Arven crept slowly forward, wary of any noise his feet might make on the rough stone. He looked at the heap of treasure before him. There was easily enough here to repay all his debts and more.

He drew his sword. The cursed steel would strike the dragon down easily. He’d retrieve the artifact he needed from its hoard, no matter the cost—no matter how his heart twinged at the idea of hurting such a wondrous beast.

The dragon stirred. He froze, tensing, watching it as it shifted, sword held tightly in his hand.