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

            Panic filled Joelle. To be left alone, here, at such a time, was more than she could bear.

            “No, we can wait,” she said, hiding her fear from him. It would do him no good to know the fear that gripped her heart. It would be a distraction for him, weighing heavily on his mind when he needed all of his wits razor keen. “But maybe we should move. I think we’ve spent all our luck here.”

            They discussed the merits of moving closer or further from the camp. Where would they be most likely to find a suitably reckless mercenary? Did they grow more and more wary as they rode further from camp, or vise-versa? They finally decided that the mercenaries would never consider the possibility that their enemy planned to pass through the camp, so would be more open to ambush nearer the perimeter, where they would feel the safest.

            Moving out of the tangle of underbrush they had hidden inside, Armin stopped to check the saddle in the dim light available through the cloud cover. Joelle drew close, downwind, for a moment’s respite.

            “Are you scared?” Armin said, his voice hushed and almost drowned in the wind.

            “Me? Scared?” she said, her voice teasing. “You don’t know this, but I’m half Tyrian. Maybe more. I wouldn’t know fear if it spit in my face.”

            “Maag protect!” Armin cried softly to the heavens. Then giving her a stern look, “That’s it. No more talking with Raven for you, young lady.”

            “Killjoy.”

            “For your own good.”

            She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding tight a long moment. He returned her hug just as fiercely, giving some of his warmth up in the bargain. She didn’t want it to end.

            “Hey! You! Declare yourself,” a voice called.

            Joelle saw a dozen horsemen approaching from the south, another five from the north. Surrounded.

            “Bastard!” she cried, and raked Armin’s face with her nails. “Get off me! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you if you touch me!”

            Shocked by the mercenaries’ untimely arrival, and his wife’s strange behavior, Armin was unprepared to defend himself. He never saw her booted foot aimed at his groin.

            Joelle turned and ran as Armin fell to all fours, retching in the snow. She hated herself for what she did, but if he kept his wits, then no one would suspect him of being anything but one of Dakar’s mercenaries. He would be safe, but she had no such guarantee.

            Racing for the tangle of underbrush, where no horse could go with any speed, she prayed to Maag for Her divine aid. The Goddess proved deaf to her pleas.

            Two of the five riders coming from the north cut her off, swords drawn and faces grim. Cutting left, she tried to bypass them, cursing venomously all the while. All she needed was a brief respite from their attack, enough time to cast a spell or two. A dozen helpful spells tumbled about her mind, taunting her into frustration. Another of the southbound riders cut her off, forcing her to dive to the cold, wet ground to avoid his sword. All but a handful of the northbound riders rode her way as well, victory shouts on their lips. A horse sidled close as she dashed for cover, so terribly close, the rider wielding a club. She ducked, taking the blow across the shoulder blades.

            Gasping for breath, Joelle lunged under the horse and struck at the rider beyond. He reined about, presenting the horse’s rump to her. In an instant she realized her mistake, hurling herself to the snow-covered ground. The horse’s brutal hooves flashed over her, one hoof striking a glancing blow off her back.

            A pair of horsemen fell off their mounts atop her, stealing what wind her lungs still claimed and pinning her down. She tried to break free, but only managed to anger them further. Countless fists drove into her belly, her face, pounding her until darkness gathered behind her eyes and threatened to claim her as well.

            Jerked to her feet, Joelle’s wrists were bound behind her back and strong men held her arms. A dozen others crowded around, their grim faces baleful in the scant light. Then Armin thrust through them, his face a mask of rage at what had been done to her.

            “Bastard,” she spat, kicking him in the groin again before he could betray himself.

            Fists found her again, pounding her into the darkness. This time, nothing kept her from succumbing to sweet oblivion.

Chapter 70

             “Blessed Maag, what have I done to deserve such misery?” Armin said, coming back to consciousness.

            “Hey! Are you crazy? Don’t ever call out to one of the Arisen. If one of them priests hears you, we both get our hearts cut out,” a burly man in black and gray said. “They’re just itching for reasons to lay someone, anyone, across their bloody altars. Damnation, boy, the best I figure, they sacrifice one of their own every day or so.”

            Armin looked around. He was in a tent, well-warmed by a pair of braziers. He was still in the black and gray of Dakar. His lone companion was a wounded mercenary, a big gray-beard with a missing ear. Joelle was nowhere to be seen.

            Sitting up on the fur-covered cot, he said, “How did I get here? Where am I?”

            “They hauled your ass in here about an hour ago, boy,” the gray-beard said, laying back in his cot and staring at the dark ceiling. His leg had a terrible wound, a bone deep cut from knee to groin. Someone had stitched it up, doing a haphazard job of it. “Best I understand it, one of them folks we was after north of camp laid a hard boot into your jewels, twice. Second one put you out, so they brought you here.” He patted his wound gently, “I feel for you, boy,