The Chronicles of Dragon Collection (Series 1 Omnibus, Books 1-10) by Craig Halloran Page A

another dozen holes in its arm, my leg would break. The pressure was building, and I felt the tendons in my knee stretching. I swung at him with my dagger, but I could not reach him.
    “Let go! Beast! Let go!” My lungs were bursting inside my chest as I cleared my leg from the cage and dodged another blow. I hopped to the ground, rolled over Fang, and reinserted Dragon Claw in the pommel.
    Now ten orcs still lived, each snorting in open hostility, not a one willing to yield, though the one I had stabbed in the belly might have been dying, based off the pain-filled groans I could hear. Unfortunate, but it happens. I fought for my breath. It was time to speak.
    “This has gone far enough, orcs. I’ve scratched you, maimed you, but I can do much, much worse,” I said, pulling back my shoulders and standing taller than their tallest—and orcs are big, bigger than men on average. My voice was as big as me, but that didn’t really matter if the orcs were too stupid to recognize Common. I could always speak in orcen if I wished, but why lower my standards? They might take that as a compliment.
    “So, what will it be, little piggies?” I said, twirling Fang’s glowing blade through the air. “Limp home and live,” I shrugged. “Or die.” Which was a bluff, because I’m not supposed to kill them, remember? If anything, they’d figure I was as bad a shot with a bow as I was at swinging my sword.
    Dripping blood from their injuries, lathered in sweat—orcs sweated more than anything else I knew—they gathered closer. I’d played the game too long. It was time to get serious.
    Dragon saved. Disappear? Disarm? Oh, what to do? Where in Nalzambor is Brenwar?! Fang glimmered in the grip of my fingers, a bright piece of steel that shimmered with radiant, living light. It felt alive in my hand. It was hefty, its flat blade wide, its hilt big enough for two hands, but in my grasp it was as light as a stick, perfect in weight and balance.
    Shing!
    I struck the belt buckle of the nearest orc, dropping his pants over his ankles. The rest jumped back. But as far as they were concerned, it was another miss.
    Oh, great, they’re going to attack.
    They came at me like a sweaty swarm of hornets, steel stingers in their grasp, ready to skewer me alive.
    I was big, an easy target, but I was fast, too.
    “Kill him!” the orc said, kneeling down and trying to pick his pants up from the ground. I think “kill” is a very common word for orcs, meaning the same in their language as in mine. I ducked just in time as a sword whistled over my head. I rolled under the wagon to the other side. My blood, still pumping from the moment this all had started, was just warming up. The warrior in me had lost patience when I popped up on the other side and began swinging.
    Crack!
    I clipped one under the chin with the butt of my sword.
    Glitch!
    I stabbed another in the thigh, bringing a forthcoming howl and limp.
    Slice!
    Another orc clutched its bleeding arm where I cut clean through the triceps. I meant to do that.
    Parry!
    Clang!
    A battle axe clattered into the back of the wagon, drawing astonished grunts. I shifted behind the next attacker that was poised to poke a hole in my back with a spear.
    Chop!
    I sliced though the shaft of the spear, drove my sword into the beast’s shoulder, and spun away from another two-handed blow.
    Parry.
    Clang!
    Fang tore a blade from its wielder’s grasp.
    Glitch!
    I stabbed the orc in the chest and watched it, beady eyes now wide, fall over and die.
    Oops!
    Yes, I’m not supposed to kill other people in order to earn my scales, but I don’t consider orcs people. And no one can really say whether or not killing something evil prevents me from getting my scales. And my father said I could kill if my life was in danger. I was pretty sure it was.
    I punched an orc in the face with my dragon fist, my right hand. Stabbed Fang into the shoulder with my left arm. It was like having a weapon in each hand, but my