Minno 2

By James Barlog

The adventure continues ...

Minno 2 packs more zany adventure, more creatures, and new characters into this thrill-a-minute sequel. Every chapter sweeps you along in the strange and marvelous world of Ambrosia.

For Minno and Hailey there's no time to rest. They must forge alliances to take on even more bizarre adversaries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BAK Books
• Release date: Mar 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9780578479002

Book preview

1

A harsh late afternoon sun, even in all its brilliance, failed to penetrate the entwined foreboding canopy over the Forest of Perpetual Night. Beyond the forest proper, a sunbathed flat meadow of verdant knee-high grass flowed with a gently refreshing breeze. Only a few hours remained before night claimed Ambrosia.

Then a small boy rose out of the grass, pounding frantically at full pelt to crest a craggy rise. His sagging breeks held up with a hastily tied rope, he pulled them up before they impeded his stride. His face wore grime, rolling sweat–but most of all–it wore fear. Before him a hundred strides distant, a wide cleft in the entangled forest wall waited. Behind him at half that distance, a charging nop-nog grunted while pounding cloven hooves into the soft earth at full stride. Its trio of curved ivory horns protruded a bristly salivating snout. Spiked voracious teeth glistened from its gaping rictus. Angry red eyes glared out from grizzly fur wrapping a stout frame that closely resembled a bull. It snorted in disgust at its failure to gain on its wobbly tender prey.

Panting, heart racing, the lad gasped with each stride. His innocent blue eyes, now white with terror, never strayed from the opening in the leafy wall that he prayed would mean safety.

With stunted, fleshy legs incapable of casting long strides, the nop-nog proved clumsy in pursuit. Viscous drool curled off its teeth, as its heaving snout hovered inches above the dirt. It stood no taller than half the size of its prey, but the beast outweighed the lad by a hundred pounds at least. Despite a diminutive size with ungraceful coordination, the beast continued its fervent charge.

Please, please, the lad muttered, struggling to right his faltering gait.

The beast lurched forward, closing to within twenty paces of taking the boy.

Suddenly an eerie sprawling shadow blanketed them. Sweeping down from the sky, a shimmering green dragon glided in with wings angled full tilt for maximum lift. The great beast sought to overtake the charging nop-nog.

The lad dared a brief glance back. He stumbled, almost surrendering his footing to the landscape sloping toward the forest. He screamed in a fit of panic at the thought of tumbling helpless into the gaping claws of the descending beast.

Terror seized the lad’s heart. He dared not look again, fearing a stumble would mean his demise.

The forest’s entangled mesh remained a dozen strides beyond reach. His luck had soured. If only he could somehow make it to the safety of those gnarled limbs.

BOOM! BOOM!

Two bellowing blasts roared from within the forest like cannon fire. Leading the ensuing smoke cloud out, a twirling, sprawling rope net took the gliding dragon by surprise, snagging wings mid-flight. Before the monstrous creature could roll in an evasive maneuver to free its encumbered appendages, the netting forced it skidding along the ground.

Terrified, out of breath, and exhausted, the boy scurried the last few paces into the forest, followed moments later by the still charging nop-nog.

Once they were within the dappled forest fringe, LaBoussaire leapt from a long wagon, which secured two hollowed-out tree trunks mounted on a barrel-shaped turret. His loud vaulting cheer reverberated into the meadow.

We got ‘em, boy! the dragon hunter chimed, running to clutch the lad into open muscular arms.

The running left the lad breathless, unable to speak.

We d-d-did! the lad finally yelled out as best he could, still terrified while gasping. He found it impossible to bring a smile to his face when he came about to size their capture.

Excellent job, Helo, the dragon hunter offered, bestowing a crushing celebratory hug onto his son, one that took Helo’s breath away once more.

His father towered masterly two heads taller than his son, wore leather chest armor, which insulated Helo from fully appreciating the caring gesture from an appreciative father. His arduous life of hunting dragons had honed his arms and shoulders into rock-like boulders. The dangerous work was formidable but also rewarding when the fruits of his endeavor won the graces of High Minister Craveaux. However, frequently the rewards rested on the high minister’s good graces, which most days, Craveaux refused to smile, let alone pay a worthy bounty for their captures.

LaBoussaire quickly lashed shoulder-length black hair at the nape of his neck. He needed unencumbered vision. A capture was neither safe nor successful until secured for transport. Perilous work remained.

LaBoussaire dashed from the trees toting a large wooden mallet in one hand, three-foot long hooked stakes in the other.

The struggling dragon turned to face him, screeching and ripping its razor-sharp claws at him in the hopes of shredding the netting. LaBoussaire needed to stake the netting to keep the beast from thrashing itself free.

Helo, grab the ballast weights! LaBoussaire yelled when he realized the netting was rising off the dragon’s wing. If the dragon worked even one wing free, it could tear into them.

Helo froze. Terror kept him from obeying his father’s command.

LaBoussaire came within inches of the dragon’s face while he drove the first stake into the ground with two frantic mallet blows.

The dragon reared to twist its face toward the lad, hoping to frighten the boy from keeping the netting down.

LaBoussaire skirted along the dragon to the tail. He needed another stake in to keep the beast in check. The dragon recoiled its tail to strike. The netting failed to hold. The tail knocked LaBoussaire from his feet, forcing him to lose a stake.

Get the ballast weight before it gets free! LaBoussaire yelled. His voice grew angry at his son’s disobedience.

Helo knew he had to act. Their very lives depended on it. He reached the rock ballast secured to the edge of the rope netting. He threw all his weight on it to hold it to the ground. When the dragon twisted to face him, the ballast weight pulled him up, but not enough to allow the dragon to free a clawed foot.

While Helo clung to the weight, LaBoussaire drove another stake in at the rear of the beast. The dragon lost all freedom of movement to fight off the netting.

Helo’s arms ached from holding the rock in place against the ground. The dragon’s mouth gaped open, revealing jagged teeth, but the netting kept it from ripping into the boy.

LaBoussaire reclaimed his fallen stake. Within another minute, he drove the final stake in near the dragon’s shoulder.

Angry, the dragon hunter fired the mallet at the beast, whacking it squarely on the head, though the strike had little effect on the raging creature.

Only then did LaBoussaire stand back akimbo to appraise his catch.

Helo took his place beside his father, mimicking his stance while appraising his own skinny arms. He wondered if he would ever become strong enough or stout enough to master the rigors of dragon hunting. Then he pondered whether dragon hunting was something he would even want to do when he became a man. Helo was fine as long as he never thought about what became of those they captured. While no one in their right mind would ever even consider using their own offspring as dragon bait, LaBoussaire attributed that as the reason behind his success. Employing his son kept his methods secret. Working alone kept other dragon hunters envious of his good fortune. But that meant using his only son as bait. Yet at any given moment, his luck could run out; he could lose all he had left of his family. Besides, there existed no better way to learn the family business than to participate in it every day.

The huffing nop-nog waited anxiously in the trees slobbering over itself. The creature displayed a beaming smile for its accomplishment, though with the gaping teeth few could have ever discerned it. Years of training the beast had made it the perfect ruse to employ against the dragons. The nop-nog thought it was merely playing with the lad. The dragon, however, thought the boy was in dire trouble. What few Palladins truly understood was that the dragons believed themselves the protectors over the mountains and the valleys. That meant when they thought they spied a child in trouble, they considered it their duty to rescue said child. As a result, LaBoussaire lured the clumsy beasts low enough into the open to capture them. Everything had to be perfect; timing was everything, but when his dragon trap worked, it worked flawlessly.

LaBoussaire tossed a palm-sized slab of raw Forbit flesh from a pouch at his side to the nop-nog, who consumed it in two voracious snarling bites.

Then the dragon hunter slapped his son sharply at the base of his head.

What was that for? Helo squeaked out, fighting back tears.

LaBoussaire grabbed a fistful of his son’s stained shirt.

When I give a command, you follow. Understand? Had that dragon gotten free, we’d both be dead right now, he said with a grit to his words that seized Helo’s heart.

Then the dragon hunter’s stone face softened. He withdrew a finger-sized stalk of raw sugar for his son.

Only creatures dumber than nop-nogs are dragons. You remember that, boy. They fall for this every time.

Forcing a smile, LaBoussaire jostled Helo’s straw-colored hair sweat-bound to his head. He had his mother’s fair hair color, his father’s bronze skin tone.

Helo smiled, gnawing the sweet treat, but at the same time, unconvinced of his father’s words. This time the dragon had descended to within a few feet of snatching him out of the nop-nog’s path. It seemed like each time they ran the dragon trap, the dragons drew closer to capturing him. Helo was the most at risk in this plan. Or did his father merely delay too long in firing his net? Helo shuddered to think what might happen if his father failed to fire in time, allowing the dragon to impale him first. LaBoussaire, however, kept Helo unaware of the dragon’s true intent. If the lad learned the dragon were actually attempting to save him rather than attack him, he might fail to display the authentic terror necessary to convince the dragon to swoop in at the last second.

For a job well done, lad, LaBoussaire said. His smile revealed carious gapped teeth, which mostly came from his own penchant for the sugar stalks they stole from farmers. His scraggly dark beard sorely needed grooming, while his sweaty hair clung to the sides of his head.

At the forest fringe, the dragon struggled violently, desperate to break free. Its rancorous screeching forced them at times to clamp their ears. The beast was only an eight-footer, but it could still command a fair bounty if the high minister’s mood favored the day.

Weeks earlier, when LaBoussaire learned of the dragons’ mass escape from Craveaux’s dungeon, his mind spun into wild fantasies of what he could do with the many bounties he would earn from the unfortunate circumstance. That is, unfortunate for High Minister Craveaux, but fortunate for LaBoussaire, Helo, and every other dragon hunter in the land. Someone now had to recapture all those creatures. No other dragon hunter in Ambrosia had ever scored as many captures as LaBoussaire. Of course, no other dragon hunter knew of his traps or his methods, which gave him the edge over the competition. As a result, the high minister never denied LaBoussaire an audience.

The dragon hunter strode proudly from the forest to stand before his catch. Instant enmity flashed when their eyes met. The dragon ceased all struggling to glare at the dragon hunter. This was the only way anyone got within a hundred paces of such a vile creature without it ripping them apart.

Can I do it? Helo pleaded, loping up beside his father after removing the stalk from his jaw just long enough to speak.

I don’t know … his father pondered. Then a smile crept upon his weathered jowly face.

Please, Helo whined.

You have passed thirteen summers. I guess it is time you take your first dragon, LaBoussaire answered.

With that, the dragon hunter extracted a small crossbow from his pouch, after which he fitted a quarrel suitably sized for the weapon. Carefully, he unwrapped a burlap sheath to reveal a razor-sharp tip.

Be careful. Never, ever touch the tip, the dragon hunter warned, lowering to a knee while he laid the weapon across Helo’s hands.

Why?

The magic potion on the tip is lethal to Palladins but not dragons.

The lad clutched the crossbow tightly, his sugar cane clamped at the side of his mouth. He looked the weapon over from end to end, admiring what it meant to him–a dragon hunter’s tool.

Aim for the base of the neck, just before the wings, LaBoussaire instructed. He resisted his fatherly urge to reach out to steady the crossbow in Helo’s hands. It was important the boy make his first attempt completely unfettered.

The dragon struggled furiously now, thrashing legs and wings in a futile hope of casting off the hemp netting to escape into the fading azure sky.

Helo leveled the crossbow, drew in a breath for a moment, holding it in until he fired.

The quarrel found its way through the mesh into the dragon’s shoulder just to the front of the right crumpled wing.

Excellent shot! LaBoussaire chimed.

Helo’s smile consumed his entire little face. His watery eyes sparkled at his accomplishment. He had taken his first step to becoming a qualified dragon hunter, like his father and grandfather.

LaBoussaire whistled sharply in the direction of the forest.

Moments later, the dragon’s thrashing diminished as if the beast had exhausted itself. It tucked flaccid wings over its back before settling onto its knees, after which it tumbled unconscious with a thud upon the ground.

He’ll remain asleep for at least a day. Makes it possible to transport him, LaBoussaire offered, now more the teacher than the father.

How much you reckon we’ll get, father? Helo asked as they ventured beside the now sleeping dragon. Only narrow slits of green eyes remained. Slight chuffs of dragon breath escaped red flared nostrils.

You can touch it now. Go on, give it a touch, LaBoussaire offered.

Helo restrained himself. He wanted to touch the great beast. He always wondered what they felt like. Up close, they smelled horrible, worse than the flatulence trees in the Forest of Perpetual Stink. He wondered if he would find the touch of their scales repulsive.

Helo started a hand out, snapped it quickly back out of fear. Nothing had moved, but Helo thought he noticed a flutter from the dragon’s semi-closed eyelid.

LaBoussaire slapped his son at the back of his head again.

Swallow that fear, boy! Dragon hunters are fearless. The best dragon hunters never back away, his father scolded.

The pain in his head brought unwelcome tears to Helo’s eyes. His father had not restrained himself one bit with his strike. He wanted to hurt him, which had become a regular habit after his mother died two years ago. Seemed like never a day passed without his father finding reason to slap him in the face or at the back of his head.

You be afraid, boy, I’ll knock you off your feet! You understand?

Helo forced himself to gather up the sum of his courage before jabbing his hand through the mesh to contact the dragon’s sparkling scales. As quickly as it entered, he withdrew his hand.

LaBoussaire chuckled at his boy’s trepidation.

He’s a good catch. Hopefully we’ll get more than we got last time, LaBoussaire grumbled.

It was time for LaBoussaire to indulge in his own reward. He returned to the lead wagon, where he grabbed a Forbit skin pouch from beneath the bench. He took in several long refreshing gulps of a deep red potent wine. As an accomplished dragon hunter, he refrained from drinking during the hunt, allowing himself the indulgence once he had a catch safely secured to a wagon. However, he chose more and more to begin drinking as soon as he had a dragon unconscious.

His work now complete, the heavy lifting became the job of the goggs who accompanied them on every hunt.

Helo endured a swarm of guilt rising up inside from touching the dragon. The creature felt warm, soft–and vulnerable–nothing like he had come to expect. From all the tales he had heard about these great beasts, he figured the dragon would feel hard, cold, and heartless. Instead, it felt like a living creature, not so different from himself. Sorrow wormed its way into his mind at the thought of capturing the beast only to turn it over for bounty to the evil Craveaux. What the lad had built up inside his mind for so many years now felt wrong. Suddenly, becoming a dragon hunter seemed like a bad choice for his life.

The ground rumbled as six goggs rolled a long wagon through the cleft in the forest wall to settle into the open meadow. They positioned the creaking transport beside the listless dragon. The only movement was the gentle rise and fall of its chest as the dragon breathed. After LaBoussaire removed the stakes, working in trained unison, the goggs lifted first the sleeping dragon’s rear half onto the wagon, followed by the front. Once settled completely on the flatbed transport, the goggs secured the rope net covering the beast to the timber frame. There the creature would remain asleep during its journey into the core of Mortus.

High Minister Craveaux will be proud of you for this catch, won’t he? Helo asked.

LaBoussaire belched his response before guzzling down the remaining wine in the skin. He tossed it back under the bench seat then fumbled around for another.

Get Rexie back on his leash. Let’s get moving. Mortus is a long way. We don’t want any of its friends running into us along the trail.

LaBoussaire led Rexie onto the back of the wagon with the gun barrels before helping Helo onto the bench seat beside him. While Helo and Rexie waited, LaBoussaire dismantled the barrels from the turrets, storing them innocuously in the wagon. To any passing dragon hunters, it appeared as if LaBoussaire was transporting water kegs with assorted pipes. Only he and Helo knew the method he used to capture so many dragons.

After securing the yolk of the second wagon to the rear of the first, LaBoussaire stumbled onto the bench beside his son, snatched the reigns from little hands then snarled for the goggs to move.

2

Desrilian tugged at the straps holding him fast to a table angled sixty degrees off the vertical. The air around him stank from the stench of suffering. After only a few hours peace in his cell, soldiers dragged him into this dimly lit chamber, where sunlight seeped in through fine cracks in the great cavern ceiling. An occasional drip splashed onto his forehead, furthering his discomfort. His torture was yet to come. He maneuvered his cheeks, hoping to catch even a single drop onto his tongue.

He knew it was day. That was about all he knew. He had lost track of time, unable to recall how many days he had spent as a prisoner.

Craveaux remained silent in the shadows beyond Desrilian’s sight. The high minister savored watching the old man tug at his bindings. Craveaux had waited such a long time for this. His persistence had paid off. Yet he still needed the one, or rather, two items Desrilian withheld.

Craveaux hopes you are comfortable in your new surroundings, he said with a sneer emerging into the thin light stream.

The high minister positioned himself so he might see the old man’s withered face as he spoke. He wanted to relish the terror in Desrilian’s eyes. He wanted to savor the screams his nemesis would emit.

Did you really think you could ever be safe from Craveaux … in that place you were hiding?

Desrilian said nothing. He wanted more of what the high minister wished to reveal before saying anything. He hoped he might glean new knowledge regarding how his plan had faltered. He had always thought it impossible for the high minister to locate him on the other side of the portal. Now he knew better.

You were the clever one, weren’t you? Craveaux continued after a pause so Desrilian could ponder his predicament. At least, you thought you were.

Desrilian retested his bindings.

A gloating smile tugged at Craveaux’s lips.

If only Desrilian could work a hand free, he’d choke the evil right out of the monster looming over him.

You will never succeed, Desrilian said. His voice cracked from his parched, aching throat. It took great effort to force the words out loud enough for Craveaux to hear them.

Succeed at what? Craveaux posed.

Desrilian fell silent.

Craveaux repositioned his face inches above the old man’s.

Once Craveaux realized where the only place that would keep you safe, Craveaux opened portals to search for you, dispatching Craveaux’s little messengers. You see, Desrilian, Craveaux said Craveaux would find you.

The high minister allowed a glint of a smile to cross his face. He wanted to make certain Desrilian witnessed the pleasure on his face. He had defeated his most potent enemy. Almost.

Twice Craveaux almost snared you. But you slipped away. You hid well, like the cowards your kind are. But you cannot fool Craveaux. My messengers located you on the fifth portal.

Desrilian smiled.

You have gained nothing with my capture. I still possess what you seek most. I will die before allowing the evil that dwells within you to have it.

Still you think you have power over Craveaux. Your dragon wings are the only things that concern the high minister.

They remain safely beyond your reach, Desrilian spat back.

His face wore no expression. He took no satisfaction in spitting out those words. For he knew his magic was indeed at risk from the evil lord. He surmised still being alive meant Minno and her bag were safe. Otherwise, Craveaux would have little reason to speak to him or even let him breathe. No, Desrilian convinced himself, Minno remained free of this evil monster. As long as she was free, and his second dragon wing safely hidden on the other side of the portal, Craveaux had little leverage over him.

She will deliver the dragon wing, you know, Craveaux said. He allowed Desrilian to comprehend his words.

Your trickery will never fool Minno, Desrilian shot back.

Craveaux knows she journeys through Mortus as we speak. She carries the dragon wing at her side. Soon she and her little friend will arrive. She will surrender your dragon wing hoping to secure your release. Children are such foolish creatures, wouldn’t you agree?

She will not be fooled. Nor will I. Minno will never come. She will remain beyond your reach. She will use the dragon wing to defeat you.

Minno defeat me?

Her power is far greater than any you have ever witnessed.

Craveaux laughed in Desrilian’s face.

Craveaux could just kill you and send the soldiers to hunt down your little girls.

Then you will never get the second dragon wing, Desrilian countered. He could only hope he had something to say that might stay his execution long enough for someone to help him.

Craveaux pondered Desrilian’s response. He needed something to retort that would keep the old man from gaining a bargaining position over him.

Allow Craveaux to think for a moment.

Silence took over the dusty chamber.

Desrilian witnessed Craveaux’s face change as he paced. Perhaps the high minister was not in control of all he could command. Perhaps Minno was beyond his reach. Maybe there was a way to keep the high minister at bay a while longer.

Desrilian still possesses the second dragon wing; Desrilian was hiding on the other side of the portal. My Arachnorock destroyed the place where you hid, so you would not have stashed your dragon wing there. But you would have kept it close, in case you needed it to fight. How is Craveaux doing?

You’ll never find it, Desrilian spat, feigning confidence in his words.

Craveaux released a crooked smile.

So you have hid the second dragon wing near where my creature found you. Maybe Craveaux goes through the portal, with the dragons as protectorates, to allow the dragon wing to find the high minister. You see, if your snivelling little girl fails you, Craveaux still gets exactly what Craveaux seeks.

The high minister paused in the glory of his words. He might force the old man into erring, which could get him both dragon wings.

Craveaux let out a small insignificant chuckle.

You should have remained hidden. Had you done so, you might have survived to battle Craveaux again. You were foolish to send that little girl through the portal to come after Craveaux. She is no match for the high minister’s evil. Even with your dragon wing.

The smile grew across Craveaux’s face.

Craveaux controls the portals. She will never return unless the high minister permits it. Craveaux has no intention of letting the dragon wings slip through the high minister’s hands again.

Are you so sure of yourself?

It was Desrilian’s turn to smile.

The words forced a pause. Had he neglected something? Was there a way for those little girls to slip back through a portal to return to their hiding place?

Surely you do not expect your army of little girls and weak forest creatures to defeat Craveaux, even with that little magic bag of theirs?

"Minno remains beyond your reach. You will never get your hands on my magic. We will defeat you."

Craveaux has laughed at those words before. Still you persist. Days count down now as Craveaux tires of your resistance. Soon the high minister will have the dragons back in Craveaux’s dungeon. Then Craveaux will see what you have to say.

Your reign of terror against the creatures of Ambrosia will soon end. You will lose everything and spend the remainder of your pathetic life in these dark caverns hiding from the creatures who will hunt you.

The words forced Craveaux into an uncharacteristic retreat from his prisoner. At that moment another cowled dark figure entered the cavern from a tunnel off Desrilian’s right. A putrid odor of flesh gone rotten preceded him. Desrilian knew who had arrived. He knew what came next. Terror shuddered through him to the very core of his being. The banter between the two great enemies was about to end. Words would cease. What came next would test the very mettle of the man who was once the greatest of the dragons.

Craveaux sees that time is up. The high minister so enjoys these little chats. Now tell Craveaux where to find the dragon wing and you go free. You need not suffer the agony of torture any longer.

You will never free me. And I will never surrender the dragon wings.

Backing away, Craveaux laughed harder, allowing Scabress to replace him.

Then you will squirm like a worm, the high minister said to conclude their exchange.

The high minister