Hunt For The Hero (Book 5) (12 page)

CHAPTER 26

They made it as far as the first run of fo
rested hills and found shelter in the rocks. It was evening and the rain had come in a downpour. Over the rocks, Brenwar and Ben stretched a canopy that kept them dry. It wasn’t an ordinary canopy either, but something Brenwar had kept rolled up on his saddle. Another treasure from Dragon Home.

“It
’ll keep you dry and warm, even cool during the hot seasons and such,” Brenwar grumbled, wringing out his beard. “Made for Man, not Dwarf. The harsh elements are a Dwarf’s best friend. Well, that and ale.”

“I’m thankful, Brenwar,” Bayzog said. He cast a quick spell that made a small pile of rocks begin to glow
red hot.

Sasha was dripping wet. She
shivered and said, “Yes, many thanks.”

“Me too,” Ben said, nodding.

The ground dried out quickly, thanks to Bayzog’s magic fire. As soon as it did, he sat down and leaned back against one of the warm rocks nearby.

Sasha
sat next to Bayzog and leaned against his shoulder.

“That was a close one,” Brenwar said. “You did well, all of you. I believe our friend
Nath would be proud.”

“It was close al
right,” Bayzog said, “but my concerns are far from over, Brenwar.”

Brenwar grunted.

“They knew Nath was down and they wanted him this time. They sent a small army after him.” He shook his head. “They’ll still be coming after him. Wherever he goes, war will follow.”

“He’ll be safe in Morgdon,” Brenwar said.

“But will Morgdon be safe from him?”

No one said anything, but at
least Brenwar was thinking.

At the moment, there was peace in Nalzambor
. No major wars were stirring. According to the Laedorn and the Elves, the orcs had started to press and the atmosphere of the world was getting prickly. And now it seemed that the evil forces at work wanted Nath Dragon―alive, not dead.

Bayzog could imagine why.
To spark the next Great Dragon War. He feared that Nath would be the prize of that war.

“They want to turn him
, I fear,” Bayzog said. “We can’t let them have him. We don’t need to risk an all-out war, either, and you know as well as I, Brenwar, that the Dwarves require little provocation. Our enemies are counting on that.”

Brenwar huffed. “The
Dwarves won’t overreact, and I assure you that he…” He pointed at Nath. “…and the rest of us will be plenty safe in Morgdon. We have plenty of places to hide him.”

“Did
n’t you lose him the last time?” Bayzog said.

“No!
Don’t you worry. He’s asleep now. He was plenty awake the last time.” He pointed at Bayzog. “We’ll keep a close eye on him.”

Bayzog closed his eyes and rested his cheek on Sasha
’s head. She was sound asleep. Across from him, Ben was yawning and stretching out his long arms. Inside himself, Bayzog’s human side felt a thousand years old.

Close calls with death will do that to you
, I suppose.

Bayzog
missed his home in the City of Quintuklen, the perfect sanctuary for study, rest and quality time with Sasha. She’d turned his dull lab of magic into a home, and her good spirits kept him entertained. Now, for reasons he didn’t entirely understand himself, he sat in the harsh elements where the word ‘relax’ had no meaning.

He stroked Sasha’s soft hair as her chest rose and fell gently on his. He felt guilty she was her
e, but she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. She’d made that clear.

That
’s what people who love each other do. They stick together.

It was one of those things he’d learned to understand in his experience with the conflict
between good and evil.

Love
grows. Evil destroys
.

His eyes drifted over to Nath
, who lay still as a corpse. Without saying so, they’d all pledged to protect their friend from one end of Nalzambor to the other. And they probably weren’t going to get much help, so they’d better take what they could get.

“To Morgdon on the morrow then,” he said to Brenwar and closed his eyes. A moment later he slept.

Brenwar, eyes alert, huddled over Nath’s deep sleeping form and brushed the hair from his face. “We’re going to get you back to Dragon Home one day. I swear it.”

***

Nearby, two forms huddled over the rocks with their horned necks craned: Finlin and Faylan, the Satyrs. She tugged on his shoulder and led him away, their hooved feet gently passing over the rocks.

“
Morgdon, pah,” she spat, “I hate the Dwarves and their city. I wish a gargantuan sink hole would swallow it up.”

Finlin giggled.

She smacked him across the face.

Whap!

“Now is not the time for laughter. Now is the time to plan.”

“Who do we tell
?” he said. “Marlay is dead, and all of her followers have died or fled. Do you suppose that we can snatch the Dragon Man on our own? The reward would be great, would it not?”

She
gored him in the head with her horns.

“Ow!” he said. “Stop that, will you
?”

“Ow
? Don’t be such a fawnee boy, Finlin. You need to get tougher.” She pushed past his shoulder and down the rocky slope. “I’ll take the message to the clerics. You follow the Dragon Man. Be sure to leave a trail―and don’t use your pipes unless you absolutely have to.”

“As you say, as you say.”

Whap!

“Ow!” Finlin said, rubbing his cheek. “Stop doing that.”

She glowered at him.

Whap!

He started to speak but bit his tongue. He glowered back at her.

“That’s be
tter,” she said.

CHAPTER 27

“Morgdon!”
Selene slammed her first onto the arm of her throne. “Gorn Grattack will not be pleased!” She grabbed her golden goblet and slung it across the room. Not an acolyte nor a Lizard Man moved. The Draykis remained tall, still and silent near her sides.

At the foot of the dais, the
Satyr woman, Faylan, kept her eyes and horns down.

Selene
’s tail slid over the marble floor, hooked around Faylan’s leg, and dangled her upside down. “I am not pleased with this news, Little Fawn. How did this happen?”

Faylan crossed her arms over her chest and said
, without trembling, “The winged ape showed up and ripped your servants apart. All the acolytes and Lizard Men dropped like bleeding stones after that. Your lone remaining Dragon, the Bronze one, was negated. That winged ape diverted its path, but me and Finlan followed them all the way to the rocky cliffs of Morgdon.”

Selene
looked into the steely eyes of the Satyr, trying to decide whether or not she should rip them out. The evil goat-legged woman was brassy, borderline sassy, and maybe a bit too much to swallow. However, Selene needed her for now, which bothered her. And the fact that Faylan knew it bothered her even more. But the Satyrs had at least survived, and they were excellent spies. She dropped Faylan on her horned head.

“Morgdon, Morgdon, Morgdon,”
Selene hissed more than said. “I hate Dwarves, so stalwart and strong. It will take an army to pry him loose from there.”

Faylan back
ed away.

Selene
smote Faylan with her tail and sent her spinning across the floor.

The
Satyr woman didn’t move. Still as a possum.

“What to do,”
Selene said under her breath. “What to do.”

Nath Dragon was in a deep sleep
. Gorn Grattack had talked to her about that. Her Lord had told her to seize the opportunity. Nath might sleep for weeks, months, or even years. And it would be easier to turn him when he wasn’t fighting against them. But even with Nath Dragon down and sleeping, his friends had foiled her plans and even killed her most precious servant, Marlay. That was what angered her most of all.

She resumed her seat
on the throne and her Drulture landed on the arm. She stroked its head and long neck. “Have you ever eaten a Satyr before?”

The colorful
Drulture flashed its teeth in the direction of Faylan, stretched its neck, and hissed.

“Too big?”
Selene said. “I could always feed you a piece at a time.”

Faylan
clenched where she lay.

Selene
sighed.

She wanted to avenge Marlay. She
had adored the dedicated and adorably evil woman who now was gone. Killed by a cursed Elf, of all things. An Elven monster, Sansla Libor, the Rover King. Someone was going to pay for that. Pay dearly.

“Hmmm,” she said,
twisting her hand in her robes, “every Dwarf, Elf and good human that gets in my way is going to pay. And those Dwarves will wish they’d never taken Nath Dragon in at Morgdon. Every village and every town within leagues of their mountains with cry for mercy. Because I’m going to ruin them.”

She stood up and stepped down
from the dais with fists at her sides. “We’ll burn their crops! Ransack their homes! Soil their fertile land with innocent blood! They’ll have to turn him over to me. That will be my ransom for peace!”

She
straightened her robes down over her excellent figure.

“Get up
, Goat Woman. I’m not finished using you yet.”

CHAPTER 28

“Ugh,”
Nath said. “My head’s killing me.”

Slowly he sat up
, squinting his eyes. The light was dim, blurry, and wavering but it felt like he was waking up to the dawn’s bright light. Something covered his mouth and face. It was sticky. A thin layer of webbing. He peeled it away, swung his legs over the edge of the slab of stone he sat on, and rubbed his aching eyes.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he said. Opening his eyes for what seemed like the very first time
, Nath Dragon took in a sharp breath. “Where am I?”

He sat on a slab of granite
, like an altar, big enough to hold three Men. The room was an octagon, with a lone candelabra flickering above. It was sparse, but the stonework was magnificent. Round columns were carved from the stone, and the floor was tiled in patterns he did not know. It made him think of the tomb in the Shale Hills where he and Brenwar had confronted the Steel Dragon with the Thunder Stone.

He
slid off the slab and began walking around. He wobbled and stumbled.

“G
uzan,” he said, grimacing, “my legs are leaden.”

The chamber was big enough to hold a hundred people if not more
, and a single iron door straight across from him was the only exit.

“Where in Nalzambor is this
?” he said. “Brenwar?”

There w
as no answer.

He shook his head and rolled his neck. It cracked and felt funny. He stretched out his great arms and locked them behind his
neck, yawning a long yawn.

“How long have I been sleeping this time? Feels like months.” He swallowed hard. “Oh no.”

He held out his arms. His clawed hands jutted out of the heavy green robes that covered him. His fingers seemed the same as they had before, but the nails seemed a little longer and thicker. He reached back and rubbed his neck.

“What?”

He felt a series of bumps on his neck.

The
y felt like hard, rigid, protruding
scales
.

“No!”

He grabbed the heavy robes that covered his chest and tore them off.

His chest was covered in black scales
that reflected the candlelight.

“No!”

Gaping
, he stared at the long nails on his scaly toes and fell back against the granite altar. “This can’t be,” he said, grabbing his head and shaking it in his hands.

“My face!”

He ran his scaly fingers all over it and found long locks of his auburn hair. His chin was covered in a beard. He stormed through the room, looking for anything that might give him a reflection of his face. But only the door was there and it showed nothing.

Gently he traced his f
ace with his fingers once more. “I think it’s still the same.” He gave himself a once over. Everything he could see was covered in scales. And they weren’t smooth like a snake’s either.

“What is this?” He ran his hand over the armor-like ridges on his arms. They were as hard as rock and metal. “I don’t think I’ll need Brenwar’s breastplate anymore.”

H
e combed his long hair though his fingers in front of his face and shook his head. “It’s never been this long before. I wish I could see myself … I bet I look magnificent.” He sauntered through the chamber. “But first things first. Where in Nalzambor am I?”

The last thing he remember
ed was eating enough food to feed an army, sitting at that magic table down by the river with Brenwar, Bayzog, Sasha and Ben. Licking his lips, he could still taste the pie on his tongue…

H
is tummy rumbled. Worry crossed his features.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” he said.

He walked over to the iron door, started to pound on it and stopped. He’d been assuming Brenwar must be on the other side, or another of his friends, but what if that wasn’t the case?

What if he was captured?

If his enemies had him?

And his friends were dead?

The Clerics of Barnabus could easily be behind it. He pressed his ear to the great metal door and closed his eyes.

A minute passed
, then two. Nothing.

“Hmmmm,” he said
, rubbing his chin and eyeing the torches high above him.

The flames didn’t flicker or waver
, and no wispy smoke billowed from them.

“Magic is behind this.”

He ran his hands over the great columns with ancient carvings in them. He tested the tiles on the floor. He knocked on all the walls high and low, but the chamber was as solid as a mountain of stone.

He punched his fist into his hand. Grinded his teeth. Let out a puff of smoke. “I need out of this tomb.”
He took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his lungs, “BRENWAAAAAAAAAR!”

His voice
fell flat. Not even an echo. Nath felt alone. Scared. Angry.

“No!
Someone must know I’m in here!”

He
punched the iron door over and over.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang…

He beat it until his knuckles ached and he couldn’t hit it anymore. Chest heaving and sweat rolling down his eyes, he glared at the door with anger. He’d dented it, but the door was just as tight as ever in its ancient frame. Whatever was put in here was never meant to get out. That much was clear.

He rubbed the sore knuckles on his hand.

“This is bad.”

Nath’s mind started racing.
Had they put him in here to protect him or to keep him? How long could he live inside the chamber without starving to death? Without water? Why was he even alive? All of that food he’d eaten must have lasted him.

He began pacing back and forth, angry and muttering under his breath.

What is going on? I can’t die like this. I’ll starve.

He hit the columns. He kicked the slab altar. He let out a roar
. Smoke billowed out.

Hmmmm.

He felt his great chest fill with heat
. He wanted nothing more than to let it out. He eyed the door.

How hot is my breath
, anyway?

He squared up on the door
. Inhaled a deep breath.

WHOOOSH!

A geyser of hot flames roared out. Nath poured it on. The entire chamber lit up in the red hot light. He breathed until he was out of breath.

Smoke was everywhere. The stink of charred metal filled his nose. He fanned the smoke f
rom his eyes and saw a large hole of dripping iron metal greeting him like the mouth of a melting Giant. He jumped right through it.

“Yes!”

It was dark on the other side, but the glowing metal gave him a little illumination. His keen sight came into focus. He stood at the bottom of a stone staircase that led up in a spiral. It wound along the inner sidewall that stretched into the fathomless darkness.

“Great Guzan
!” he said, exasperated. “Where am I?”

H
e headed up the slowly winding steps, traversing what seemed to be the mouth of a volcano or geyser or something. It must have been a hundred feet from one side to the other. The rock walls were smooth, the steps wide as he traveled upward, minute after minute, hour after hour until he stopped and sat down.

He wasn’t tired.

What madness is this?

He
could see thirty feet up the steps and thirty feet back, but everything else was black as a moonless night. Below, the warm illumination of the torches gave him comfort. Above, uncertainty was wrinkling the thought of freedom.

“Perhaps I dream,” he said to himself. “
Perhaps I’m dead.” He groaned. “On your feet, Nath Dragon. Even if you are dead, you can at least act like you’re alive.”

Running his hand along the wall
, he ascended two steps at a time, sometimes three. Losing track of time, he moved onward, upward, higher and higher.

This
is madness.

“Bayzog!”