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

            “I’ll be glad to,” Raven said at length, slanting a speculative look at Tane.

            After she wandered off, Tane turned to Quinn and said, “Don’t take offense, my friend. You know how priestesses and such are about their Gods. Very prickly.”

            “It was unwise of me to bring it up,” Quinn said, though his eyes still bore into Raven’s back. “I should’ve known better. Humans do not understand the true nature of their Gods, or of the universe.”

            Tane and the two Vikon silently watched Quinn march out with the chamber pots in hand. Joelle and Armin shook their heads and shared a knowing look.

            “Elves think they know everything,” Armin said.

            “He isn’t an elf,” Raven said, startling Tane at her sudden return. He idly wondered how she moved so quietly in the heavy, unwieldy boots the army forced them to wear. Only Quinn moved quieter. “He’s only half-elf. Big difference.”

            “You’re crazy,” Armin said.

            “What makes you think him only half-elf?” Joelle asked.

            Raven gave them all a stern look, as if they were all recalcitrant children. “He shaves.”

            “Are you saying elves don’t shave?” Tane said, confused. “I’ve never seen a bearded elf, so they must shave.”  Of course, he thought, I can count the number of elves I’ve seen on one hand, and two of them were women.

            “Elves don’t grow beards. That’s a human trait,” Joelle said. “I’d forgotten. Raven’s right, he has to be at least part human to shave.”

            “He is also gray-haired,” Raven said. “Elves don’t get wrinkles and gray hair like humans, either. and he’s starting to get a very human paunch, though he hides it well.” She paused a moment, staring into space. “I’ve never heard of a balding elf, either. But who know?”

            Tane thought on that a moment.

            “Doesn’t matter,” Tane said. “He’s our comrade, and my friend. Just like you are, and I’ll not stand around speaking ill of him. He’s a good man, and we all know it.”

            They all looked at him with surprise. Then, shame-faced, Raven turned away to begin her clean up duties. Joelle and Armin frowned a moment, then wandered off whispering to each other. Tane watched them go, but felt good about their reaction.

            They had all spoken ill of everyone else at one time or another, but this was the first time any had shown any sign of regret afterwards. Perhaps they would make a team after all. Perhaps they could all be friends.

            The next week went much like the previous day, except everyone was issued heavy scale mail coats with double-thick iron shoulder plates and iron helmets to drill with. Tane was disgusted to learn the armor would only be for practice, and they would have to fight in whatever personal armor they owned. If someone, like himself, didn’t own any armor, too bad. He couldn’t understand the military mind that would provide protection against wooden swords, but took it away when edged steel was threatened.

            Broken bones weren’t acceptable, but the army had no problem with bloody death.

Chapter 18

            Nizar al-Sayyid sat his spirited gray stallion with feigned ease. The mob of refugees that shared the muddy road with him gave Nizar and his horses plenty of space, and more than a few wary looks. But Nizar gave them little notice, for the sun had already dropped below the surrounding forest and another night in that damnable, dank forest was at hand if he failed.

            The gate he intended to enter Kestsax through sat off to his right, called the Stone Dragon Gate, across the well-trampled fields where the army was preparing for the coming war. The various units had begun to assemble and enter the city for the night, unhampered by refugees since gate guards kept them away. It was time to make his move.

            Nizar urged his stallion off the road and toward the distant gatehouse. Careful to skirt the few remaining units well beyond hailing distance, he rode as quickly as his protesting rump would allow. A single gate guard moved to post himself far enough out to intercept Nizar before he could block the road with his mount and cause problems. Nizar had anticipated the move, so stiffened his spine and gather a superior aura about himself. 

            He had never owned a horse before, and rarely rode anywhere if he could avoid it, despite his mother being born a desert nomad. At the moment, the hard ride from Treversax to Kestsax had jarred him so badly he felt as if every joint in his body had been jolted loose and his rear end smashed to pulp. But despite that, he luxuriated in the knowledge that he looked like the prince he was born to be.

            Dakar had provided him with clothes and accouterments for his disguise as a prince of the Qakara Desert. His turban and veil were the crimson of desert royalty, as was his woolen cloak. Unfortunately, the turban and veil were the extent of desert apparel to be found in Treversax, so he was forced to make do with local styles and hoped no one questioned him on it. He did not anticipate any trouble, for his experience showed the Lelts and local Jarlanders knew little or nothing of his homeland. So Nizar arrived at Kestsax with dark blue trousers tucked into tall black boots, and a shirt of the softest, whitest silk he had ever encountered under a wine red brocade vest. Nizar rode unarmored, but well-armed with two throwing daggers, a belt knife, and a splendid sword. His sumpter carried two full suits of armor, one of chain mail and one of steel plate, which he wasn’t comfortable inside, but no true prince would be caught without armor.

            The sword was called a “steppe sword” by everyone save the Steppe nomads who first created them. Slightly curved, single-edged, with a disk guard and two-handed hilt, it was the preferred weapon of the