Trik & The Dragon's Lair

“What do you see?” asked the half-dwarf, gruffly.

Trik lowered his gray riding hood and his blue-green eyes narrowed on the snow-covered trail before them. He and the half-dwarf were riding on the Stormdrake Pass from Endogar to Ruledrim. Before them, fading into the foggy distance, towered three snow-covered peaks. “Nothing,” said Trik.

“Blast it,” shouted the half-dwarf.

“Wait,” said Trik, his eyes widening, “look there.” He pointed with his hand at something far in the distance, a long column of faint gray smoke spiraling up against the snowy mountain peaks.

The half-dwarf clicked his heels and rode his mule up to Trik’s stallion. His saddle was covered with many fine rugs, and beneath those rugs the silver blade of a double-sided battle axe glinted in the morning sun. He squinted at the tiny column of smoke in the distance. “Smoke signal,” he said. “Perhaps a call for help.”

“Perhaps not,” said Trik, staring at the rising column of smoke in the distance.

“It’ll be noon at least,” said the half-dwarf, “before we reach the village.”

“Sooner,” said Trik, “if we ride quickly.”

Suddenly a shadow was cast over the two riders, and a bellowing cry rang out over the mountains. The half-dwarf covered his ears with his hands as he looked up. Over their heads barreled a great winged creature clad in scales shining silver in the morning light.

“Dragon,” shouted the half-dwarf.

“Big one,” shouted Trik.

Trik watched the creature as it wheeled over the pass, skirting the vale between the pass and the peaks in the distance. The dragon abruptly changed its course as it approached the tallest of the three mountain peaks, turning and then swooping lower before careening out of sight.

“Majestic creature,” said Trik.

“With a taste for mortal blood,” said the half-dwarf. “We are lucky he was not on the hunt.”

Trik turned to the half-dwarf. “I’d rather he was,” said Trik, grinning. “I haven’t faced a worthy foe in decades.”

“It would be fool’s errand to fight a dragon in the air,” said the half-dwarf. “While you hunger for battle, my belly aches for good ale.”

“As does mine,” said Trik, his eyes returning to the mountain peaks, “as does mine.”