Release date: April 8, 2015
Subgenre: Epic fantasy, Sword and Sorcery
About Dragon's Luck:
Tips for Survival on the Goblin World
(1) Never trust a goblin.
(2) There are no more dragons. There are other monsters.
(3) Don’t piss off the fairies. Seriously.
(4) Almost everything here will want to eat you.
Studying the list in his hand, Dobbins knew he had to escape the Goblin World. He had a shape- changer to help him, so that was good. He’d had to join forces with a woman who hated him, so that was bad. For any chance at survival, his group of three would have to rely on the fairies. But the fairies can’t stand Dobbins, either.
And that tip about dragons?
Zneeth, the Dragon King, is angry, hungry, and on their trail….
Excerpt:
Dobbins shook his head. What was I thinking, buying
a krawler?
“Krawlers don’t have a cruel bone in their body,” the
wrangler had told him. Which couldn’t be argued, Dobbins knew, because krawlers
didn’t have any bones in their bodies.
“They’re docile and eager to please,” the wrangler
said. What the wrangler somehow forgot to
mention was that creatures were impulsive, forgetful, and a great deal less
intelligent than most of the rocks they undulated over.
Dobbins decided he shouldn’t blame himself. He hadn’t
wanted a krawler. He wouldn’t have bought this one if the Fleck woman hadn’t
spoken up.
“Only you,” she said, “would consider buying something
called a ‘crawler’ when we’re in a hurry.”
So it was her fault, really, nagging at him. Along
with the krawler, he'd purchased provisions and a wagon. For a few more
dibblesticks, they could have purchased a weapon or two – a pike, a sword,
something, anyway – but, no, Fleck had insisted on buying some clothing.
“The shape-changer’s tunics are too big,” she complained.
“Everything you have is dirty or useless.”
“Terran clothing is hard to come by. I’ve got a spare
pair of pants.”
“Too short,” she said. “For me, anyway.”
It had taken the last of their money to cover her
gangly body. Her yellow undershirt was never meant to accompany the too-tight
red shorts clinging to her undersized butt. Covering this ensemble with a
short, blue robe had only compounded the problem.
A less charitable man might have said she was dressed
like a color-blind escapee from an intergalactic circus. Not that that Dobbins
would say anything like that. If he did, she’d probably hit him.
Just like the last time.
“It’s not like I expect to be repaid,” he told the
back of the krawler’s head. “Not all at once, anyway. It’s not that I begrudge
helping a fellow Terran, either. But a little gratitude would be nice.”
Gratitude? Fleck had never heard of the word. When she
was led from her cage, what did she do? Did she fall, weeping, into Dobbins’
arms? She did not.
Blushing, did she try to cover her exposed body with
hands that were seemingly too small for the task? Not her.
Naked as the Morning Star, she walked right up to him.
“This is your fault,” she'd snarled, as if that made any sense, and then
decked him with her bony right hand.
The bruise on his cheek was large, darkening, and
tender to the touch.
For some reason, Fleck acted as if he was responsible
for her troubles. It was as if he had demanded she go to a bawdyhut and swallow
the swill placed in front of her. Personally, he knew better than to drink from
cups containing eyeballs.
She was mean and humorless. How could he be expected
to spend days and days on the road with such a spiteful woman?
Slaves. They were nothing but trouble.
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About Richard Hardeman:
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