Terror At The Temple (Book 3)

by Craig Halloran

  “Give up, Demon! I’ve cracked bones thicker than yours before. Dwarfs, orcs, elves, I’ve broke them all.”

  Who was this man, and what was he doing in this farm village?

  I snapped my head back into his chin and saw stars as he laughed.

  “Any moment, you will die,” he said in my ear.

  He might be right. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. And I didn’t have an ounce of magic left inside me. Maybe venturing without Brenwar was a bad idea, after all. One thing was for certain, if it wasn’t for the dwarven armor I wore, I’d have been cracked like an egg already. I had to do something. Anything.

  “You ate it, didn’t you?” I said.

  “Ate what?”

  “All the food.”

  Wham!

  He slammed me to the floor as hard as he could.

  Breathless, I tried to speak, but couldn’t form the words.

  Brock grabbed me by the hair, jerked my head back, and wrapped his arms round my neck and throat and squeezed.

  Oh no! This was bad. Very bad. Brock the giant man had me in a sleeper hold. My fingers clutched for the door, the only way of escape. I expected Brenwar to burst through at any moment, but darkness came instead.

  CHAPTER 8

  I woke up to the sound of rattling chains. When I opened my eyes, I noticed they were mine.

  “What is this! Ow!”

  I clutched at my chest. My ribs were broken. The big man had gotten the best of me. It got even worse. I was inside a metal cage, very much like the ones that held Dragons.

  “No!” I cried.

  But no one answered. Groggy and dizzy, I rubbed a strange bump on my neck. I’d been injected with something. Possibly stabbed with a tainted stick, like the savages like to use.

  Two lanterns illuminated the exterior walls of what looked to be an old barn. I could hear the heavy drops of rain pounding on the ceiling above me. Large drops of water splashed on my face and back. The chains rattled as I wiped the water from my face and scooted into the corner.

  “I can’t believe this,” I muttered to myself.

  I was caged like an animal in a barn that smelled like livestock, manure and hay. I pounded my head on the bars. It hurt. But I deserved it. I’d been stupid and careless, I guess. But it wasn’t as if I was looking for any trouble, either. If anything, I'd tried to avoid it. I sighed. I should have been happy that I was still alive. After all, the enforcers made it clear that they wanted me dead. And Brock, that giant of a man, could have killed me easily with his own bare hands.

  Cold, tired and still hungry, I collected my thoughts. It seemed I’d have to think my way out of this. And who was my captor? Was it some sinister bunch of village folk, or the character the lead enforcer mentioned, The Jackal? How could I get into this much trouble at some silly little farm? That was when a river of ice raced down my spine.

  “Fang! Akron!”

  I grabbed my head and tugged at my hair. I’d lost them. And not just that, but my pack with all my supplies. No not only did my chest and neck ache, but my head did as well. And how long had I been knocked out cold? That’d only happened on time before.

  I grabbed the bars and tugged.

  “Hurk!”

  They didn’t budge. I dug my heels in.

  “HURK!”

  A bubble of snot formed in my nose and burst. The bars bent a little, but didn’t budge from my disgusting effort. I labored for breath as I said, “Ew.”

  I kicked the bars. I hit the bars. I raked my Dragon claws against the bars, but nothing happened. I was helpless in my cage.

  And there I sat: friendless, weaponless, and helpless while the water from the roof dripped, dripped, dripped. I moved from one spot to the other, only to catch a new drip from another hole in the roof again. The barn creaked and groaned from the weight of the wind, but little stirred. No animals, no rats, no cats, no birds, which seemed strange for a place meant to keep animals. But there was something else different and unique: the smell of decay and death. On one wall were more chains, and some digging tools: spades, shovels and picks. A few work tables were spread out with hammers, anvils and saws. My eyes were good, even in the poor light, but I swore there were bloodstains.

  “Not good,” I said, cradling my Dragon arm. What if they were going to cut it off? Perhaps they really thought I was a demon. I wasn’t a demon. What an insult! I was a Dragon! Well, I was part of a Dragon―and any fool could see that. Perhaps it was my gold-flecked eyes that freaked them out.

  “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Grabbing the nearest bar with my Dragon arm, I tugged. The iron of the cage was at least a half inch thick. The metal groaned. I could feel my black arm growing with strength. What it would not do before, it was doing now.

  “Come, Dragon,” I said through gritted teeth. “You can do it!”

  It moved no more.

  “Sultans of Sulfur!”

  I collapsed against the bars.

  Now my head was pounding, and my entire body was sore all over. I felt like a bruised apple from head to toe, and I could feel my face was swollen as well. On the bright side, I guess whoever it was wanted me alive. On the dark side of things, I had no idea how long it would be until I found out who that was. Cold, sore, hungry and held against my will, in pain I waited.

  CHAPTER 9

  “How could I be so careless!” Brenwar yelled.

  A dozen well-armed dwarves stood nearby, awaiting orders.

  Nath Dragon had escaped. How he escaped, Brenwar could not figure. Every dwarf in all of Morgdon knew who he was. Every dwarf in Morgdon knew that he was not supposed to leave. Every dwarf was to keep an eye on him when another wasn’t. But like a ghost, he’d vanished.

  Brenwar rammed his head into a stone wall.

  “I can’t believe it!”

  He rammed it again.

  “Knock some sense into yourself!” he said.

  The other dwarves did the same.

  Clonk. Clonk. Clonk…

  “Stop it, Dwarves! We don’t all need our melons damaged. We’ll be needing all of our wits to track him down.” He tugged at two fistfuls of beard.

  Brenwar had thought he had it all under control, but he'd miscalculated. Nath had gotten into his sack and taken some potion. What they did, Brenwar didn’t know, but one of them had to be the cause of all this. His investigation revealed a few other things. A small fire breathing bat was said to have been seen. Another one, as big as a large cat, was found burnt to a crisp. It had to have been Nath because no one had ever seen a fire breathing bat before. But with the Festival of Iron anything could happen. But that wasn’t what haunted him most. It was what Nath’s father, the grandest creature he’d ever seen, said the last time he saw him.

  “I’ll keep him alive, your Majesty,” Brenwar had promised.

  Nath’s father had replied, “I’m not worried about him dying. I'm worried he’ll turn evil.”

  Nath turning evil? It didn’t seem possible, but the Dragon king's words had shaken his very core.

  “Get your horses, dwarves! Get your horns as well. He’s got a three-day start and could be anywhere in the world. The one that finds him gets a trunk full of gold!”

  Brenwar was the last one out of the gate as they all exited with dwarven song and cheer. Brenwar took a deep breath as he watched them go, remembering another thing Nath’s father had said. “If we lose him, it will begin another Dragon War.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The sound of a barn door opening jostled me from my sleep.

  I wiped the water from my eyes and watched three figures stroll in. One was Brock, the big man, lumbering my way with the leader of the Enforcers at his side. The other man, I didn’t recognize. He was lean, blond-haired and blue-eyed with my sword, Fang, hanging at his side. I would have stood up, but the cage wouldn’t allow it. I sat up, and I crossed my legs as they approached.

  “That’s my sword,” I said, glowering.

  The man, light eyes in
tent on my arm, didn’t even acknowledge me.

  Rubbing his hairless chin, he said, “Peculiar, Barlow, but I don’t think he’s a demon. No, looks like a curse of some sort.”

  Barlow, an enforcer, looked at my eyes and then said to the other man, “But his eyes glowed. All my thoughts left me, and I dropped my sword. He doesn’t even have a spellbook, Jackal.”

  The Jackal made his way around the cage and stopped alongside the bar I’d bent.

  “Too strong to be a wizard. Hmmmm. Brock, get over here and fix this. Hm, he must have done this. It’s practically a new cage.”

  Brock lumbered over and grabbed the bar. The metal groaned as he pulled it back into position. He grunted at me as he returned to his friend.

  The Jackal said, “Well, you are pretty strong. I’ll give you that. Probably a good thing Renny doped you.”

  The leader, Renny, nodded as he folded his arms across his chest and smiled.

  “Care to tell me what this is all about, Jackal?” I asked.

  The Jackal wasn’t a bad looking man, but there was darkness behind his beady eyes. There was something primitive about him. The way he moved was dangerous. He withdrew my sword and cut it through the air a few times.

  “This,” the Jackal said fingering the blade, “is amazing! Tell me where you got it. Who made it?”

  Good. He wants something from me. I can use that.

  “The Mountain of Doom,” I said.

  Fingering the Dragon’s head pommels on the hilt, he said, “You jest! Am I to believe you stole it from there? No one goes into the Mountain and lives.”

  “That’s where it’s from, and that’s all I know.”

  “So you were told,” he shot back.

  I shrugged. Let him think what he wants.

  He stuffed Fang back inside the scabbard and said to his men, “You two would be dead if he had drawn this sword.” Then he turned his attention back to be. “Why didn’t you draw and cut them down? I would have.”

  “I didn’t need it.”

  “It seems you did.”

  “The big fellow was fortunate, is all. Next time, I won’t go so easy.”

  Brock and Renny laughed.

  “I wish I could have been there, but perhaps I can set up another encounter.”

  “Why don’t you set it up now?” I demanded.

  Brock smacked his fist into his hand. It sounded like a clap of thunder.

  “Fine by me,” Brock growled.

  The Jackal’s eyes lit up. He liked the idea.

  Good. All I have to do is get out of this cage.

  “No, there will be plenty of time for that later. I need him still breathing tonight.”

  I don't like how he said that.

  “What's the matter?” I said. “Are you afraid of Brock getting hurt?”

  Brock’s fist slammed into the cage.

  “I’ll break your neck!”

  “Hah! You couldn’t break a chicken leg, you oaf!”

  “I’ll show you!” he roared, reaching through the bars for my leg.

  “BROCK, STOP IT!” Renny yelled, trying to pull the big man away.

  I jammed the nail of my Dragon thumb into his forearm.

  Brock’s howl shook the roof.

  I laughed at him as Renny pulled him back.

  “You’re going to pay for that!” he said, shaking his fist at me.

  The Jackal applauded saying, “Perfect. Just perfect… eh, sorry, I didn’t get your name?”

  “I didn’t give it.”

  He waved me off, saying, “No matter. We’ll think of something by tonight. Come on, men.”

  “What’s tonight?” I said, pulling on the bars to my cage.

  Renny and Brock both flashed sinister grins as they slid the barn door shut behind them.

  I stomped my feet and punched the roof of the cage.

  “DRAT! DRAT! DOUBLE DRAT!”

  Again I was alone. To make matters worse, it seemed they had a short term plan for me: death.

  I yawned. Whatever poison they stuck me with wasn’t wearing off. I spit a gummy salty substance from my mouth, leaned back, and sat down. Now was not the time to panic. It was time to think.

  “Excellent, Dragon. Look what you’ve gotten yourself into,” I said, tossing my hair over my shoulder. At least the rain had stopped. But now I was thirsty.

  An hour passed.

  My stomach growled. My head swam. And I was seeing black spots from time to time.

  Another hour passed.

  Nausea set in and cold sweat as well, and I began to shake with chills.

  What did they stick me with?

  I wrapped my arms around my knees and huddled in the cage. And there I lay, spinning and spinning and spinning.

  CHAPTER 11

  Bad people do bad things.

  A ray of sunlight warmed my face, but it didn’t stop the shivers. Time was lost to me, the minutes agony, but from the fading light coming through the cracks in the barn door, it seemed the sun was setting. I remembered the Jackal saying something about the night. Something bad was going to happen. As if it hadn’t happened already.

  I heard wood rubbing against metal, a horrible sound in my distorted ears. Light flooded the barn as the door was slid open. Enforcers. I couldn’t see how many. The squeak of older wagon wheels felt like jamming nails in my ears.

  “Hurry up and get them in there,” one enforcer said. “And double check those locks. We can’t have any escaping. Remember the last time. Jorkan’s dead. The Jackal saw to that. And I’ll not be losing my head over some busted locks!”

  “You check them then!” one said.

  “What? Who said that? Osclar, did you say that?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why you little toad eater! Get over there and check those locks, those bars, that door―or it’s going to be the stockade for you! Understand!”

  “Certainly, Harvey. Certainly!”

  I heard the one I believed to be Harvey grunt, and I started my wait. I closed my eyes and let the shivers take over.

  “What have we got here?” Harvey said. “Not feeling so spry now are you, Demon?”

  “He’s not a demon.” I heard one say.

  “What!”

  “He’s not a demon; that’s was the Jackal said. He’s cursed.”

  I heard Harvey chuckle.

  “Oh, he’s cursed alright. He probably just didn’t know it till now. That Uken poison Renny stuck him with'll have him feeling and seeing all kinds of crazy things.” Harvey checked the lock on the cage. “Tonight's going to really be something. You got those cages secured, Oscar!”

  “Nope!” Oscar said, giggling.

  Harvey grunted again.

  “Shaddup and let’s go; I’m hungry.”

  “Say, Harvey, how long do you think he’ll last?”

  “Shut your mouth, Oscar. The boss says no talking.”

  Oh, talk. Please talk.

  “I don’t see why not. It’s not like it matters if they know what’s coming or not.”

  “He likes the looks of surprise on their faces.”

  “Me too,” the 3rd enforcer said.

  “Let’s go, chatter mouths.”

  My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. Say something, Dragon! My quivering lips stayed sealed.

  “Huh,” Harvey said, “looks like this man is done already.”

  “He got some good licks on Big Brock, though. Never seen anyone hurt Brock before.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Shaddup you two! LET’S GO!”

  Harvey’s loud voice sounded like an explosion in my ears. I couldn’t even open my eyes to see as I heard them walk out and slide the barn door closed.

  Idiot. All I had learned was things were not only as bad as before but worse.

  I shivered and shivered. I needed the Uken poison to wear off. Fight it, Dragon! Fight! The darkness came, leaving me alone in the barn with two torches and two new cages. I managed to open my eyes to see. Two forms huddle
d, one in each cage. Perhaps they could tell me something. I opened my mouth, but no words came.

  “Father?”

  It was the voice of a young man speaking to the other.

  “Ssssh, be silent, Son. Else they’ll whip us.”

  Silence came. A little rustling around followed.

  “Are they going to kill us, Father?” the young man asked.

  “No, now be silent!” the father said, forcefully, but quiet.

  I heard the fear in both their voices. Innocent men. I could tell.

  “Why did they pick us, Father?”

  The father sighed, shaking his head as he said, “I don’t know; they just did.”

  “But we were good farmers, Father. Good miners, too. I didn’t steal any of the golden ore; I swear,” the young man sobbed.

  His father’s silence told it all. The father had stolen; the boy had not.

  My heart swelled. These men needed my help. Things came together.

  Golden ore!

  It explained all the secrets in the small town. Someone, a farmer most likely, had found a vein of it. The Jackal and his enforcers got word of it and took over the town. It wasn’t the first time such things had happened, and it wouldn't be the last, either. Golden ore, however, wasn’t gold, and it wasn’t ore. It was a vein of mystic dirt that had a goldish hue to it.

  “I’m hungry, Father. Do you think we’ll eat again?”

  Pitiful. I could make out the young man’s face pressed against the bars. He was rawboned and lanky. Looked like he’d missed one too many meals already. It infuriated me, but the thought of action just made me sicker.

  “Sure, Son. Sure we will,” the father lied.

  Don’t think about it. Think of a way out. I allowed my thoughts to drift to the Golden Ore.

  Farming was a big deal in Nalzambor. The land was rich, full, lustrous in many places. But working the land was still hard. It took time and a lot of work. And, in the case of hard work, many peoples and races were lacking. That’s where the Golden Ore came in. Or, more simply called, Magic Dirt. A few pounds of it would turn a square mile of desert into a garden of vegetables. It was a pricey commodity, and it seemed the Enforcers had happened upon it.