That Damn Dragon!: The Adventurer Series, #1

By Trevor Jones

What would make you leave the comfort and safety of your home? The call to adventure is heard by many, but only answered by the bravest. Can an exiled barbarian or a failed dwarf find purpose away from their people?  Will a wizard find the missing lore that his guild is lacking? Will a young priestess be able to answer her goddess' call? Can a star elf ranger overcome his people's prejudice?

Most importantly, can they set aside their differences and defeat the dragon?

That Damn Dragon! is the exciting origin of the heroes, first seen in Penta Ka Wa: The Dark Gift. See how it all started and the obstacles they overcame to become The Adventurers you know and love. This is the first book in the series, sure to become a fan favorite.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trevor Jones
• Release date: Nov 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393187035

Book preview

Chapter 1 

The winter winds blew the last of the leaves from the aspen trees and the sun’s rays seemed sluggish, like the cold air slowed the light. Hector gazed across the snow blown terrain and held his breath. There was something hidden he could not see, but he could sense it. The tribes of the high mountains prided themselves on their prowess and being able to sense when something was amiss kept many a warrior alive.

The scouting party caught up to him, but realized he was on guard. Each member took up a position and drew their various weapons. The Aries Tribe, Lord of the Rams, were a sure footed clan and, while they had no favored weapon, each was deadly with their own chosen one. Hector pulled his large double headed ax from his back and hefted it to his shoulder. He could feel a danger lurking nearby and shifted his weight forward and bent his knees. No one questioned his intuition. Hector was young, but already considered one of the best fighters among a tribe known for their battle skills.

The eight party members spread out in a rough circle. Hector knew each of them, having grown up with two as friends. He considered them all accomplished and deadly warriors. He knew they could handle themselves. A shift of snow in the wrong direction, fifteen feet from Hector was his only warning.

The crust broke and the hidden creature lunged upwards, blowing ice and snow into the air. Hector spun to face it, but the beast was upon his tribesmen before he even moved. The monster stood nearly ten feet tall. Its blue-white skin was covered in frost and lichen. Green icicles hung from the long, misshapen nose. The deep sunken black eyes darted back and forth as the monster reached out to hurt, to maim, and to kill.

Troll! Hector’s cry was deep and echoed across the landscape. It was a frost troll, one of the most dangerous creatures in the Black Mountains.

The claws of the monster ripped through the thick ram’s hide of the tribesmen like parchment. Its strength was incredible and each swipe threw a man to the ground. A sword slash across the troll’s arm sent a bright red spray across the snow. Though their weapons drew blood, the legendary powers of the troll were immediately visible. Almost as fast as it was made, the injury began to close, the magical healing powers of the troll, knitting its flesh back together. The pain just seemed to spur the beast on even more.

Surround it! Don’t let up! Hector moved around behind, but his shout drew the creature’s attention. He spun the blade in his hands and used it as a mirror to reflect the sun’s rays into its eyes. It took a step towards him and swung, but Hector was able to easily dodge the blows. He caught his tribesman's’ gaze and signaled for an attack. The six warriors that were still on their feet moved in at once. Hector kept the light in the creature’s eyes until the last moment and then stepped forward and swung. The troll realized what was happening and flailed wildly. Two more were driven to the ground, but the others landed solid hits upon the creature’s torso and legs. It fell to one knee and Hector heaved his great ax and severed an arm. He was rewarded with a spray of blood that blinded him and drove him backwards. Hector dipped a hand into the snow and wiped his face. When he looked up the troll’s head landed near his feet. The warriors made short work of the troll. Hector smiled, raised his ax and called out.

They gathered around, and as one they cut into their own flesh, making the symbol for troll. These wounds would become scars, badges of honor, celebrating their victory this day.

The group patched up their wounded and scattered the trolls body parts far and wide, kicking and throwing parts into ravines and down the mountain. It would take time, but the monster would recover and grow a new body from some remnant of the old. They could only be truly killed by fire, but in the high winds and cold of the mountains, fire was a luxury they could not carry with them.

The scouting party made its way back to the main tribe. They were already moved into their winter encampment, a grotto large enough for the entire tribe and their animals. The entrance was as large as ten men tall and wide, but would be sealed up with timbers covered with hide to keep out the wind. The injured were carried in and taken to their healer and shaman, Hector’s great aunt. She was gifted with the sight and could commune with their ancestors. They would guide her hands to the poultices and words that would bring a faster recovery to their people. The tribe often owed their lives to their shaman, and was considered a wise adviser to the Chief, for she carried the memories of all those that came before.

Hector greeted family and friends upon his return and made his way through the encampment to his tent. Hector was barely twenty winters old and so lived alone among the tents of the other single warriors. He would soon be encouraged to find a mate as his father was the Chief.

Hector! I heard you found a troll!

Father! Hector waved up at Chief Praecdos, who looked down from above. The Chief sat upon a stone carved throne on a ledge that overlooked the camp. The vantage point also allowed him and his closest warriors to hurl spears at any invaders. Hector bound up the roughhewn steps to the top of the ledge and flung himself into this father’s embrace. The Chief was one of the few warriors that stood taller than Hector, and he lifted his son in his arms. He was his father’s greatest pride, and one day he would take his place as leader of his people. They already overwhelmingly loved the boy. His spirit was strong and his skills were unmatched by any in his generation and they would only grow with time.

Before you crossed the troll, how did the scouting go? He motioned to the chair next to his throne for Hector to sit.

It went well. The herds have moved to their usual winter locations. They were fruitful this spring and summer, so there will be plenty to get us through the winter. We also found a new spring that was rich in salt and will not freeze. His father clapped him on the back.

Well done! Your skills as a hunter and scout are unmatched. Hector bowed his head and blushed.

It was Tylar that found the spring, she’s a truly great scout, and Cedric tracked the herds. I didn’t do that much.

Nonsense! You’re a natural leader. You don’t have to be the best at every skill, but knowing who is, allows you to place the best tribesman in charge. You will be a great Chief.

Thank you father.

Yes, you will be a great Chief one day. The two turned to see Hector’s younger brother, Victor. Like Hector, Victor was tall and strong. All the men of his father’s line were powerfully built. Hector took after his mother, having dark, auburn hair and dark brow. His brother took after their father with long, blond hair, worn in tight braids against his scalp. Victor was fond of wearing his totem hide, with the ram’s skull as a helm. Hector found the skulls, with their great horns, too weighty and distracting. He chose instead to wear only the hide and save the skull and horns for ceremonies. Hector was often teased by his father for going bare chested in the caves, even in the depths of winter. The barbarians of the mountains were known for surviving the harsh cold, but Hector was considered even hardier than most. He stood and met his brother and they embraced their forearms as warriors would and clapped each other on the shoulders. There was a rivalry between then, but Hector saw it as good natured and part of being the first born.

I heard you were taken by a troll and will be expecting a newborn before the sun sets. Victor smiled at his humor. I hope you will marry and be happy together!

Nay, brother. It said I wasn’t pretty enough, and so offered to send you instead. Their father came forth and embraced them. He knew if he didn’t stop their banter it would lead to a scuffle, and he had bigger things to discuss.

That’s enough, squabbling boys! Come, sit, eat and take counsel, we have much to talk about.

The evening meal was brought out, as well as urns of berry wine and spirits. The men ate heartily, in silence awaiting their father’s revelation. As the last of the hard bread was used to wipe the stone plates of meat drippings and the wine was emptied into their cups, their father broke his silence. He cleared his throat and looked Hector in the eye.

Hector, this winter marks the beginning of your third decade. It is time for you to select a life-mate. I know you’ve shared the tent of many of the eligible women, but it is time you selected one and made a pairing. I will still be Chief for some time so you will be able to be a good father and husband for a few years yet. I will want to see grandchildren before I lay down in the snow.

Father, I don’t wish to think of such things. I’m young and have many battles ahead. I don’t think I’m ready to share my tent, just yet.

Bah! Don’t be thick headed. He gave Hector a thump across the brow. A life-mate will make your tent better, and having a trusted ally at your back means no longer sleeping with that ax of yours. Victor watched the conversation between the two, feeling invisible.

And what of me, father? Will you want me to be taking a life-mate and giving you grandchildren as well?

You Victor? You’re a year younger, so you have time. I was thinking you could start training with the skinners and tanners. I’ve seen your blade work. I’ll bet you could fashion new boots and armor before Hector gets around to being hand-fasted. Victor’s jaw clenched at his father’s comment. He stood in a huff and marched off. Hector watched him leave, a look of worry across his brow.

You shouldn’t taunt him, father. He is too proud, and I fear his temper is getting worse with age. The Chief grew solemn.

I have heard there were a few scuffles that got out of hand.

He is hot headed, and as son of the Chief, there aren’t many that will stand up to him.

Don’t worry about him. You worry about finding a life-mate.

Hector and his father parted as the sun set and the grotto was cast into darkness. Torch lights and campfires created thick shadows that danced on the high walls. Hector made his way back to his tent, not needing his eyes to follow the route home. A figure rose up out of the darkness and tackled him. Hector’s ax dug into his back as he landed hard on the rough floor. He raised his hands up to defend himself and found them full of the soft flesh of a woman’s breast.

Tylar? Hector whispered. What are you doing?

You took too long talking with your father. I’ve been ready and waiting in your tent. I will have you now.

Wait, let's go inside first. Someone will see.

It’s dark, chief’s son. And I am tired of waiting. As Hector’s eyes adjusted, he could see that she wore only her sheepskin hide cloak and boots. She reached downward and freed him from the confines of his armor and codpiece. Hector hissed as her cold hand touched his flesh. Too embarrassed to let this continue, but also filled with lust, Hector rolled her over until he was above her. He stood and in a quick, graceful motion the lifted her over his shoulder and carried her to his tent. Once inside, he tossed her onto his bedding and looked upon her in the light. Her hair was wild and her breath was coming in rapid gasps. Hector saw her breast had a line of fresh blood. She followed his gaze to the blood and swiped it with a finger and brought it to her lips.

Your blade has already tasted my flesh. Why have you not?  Hector wasted no more time undressing and joined her on the fur pelts. They embraced as only knowing lovers can. They made love as the barbarians of the mountains do, with passion and violence. They growled and snarled. They wrestled and pushed and pulled against each other, testing their strength. Their desires eventually won out and Hector took her. His imposing bulk pinning her down. He held her arms above her head and pushed her legs wide.

Why do you hesitate, chief’s son? her voice a hoarse whisper.

Don’t call me that. He growled.

"Why not? You will be chief one day, and I will be your Ariki." Hector stopped and sat up.

We have not discussed such things, woman. I don’t wish to be Chief. Realizing she had broken the mood she sat up as well and took his face in her hands. She gazed into his green eyes, so unusual for their people.

"Would you still have me as your Ariki?" Hector’s face softened, but before he could answer there was a high pitched, wailing scream that echoed across the grotto. There were shouts and yelling and they could clearly hear the words.

The Chief is dead! Hector’s face went pale. Had their conversation brought misfortune upon them? Hector grabbed his cloak and rushed out of the tent. Tylar grabbed hers as well as her blades. She saw Hector’s ax, discarded among the furs. She snatched it up under her cloak and ran after him.

Many of the tribe were gathered beneath the ridge, more joining every minute. The stairs upwards was crowded with warriors and the elders making the climb to the top. They parted as Hector rushed forward. He bound up the stairs and ran across the top to where he had just spent the evening with his father. There he lay before the stone throne, his chest a crushed, bloody ruin. His eyes held a pleading look, made worse by the swollen and bruised flesh of his face. He had been struck by a war hammer. The crowd was silent. Hector’s eyes followed a trail of blood across the floor to the stone throne. Against it lay a massive, stone headed war hammer. The stone was sky-metal, having been collected high in the mountains one summer evening. The stone was still hot when it was found and taken to the tribal weapon-smith, where a thick juniper handle was made for it. Hector knew this weapon well, as he knew its owner, who sat now upon the stone throne. It was his brother Victor.    He sat there, his gaze intent upon his brother. There was blood spray upon his chest, still wet. Their eyes locked, and the grotto was still, awaiting what came next.

Why, brother? Have you gone mad? Hector beseeched his brother.

Far from it, Hector. Our father had grown slow and wearisome. He prattled on about grandchildren and passing the throne on to you. He no longer went out on raids, or hunts. He was weak! Victor came off the throne, screaming. His left hand reached down and lifted the massive hammer. He leveled it at his brother to make his point. You will now ascend to the throne, brother, where you will be loved by all and the Ram Tribe will become strong once again.

He may not have been the strongest among us, but he was wise and skilled. He was our leader. He was our Father! What right did you have to take him from us? Hector stepped forward, his eyes growing hard and his jaw clenching. Victor’s hammer was close to brushing his chest.

By right of strength! He was not strong enough to be our leader. You will take his place.

I don’t want to be Chief! Hector swatted his brother’s hammer away like a irritating bug.

You are eldest son. You have to take the throne, it is your birthright!

He speaks truth and tradition, young Hector. Hector’s great aunt, Tau, came forward from the crowd. The mantle of Chief falls to you, eldest son of Praecdos. It is yours as long as you can defend it. Tau leaned heavily on her walking cane.

I did not ask for this. I did not want my father dead. I did not ask my brother to do this terrible deed. Hector looked around at those gathered on the ridge top. He saw Tylar there watching him with a sadness in her eyes. He saw the look of expectation and hope among the elders. He also saw that a group of warriors had moved behind his brother Victor. It seemed his brother had support among the young and hot blooded fighters in the tribe. I will not take the mantle. I will not be Chief of the Aries Tribe. A murmuring worked its way around the crowd. Hector’s declaration was repeated down the stairs and among the rest of the tribe below. He let his gaze follow the turning heads down to the cavern floor, fifty feet below. The tribe looked up towards him. He could feel their weight, their need, and their expectation. It was not something he desired.

Well brother. If you will not take the mantle, it falls to me. I declare myself Chief of the Aries Tribe, Lord of the Rams! He stepped up and stood upon the stone throne. I am your Chief now! Kneel before Chief Victor! His closest allies knelt immediately. Slowly, the rest of the tribe followed, until only Victor and Hector remained standing. You must bow, brother, for I am your new Chief.

You are no chief of mine, murderer. The tribal warriors behind the throne stood and drew weapons. It was obvious these were the supporters that would be backing his brother’s claim to the throne. Hector was unarmed but didn’t seem to care.

Careful brother. I am Chief now. You will swear the oath and kneel. Victor stepped down from the throne and walked towards Hector. He stepped over the body of his father and swung his hammer in a lazy circle by the leather thong at the end of the handle. A single drop of blood flew from the hammer’s head and splashed against Hector’s chest. For Hector, time seemed to slow to a crawl. The blood looked to have erupted from his own chest, just as it had from his father’s. He saw the world through rage filled eyes and spoke to his brother through gritted teeth.

I have not forgotten our father. I have not forgotten the man that showed us how to hunt, how to forage, how to survive. He showed us how to be men of tribe. He showed us how to be honorable. You have forgotten our father. Victor smirked.

"I’ve forgotten nothing. A man takes what he can and doesn’t apologize for those that are too helpless to keep it. I recall his strength of old. He never would have tolerated this weakness. As Chief, I will not tolerate it or disloyalty. If you don’t kneel brother...I will make you." Hector shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. He counted six men, but only four would attack him. If he could take out the two strongest fast enough, the others might back off. They hefted their weapons and came at him. The tribe gasped, realizing what they were witnessing. Two warriors came straight at him, each with heavy clubs topped with bone spikes. Two others circled past to try and get behind him. Hector charged them, surprising them both. Their clumsy swings were easily avoided and Hector firmly planted a fist into one’s sternum making him double over. He spun around, grabbing the club from his hands and struck the other in the chest, piercing his flesh and causing him to fall to the ground. Hector  continued his spin and swept the legs from the first before he could recover and kicked him in the face.  The two that circled behind him changed position to flank him as two more came on. Hector swung the club in a great sweeping arc to force them back. The four he faced now had swords and axes and would be more cautious than reckless. They circled him, lunging and drawing back as he reacted. Hector’s rage at his father's death was fading and being replaced by the stress of battle. They had the numbers and could wear him down if they wished. Some of the tribe’s men called out, offering their support, if he should prevail. The Rams Tribe always backed the strongest leader and they were waiting to see if Hector was worthy.

Come Victor. Will your men do all your fighting for you? Will you not face me after all?

I’ll face you soon enough, traitor. This is a chance for my men to prove their value as well as to bring you to heel. Victor backed away and sat again upon the throne to watch.

Hector watched closely as the four men exchanged looks. They were trying to decide who would strike first, but their faces betrayed them. They was no leader among them and Hector realized he had the advantage. He drew his club back and made as if to strike the one on his left, but then spun and flung his club as hard as he could. The surprised warrior took it full in the face and he fell back with his skull pierced and crushed.

Hector! From the edge of the crowd, Tylar had moved closer and now tossed his ax high into the air. Though he could have reached for it, he saw that all three of his attackers were also watching it. He grinned, knowing advantage when he saw it. He moved quickly, like the namesake of his tribe, and rammed full speed, head to face with one of the men. Blood exploded from his opponent’s nose and he fell back. Hector dropped into a roll and picked up his ax. Coming to his knees he threw it with both hands, full force into the chest of another. He stood, breathing hard. Only two warriors remained and their fight seemed to have left them. They backed away until they were even with the throne. Hector calmly walked to the fallen man and pulled his ax free of the man’s chest.

You need better men. Hector said. He lifted his ax to his shoulder and stepped clear of the pile of bodies. Victor growled as he jumped to his feet and raised his hammer. He swung it in a wide arc, and used the leather thong on the end to take it over his head and back again. Hector side stepped, moving his ax to a two handed grip. He was well aware of the advantages and disadvantages of both weapons and would be careful to not let his blade meet that hammer.

When you are no longer breathing, and your blood has joined our father’s upon my hammer, I will be the Chief and I’ll take Tylar as my mate. Hector went still, realizing the depths of his brother’s ambition. Victor spun around and took his hammer into both hands. He allowed its momentum to carry him to the side and then with a grunt of effort he altered its path. Hector was surprised to see the speed at which Victor moved. He turned his ax blades and took the full force of the hit on the flat. He was driven back and nearly stumbled. His brother did not slow and was coming in for a second attack. Hector bent backwards and allowed the hammer to sail over his chest as he swung his ax out sideways. It was a clumsy and poor attack, but Hector’s options were limited. Victor did the unexpected and stepped forward. He let the ax blade pass his side and grabbed at the handle with his left hand. With his right he drew the hammer up and brought it down upon Hector’s chest, driving him to the ground. His breath left him and the stone floor met his head with a resounding crack.

The spectators gasped, thinking