of sword into his face, ha, that nasty invention of Tazmir's, the needle-sharp pommel, always surprises them, straight through the eye into the brain, mustn't forget the archer, didn't expect that, need a shield, fifth orc will do, he's stabbing, a look of terror on his face, easy to dodge, grab him, wallop! out cold, don't think I've killed him, check archer, he hasn't got a clear shot, check orc leader, klat! He's after Tarl, have to be a thrown dagger, klat! I haven't enough time, he's going to get him.........
Tarl had been standing staring open-mouthed as Ronan blurred into action and blood, guts, and bits of orc sprayed everywhere. This was exactly the sort of thing he'd always wanted to happen to people who were being nasty to him, yet he had to admit that the reality was a little on the gruesome side. Poor bastards. But then a snarled curse brought him sharply back to his own situation, and he turned to find the orc leader leaping at him. Yelping with fear, Tarl sprang backwards and fell over a tree root. The orc raised its sword to strike and Tarl, terror-stricken, lifted his arms to protect himself. A huge wash of fear seemed to sweep from his brain along his arms, and a surge of blue flame shot out of his hands and enveloped the orc. For a couple of seconds it stood there, rooted to the spot with surprise and smoking gently, and then one of its charred eyebrows fell off. Snarling, it raised its sword again, but before it could move there was a loud "thock" and the tip of Ronan's dagger was poking out through its throat. Hot sticky blood spurted out over Tarl's upraised arms, and then the orc crashed to the ground beside him and Tarl gasped with relief.
Ronan's brain was still ticking over. Nice throw, got the bastard, Tarl's OK, interesting trick with the blue flame, klat, I needed that dagger for the archer, grab an orc spear, throw that, klat! he's behind that tree, can't get him, and you know how good orc archers are, put an arrow in a moving eye-socket at fifty paces, some of them, we're sitting ducks, klat! we've had it, he's lining up on Tarl...
Ringworm, the orc archer, was feeling pretty confident. He knew exactly how good he was with a bow. Shame about the other lads, but then they wouldn't be needing their share of the fee any more. Leering to himself, he decided to take out the small snivelling human first, and he was just swinging his bow towards Tarl when a screeching braying noise seemed to freeze every muscle in his body. Something like a sledgehammer with teeth slammed into him from behind and he went sprawling over the roots of the tree. Looking up he found he was staring into the glazed red eyes of the small brown donkey from a range of about six inches. It felt like about twenty miles too close. Before he could move it struck like a snake, bared teeth slashing like knives, and Ringworm was screaming and writhing on the ground with blood spurting from the stump of his severed arm.
Tarl dragged himself upright. He couldn't believe how quickly all this had happened. Thirty seconds ago, he had been in imminent danger of a horrible death. Now, the people who had threatened him were scattered in bloody bits all over the forest. He watched in horrified fascination as Ronan hung the unconscious survivor from a handy branch by its belt before walking across to the screaming orc and dispatching it with a quick stab of the sword. Tarl turned away, unwilling to watch, and found himself face to face with the donkey. It was holding the severed arm in its jaws and seemed fairly happy with life.
"Yeuch! Puss! What are you doing with that in your mouth?" asked the revolted Tarl.
The donkey just stared at him pityingly. "I thought you might want to shake hands," it thought. "What do you think I'm doing? It's my dinner for tonight. One Orc arm, to go." It looked at Tarl disparagingly. "I've known glaciers that moved faster than your brain, mate," it thought, and turned away.
Tarl sat down on a rock. He found
Tarl had been standing staring open-mouthed as Ronan blurred into action and blood, guts, and bits of orc sprayed everywhere. This was exactly the sort of thing he'd always wanted to happen to people who were being nasty to him, yet he had to admit that the reality was a little on the gruesome side. Poor bastards. But then a snarled curse brought him sharply back to his own situation, and he turned to find the orc leader leaping at him. Yelping with fear, Tarl sprang backwards and fell over a tree root. The orc raised its sword to strike and Tarl, terror-stricken, lifted his arms to protect himself. A huge wash of fear seemed to sweep from his brain along his arms, and a surge of blue flame shot out of his hands and enveloped the orc. For a couple of seconds it stood there, rooted to the spot with surprise and smoking gently, and then one of its charred eyebrows fell off. Snarling, it raised its sword again, but before it could move there was a loud "thock" and the tip of Ronan's dagger was poking out through its throat. Hot sticky blood spurted out over Tarl's upraised arms, and then the orc crashed to the ground beside him and Tarl gasped with relief.
Ronan's brain was still ticking over. Nice throw, got the bastard, Tarl's OK, interesting trick with the blue flame, klat, I needed that dagger for the archer, grab an orc spear, throw that, klat! he's behind that tree, can't get him, and you know how good orc archers are, put an arrow in a moving eye-socket at fifty paces, some of them, we're sitting ducks, klat! we've had it, he's lining up on Tarl...
Ringworm, the orc archer, was feeling pretty confident. He knew exactly how good he was with a bow. Shame about the other lads, but then they wouldn't be needing their share of the fee any more. Leering to himself, he decided to take out the small snivelling human first, and he was just swinging his bow towards Tarl when a screeching braying noise seemed to freeze every muscle in his body. Something like a sledgehammer with teeth slammed into him from behind and he went sprawling over the roots of the tree. Looking up he found he was staring into the glazed red eyes of the small brown donkey from a range of about six inches. It felt like about twenty miles too close. Before he could move it struck like a snake, bared teeth slashing like knives, and Ringworm was screaming and writhing on the ground with blood spurting from the stump of his severed arm.
Tarl dragged himself upright. He couldn't believe how quickly all this had happened. Thirty seconds ago, he had been in imminent danger of a horrible death. Now, the people who had threatened him were scattered in bloody bits all over the forest. He watched in horrified fascination as Ronan hung the unconscious survivor from a handy branch by its belt before walking across to the screaming orc and dispatching it with a quick stab of the sword. Tarl turned away, unwilling to watch, and found himself face to face with the donkey. It was holding the severed arm in its jaws and seemed fairly happy with life.
"Yeuch! Puss! What are you doing with that in your mouth?" asked the revolted Tarl.
The donkey just stared at him pityingly. "I thought you might want to shake hands," it thought. "What do you think I'm doing? It's my dinner for tonight. One Orc arm, to go." It looked at Tarl disparagingly. "I've known glaciers that moved faster than your brain, mate," it thought, and turned away.
Tarl sat down on a rock. He found
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