Luckbane (Otherworld #1) by Tony Breeden: Chapters 1 - 3

Chapter 1 – Thief

Scorched earth surrounded the monster's rocky lair for miles. Nothing lived here, not even a single blade of grass. Nothing dared.

“Sane folk stay far, far away from dragons,” master thief Jarrod Seventhborn said, watching Gregor carefully. Truth be told, Jarrod wasn’t overly concerned about the dragon. Fighting the dragon would almost be welcome right now. No, his chief concern at the moment was diversion, pure and simple; as the company's rearguard, there’d been nothing much to do except look at the backs of everyone’s helmeted heads. The scenery wasn’t much better.

He glanced at his dwarf friend, Rogar Thunderhammer, to see if he’d also noticed Gregor’s reaction. Given the fact that the dwarf spent his time alternately chuckling and humming some tuneless song, it was safe to say that Rogar’s mind was far afield. Knowing him, the dwarf was already counting the dragon’s hoard. This whole dragonslaying gig was Rogar’s idea. The dwarf had a knack for getting them both into trouble, which was half the reason Jarrod kept him around. Of course, Rogar was usually a little more observant…

Jarrod picked up a pebble and pinged it off the dwarf’s helmet. The humming ceased. Jarrod continued. “…especially dragons which clearly wish to be left alone.”

The dwarf grunted in response.

“And do you know why, Rogar?”

The dwarf glanced at the thief, managing to look both amused and annoyed. Jarrod flashed his eyes toward Gregor. Frowning, the dwarf turned around, but Jarrod could tell he was watching Gregor now, too.

Wiping a grin from his face, Jarrod got back into character. “Because dragons are a very sure and horrible form of death!”

Gregor flinched again. The master thief found this reaction intriguing – especially since Gregor, a heavily armored fellow whose lineage was suspected to be at least half ogre, seemed perfectly suited for such rough business as dragonslaying when they’d hired him. Jarrod was starting to think Gregor was far less capable than his shamelessly sculpted muscles, meticulously polished armor and flowing wheat-colored tresses would lead one to believe.

“What’s your point, Jarrod?” Rogar asked.

“We’re all going to die.”

Gregor flinched again.

Rogar chuckled. “Not today.”

Jarrod quickened his pace to march alongside the dwarf, speaking in a terse whisper. “Tell me you saw that?”

“He’ll be fine,” the dwarf said.

“Really? Look at him, Rogar,” Jarrod hissed. “Gregor’s coming apart at the seams. I’ve never seen somebody so jumpy.”

The dwarf didn’t answer.

Jarrod wasn’t ready to give it up. Raising his voice, he waved his hand toward the scenery. “Look at this place, Rogar: Not a single shrub nor tree, nor even a single, solitary blade of grass to hide our approach. Any rock big enough to provide cover has been smashed to shards, pal. You think that's a coincidence? No, sir. If that dragon comes out of its lair before we reach it... it’s only a matter of whether that monster prefers us rare or well done.”

Both Jarrod and Rogar watched Gregor throughout the monologue. The muscle-bound warrior’s reaction was a picture of craven cowardice. Gregor looked ready to flee at the sight of his own shadow!

“OK, I see it,” the dwarf admitted in a hushed voice. “I never should have hired him. What do you want me to do about it now? We’re already here.”