he was shaking. Normally, when he shook like this, it meant he'd had a pretty good time the night before. But to be shaking for no decent reason whatsoever, that was no fun. No fun at all. If this is adventure, he thought, you can stuff it. Suddenly, Ronan spoke from about two foot behind him, and Tarl fell off the rock.
"Don't do that!" he said, as he picked himself up.
"Sorry, " Ronan apologised. "I'm used to moving silently. That's what Warrior School does for you." He bent down and wiped his bloodstained sword on the orc leader's back. "You took him by surprise with that fireball," he added. "How did you..."
"I don't want to talk about it!"
Ronan looked at him with interest, then noticed the sword handle in his hand. It looked strangely familiar. "That was brave," he added casually. "Trying to take on eight orcs with a broken sword."
"Bloody thing!", swore Tarl. "Just wait until I go back to Port Raid."
"What?" Ronan was suddenly very still.
"I'm going to get my money back from Elric if it's the last thing I do. Honest Elric, indeed! I should have known better. One tablon , he charged me! You don't get a decent sword for that sort of price, even in a sale." Tarl paused, and looked at Ronan as he re-sheathed his sword. "Funny", he thought. "He looks really embarrassed. He must think I'm a right pranny, owning a weapon like that!"
Ronan was embarrassed all right. He was wondering how many more of his father's duff swords had fallen apart just at the wrong time for other poor innocents. Not that innocent was the first word that sprung to mind when you looked at Tarl. Thoughtfully, Ronan pulled his dagger out of the orc leader's neck and crossed to where the last pitiful survivor was dangling from a tree. It was clearly regaining consciousness and was beginning to kick and squirm. Tarl followed him, trying not to look at the remnants of the others.
"Strange to find mountain orcs in the middle of the forest," he said. "What do you think they were after?"
Ronan carefully wiped his dagger on the orc's filthy jerkin, and it stopped wriggling and went very, very still. Tarl had seen livelier statues. Ronan looked it carefully in the eye, and held up the dagger. "I'm hoping to persuade this creature to tell us," he growled. The orc went even stiller. Tarl felt sick.
However, he needn't have worried. Although Ronan had the look of someone whose greatest pleasure in life is removing people's kidneys via their rectum with a sharp knife, inside he too was feeling queasy. For Ronan had this problem with guilt. Even three years in warrior school hadn't been enough to shake off his scruples. Every time he killed someone, no matter how deserving or how fair a fight, he was left wondering whether he had done the right thing, or whether his mother would have approved. He was currently fretting over having had to put that wounded orc out of its misery. The idea of torturing the terrified orc hanging in front of him made him feel ill. He had totally flunked the Interrogation and Torture module of his Warrior course. However, he had learned that quite often you don't need to torture a prisoner. You just need him to believe you are going to.
Ronan smiled cruelly at the orc, and gently touched the tip of its nose with the dagger. "I am Ronan, Vanquisher of Evil," he drawled. "And this is Tarl. We are going to ask you some questions. If you lie, you die. Understand?"
The orc's eyes were squinting horribly as it stared at the dagger. Somehow it managed to nod its head vigorously up and down without moving its nose a fraction. "Fine by me, guv!" it gasped. "Fine! Fine-fine-fine-fine-fine!"
"OK then," Ronan continued. "Name?"
"Ronan, Vanquisher of Evil."
"Not my name, idiot!"
"Oh, er, Tarl then," replied the orc, apologetically.
"No, no, no, not me either!" muttered Tarl. He was seriously concerned that another thirty foot of orc intestine was about to join that already on the forest floor, and he'd seen enough to last him a
"Don't do that!" he said, as he picked himself up.
"Sorry, " Ronan apologised. "I'm used to moving silently. That's what Warrior School does for you." He bent down and wiped his bloodstained sword on the orc leader's back. "You took him by surprise with that fireball," he added. "How did you..."
"I don't want to talk about it!"
Ronan looked at him with interest, then noticed the sword handle in his hand. It looked strangely familiar. "That was brave," he added casually. "Trying to take on eight orcs with a broken sword."
"Bloody thing!", swore Tarl. "Just wait until I go back to Port Raid."
"What?" Ronan was suddenly very still.
"I'm going to get my money back from Elric if it's the last thing I do. Honest Elric, indeed! I should have known better. One tablon , he charged me! You don't get a decent sword for that sort of price, even in a sale." Tarl paused, and looked at Ronan as he re-sheathed his sword. "Funny", he thought. "He looks really embarrassed. He must think I'm a right pranny, owning a weapon like that!"
Ronan was embarrassed all right. He was wondering how many more of his father's duff swords had fallen apart just at the wrong time for other poor innocents. Not that innocent was the first word that sprung to mind when you looked at Tarl. Thoughtfully, Ronan pulled his dagger out of the orc leader's neck and crossed to where the last pitiful survivor was dangling from a tree. It was clearly regaining consciousness and was beginning to kick and squirm. Tarl followed him, trying not to look at the remnants of the others.
"Strange to find mountain orcs in the middle of the forest," he said. "What do you think they were after?"
Ronan carefully wiped his dagger on the orc's filthy jerkin, and it stopped wriggling and went very, very still. Tarl had seen livelier statues. Ronan looked it carefully in the eye, and held up the dagger. "I'm hoping to persuade this creature to tell us," he growled. The orc went even stiller. Tarl felt sick.
However, he needn't have worried. Although Ronan had the look of someone whose greatest pleasure in life is removing people's kidneys via their rectum with a sharp knife, inside he too was feeling queasy. For Ronan had this problem with guilt. Even three years in warrior school hadn't been enough to shake off his scruples. Every time he killed someone, no matter how deserving or how fair a fight, he was left wondering whether he had done the right thing, or whether his mother would have approved. He was currently fretting over having had to put that wounded orc out of its misery. The idea of torturing the terrified orc hanging in front of him made him feel ill. He had totally flunked the Interrogation and Torture module of his Warrior course. However, he had learned that quite often you don't need to torture a prisoner. You just need him to believe you are going to.
Ronan smiled cruelly at the orc, and gently touched the tip of its nose with the dagger. "I am Ronan, Vanquisher of Evil," he drawled. "And this is Tarl. We are going to ask you some questions. If you lie, you die. Understand?"
The orc's eyes were squinting horribly as it stared at the dagger. Somehow it managed to nod its head vigorously up and down without moving its nose a fraction. "Fine by me, guv!" it gasped. "Fine! Fine-fine-fine-fine-fine!"
"OK then," Ronan continued. "Name?"
"Ronan, Vanquisher of Evil."
"Not my name, idiot!"
"Oh, er, Tarl then," replied the orc, apologetically.
"No, no, no, not me either!" muttered Tarl. He was seriously concerned that another thirty foot of orc intestine was about to join that already on the forest floor, and he'd seen enough to last him a
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