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

            Welding the two pieces of steel together, heating them whenever they began to cool, he began the task of forming them into a single, thick bar of steel. He began to hammer upon the glowing bar, thinning it even as it lengthened to blade length.

            He figured Joelle had had time enough to build the fire by that time. And checking her progress would be the perfect excuse for him to leave the workshop.

            With luck, she would still be bent over the fire. A quick thrust into her back, wait to ensure she would survive, tell her of his plan, and return before the others grew suspicious. Five minutes, total. If all went well. Otherwise, he would return, put a crude edge on the sword blade, and use it to kill his three other friends and himself.

            A dreadful plan.

            “Where’s the witch?”

            Tane almost dropped the glowing steel blank at the sound of Nizar’s harsh voice. Turning, he found suspicious black eyes peering at him over a gray veil.

            “I sent her in to build the hearth fire. I’ve slept enough in the cold for one lifetime,” Tane said.

            That seemed to satisfy the priest.

            “Have you made any progress?” Nizar asked, stepping closer.

            He lifted the blade up, held by a thick wrapping of dampened leather around the crude flange.

            “I’m just practicing. Getting my muscles used to working steel again,” he said. Then he indicated the wooden pale. “I’ve prepared the iron ore for the crucible. And I got everything ready to build the furnace once the crucible arrives. So I’m as ready as I can be.”

            “Excellent,” Nizar said. He handed a basket to Armin. “Then you have earned this hot meal. Continue to work hard, and you’ll find Dakar a generous master.”

            “No doubt,” Tane said, turning back to his work. “Once I fold this blade a few more times, then we’ll go in and eat. It’ll be too dark to work by then anyway.”

            Tane prayed for the Gods to intervene and make that terrible man leave. He was spoiling everything. His one chance to get Joelle alone, and preoccupied with the hearth fire, was being ruined by the priest’s presence. If he went inside now, the others would follow. With his lousy luck, the priest would also accompany them inside.

            “Good,” Nizar said, but gave no sign he was leaving anytime soon.

            After folding and hammering the blade back out twice, Tane finally put away his tools in defeat and headed into the hut. As expected, he was followed in by his friends and Nizar. The priest squatted by the fire, his back to the door. Tane took an opposite position, between Quinn and Joelle.

            Armin set the basket down and removed a large piece of pork, a loaf of bread, and a jug of wine. After spitting the pork over the fire to reheat it, they divided up the bread and passed the wine around. It wasn’t a particularly good wine, but no one complained. Tane barely noticed. He was so consumed with bitterness at Nizar ruining his plans he wouldn’t have cared if it was muddy water.

            For his part, the priest kept his thoughts to himself. He squatted by the fire and watched Tane’s every move, as if trying to read his mind. With his turban and veil, all Tane could see of Nizar were his black eyes, intent and penetrating. Tane found it unnerving.

            Once the pork was sizzling again, they quickly devoured it between the five of them. Nizar stayed until the food was all gone, then rose upon wobbly legs to leave.

            “Slaves, I want two of you on watch at all times,” Nizar said. “Do not allow him to escape. He isn’t even to go outside to piss without an escort. I’ll be back in the morning to check your progress, swordsmith.” He then turned a leering grin on Tane. “The women will warm your bed, if you so order it. From firsthand experience, I know the Ashtarite harlot is particularly skilled between the sheets.”

            With that, Nizar departed.

            Embittered by Nizar ruining his escape plans, and disgusted by his suggestion, Tane simply crawled into the nearest pallet and pulled a blanket over himself. Joelle and Armin took first watch. Both Raven and Quinn took blankets and curled up near the fire.

Chapter 59

            Dakar sat upon His throne of gold, surrounded by a dozen chanting priests, pondering His next move. He could feel the Arisen stirring, mustering Their powers. They fought among Themselves, many still trying to find some way to increase His or Her power and influence once the war was over. He smiled, for They had yet to understand the gravity of Their situation. They did not realize that They were doomed.

            Reaching out with His arcane senses, Dakar could “see” tiny flickers of light across His ever widening domain. Each point of light was a priest, enchanted slave, or willing devotee. The priests were the brightest lights, their faith and devotion the purest. Next were the devoted, His free-minded followers. And the faintest lights were the so called zombies. The zombies were His to control, to use however amused Him, but their souls weren’t His to take.

            When the faithful died, their souls were His to devour. Their deaths nourished Him, strengthened Him. But there were only two ways to possess and consume a soul not given to him freely. One was to rip it from the host body atop a consecrated altar, using the proper rites. The other way was to kill the person with His own hands and capture the soul before it could escape.

            The zombie slaves hadn’t given their souls to Him, so He watched the snuffing of their lights in the battle zones with bitterness. Each soul returned to his or her patron God, empowering that God. The Arisen drew strength and nourishment from the souls They gathered