, along with that lovely head of hair of yours.”

  “Still envious, are we?” Gorlee said without thinking. “Perhaps you can buy it, assuming you could afford to on whatever the paltry wage is for being an ugly goon of Barnabus these days.”

  Kryzak cracked him in the back with his mace. Not too hard, but a warning.

  Gorlee held his tongue but felt every bit of it.

  Blast! They only look like scales. I wish they were real.

  “Glad you found your lizard’s tongue, Nath Dragon,” Kryzak said, making his way around and facing him. The man’s eyes were as haunting as his deep voice. “I wouldn’t enjoy this so much without it. Come.”

  Across the roof they went and down the steps. The draykis held him by a metal leash on his waist. Kryzak led the way down the long steps that zigzagged down the huge tower hewn from large alabaster stones, talking most of the way.

  “I’ve been waiting for this day,” he said, “but I’m surprised you haven’t resisted further. You were always so temperamental.” He cleared his throat. “And how are your little friends, Dragon? Do the ones that survived me still live, or have our forces killed them? We’ve killed so many since you went into hiding. Twenty-five years of dying.” He stopped and waited for the acolytes to open a pair of great bronze doors. “But don’t feel so bad. It was always going to lead to this. And it’s better than drowning.”

  What? Drowning? Kryzak! He recalled the story that had been told to him by Bayzog and Brenwar one night. The man who murdered the elven rover and tried to kill the others in the crater. They always wondered what happened to him. Gorlee took a hard look at the man. He’s purely diabolical.

  A large room greeted him with high arches in vaulted ceilings. Dark curtains were pulled open around huge bay windows, and beautiful tapestries hung on the walls. On the far side, a grand opening led out onto a large terrace. In the middle, a giant oval table stood alone with high-backed mahogany chairs around it. A map hung on a separate wall, and a large, padded chair with lions carved in the arms sat like a throne on a dais nearby. It
faced a window and held a woman facing the terrace. She did not turn when they entered.

  Gorlee swallowed hard. The room felt cold. Unnatural. The pungent smell of death lingered. He gazed around, moving just his eyes, high and low. Blood stained the marble floor. Dark spots blotted the carpets. His breathing thinned. His hunger froze. Power, evil power, crawled in his skin and bones.

  A large bird swooped inside the room. Its feathers were dark and colorful. It landed on top of the woman’s throne-like chair, facing Gorlee.

  What is that thing? A bird, or a dragon? Oh no. A drulture!

  Those, he knew about. Feathered dragons. Small dragons that preyed on the dead and the living like vultures. They were known to terrify gnome and halfling villages from time to time. They ate pixies like frogs ate flies.

  Gorlee held its gaze with blood frozen in his veins. Drultures, unlike most dragons, actually did eat people. Of course, he was never clear if they were more dragon than bird or more bird than dragon. They were the best of the worst in both. Nasty.

  It glared back at him. A restless hunger filled its bright eyes.

  He had seen drultures on a battlefield full of the fallen once. Their jaws opened up like a python’s and swallowed up parts of men whole. It had left him empty inside.

  “Is he well secured?” the woman said. Her voice was deep, dark, and powerful.

  “The moorite is intact as it pleases your will,” Kryzak said, bowing with the others to a knee, “my queen.”

  “Good. Now,” she said, still sitting, still without turning, “you may all leave us.”

  Kryzak stood up and stiffened. His mouth opened to speak but didn’t.

  “Are you still here?”

  The war cleric bowed and slowly backed away through the doors with the others, glaring at Gorlee. Gorlee offered a smile. It didn’t last. It felt like a tomb was sealed when the doors closed behind him.

  Nothing was said for moments until finally the high priestess spoke. Her voice turned his blood to ice water.