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

            As he reached the spot that Armin had vanished from sight, Tane wondered how Quinn was faring, and where exactly his friend was. He prayed he was waiting for them at the river.

~**~**~

            Nizar felt the pull of Tane’s presence intensely. The early morning gloom and mist was blocking his view, but the enchantment the swordsmith carried kept them magically tethered. Also, even a city born and bred man like himself couldn’t possibly mistake the sounds of flight directly in front of him, and so close.

            “Dakar be praised!” Nizar said, catching a glimpse of the black-haired harlot. She stopped long enough to dispatch a pair of his zombies, then darted into the darkness. “After her! Take her alive! I want her for the altar!”

            Such approval of him flowed from Dakar’s mental link. Nizar slowed his pace to bask in it a moment. He hardly felt his own exhaustion, or any of the countless cuts and scratches covering his face, neck and hands. He didn’t even care that he lost his veil and turban hours ago, and that his nose, mouth and hair was exposed for the world to behold. Nothing mattered but pleasing his Divine Master.

            A group of zombies to his left answered his call, veering off to intercept the harlot. He would drag the swordsmith and his comrades down one by one. Tane Kyleson would be given to Dakar, while the other four would make a fine feast of souls. He would personally wield the knife that joyous night.

            Wanting to see when the harlot was finally dragged down, he pushed himself to his limits and ran wildly through the forests. More zombies to his right were closing in on her as well.

            First the harlot, then the witch, he thought, ducking under a low branch. The sound of water in the near distance came to him on the frigid, pre-dawn air. Until that moment he hadn’t realized they had reached the river where Dakar’s host waited in ambush. At last, victory!

~**~**~

            “Bastard!” Raven cried, slashing a zombie’s throat. Turning to run, she shouted, “Ashtar! Ashtar! Ashtar!”

            Three more zombies appeared to her right, all wielding cudgels. Something was wrong, though. It took a moment, but the realization shocked her to the core. These were not the zombies pursuing them. They were fresh, and waiting for them in cover.

            “Trap!” she cried. “Ambush!”

            Too late. The others had already committed themselves to the river and were out of sight. Suddenly, she was too pressed to care or worry. The cudgel wielding trio was upon her.

            She opened the old man’s belly with Tasheba, then slashed the woman to his right across the face. The zombie woman wasn’t fazed by the grievous wound, and brought her cudgel down on Raven’s left knee before the Tyrian warrior could recover.

            “Aiii! Bitch!” Raven cried, falling back.

            Her left leg wouldn’t hold much weight. She backed up against a large pine and prepared to die. When the zombie woman made a clumsy attempt at her head, Raven slashed away the tendons behind her right knee and shoved her away. The third zombie jumped over his crippled companion, swinging his cudgel with all his strength.

            Ducking beneath the blow, Raven fleshed Tasheba in his throat, and with a flick of the wrist cut open the jugular and windpipe. A sound to her rear alerted her to more zombies. Ducking saved her skull from being crushed. Instead, the zombie left himself open to her sword.

            Suddenly, her pain and exhaustion left her. Raven felt her belly tingle with the ecstasy of battle. Every sense was alert, ready. The knee was stronger now, the pain muted by battle fever. The zombies all seemed to be moving in slow motion, giving her plenty of time to see their attacks and counter them.

            “Ashtar! Ashtar! Ashtar!”

            Never had she known such joy in battle. Finally, she was fighting the good fight. She wasn’t striking down some wretched sailor or soldier of Brajar, in an unsatisfactory attempt to punish his king for humiliating her so terribly. And she wasn’t killing some hapless bravo, hired to guard some merchant’s hoarded wealth, just because she was bored and needed something “dangerous” to amuse her. She was fighting for her Goddess, for all the people of the world.

            “Look at me, Ashtar! Killing Your enemies!” she cried to the heavens, exultant. “Ashtar, I love you!”

            Tasheba flashing in the dim light, Raven charged a trio of zombies emerging from the darkness. One of them managed to put up a respectable fight before she dispatched him. But a dozen more zombies replaced him, thrilling her beyond description.

            What glory I’ll know! she thought, eyes flashing emerald fire. I’ll go before Ashtar, my head high, covered in the blood of my...Her...no, Our! enemies!

            The thought made her giddy. Such an honor, and no less than she deserved. But...what about Tane? And Quinn, and the Vikon?

            “Shining Gods, they’ll never make it without me,” she growled. What glory could she rightly expect if she failed her friends? “Tane’s dream says we all have to make it. Damn him!”

            Suddenly, all the zombies surrounding her stopped in their tracks. What was wrong? Was it a trap? Were they going to try and take her alive? The thought terrified her. Raven spun around, glaring at them with wild eyes through tousled hair. The zombie at her feet had come out of his zombie trance, clutching at his entrails as he sobbed the last of his life away.

            “Shining Gods!” Raven gasped, throat tight and eyes burning. Dakar was a monster. She hated the way the zombies came to their senses when given a mortal wound. Their suffering and anguish probably fed some sinister power of Dakar. And she hated how their death and suffering made her feel dirty, like a murderer, when it wasn’t her fault. “Ashtar, I beg you to tend their souls.”

            Pounding feet behind her brought Raven