the smuggler’s bible

Dromond of Frisia

The sun drops behind the village, mixing with the red glow from the fires. Dromond of Frisia moves fast over the cobblestones. A horse screams in the distance. Someone takes a swing at him, but misses wide. Sharp Jenny breezes through a six-centimeter gap in the man’s guard, and Dromond glides in behind her.

A blast of hot air rolls over his face and the grain barn spits a column of flame a hundred yards in the air.

Sure, there’s treasure somewhere—Dromond can smell it—but the night is still young and he already got what he came for.