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

by Craig Halloran

  The dragon’s head coiled back.

  Sshlunk!

  Hoven’s spear lanced through its neck.

  The dragon bounded backward, wriggling its neck. Its claws dug at the spear. Fire exploded from its mouth, engulfing its head in flame.

  Hoven locked his good arm under Shum’s shoulder and dragged him away.

  The dragon exploded.

  An earsplitting roar filled the sky, and the second dragon dove at both of them with flames surging from its mouth.

  Sshlunk!

  A great spear penetrated the dragon’s belly. It veered left and crashed into the side of the chasm.

  Another Roamer appeared on the rocks. He bounded through the chasm with the supple ease of a wild animal. Two blades sprung from his hips. The Roamer pounced on the back of the flame tongue and put the beast’s thrashings to an end.

  Glitch!

  A puff of smoke came from the great lizard’s lips, and its bright eyes winked out. The younger Roamer cleaned his blades and sheathed them. A warm smile was on his face that went well with the rugged ranger garb he wore.

  Hoven nodded and said, “Well done.”

  “Well done indeed, Liam,” Shum said, steadying himself.

  Without a word, Liam nodded. Then his eyes drifted toward the sky.

  Another flame tongue circled.

  Blood dripping to the ground, Shum gathered his swords.

  “Roamer up,” he said.

  A moment later, the dragon dove.

  Liam went for the spear in the dead dragon’s belly, but the beast had wedged it into the ground.

  “On guard, Liam, or take cover.”

  Eyes flame-ridden with hatred, the third dragon closed in.

  A great flying bulk slammed into it, driving it into the chasm wall. The two monstrous creatures rolled down the cliff side and into the gorge.

  The Roamers rushed over.

  The cherry-scaled dragon had locked up with a great winged ape. Massive fists pummeled the dragon, heavy blow after heavy blow. The dragon reeled. Recoiled.

  The winged ape tore into it with savage power. Dragon claws tore at the hairy beast. Fire scorched its hide. The ape locked its arms around the dragon’s neck and slammed the dragon’s hornless head into the wall, full force.

  Fire spewed from the dragon’s mouth.

  The muscular arms of the great ape bulged.

  The dragon roared one last time before its neck snapped.

  Shum, Hoven, and Liam kneeled as the great Sansla Libor walked over. He towered over them a full eight feet in height. The savageness was gone from his eyes, but not the power.

  “Arise and be healed,” Sansla said in a distinctly elven voice. “We have much more work to do.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “They’re so small,” Ben said to Bayzog, eyes fixed on the dragons. “Almost tiny, like field mice.”

  Bayzog rubbed his eyes and held his head. Weary, he rested his arms on the table and eyed the dragons with intent. They were wondrous. Three of them, scales bright in color. A citrine yellow, a scarlet red, and a cobalt blue. Sharp and scintillating as the sun. Each prowled over his table, and they growled back and forth at one another.

  Ben stretched his index finger toward the citrine one. “Can I touch one?”

  “I wouldn’t advise that.”

  The tiny citrine dragon widened its jaws, and a bolt of lightning flashed out.

  Zap!

  Ben lurched up. Eyes wide and hair standing on end, he collapsed on the floor. Shaking, he crawled up to his elbows.

  “Are you alright?” Bayzog said, holding back a chuckle.

  The rangy warrior shook his head, peering at the table.

  The dragons peered back at him. A puff of smoke came from the red one’s mouth, and a puff of blue acid from the cobalt’s.

  Ben eased up and away from the table. “They pack a punch.”

  “I’m sure it’s not personal,” Bayzog said. “Dragons in general aren’t too trusting of people. You should know that by now.”

  Ben shrugged and took a stool farther down the table. He smacked his lips. “I taste metal.”

  “That’s better than death,” Bayzog said. “You should be more careful.”

  “Aye,” Ben said, rubbing his head. “So, are they really dragons?”

  “Yes, and I didn’t even know that such a breed existed until I came across them in my studies.”

  “Why did you summon such small ones?” Ben said. “I thought you’d need something bigger?”

  “I need something our enemies won’t notice.”

  “Are they easier to control?”

  Bayzog shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I’ve never controlled a dragon before.” He rested his fingers on the jaxite stones and concentrated. Come, he thought. Come.

  One by one, the dragons paraded over and sat back on their haunches. Their tails swished behind their backs, heads cocking.

  “I think they like you,” Ben said. “What are they called?”

  “The Elvish word is long, and I’m not sure how to pronounce it in Common.”

  “Eh, well, how about I call them dragonettes?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “So, what do these tiny dragons eat?” Ben asked. “Flowers and such?”

  “People.”

  “People!”

  Bayzog smirked.

  “It’s good to see you in better spirits,” Ben said to him. “But honestly, how can they help our cause?”

  “They are small, fast, and virtually undetectable,” Bayzog said. “And remember, dragons are outstanding trackers.” He set some articles of clothing on the table, items from Sasha, Rerry, and Samaz’s wardrobes. “Seek,” he whispered to the dragons. “Seek.”

  The dragonettes snorted and sniffed the items. One by one, they raised their heads to him in a sort of salute.

  “I have to admit,” Bayzog said, “this is going better than I expected.”

  Ben nodded.

  ***

  It had taken Bayzog hours to cast the summons, and upon completing it, he had fallen over in exhaustion. That was three days before this morning, when the dragonettes appeared. How they’d gotten into his home, he didn’t know. All that mattered was they were here and they seemed to be doing his bidding. He took a breath and sent his thoughts to them.

  I’m seeking my wife and my sons. I miss them. I need them. Can you help me?

  The dragonettes growled back and forth at one another and traipsed around. They butted heads with their tiny horns.

  Bayzog felt the jaxite stones warming under his palm. He had control of the tiny dragons! At least, he thought he did. Still, better to ask than to order in such delicate circumstances. He wanted to earn their trust and respect. It was better that way. He couldn’t control them forever, or at least, he didn’t want to. With or without the jaxite stones.

  Their wings buzzed to life the same as a hummingbird flies. They lifted off the table and darted through the air, zipping back and forth in the wink of an eye. Briefly, they circled Ben’s head, causing him to duck. They zipped in front of Bayzog, roared, then headed upward through a crack in the wall and disappeared from sight.

  “Did they flee, or are they doing what you told them?” Ben said, peering up at the rafters.

  “We’ll see,” Bayzog said, stuffing his hands into his sleeves. “We’ll see.”

  “Huh, I think I miss them already.” Ben hitched his elbows on the table. “To think, you can actually hold a dragon in your palm. That’s amazing! And the way they fly! Fast. Fast as lightning.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment. Ben’s eyes were fixed on the rafters. Bayzog gazed at his book. He’d just summoned three dragons. What other wonders can I do? He stretched out his fingers. The book slid off the table into the air and opened up before his eyes.

  “Are you already reading again?” Ben said. “Don’t you get tired from all that reading?”

  “I won’t stop until my family is found,�
� he said. “You should know that by now.”

  “I do know that, but let us get a breath of fresh air, at least.” Ben made his way to the closet and stuffed his boots on. “Our enemies might be missing us anyway. Best we give them something to see.”

  With a wave of Bayzog’s finger, the tome closed and lowered back onto the table.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Bayzog said, sauntering over to the closet to slip his shoes on. “You’re a good friend, Ben.”

  “As are you, Bayzog.” Ben buckled on his sword belt. “I just wish there was more that I could do.”

  “You’ve done more than enough already. Come, let’s stretch our legs a little, shall we?”

  They made their way out of the mystic apartment and back to the gardens. A misty rain fell, wetting the flower petals. Bayzog took a seat on the bench, with Ben standing near his side. It was here he always waited, in plain sight, hoping the servants of Barnabus would check in with him. It was his way of letting them know he was desperate and under their command. At least that’s what he wanted them to think.

  Ben’s fingers tapped on the pommel of his sword. His eyes were busy, drifting from person to person. It seemed they all avoided his stare, avoided walking by him, even.

  Are they all in on this?

  They sat for almost two hours, talking little. Ben, as usual, commented on the flowers and chatted a little about the time when he had worked on his parents’ farm. Bayzog could feel the tension in the man. Ben had become a man of action. A soldier. Fighter. The waiting game must be torment to him.

  “Perhaps you should spend a little time among the other folk,” Bayzog suggested. “Unwind. So long as you are within the city, I don’t think our unseen captors will mind. Go. Be normal.”

  “I’m not so sure I want to spend time among these people,” Ben said, sucking his teeth and eyeing a vulture of a man walking by them with a stone-cold stare. “And I always have this feeling they want us separated. We’re all split up enough already. Only the Sultans of Sulfur know where Nath is, and Brenwar’s probably arguing with a tree somewhere. No, I’m staying.”

  “As you wish,” Bayzog said, “and I hope no offense.”

  “None taken.”

  A figure approached. She was beautiful. Crimson robes. Tall, dark, and eerie. Her voice was soft and commanding.

  “Bayzog.” She nodded. “I bring word of your wife and sons …”

  CHAPTER 6

  Brenwar tugged at his reins. Into the stiff winds they rode. Their dwarven horses nickered and stomped their hairy hooves. Behind him, Pilpin led his horse to a stop and opened his mouth. Cutting his utterance off with his hand, Brenwar squinted his eyes and sniffed the air.

  In a low voice he said, “You smell that?”

  Pilpin cocked his head. His eyes widened.

  “Orcs.”

  They’d been riding north, toward Narnum, for two days, keeping their eyes on the skies. Brenwar knew there was little chance he’d see a black dragon. He was certain the story was half-cocked to begin with, but dwarves claimed they had seen them. And if you couldn’t trust the word of a dwarf, who could you trust?

  He dug his heels into his horse’s ribs and plunged deeper into the forest. He and Pilpin traveled the remotest of areas. The forces of Barnabus were along all of the major roads and scattered throughout the cities. Armies of thousands camped miles from Morgdon’s borders, keeping an eye on things. They were everywhere, making their presence known in irritating but unforceful ways.

  The Truce.

  The word irritated Brenwar. You cannot have a truce with evil.

  After traveling another twenty yards, he stopped and dismounted. Pilpin did the same. Like two stout barrels walking, the pair lumbered through the woods, pushing through the briars and brush. Rough orcen voices caught Brenwar’s ear. He crept behind the next tree and peered toward the source of the sound.

  Two orcs wandered the woodland. Scouts, by the look of them. In chain hauberks and bearing crossbows. Swords hanging from their hips. It wasn’t a good sign. Where there were scouts, there were armies.

  “We can take them,” Pilpin whispered, pulling his axes from his belt. “Let me do it.”

  Brenwar shook his grey-streaked beard.

  “No, I can take them,” he said. “You stay here.”

  “But—”

  “Stay,” he said, low and forcefully. He took a step and stopped. There might be others. Perhaps he needed to draw them out. He rubbed the bracers on his wrists. His blood began to race. He hated orcs. He needed to take his frustration out on something. “Be ready.”

  He crept behind a tree. It was a small tree, but a tree nonetheless. He placed his hands on it and began to push with the might of the bracers.

  “Hurk!”

  The roots popped from the ground, and the tree began to tilt toward the orcs. Fueled by mystic strength, Brenwar’s stout legs kept pressing. His face flushed. Sweat dripped from his nose. Roots ripped from the earth and the tree toppled over, crashing right behind the orcs. Brenwar moved into new cover.

  The bewildered orcs sprang to either side of the branches with their crossbows ready. Brenwar could see the yellow in their eyes. The confusion. Where two had gathered, four more quickly came.

  Six!

  The orcs were big, greenish, and layered in scars and muscles. Their hair sprang out in greasy black tangles. They fanned out and began a search.

  Brenwar caught Pilpin’s stare and nodded. The little dwarf waddled out of his hiding spot and banged together his axes.

  “Greetings, uglies!”

  Clatch-Zip!

  Clatch-Zip!

  Crossbow bolts rocketed through the air and splintered on Pilpin’s axe blades and chest plate. Brenwar burst from his spot and clocked the nearest orc in the chest with War Hammer. It sailed from its feet and into the next tree.

  Clatch-Zip!

  Clatch-Zip!

  Two bolts whizzed by Brenwar’s bearded face.

  Clatch-Zip!

  The third buried itself inside his leathered thigh.

  “Ya shouldn’t have done that!” Brenwar yelled. He ripped the bolt out of his thigh and advanced. The orcs tossed their crossbows and went for their swords. Brenwar closed the gap, swinging.

  Pow!

  One orc left his boots.

  Pow!

  The second crumpled on the ground.

  Brenwar scooped up a handful of dirt and rubbed it into his wound.

  “That’ll do.”

  ***

  What Pilpin lacked in size, he made up for with heart and speed. He rushed in between the pair of orcs that shot at them and chopped into their legs. The pair crashed into the ground and fumbled for the blades on their hips.

  Hack! Hack!

  Pilpin’s blades slashed fingers and hands. The orcs howled.

  “No, no, no,” Pilpin said, wagging his index finger in their faces. “None of that now.”

  One orc bit at him. The other punched with its fist.

  Pilpin rapped the flats of his blades upside their heads, knocking them out cold.

  The last standing orc stood between him and Brenwar. It eyed them both, raised its sword high with an alarming battle cry, and sprinted for the woods.

  “Drat it all!” Brenwar roared. The barrel-chested dwarf wearing the mystic bracers swung War Hammer in the orc’s direction and let loose. His favorite weapon busted though the smaller trees and slammed into the back of the orc. It moved no more. “Bind them up,” Brenwar said, storming off to collect his hammer.

  Pilpin unraveled some dwarven twine from his pack and bound the orcs together. Brenwar returned with an angry look on his face.

  “What are you orcs doing here?”

  Their bellies rumbled in hefty chuckles. Brenwar picked up one of their swords and rested it on his shoulder.

  Pilpin had no idea what Brenwar was up to, but he had a feeling it might be painful.

  “This is your leg and what I’m about to do to it,” Brenwar
said to the orcs. He grasped the sword by both ends and started to bend it. The metal groaned and bent.

  The orcs’ eyes widened.

  “We’re scouts!” one blurted out. “We’re scouting!”

  “I know yer scouts. Now, what are you scouting for?”

  “Enemies of Barnabus. We hunt them down. Kill them.”

  “Well,” Brenwar said, “yer doing a lousy job.” He clamped his hands down on both orcs’ shoulders and squeezed. “Tell me, what else does Barnabus have planned?”

  The orcs’ faces flushed red. They squirmed in their seats.

  “Burn. Destroy. Disrupt,” one said.

  “Take the outer cities one by one,” said the other.

  “Why the outer cities?”

  The orcs clammed up.

  Pilpin banged them on the knees.

  “Speak up!”

  Brenwar pressed his fingers harder through the armor.

  One orc’s lips burst open and said, “‘So he cannot see,’ they say!”

  “Who cannot see?” Brenwar shouted.

  “The Dragon Prince!” said one.

  “A fool he is,” said the other.

  “Where is he?”

  “With the High Priestess.”

  “In Narnum.”

  Brenwar clocked their heads together. His fingers combed through his beard. This was information he’d heard already, but he hadn’t believed it until now.

  “Are we going to Narnum then?” Pilpin said.

  “I don’t think we can do much good in Narnum. It’s the edge of the world I’m worried about.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Sansla Libor. The Roamer King. An elf cursed.

  Shum was grateful for him.

  On foot, Sansla led. His heavy feet landed softly on the grass, and the rest of the Roamers followed. Silent. A little in awe. The last time they’d encountered Sansla, he’d been more savage. Now, despite his appearance, he was more elflike.

  They stopped at the edge of a stream, where many refilled their canteens. Sansla scooped water into his big paws and drank. The winged ape was a magnificent figure. Layered muscles bulged under his fur. He radiated power.

  “Gather,” Sansla said.

  The Roamers—over a score in number—hemmed in their king and took a knee.