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

‘cause one of them vixens ripped me open, but good. Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the same one. Bitch stole the best horse I ever had.” He looked Armin’s way hopefully, “Did she have a horse? A big gray, with three stockings?”

            “No,” he said.

            Where was Joelle? Was she alive? He understood why she did what she did, but wished she hadn’t kicked him the second time. Obviously she hadn’t realized that he was on to her plan. She only accomplished getting herself separated from him, maybe for good.

            That last thought left him soul-sick. How would he live without Joelle? He couldn’t. She was his life. He couldn’t go on without her, and he couldn’t leave her to her fate in Dakar’s hands. He had to save her, but didn’t have the faintest idea how to find her.

            “Old man – “

            “OLD! Boy, I’d kick you clean back to Kestsax if it weren’t for my leg,” he cried, face sudden beat red. “You call me old again, and you’ll never get to be my age.”

            “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” Armin said. “But do you know where they took the prisoner that kicked me? I’d like to...uh...meet her again.”

            “Ha! I wager you would, boy,” he laughed. “I wager you would. And they might give her to you, too. They gave me and my squad this baron’s daughter that killed one of our boys when we captured her. Wasn’t much left of her when we gave her back the next day, but she was still fit for the altar.”

            Armin wanted nothing more than to slit the bastard’s throat and watch him die. He wasn’t fit to live. His foul life was a curse upon humanity. Once Dakar was vanquished he prayed the Arisen had a way to discover the treacherous bastards that supported the Old One.

            “But I don’t know where she is,” he admitted. “They don’t keep much in the way of prisoners around here. Just turn them into brainless slaves. But if she ain’t a slave, then your captain will be able to find her for you if they hadn’t laid her across their bloody altar yet.”

            “My thanks,” he said, though would’ve preferred answering the beast with naked steel. “I’m well enough, so better report for duty.”

            Outside he found it brutally cold after the warmth of the tent. But he quickly drove all concern with the cold out of his mind. Somewhere, within all those thousands and thousands, his wife needed him.

            The realization terrified and shamed him. It was the first time she ever really needed him, and he was helpless. He had no idea what to do, where to start.

            Quinn, he thought, and Raven will know what to do.

            Quinn was ancient, living the life of a mercenary all his life. Armin suspected that the half-elf had forgotten more than the rest of them combined would ever know. He didn’t brag, like Raven, but just did the job needed, and more competently than anyone else. If anyone could help him save Joelle, it was Quinn.

            Raven also invaded his thoughts, despite his best efforts to keep her at bay. She would doubtlessly have a dozen schemes, all exceedingly dangerous to them all. Stealth and subtly was not in her nature, though she could be exceedingly good at it when need be. She knew what she wanted and went for it. If she got it, she’d brag for a month on her deed. If she failed, she’d keep her own council and plot her next try at the thing. She was relentless, her spirit unconquerable.

            A quality that might be Joelle’s salvation, he thought.

            With the possible exception of Tane, he believed Raven would be the most tenacious when it came to rescuing a friend. Quinn’s heart had grown hard, having endured too many decades, centuries, of too many painful losses. Tane and Raven were young, full of youthful ideals and passions. And Armin loved his wife more than life itself, so could never give up trying.

            Joelle would not be abandoned, of that Armin was certain.

Chapter 71

            Tane eased through the forest, toward the fires peeking through the trees. He was no warrior, like the others, but knew he had no chance at all of looping around the camp. Even if he did try, and made it, the trip would take so long that the others would not wait for him. He would be all alone.

            From what Dakar said, and from his dreams now that he thought on the subject, his friends had importance in the quest other than companionship and defense. The blood of Gods was required in the making of a Sword of Power. Raven and Joelle were absolutely required if he was to succeed. Quinn was half elf and half Lelt, with no blood of Gods in his body. Like Joelle, Armin was Vikon, a Tyrian clan long driven from their homeland. But Dakar’s disinterest in him made Tane believe his blood too diluted to be of any help.

            The snap of a twig sent his heart to hammering. He ducked into the shadows of underbrush, waiting and listening. He feared his dark form against the bright snow would betray him, so swept as much snow over him as possible without making any noise. Another snap, then another, came to him and stopped further efforts at camouflage. The man was growing closer.

            A single cloaked man appeared from the north, moving stealthily, or at least trying to do so. By the noise he made Tane knew it wasn’t Quinn, the one person he most wanted to be with at that moment. Quinn’s woodcraft was second to none.

            A dim beam of moonlight shafted down through the thick forest canopy and gave Tane a look at the man for a bare instant, revealing the black and gray uniform of Dakar’s mercenaries. He was intent on the trail before him.

            He’s tracking me, Tane thought, hands