A Dragon Scorned (WIP 2nd edition)

Chapter 1 cont.

Urim's fingers wrapped around the cold steel of the shver-ship's railing. Despite the healing treatment he received after the fight, his head still pounded from the knockout blow. At least it was quiet up here. Relatively quiet – he could just about hear the drunken ramblings of the mercenaries through the wall of the nearby cabin.

He strained his eyes trying to pierce through the milky white fog the massive vessel cut through. Though cut, wasn't quite the right word. No, the pride of the dwarven craftsmanship, the steel behemoth the size of a mountain, built to withstand even the worst fire and liquid metal storms of the Teeming Sea, plowed through the Interior Ocean with ease. Just like Urim imagined he will plow through Burkin's records and find a way to get back at...

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. At the last moment he grimaced instead of flinching.

"Haven't I seen you here a few hours ago?" a familiar voice asked. "I didn't realized you missed me already, dear friend."

Urim twisted around and faced Thorar, a taller than him broad shouldered warrior that could easily rival Burkin.

"Yes, I couldn't wait to hear another one of your wild theories," he responded with a hint of sarcasm.

The dwarven mercenary laughed. "You lost a bet again?"

"Yup." Urim conceded, his friend new him better than his Brothers.

In fact he hoped Thorar would prove himself during this mission and they could share not just beer and battles, but the dragon slayer's mark as well. Instinctively he reached for the tattoo covered under layers of leather and cloth. But in the end he just coughed into his clenched fist. "What brings you out into the cold?"

"I like the cold." Thorar shrugged and then nodded at the cabin door a brisk walk down the deck. "It was getting stuffy in there."

"Aye," Urim nodded and wrinkled his nose. Mongrels. Even if they were of royal dwarven blood, the Fringer mentality bore in deep. Still, they were good meat for the fight and occasionally one could find a diamond in the rough... like Thorar. "No more unrests?"

"Not since the last execution." Thorar shook his head and leaned against the railing. "They know it was fair, but it doesn't make them feel any better."

"C'mon Thorar, we're not here to feel good." Urim's blood boiled at the memory of the last fire and brimstone storm they run into a few weeks earlier. "The Brotherhood lost three elite men rescuing the weapons those idiots left untied. Because of what? Laziness? Fear? They had plenty of time to fulfill their duties before they ran to cower in the lower decks."

"We lost men too."

Urim snorted. "Don't talk to me about that dragon meat."

"But-"

"No buts, Thorar. The mission always comes first." Urim exhaled letting go of the anger. This was not the time or place. "If we cowered at the sight of danger, the world would be devoured by dragons by now."

"Well, there'll be one less soon enough." Thorar grinned and patted Urim on the back.

"If we don't lose our way in this bloody fog." Urim huffed. He was proud of his eyesight — on a clear day he could spot even the tiniest bird several miles away. Yet at that moment, strain his eyes as he might, he could still see no farther than just about double the length of his arm.

"I'm sure they have a better view in the ." Thorar nodded to the tall tower obscured by the fog.

Urim looked around. "They don't need eyes to find the way. And I know we're getting close." He said in a lowered voice.