II.
Below the canopy of the trees, the
sparks struggled through the kindling. Growgash snorted in
frustration at the mercenaries' attempts to light a blaze large
enough to roast their dinner. They had refused help from her and the
priest and apprentice, not that their employers had really offered
any. Jaxom spurned their company as he did not trust the look of
them.
With the blaze finally lit and the
small game they'd caught eagerly devoured, the company settled for
the night. Growgash drew first watch and Jaxom stayed with her as he
was next. As she unsheathed her sword for cleaning, she noticed the
blonde man inching towards her.
“You're a brave one, to approach me
when I have my sword out,” she eyed him.
“You think I wouldn't notice you
staring at me earlier. You orcs have curious taste in mates...” her
ears pricked at his hot breath. “But you're attractive enough, and
a good fighter.”
“Unlike some I could mention...”
she looked across into his dark eyes. Very few human men were equal
to her height, let alone taller than her. The canopy of the dense
forest trapped the heat from the day and her leathers were chafing
badly. A bead of sweat dropped from the man's chin onto her hand. On
the other side of the fire there was movement.
The priest and his apprentice awoke
and took up positions on opposite sides of the fire. Then steepling
their fingers they began to mutter in unison. The younger mercenary
peered from under his blankets nervously while his companions buried
themselves in irritation. Abruptly the chanting stopped but the two
worshipers remained at their posts. From the corner of her eye,
Growgash saw a spider's silken web stretch and billow outward without
aid of a breeze. Indeed, the air all about them seemed deathly still
and the fire seemed dimmer by the moment.
Beyond the ring of protection black
shapes formed and lumbered closer. Growgash and Jaxom lept up, swords
ready as the older men rubbed sleep from their eyes and crawled to
their weapons. No matter how tightly the younger man held his sword,
the blade quivered in his grip. Now the shadow figures towered over
them, still obscured by the darkness despite the rapidly dwindling
fire.
Simultaneously the priest and his
charge jumped to their feet.
“Leave! Now! We cannot hope to fight
these beasts!” and they did so, dashing away from the fire. For a
moment the shadowy figures arched over the blaze, then swallowed it
in pursuit. There was still light, however. Ahead of the soldiers,
Growgash saw the bag slung over the priest’s shoulder. It glowed
brightly with the same blue light from before. What's more, it was
moving, as if a knot of snakes were writhing inside.