Terror At The Temple (Book 3)

by Craig Halloran

  Terror at the Temple

  The Chronicles of Dragon: Book 3

  By Craig Halloran

  Terror at the Temple

  The Chronicles of Dragon: Book 3

  By Craig Halloran

  Copyright © March 2013 by Craig Halloran

  Amazon Edition

  TWO-TEN BOOK PRESS

  P.O. Box 4215, Charleston, WV 25364

  ISBN eBook: 978-0-9896216-1-8

  http://www.thedarkslayer.net

  Cover Illustration by David Schmelling

  Map by Gillis Bjork

  Edited by Cherise Kelley

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Publisher's Note

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Terror at the Temple

  The Chronicles of Dragon: Book 3

  Prologue

  The Draykis. Big. Silent. Deadly. Finnius the Acolyte of Barnabus had never seen or imagined anything like them. Men, with Dragon parts grafted onto their bodies by magi: scales, talons, and another one with wings. Not just any men, but fighting men, men of skill and cunning. And they had something cornered, a Dragon of all things.

  They’d trapped a Yellow Streak Dragon inside the mouth of a large cave. It was bigger than any one man, slender and about fifteen feet in length. Its spiked tail whipped out like the head of a snake, taking out one Draykis’s legs. In an instant, the Draykis was back on its feet, charging. The Dragon breathed a plume of white ash, engulfing the Dragon man. The Draykis turned stiff as stone where he stood.

  Whack!

  A Draykis caught the Dragon across the nose with his club as another Draykis jumped onto its neck. Only a fool would wrestle a Dragon, but the Draykis were unrelenting, fearless. The Yellow Streak Dragon bit one on the arm, clawed another on the face, but he was young and confined to a tight space. The fourth Draykis appeared, the one with dark wings and a red scaled face, swinging a club. As the Dragon men held the yellow Dragon down, the winged Draykis beat it until it fought no more. Finnius had never seen men take a Dragon so quickly before. Nor with such brutality, either.

  “What would you have us do now, Acolyte Finnius?” the winged Draykis said.

  Finnius watched as the other two bound the defenseless Dragon's mouth and wings. He could see the look in the Dragon's eyes, drained, defeated. That look thrilled him as he walked over and stroked the Dragon's dark yellow belly. Quite the catch. Quite the catch, indeed. High Priestess Selene will be pleased with this one.

  “Fetch a cart while this one thaws,” he said, pointing his finger at a Draykis that was coated in white and perfectly stiff. “And don’t touch him—”

  At that moment, a Draykis touched the coated Draykis and started to freeze.

  “Either!” Finnius grunted as he turned back towards the Draykis leader. “Fetch the cart while we wait for them both to thaw out.” He shook his head. “Did I tell any of you to touch one another? Hmm? Did I? No! You follow orders. Explicit orders. Now fetch that cart and the rest of the Acolytes, Dragon Man.”

  “As you command,” the Draykis said, ruffling his wings before heading outside of the cave.

  “You,” he pointed at the last one, “stay with the Dragon. We cannot afford to lose our bait for capturing Nath Dragon.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Morgdon. Home of the Dwarves. I was a captive here.

  “Come on, Brenwar,” I pleaded. “I’m ready to go. It’s been three weeks already.”

  “Ah, but the Festival of Iron has just started. We can’t leave now: you haven’t even seen the best part yet,” he replied, marching down a crowded street.

  The opening parade had begun a week ago, and it hadn’t finished yet. The dwarves only celebrated the Festival of Iron once in a decade, and they put a lot of effort into it. I stopped to watch as a regiment of dwarves marched by in full plate armor, with only their beards and weapons hanging out. They were in perfect cadence, every booted foot in step, not one out of a thousand dwarves out of line.

  “How many soldiers are there, anyway?” I asked, looking over Brenwar’s head. I was the tallest person in the entire city, at the moment, anyway.

  “Oh, I can’t tell you that, but I might entertain a guess.”

  I’d been asking questions every day for weeks. It helped pass the time. A certain question in particular always came to mind: “When are we leaving?” Still, I had to respect my host.

  “One Hundred Thousand?” I said.

  “No.”

  “Fifty Thousand?”

  “No.”

  “Can you give me a hint?”

  A tiny dwarven boy was standing on the shoulders of his father, smiling at me and holding nine fingers up.

  “Ninety…” I said.

  The dwarven boy, whose beard had not started yet, showed six fingers.”

  “—Six thousand?”

  Brenwar turned. I could see the surprise in his stony face. His eyes flitted from me to the boy and back to me when he said, “Hrumph… close enough.” He eyed the boy again, stroking his beard, and said, “Ye should mind your own business.”

  I put my arm over Brenwar and walked him away, saying, “Ah. It’s no wonder you all look so grumpy all the time. You don’t encourage fun when you’re young.”

  “Fun is for the foolish. A dwarf’s work is never done. We don’t run around looking for things to smile about all the time.”

  “You would if you could smile like me,” I grinned.

  He shook his head, saying, “That smile would be much prettier accompanied by a nice long beard.”

  I rubbed my clean-shaven face. I was the only beardless man in the Morgdon, aside from the women and children. Of course, many of the women did have beards, and I never got used to that. It just didn’t seem natural, a fuzzy-faced woman, but they could all cook a delicious feast. I’d give them that.

  “Brenwar, honestly, when can we leave?”

  I was restless. Now that I had a white spot on my Dragon hand, I wanted to save the Dragons more than ever. I felt like a piece of me was back, like my honor had returned. I wasn’t motivated before, but now I was more motivated than ever. And I couldn’t help but wonder: What do the white scales mean?

  “Soon, Dragon. Come now,” he said, reaching over and grabbing a tankard of ale from the booth of a Dwarven Ale Master. He quaffed it down in one gulp and belched like a man-sized bullfrog. He patted his belly and grabbed another round and thrust it in my face. “Drink and be merry. Be merry and drink.”

  “I’m fine, thanks. Now, Brenwar, let’s go,” I groaned. “You know I have Dragons to fetch.”

  “Wait until the song's over,” he said with a wink.

  “What song?” I said. “There’s no one singing.”

  That’s when I saw a smile from behind his beard as he raised his booming voice to the clouds and sang:

  “HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…”

  Instantly, thousands of dwarves joined in.

  “Home of the dwarves! Morgdon! Home of the dwarves! Morgdon!

  We make the finest steel and ale. Morgdon! In battle, we never fail! Morgdon!

  Home of the dwarves! Morgdon! Home of the dwarves! Morgdon…”

  The singing went on and on, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. As mu
ch as I didn’t want to sing, I couldn’t help but do just that. The robust dwarves put everything they had into the moment. They jumped, swung, tapped, drank and sang all at the same time. I’d never seen so many happy dwarves before, and it made me happy, too. There was no better army in all Nalzambor than an army of dwarves. They’d fight until their hearts were black and blue.

  “Home of the dwarves! Morgdon! Home of the dwarves! Morgdon!

  We make the toughest armor and ale. Morgdon! In battle, we never turn tail! Morgdon!

  Home of the dwarves! Morgdon! Home of the dwarves! Morgdon…”

  When it ended, I was fulfilled. The dwarves were ready for anything. I was ready for anything.

  Brenwar slapped me on the back and said, “What did you think of that?”

  “I liked it!”

  I decided I should make the most of it. You just couldn’t let every day of your life be filled with worry. "Trust in the greater good instead," my Father would say. So I did. After all, Morgdon was a fantastic city with the boldest architecture I ever saw. A suspension bridge crossed from one side of Morgdon to another. The buildings and towers were all square-cut stone, but not just any stone: many stones of many colors, not bright, but not all dull, either. Where you didn’t see stone, you saw metal. Burnished, hammered, polished or riveted, it adorned their bodies, faces, buildings and all places.

  “Look at this, Dragon! Ho! You are in for a treat!” Brenwar pointed.

  The parade was still going strong. The regiment of dwarves had marched on, but I could still hear their heavy boots pounding the ground like a steady heartbeat. I followed Brenwar’s arm that pointed upward. A group of dwarven men were sitting in the sky.

  “How are they doing that?”

  They each sat in a tiny seat at the top of a pole that was ten stories tall, four of them in all. Beneath them, big dwarves with broad chests held them up on shafts of iron, eyes straight forward as they marched along. Every eye was filled with wild wonder as the dwarves stood high atop their perches and bowed.

  “Are they crazy! What are they going to do?”

  “Just watch, Dragon!”

  A wild Dragon couldn’t tear my eyes away as one dwarf saluted, teetered backward, and fell.

  CHAPTER 2

  The crowd gasped as one dwarf fell, followed by another and another until the fourth one fell. My heart jumped in my chest as they plummeted to the ground amid the frightened streams. Certainly, there was a net, a magic spell or something to save them from breaking their necks? As much as I wanted to be, even I wasn’t fast enough or close enough to catch any of them.

  “Brenwar, they’re going to—”

  The first dwarf was caught by two others.

  The second was caught by two more, and so on, and so on. The crowd erupted in cheers as the falling dwarves bowed and raced back up the poles to the delight of the crowd.

  Brenwar elbowed me in the gut, saying, “Had you fooled, didn’t they? Wouldn’t you say?”

  I didn’t know what to say, actually. It didn’t seem possible for a dwarf to be caught from a ten story fall, and it even seemed less likely for one to shimmy like a spider monkey up an iron bean poll. Maybe I should take a dwarven acrobat with me on my next adventure. Such agility would move things quicker.

  “That was incredible, Brenwar! I’d like to meet—”

  “Hah!” He waggled his finger at me. “I know what you’re thinking about them dwarves. They might be acrobatic, but they can’t fight worth a hoot. Hrumph.”

  “Is that so?” I said, surprised. “I thought all dwarves could fight.”

  “They can,” Brenwar grabbed a loaf of bread stuffed with pepperoni and took a bite, “better than men, orcs and elves that is. But they’re not dwarven soldiers. Dwarven acrobats is all, the best acrobats in all of Nalzambor!”

  “Certainly.”

  The next few hours, I allowed myself to unwind and take in more of the city of Morgdon and all its rugged exteriors. They could hammer iron so thin that you could see right through it. An entire building was windowed with it. "No rock or arrow could shatter that iron glass," Brenwar boasted. There were so many objects and artifices of iron that it was just incredible, but as the sun began to set and the fervor of the festival renewed its rise, I realized it was time to go.

  “Brenwar, I think I’m going to head back to your place and take a break,” I said, walking away.

  “What? But the festival has just begun!” he said, not looking at me but chewing his pepperoni loaf and watching the acrobats instead. “Just stay and watch a few hours more.”

  I could see he was enjoying himself, but frankly, I’d had my fill. And the white spot inside my Dragon palm looked a tad smaller. I had to save more Dragons; I just had to.

  “I’ll see you later, Brenwar,” I said, waving.

  “Wait a moment, Dragon!” he said, stopping me in my tracks. “Remember, you cannot leave Morgdon without me, and every dwarf in the city knows that. So you go rest and stay put. I’ve a few ceremonies to attend to.”

  I nodded.

  He eyed me.

  “What?” I said. I could see he wanted confirmation from me, a promise that I would not leave, but I wasn’t going to give him that. Never make a promise you can't keep. Just let them think it’s a promise.

  “Give me your word, Dragon.”

  I shook my head, saying, “Why bother? I can't leave anyway. A thousand eyes are on me. My Brenwar, I’m as much a prisoner as a guest.”

  “Prisoner?” he stroked his beard. “That’s not polite, and you know it!” He combed his fingers through his beard and muttered under his breath. “Better be no pixies in there.” Then he looked at me. “As for you, a prisoner? Pah! I’m looking out for you. That’s all. Don’t be hasty, Dragon.”

  “Every day we stay, the graver the danger gets for the Dragons.”

  “You can’t save them all, try as you might.”

  I glared at him.

  “What if it were dwarves we were going to rescue? Would you wait then?”

  “Ho! A dwarf needing rescued!" Brenwar laughed. "I've never seen such a thing. Nobody poaches dwarves. Not if they know what’s good for them.”

  “Well, nobody poaches orcs, either!” I said, storming away.

  “What!” Brenwar yelled at me. “You take that back, Dragon!”

  I kept going.

  He kept yelling.

  “And don’t you dare try to leave without me!”

  ***

  Brenwar’s home was small and quiet. His children were grown, and his wife was working at the festival. Such a fine cook she was, one of the finest I’d ever known. Still, it was good to be alone with my thoughts. If I wanted to pout, I’d pout alone. I pulled up a stool on the balcony overlooking the vast and colorful city. It seemed like every torch and pyre was alive with yellow, green, red, orange and even pink fires. The air smelled of roasted everything good, too, and I hungered.

  “I can’t wait any longer,” I mumbled. I wanted to pass over the great wall that held Morgdon, dash over the great plains below, and save the Dragons. Holding my Dragon hand before me, I studied it with intent. Was I getting close? Could I remove the evil curse on my own? But part of me wondered what would happen without my Dragon arm. Making two fists, I punched one into the other. I could feel that extra power within me. Something great. It was part of me―the strongest part―and I didn’t want to do without it.

  Rubbing the white scales of my hand, I said to myself, “I wonder if the white are as strong as the black?” Standing up, I leaned over the balcony and looked as far out as I could see. There were Dragons out there who needed me. And I needed them as well. But how could I get out of Morgdon without anyone finding out?

  As the bats darted in and out of the night sky snatching the fireflies in their mouths, I snapped my fingers.

  “That’s a great idea, Dragon! A great one!”

  I dashed inside Brenwar’s place, found my pack and his, and tossed them both on my bed along wi
th my longsword Fang and my bow Akron. I wouldn’t be going anywhere without them. I counted the arrows in my quiver. I had hunting arrows, Mithril tipped arrows, and magic arrows for extraneous circumstances, plus one that I wasn’t certain at all what it would do, but supposedly it would do what I told it to do. “Can’t wait to use you,” I said, taking it out and stroking its bright red feathers before sticking it back in. “Now what?”

  I dug into Brenwar’s pack. He’d kill me if he knew I was doing that, especially because he liked to keep things tidy, and I was not tidy, not by a dwarf's standards, not even close. I found a jeweled case trimmed in gold with a Dragon-faced hasp. It was just what I was looking for. Opening it, I found two dozen vials filled with colorful liquids. Potions. And not just any potions, magic potions. I plucked three of them out. One of them was light blue, a healer. If I was leaving without Brenwar, I’d need to be more careful. The second, dark blue, a concealer. The third I shook in front of my face. The yellow colors swirled with white. “I hope this is it,” I said as I closed the lid and put the jeweled case back in his pack as neatly as I could.

  “I’d take the whole thing with me if I could,” I said to myself.

  It was heavy though, like a hundred stones. I could barely carry it, but Brenwar had little trouble at all with his pack. It was my father’s design, no doubt about that, filled with all kinds of magic from my father’s trove. I was blessed, that much was certain, that my father allowed Brenwar to take the pack and be its guardian.

  I slipped into my chest plate armor, strapped my sword on my waist, then snapped my bow in place. Slinging my pack over my shoulder, I was ready to go now. I pulled the cork out of the yellow vial, stepped out onto the balcony, and started to drink.

  “Oh wait,” I said.

  I left Brenwar a note.

  Dear Brenwar,

  The Dragons can’t wait, and I can’t either.