Derrick shuffled closer to the campfire for the tenth time that night. It was one of the many reasons he hated camping in the wilderness; there didn’t seem to be an optimal distance to sit from the fire. He was either too cold or so hot that his face felt as though it were melting off his skull.

  His thick grey robe was compounding the matter. Trapping some of the heat in places like his armpits and crotch while seemingly unable to do the same in places like the small of his back or knees. The back of his neck was cold too, but if he put his hood up, he’d cook his scalp. His black curly hair was already sweaty, and his short beard itched in the heat.

  He shuffled back again.

  “Keep doing that and you’ll wear a trench through the camp,” said Mawlo. The halfling rogue sat in the crook of a tree branch, sharpening her daggers. For reasons Derrick could never understand, she didn’t seem to feel the cold. She was quite comfortable sitting miles from the fire in her leather armour.

  Perhaps the leather keeps the heat in. I’d hate to be nearby when she takes it off.

  “Or a hole in your robe,” said Fandle. The dwarf tossed another log on the fire and leaned back against his bedroll, scratching at his enormous ginger beard with both hands. He was probably quite warm in all that chainmail and padded armour. “If you’re cold, just pull a blanket over your back.”

  Derrick grumbled and dragged a blanket over his shoulders. The chill disappeared from the small of his back, and the fire was just right to warm his front at this distance.

  Damn. I hate it when the dwarf’s right.

  “I don’t see why we didn’t stay at the inn at the village we passed through,” said Derrick. “We’ve gained, what, half a day? Maybe not even that, when we could be sitting in a nice tavern drinking and being warm.”

  “Half a day may be the difference between saving a life and being too late,” said Harlow. The paladin strolled into camp and nodded for Fandle to take over the watch. “Could you live with that on your conscience?”

  Derrick sighed. “Not sure. Depends how good the ale was.”

  Harlow chuckled and began the process of taking his armour off. The Eyorran had a strange ritual when it came to arming and disarming himself. Constantly praying to Tormund, the God of Justice, while he removed his half-plate mail each night was a time-consuming practice that didn’t seem to serve any purpose.

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  As if the god was even listening. There were bound to be more important things vying for a god’s attention than a paladin undressing himself.

  Harlow gave his blonde hair a quick ruffle before setting his armour down beside his bedroll, then refastened his sword at his waist. He was always ready for action; it spoke of the experience Derrick lacked.

  “So,” said Mawlo from the tree. “Any of you fought a dragon before?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “Not even you, Lenna?” asked Mawlo.

  Derrick turned to the meditating elf. The druid was almost invisible in the shadows with her dark skin and myrtle-green robe. She opened one jade eye. “From what I hear, they are reclusive creatures that seldom leave their lairs, and I’ve never had a reason to visit.”

  “Not even to kill one?”

  “I don’t believe in killing living creatures. It upsets the natural order.”

  “You may have to in the next few days,” said Harlow. “The baron of Hew Melon was very clear in his message: the town is under direct threat from a dragon. Though… I can’t see what a dragon would find of value there.”

  “Virgins,” stated Fandle.

  “What?” asked Mawlo.

  “Virgins. Dragons love kidnapping virgins.”

  “No, you’re thinking of vampires,” said Derrick. “Dragons love gold.”

  “Gold? Why would a dragon want gold?” asked Fandle.

  “Why would they want virgins?” asked Mawlo.

  “To eat… perhaps they taste better?” The dwarf twisted his beard. “Virgins makes more sense than gold.”

  “Either way, the dragon poses a threat to the town, and we are to end it, understood? That is the quest we have been assigned, and that is the quest we shall complete,” said Harlow.

  Fandle nodded and disappeared into the trees to start his watch, battleaxe over his shoulder.

  “It’s definitely gold,” grumbled Derrick. “All literature on dragons says so. They hoard it in their lairs and guard it from anyone who tries to take it from them.”

  “Nah, makes no sense. I’m with the dwarf. Virgins is a lot more reasonable,” said Mawlo.

  “Reasonable?” asked Lenna.

  “You know what I mean. What does a dragon want with gold?”

  Derrick scratched his chin; what did a dragon want with gold? It’s not like they popped down the shops on the weekend. But every book he’d ever read on the subject had been adamant that dragons hoarded gold. Though, not a single one had explained why.

  “It doesn’t matter. All we need be concerned about is slaying it,” said Harlow. “Now, time for rest. We have a long day of travelling tomorrow; I hope to reach the town before next day’s end.”

  Derrick shuffled to his bedroll and lay down. The cold night air slipped under his blanket, chilling his back and the nape of his neck. He thought about pulling on another, but there weren’t enough blankets in the world to stop the chill from seeping in from somewhere.

  He lay on his back, shifted his body, and removed the stick that was prodding him in the shoulder, then sighed at the stars. His first quest was not imbuing him with enthusiasm for the adventuring life.

  “Why couldn’t I just stay at the Circle? Why do wizards have to go on adventures?” he asked the air in a whisper.

  He knew the answer of course; oversight. Every adventuring party needed its Circle-appointed wizard. They didn’t want a repeat of the ‘Oreope incident’.

  He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the snoring in the tree. Tomorrow, they would reach Hew Melon. And there, despite every part of him wishing otherwise, he would fight a dragon.