Terror At The Temple (Book 3)

by Craig Halloran

“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 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 from the scabbard. He swallowed first 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, 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 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. They were expendable at this point. They each carried what looked to be a large covered bird cage with them. Bowing, they set it down.

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

  “Hmmmm.”

  The truth was: 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 laying 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 humming bird'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 salivating 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, take a sip, a big one that will fill the little gut, and on your way you shall go.”

  The tiny little 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 it 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 bird cage door. “Go now, go! The longer it takes, the less likely she lives.”

  The Pixlyn grabbed her tiny hands on the bars, kissed them each and with the speed of an arrow, 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 e
ven 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-soldiers 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.

  I put my hands out in front of me.

  “Perhaps, I should be going. I don’t think a little bit of rain ever hurt anyone, eh?”

  When facing a conflict of superior enemies, play nice before the first dagger strikes.

  “Oh, ho-ho,” the leader said, swinging his sword up on his shoulder. “So you want to play nice now, do you, Smart Fella? What’s the matter? Are we too ugly for you?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, but that’s not the reason I’m willing to leave.”

  The enforcers snickered as they drew their daggers.

  “It’s nothing personal,” I said, “I mean, yes you are ugly, not like an orc, well except you,” I pointed at one with the turned-up nose, “and you.”

  “Be silent, you fool! You’ve crossed the line, Big Mouth. And to think, all you had to do was walk out when I said, but now you’ll have to pay. Possibly with your life, you golden eyed-freak!”

  A heavy thumping pounded inside my chest. They meant business. I slid between the table and the wall. They came closer. I didn’t need this kind of trouble.

  “Tell you what, uh, what do you call yourselves?”

  “Enforcers, Fool!”

  “So it is, Enforcers Fool. Very catchy. Now here is what I offer. Leave me be, and I’ll see to it that you can walk out of here, not crawl… or die.”

  They snickered.

  “You’ve got a death wish, do you! So be it! Enforcers, take him!”

  I stuck out my Dragon arm.

  They hesitated, eyes going back and forth between each other.

  “What’s the matter? Never seen a Dragon’s arm on a man before?”

  Even the big one gawped and scratched his balding head.

  I had them now. I had them right where I wanted them. I shoved the table aside, stepped forward, and towered over them, except the one in the back of course.

  “Men! What are you waiting for? We’ve taken down plenty of stranger things before, but never one with a mouth so big. And do I have to remind you who your lord is? The Jackal will not be pleased if you fail him in this. Now, don’t make me tell you again, Enforcers. Attack!”

  They surged forward, striking high and low.

  I leapt into the rafters. This isn’t what I wanted. Not at all. These men were killers, and they wanted me dead. I couldn’t stay up here forever. There was only one rafter and nowhere to go.

  “Brock! Get over there and jerk that bird out of those rafters!”

  The over-sized man made it across the room in three strides, reaching up my way. His big fingers reached at my feet as I kicked them away.

  “Go away, Brock!”

  He was big and ugly, but not stupid. He laughed.

  “Get him, Brock!”

  “Snap his neck like a chicken's!”

  “I’ve got dibs on his pretty hair!”

  I kicked Brock in the nose, drawing a painful howl. That last comment lit a fire in me. My problem was they could kill and seemed perfectly willing to, but I could not. Problem.

  Brock threw his shoulder into the post. The entire building shook.

  The innkeeper was screaming, “Stop it! Stop it!”

  The leader shoved him to the ground.

  It seemed these enforcers had a point to make. Something weird was going on here, and The Jackal, whoever that was, was behind it all. It was time for me to move.

  Brock hit the post again, cracking it and shaking the room.

  I dropped on his shoulders and blinded him with my hands.

  “Easy, Brock,” I said. “What you can’t see, you can’t hit!”

  “Get off of me, Rodent!”

  He reached for my hands.

  I slapped him on his bald head.

  “That will leave a mark. Wooo! My, it’s hot up here.”

  The leader shouted out, “Brock, kneel down so we can get a lick at him!”

  The fun was over. Brock dropped to a knee.

  I jumped from his shoulders to one table and then another. I had to get as far away from Brock as possible. He could crush me. Jumping, ducking, diving and dodging, I got a few punches in as they chased me around the room.

  “Blast it! You fools!” The leader said. “Do I have to do everything myself! Brock, guard the door! We can’t let him get away.”

  They seemed pretty persistent about not letting me go, for some reason. Perhaps they didn’t want word getting out about their indiscretions. I jumped left, right, then found myself cornered, two daggers and a sword at my throat.

  “Now we’ve got you!”

  CHAPTER 7

  “Give it up, or I’ll cut your throat!”

  I wouldn’t yield. Not to them. Not to men lacking character. And my pride wouldn’t let me give in to an inferior but skilled and well-armed force, despite the numbers.

  I started to speak.

  The leader cut me off. “Save it! Your tongue's caused you enough trouble. Keep your peace and get ready to die, Freak!”

  I was tired and no longer hungry but agitated now. I didn’t like that word, Freak. I would not yield. Not to this scum. Not now. Not no how. Especially when I was fast. Faster than them all. I could draw Fang faster than they could swing. I told myself to do it. I willed myself to do it. But I did not. I couldn’t risk killing, evil men or not. There had to be a better way; there always was, my father said.

  I locked my eyes on his and summoned my magic within. Dragon magic, ancient, wonderful, accessible. I could see my reflection in the man’s eyes. His hardened features slackened at the sound of my thoughts.

  Lower your sword, I suggested.

  “Huh,” he said, shaking his head, “what did you say?”

  It wasn’t working. I summoned all I had within, my gold eyes glowing.

  “What is that?” one said.

  “A demon!” cried another.

  I made my suggestion again, putting all my mental strength behind it this time.

  Drop your sword!

  The leader’s blade clattered to the ground.

  “What did you do that for?” the enforcers said.

  “He’s a demon, I tell you!”

  Whack!

  I punched the man in the jaw, dropping him like a stone.

  “I’m…”

  Whack!

  I knocked another’s helmet off.

  “Not!”

  Twist! Crack! Boom! Twist!

  I disarmed and disabled the leader.

  “A demon!”

  One rushed.

  I had room to move now. I dipped and struck. My Dragon arm’s jabs were like black lightning.

  The leader struggled back to his feet.

  I booted him in the ribs, lifting him from his knees. Evil men calling me a demon, such gall!

  One dove on my back; another climbed on my legs.

  I slung one crashing into a table and drove the other's head into the hard floor.

  I was dusting my hands off and saying, “T
hat should to it,” when a large shadow fell over me. Big Brock was back.

  Whop!

  I crashed into the nearest wall, wondering, how did I forget about him!

  Have you ever been hit by a log before? Me either, but I was pretty sure I knew what that felt like now. Brock was quick for a big man, not as quick as me, but as quick as an eight-foot tall man could be. And when he punched, you could feel it from one side to the other.

  Bam!

  My head!

  Bam!

  My gut!

  I struggled back to my feet and raised up my fist, saying, “You want some more of this?”

  Bam!

  He knocked me off my feet and on my butt.

  Gasping for air, I held my hands out, saying, “You don’t hit very hard for a big fellow.”

  “What did you say?” Brock said, his voice as loud as distant thunder.

  I held my nose. It was all I could do. I felt like the only thing holding my body together was my armor. “What did you say?” I mocked back. I don’t know why I did that. I guess it was a character flaw that exposed itself in moments of desperation.

  Brock grabbed me by my collar and with two hands, threw me across the room and into the bar. He was strong, very strong, and he hit as hard as an ogre. He came back.

  I snatched Dragon Claw from Fang’s hilt and stabbed him in the leg.

  “Ouch.”

  That’s all he said, "Ouch," as if I'd pricked him with a pin.

  He swatted the small dagger from my hand, sending it spinning across the floor.

  I was defenseless now. I was rattled. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t handle this big man. I reached for the sword along my belt.

  He stopped me.

  “No! No! No! Demon!”

  I’m not a demon!

  He wrapped his arms around me as he lifted me from the ground. My feet dangled from the floor as he squeezed the life out of me.

  “How’s that feel!”

  I managed to say, “Great! I haven’t had my back cracked in forever.”

  He squeezed harder. I flexed my muscles. The harder he squeezed, the more I flexed. I just hoped my bones didn’t crack. The pressure was becoming unbearable.