Belly of the Beast by Warren Thomas (story books for 5 year olds txt) 📕

            “A smith!” Dakar bellowed. “The Arisen are only sending a measly craftsman to destroy me! It took an army of one hundred thousand and six Gods to capture me before!”

            “Perhaps it is a ruse, Divine Master,” Mogens said. “It seems incomprehensible that a High Priest would recklessly leave behind such information.”

            “He was captured trying to destroy all his documents,” Nizar said in a reasonable tone. “You yourself killed him, High Priest Mogens. Don’t you recall?”

            “Ruse or not,” Dakar said, ending their squabble, “I can’t afford to take any chances.”

            As he recalled, the Arisen had been newborn Gods at the time. They have had three thousand years to mature and learn. They were cunning adversaries. But They were fallible, for He had learned that the Arisen had effectively outlawed Their own personal participation in the “war.” They had vowed to never again fight a war, God against God, within the Mortal Realm. And Gods, Himself included, were slaves to Their vows. It was Their greatest weakness, by Dakar’s reckoning.

            “You have done well, Nizar,” Dakar said, noting how the Tameran’s chest swelled under the praise. The High Priest scowled at the newcomer. “I will grant you a reward. Yes, I will make you a commander within My eastern flank. Serve Me well, and you will receive many more rewards, Nizar al-Sayyid.”

            “My God, you honor me,” Nizar said, prostrating himself before Dakar.

Chapter 8

            “On your feet!”

            Tane started out of deep sleep. Bright lamplight stabbed at his eyes, as loud crashing and stomping sounded all around him. It sounded as if a herd of cattle was stampeding through his room. Then a dark man with angry eyes appeared suddenly beside him, spewing blasphemies and threats.

            Remembering where he was, Tane sat up quickly. And banged his head on the bunk above. He crawled out of bed as he furiously rubbed the growing knot on his forehead. The shouting man was immediately before him, demanding he stand in something called “at attention” in harsh tones. Though still sleep-dazed, Tane managed to satisfy the terrible man after a moment. Then the little man in the bunk above his dropped down beside him.

            Tane wanted to turn and study the man, for he was of a people Tane had only heard about. He was a Swampman, from the vast Jar Swamp north of Kestsax and astride the mighty Jar River for half its length. So while the yelling soldier was badgering the elf, Quinn, Tane hazard a side glance at the Swampman, and instantly regretted it.

            The man’s hair was straight, black and pulled up into a braid that started at his forehead, above a long, narrow face with a hooked nose and sharp chin. He had a greenish-gray complexion. He wasn’t very tall, not even reaching Tane’s shoulder. But the Swampman was looking up at Tane, grinning wolfishly with blackened teeth filed to wicked points. It reminded Tane that Swampmen were half-goblin cannibals, and the look the Swampman was giving him made him uneasy.

            “All right, you gutter-scum,” the soldier waking them said in a calmer voice. His accent said he was a Jarlander, probably from the far north, nearer the equator. “I’m Corporal Pendar, 2nd Squad leader. For you who don’t know what squad you’re in, I have the swordsmith, the elf, both Vikon, and the Swampman. The rest of you belong to Corporal Disa. She’s not as sweet as me.”

            His grin was broad, but held little humor. No one made the mistake of laughing.

            “I’ll be waking you scum every other day, with Disa having the honor the other days,” he said. “Now, since this is your first morning with us, I’ll give you a run down on how it’ll work from now on.

            “First thing, you get straight out of bed and make it up fast. After that, you don’t sit or lay on it until the duty day is over. No exceptions. Your corporal will be teaching you how to make your bunks military style later today.

            “Now, after you get your bunk squared away, you can relieve yourself in the chamber pots over there. You also shave and clean up at that time. Beards aren’t allowed in the army, but mustaches are acceptable.

            “Now, you get thirty minutes to square away yourself, put away your gear for the day, and clean up the bay before you fall out for first call. After roll is called, the company will go for a little run to warm us up for a hard day of training. We’ll eat after the run. It’ll be about daybreak when we finish eating and head over to the parade ground to begin training.”

            “We’ll be running before breakfast?” a young Lelt said with a dubious look. By his accent, Tane figured him for a Kestsaxian commoner despite his Tribal Tattoos. “And this’ll all be happening before sunrise?”

            “Yes,” Corporal Pendar said. “When the sun comes up, it’s time for weapon’s drill.”

            “How are we supposed to be able to think, much less run and fight and otherwise soldier if you wake us up in the middle of the night?” the Lelt said, a bit of anger entering his voice. “This is stupid.”

            Corporal smiled cruelly at the recalcitrant youth, casually moving closer to him as he spoke.

            “We have an incentive program, to help inspire you scum,” he said, stopping before the Lelt with that too cruel grin widening a bit.

            “And what might that be?”

            Corporal Pendar slammed his fist into the youth’s belly, then brought his knee up crushingly in his face. The Lelt collapsed with a sob.

            “Our incentive program is simple. Obey, and live. Disobey, or just annoy us, and we’ll beat you to bloody death. Slowly and surely,” he said, leering down at him. “You’ve got a decision to make, boy, and just fifteen minutes to go until first call.