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

own world, as usual, mostly just staring at his food. Raven was hip to hip with him before he realized she was there. Everyone, save Quinn, burst out laughing when she kissed him on the cheek.

            “By the Sweet Mother! Why did you do that?!” he cried, leaping to his feet.

            “He’s shy!” Raven cried, delighted with what she’d wrought. “Gods, I love shy men. They’re so sexy and desirable. Makes me want to have their babies.”

            “Don’t talk like that! You know it would never work between us,” he said, red-faced.

            “Then you’ve considered it!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “I knew you cared! Kiss me.”

            “Raven,” Corporal Pendar called from the door, grinning as well. “If you’re terrorizing Quinn, then you’re finished eating and can take your post again.”

            Shaking her head woefully, Raven started for the door, saying, “I’m sorry, my love, but duty calls. I hate it, but I did swear an oath to serve the king.” She suddenly paused in the door, slanting a provocative look at Quinn. “But you know where I’m sleeping. Come see me when your watch is over. We’ll keep everyone awake for an hour or two.”

            Quinn’s eyes went wide and his face burned red. The others laughed at him and returned to their meals. He stared at the empty door.

            Corporal Pendar served himself and left the rest of the soup in the hut’s cast iron cauldron. He placed the cauldron near the fire to keep it warm, and then started into his own plate with the same gusto Raven had shown. Quinn began pacing the hut, casting worried looks at the door every so often. Armin finished his food and started honing his sword while Joelle returned to her casting of the bones.

            “How do the bones look?” Corporal Pendar said.

            “Nothing conclusive,” she said, agitated. “They don’t say we’ll win or lose, just that there is terrible danger.”

            “At least we know they aren’t lying to us,” Tane said, getting an unintended laugh from the group.

            Armin chuckled. “The bones never lie, friend. They are never clear in their message, either. But if you can discern what they say, you can move to make the opposite happen.”

            “Fate isn’t written in stone,” Joelle said, and cast the bones again.

            Finishing his meal, Corporal Pendar stretched and yawned, saying, “I suggest you all bed down now. It’ll probably be one of the longest and hardest days of your lives tomorrow. Armin has second watch, followed by Quinn, Tane and then Joelle. I want to be awakened at the same time as Joelle so I can go get our marching orders before we eat.”

            Tane, who was sitting on his pallet, nodded and laid down. Though it was cooling quickly outside, inside the hut it was comfortably warm. He let the crackling of the fire lull him into sleep as the others found their own beds.

Chapter 22

            Nizar stumbled through the forest, skirting the dark village surrounded by wary soldiers. He bit back a curse as pine needles jabbed at his eyes. Glowering at the torchlit village that had forced him to leave the relative comfort and safety of the road, he vowed they would all pay dearly.

            But Nizar had more important considerations, so gingerly picked his way through the thick stand of young conifers. With the untimely arrival of Dakar’s army, he had lost track of Tane’s whereabouts. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose more than just the swordsmith. He could lose his God’s divine, and quite generous, gratitude.

            Dakar wants the swordsmith, he thought, so He’ll get him. One way or another. Then he recalled High Priest Mogens. But I’ll kill the smith with my own hands before I allow that opportunistic Thanir cur to capture him and gain Dakar’s favor.

            Pausing to rest a moment, Nizar glanced up at the heavens with murderous intensity. Surely his misfortune was the work of the Arisen. They had been against him since before he was born. Taliope had slapped him down too many times for him not to recognize Her hand in it now. He idly wondered if maybe, somehow, High Priest Mogens was secretly conspiring with Them to bring about Nizar’s downfall. Perhaps Mogens was an Arisen spy. Or a traitor.

            Nizar smiled at the thought.

            Perhaps, if Mogens gets in my way, I can innocently wonder aloud at his motives. My Divine Master will surely be suspicious, he thought, his black eyes glinting in the scant light. I’m sure Dakar has ways of learning the truth from traitors. Very nasty methods, too.

            It was well past midnight when Nizar heard the first sign of Dakar’s army. Zombies weren’t subtle in anything, so made enough noise as they patrolled the night forest to alert even a city-born Qakaran like Nizar of their presence.

            A spoken prayer alerted the zombies of his presence, and gained him unimpeded passage through their ranks. Soon enough he emerged from the night forest to find a pavilion erected in the middle of a fallow field. Armed men with alert eyes surrounded it.

            Nizar bristled when one of the mercenaries challenged him. His tone, and words, were clear threats of deadly violence at the least provocation. With growing impatience, Nizar admitted he didn’t know the password and waited for another priest to come identify him.

            “Welcome, Brother Nizar,” High Priest Mogens called as he entered. It was hot and stuffy within the pavilion, with a thick cloud of smoke blanketing the ceiling. A dozen suckling pigs were spitted over a centrally located fire, the aroma making Nizar’s mouth water. “I see you didn’t bring the swordsmith, or his head, so I assume that means you failed.”

            Everyone grew quiet as all eyes turned to Nizar. Despite Mogens’ long face, Nizar saw a gleam of good humor in the High Priest’s eyes.

            “Not so, Your Grace,” Nizar said. “I was poised to capture the fiend this very night, but your