Free Dragonhunt by Garon Whited

 
    DRAGONHUNT
    OR
    WHY HEROES ARE SO RARE
     
    “Was it my idea to promise we'd kill a dragon? No!”
    The ranting wizard waved his hands theatrically and his horse snorted in surprise. With a curse, the wizard snatched at the reins wrapped around the saddlehorn.
    “That's not entirely Aramon's fault,” replied the priest. “It was Gorgar that decided to brag about us.”
    “He didn't decide anything,” the wizard snapped, squirming in the saddle. “He drank enough mead to drown a horse—and I wish we could drown this blasted beast!”
    The priest's eyes twinkled blue. “If you would remember that the objective is to keep your backside in contact with the saddle—you sit on it, you know—instead of standing in the stirrups, you might find it more comfortable.”
    “I should have brought another blanket, Tindal,” moaned the wizard, miserably.
    “What's this about a blanket?” asked Gorgar as he rode up from the rear of the group. Dust from the horses' hooves stained his armor and steed a roadway grey; the blending of color made him look like a strange hybrid creature of man and horse.
    “Y’vin is still a trifle uncomfortable on horseback,” Tindal replied, unperturbed. “He could use another blanket for his own backside, rather than under the saddle for the horse.”
    “Gee, I'm sorry,” Gorgar said, and sounded sincere. “I forgot how you and horses get along.”
    “You also forget that I hate dust, and heat, and eating that dried dung you call trail bread!” Y’vin snapped.
    Gorgar sighed. Y’vin was in one of his moods again. Nothing would be right until he was in a small, enclosed room, freshly bathed, and pleasantly filled with a hot meal. It was always the same. Y’vin was simply a natural-born indoorsman. A damn fine wizard, and, when it came down to cases, a good man to have backing you, but completely out of his element in the elements.
    “I'm sorry,” Gorgar repeated. “I hadn't intended to go off on some wilderness trek like this, but…”
    “You weren't to know,” Tindal soothed. “We should have thought twice before coming along to your sister's wedding. We knew it would be a long trip and not entirely pleasant,” he added, and pointedly looked at the wizard. “We all agreed to come along.”
    Y’vin muttered something too low to hear and subsided into a sulk.
    “I'm glad you were all here,” Gorgar agreed. “It really made her happy to see actual heroes.”
    “And got us volunteered to go hero-ing,” Y’vin muttered, this time loud enough to hear. “We could have been in Tourmaline, minding the town's woes, getting paid to just be handy in case of trouble, but noooooo—we had to go looking .”
    Gorgar flushed a darker shade than his usual heavy tan. Tindal spoke before anything more could be said.
    “That will be enough from both of you. Gorgar, please go relieve Sir Aramon on point. And you, Y’vin if you can't do anything but complain, shut up.”
    Y’vin shut up.
    * * *
    “My brother, Gorgar. Gorgar, this is my betrothed, Llewellyn Harpsinger.”
    Gorgar looked the man over with an experienced eye. The fellow wasn't a fighter, not by a long shot. Still, he was hale enough and handsome enough. Combined with a fine instrument and clear voice, he looked like he might not be all that bad, for a worthless songsmith. If Sis was happy with him…
    “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance,” Gorgar recited, and offered his hand. Llewellyn clasped forearms with the warrior and showed himself to have a good, strong grip. Gorgar liked him, even against his natural suspicion of minstrels, but held hard to that suspicion. Anyone too charming spent a long time practicing it.
    “The honor is mine,” Llewellyn replied.
    “I got word in Tourmaline of the wedding,” he replied. “I wasn't aware that Sis had been seeing anyone.”
    “Maedel and I were rather taken with each other,” Llewellyn admitted. Maedel blushed madly and lowered her eyes. Gorgar's own eyes