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

that. But he had to catch him. And catching Nath wouldn’t be easy. Not if he didn’t want to be found.
    Another Dragon War, Nath’s father had warned. That’s what evil wanted. Another shot at the throne of Nalzambor. Nath’s father, the Dragon king, wasn’t the same as he had been of old. Not after the last war. He was ancient, but not immortal. Brenwar sensed that the Dragon king's time on Nalzambor was coming to an end. And who would keep the peace without him there? It was either Nath Dragon or no one.
    The horse nickered and stopped.
    “What is it now?” Brenwar said, rubbing its neck.
    A group of figures approached, cloaked from head to toe. Men, by the looks of them.
    “Hail and well met,” one said, fingers itching at the sword on his hip.
    “Agreed,” said another who stepped behind Brenwar’s back.
    As easy as a fish swims in water, they had him surrounded.
    Brenwar stiffened as the next one said, “That’s a fine horse you have there, Little Dwarf.”
    Whop!
    Brenwar knocked him out of his boots with his war hammer.
    “Little! I’ll show you brigands little!”
    Brenwar slid from his horse to the ground.
    “Take him down!” one ordered, drawing his sword.
    Two rushed forward. Brenwar busted one in the chest, dropping him in the mud. The other stabbed a dagger into his armored chest, snapping it at the hilt.
    “Fool! This armor's dwarven made!”
    “Drag him into the mud!” one of the brigands said.
    Brenwar took in a loud draw through his nose.
    “Ah, I smell an orc, a part of one at least.”
    Brenwar knocked a curved sword from one's hand. Kicked in the knee of another. He was a machine. A black bearded typhoon in the rain.
    A man screamed as he busted his hand. Another fell as his knee gave out. One caught Brenwar in the back of his leg with a knife.
    “You should not have done that!” he said, swinging his warhammer.
    Pow!
    He lifted the man’s feet from the ground.
    The rain poured. The brigands tumbled down. No group of Brigands stood a chance against a dwarven soldier with centuries of fighting under his belt.
    Brenwar grabbed the fallen half orc by his head of hair and said, “Happen to see a man with long auburn hair and golden eyes pass through here, Wart Face?”
    “I wouldn’t say if I did, Halfling. Heh-heh!”
    “Why is it the ugly ones always have the smartest mouths!”
    “Because—”
    Brenwar clonked his head into the orc's, knocking him out.
    “That was a statement, not a question. Now, what about the rest of you?”
    “Mercy, Sir,” one said, clutching his broken arm. “Never seen such a man. If I did, I’d tell you. I swear.”
    “Sure you would,” Brenwar said, hoisting himself back on his horse. “If I ever see any of you again, I’ll break every bone in ya!” He snapped the reigns. “Yah!”
    Aggravated, Brenwar felt he wasn’t any closer to finding Nath Dragon than when he started. But he was certain time was running out.

 
    CHAPTER 1 8
     
     
    “Sleep well?” I said.
    Ben stretched out his arms and yawned.
    “What happened!” he said, covering his eyes. “Where’d all this daylight come from?”
    “I’m pretty sure it’s from the sun,” I said, roasting a rodent on a spit. “It does that most days, you know.”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I felt just fine, then I was out.” Ben’s stomach growled. “What’s that you’re cooking? Smells good.”
    “Just a little white-eared rabbit.”
    “Really? How’d you snare it? We can never keep them out of the garden. Too smart for snares, too fast to shoot.”
    I held out another rabbit on the end of my arrow.
    “I shot this one, too,” I said.
    “Nobody’s that good a shot,” Ben objected. “Not even my Uncle. He’s a Legionnaire bowman, you know. He told me they could hear me pulling the string back before I shot.” He tore a hunk of meat off the stick. “Hmmm… this is good. Really good!”
    “Well, I’m sure your uncle is a fine shot. And the