Free Terror At The Temple (Book 3) by Craig Halloran

him. Underneath all the bruises, he probably wasn’t a half-bad looking lad, either. He just needed to eat more. Dark complected and tall, he was at ease in the saddle. His light eyes followed all the sights and sounds. And unlike Brenwar, he smiled and talked a good bit.
    “Tired, Ben?”
    “A good bit, actually. I haven’t rested since being hauled off in that cage. Shouldn’t we be making camp already? I can make a fire.”
    “What do you need a fire for? Didn’t you bring a blanket?”
    “No.”
    I shook my head.
    “But I meant I could do some cooking. I’m a good hunter and trapper.”
    “I thought you were a farmer.”
    “Well, you can’t survive in the country if you can’t hunt or fish. You’ll starve eventually.”
    As soon as the white owls began to hoot, I stopped in a grove and made camp, which consisted of little more than two horses and two men with a rough patch of ground to lie on. Ben yawned the whole time as he gathered twigs and started a fire. He did well. After a few minutes, the orange glow burst to life and the warmth came.
    “Outstanding, Ben. You are pretty handy, are you not?”
    Covering his yawn, he said, “I told you.”
    “Good, now you can take the first watch. Wake me up when the moon dips.”
    Ben had a blank look in his eyes.
    “And keep your ears open. They’ll serve you better than your eyes at night,” I said, closing my eyes. I could feel Ben’s eyes on my back as rubbed his hands on the fire.
    “I’ll stay awake, Dragon. All night if I have to.”
    I lay and listened. Chirps of critters and crickets filled my ears. All those little things that crept and crawled in the night had come to life. A burning fire offered sanctuary, but it could attract the unwanted. Good thing I was a light sleeper. And I had a sixth sense for danger. The Dragon’s Gut, I called it. An awareness I had when I slept, though I didn’t sleep much. As I drifted off to sleep, the soft snoring of Ben drifted into my ears.
    “Oh great,” I said, sitting up.
    He lay alongside the fire, curled up in his armor.
    “Looks like I have the first and the second watch.”
    ***
    The Pixlyn flew as fast as he could fly, covering a mile a minute. Hummingbird wings buzzing as fast as they ever buzzed before. Over the tree tops he went, scattering insects and small birds. Little noticed him. Little could see him.
    In a day, he’d covered the northern part of Nalzambor. He’d seen many faces in that day. Dwarves, Elves, Orcs, giants and Dragons, some hard at work or mischief, others at play. But there was yet to be a sign of the man he sought. Nath Dragon. He rubbed his belly, panting. The potion Finnius had given him was a nasty thing, like rotten stew boiling. It gave him strength somehow. A sense of direction, too. The man must be close. He could feel it.
    He thought of his companion, the pink eyed Pixlyn he’d been with all his life. Find the man, save her. He couldn’t bear the thought of horrible things happening to her. He took a deep breath in his tiny mouth, stuck out his chest and buzzed into the sky.
    A streak of red came at him. He rolled away, hovering in the sky. There were three of them. Each was as big as him, red-scaled and black-winged, tiny Dragons called Fire Bites. They circled, snorted puffs of fire, and dove.
    The pixlyn shot through the sky, three dangerous Dragons nipping at his toes. Fire Bites didn’t play with pixies and fairies. They roasted them and ate them whole.
    ***
    The pouring rain didn’t bother him. Nor the stubborn horse between his legs. No, as Brenwar trotted along the road, he was consumed with something else. Guilt.
    “I should have listened to him,” he growled, wringing the water from his beard.
    He had known Nath wanted to leave Morgdon, and Brenwar should have gone. Instead, being stubborn, persistent and consumed with the Festival of Iron, he might end up losing his best friend. And it might end up starting another war. Not that Brenwar would mind