together in a twisting bundle connecting the black dot to the center of the rock. “Yes,” he said, “I see it.”
“Good.” Pontin sipped his wine. “When can you start digging?”
“Tomorrow.”
“And your security is going to be ready for possible retalia-tion by the rock people?”
Sarbeneck glanced up at Gingreth.
The ork answered. “The cavalry is itching for a fight,” he said. “I feel sorry for anyone who attacks us.”
“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear,” Pontin said. “You’ve done an excellent job so far. Now, I must go. No one in this area can know of my involvement.”
“Understood,” said Sarbeneck, but he didn’t like it. Still, for this kind of money, he would put up with almost anything.
Pontin raised his glass. “To success,” he said.
“To a quick and profitable venture,” Sarbeneck said, swallowing his wine. But the taste was bitter and harsh against his throat.
Thunder crashed again, rattling the lantern against the tent pole as Pontin and his guards stepped into the rain. Sarbeneck’s stomach grumbled as he sank into his chair and closed his eyes. Raggok take this damned jungle, he thought, wishing he were somewhere else. Anywhere else.
This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Chapter Eight
Pabl found Jan and Celagri at Samson’s Inn, and when he told them about his plans to see Ohin Yeenar, Jan eagerly accepted the chance to come along. Pabl laughed at his friend’s fickle nature. The dwarf had only been in his hometown of Rabneth for four days, and he was already bored and itching to get away again.
By contrast, Celagri wanted some time to relax, so she decided to stay near Tepuis Garen and await their return. It had become her tradition to visit the local elven community wher-ever she traveled, and she’d discovered that there was a large grove of homes not too far from Rabneth.
Bintr and Chaiel joined them on the eastern-most path, and they all four headed deeper into the jungle. Bintr assured them that the trip to Othellium should take no more than two or three days, but they would have to acquire the help of a Cathan guide. The Cathan people had been described to Pabl as skittish and paranoid — short humans whose olive skin was camouflaged with elaborate patterns of white and green pigmented tattooing.
After three hours of bushwhacking along the trail that 55
Liferock
56
Jak Koke
had been used mostly by the slighter-built elves and humans, Pabl and the others approached the Cathan camp. Abruptly, a group of the strange humans surrounded them, swinging out from the vines and trees of the jungle around them. The painted humans were hard to see against the shifting background of green and brown vegetation. It was a good thing that they knew Bintr and trusted him; at least as much as they trusted anyone, which was not a lot.
Still, one of them — a female who had guided Bintr in the past — offered to help again. For payment she wanted the newly forged arrowheads which Bintr had brought. She came along immediately, Bintr doling out one arrow head at a time along the way.
As they traveled, hacking through vines and thick undergrowth, Jan told Pabl about Pontintown — the shantytown along the stream in Rabneth, named after Pontin Nemish, the dwarf who owned and operated it. Jan had spoken with his friend, Abrin Thist, who was on the town council. And together they had confronted Pontin, trying to convince him to do something about cleaning up the shantytown. Pontin had listened to them, saying he would consider their words.
“The humans and dwarfs who live in those bamboo shacks are nearly destitute,” Jan told Pabl. “They are unsanitary and many of them have animals which pollute the water down-stream. The townspeople are afraid to do anything because Pontin Nemish is the leader of the village assembly and no one dares to oppose him.”
“We will persuade him,” Pabl had said. “When we get
“Good.” Pontin sipped his wine. “When can you start digging?”
“Tomorrow.”
“And your security is going to be ready for possible retalia-tion by the rock people?”
Sarbeneck glanced up at Gingreth.
The ork answered. “The cavalry is itching for a fight,” he said. “I feel sorry for anyone who attacks us.”
“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear,” Pontin said. “You’ve done an excellent job so far. Now, I must go. No one in this area can know of my involvement.”
“Understood,” said Sarbeneck, but he didn’t like it. Still, for this kind of money, he would put up with almost anything.
Pontin raised his glass. “To success,” he said.
“To a quick and profitable venture,” Sarbeneck said, swallowing his wine. But the taste was bitter and harsh against his throat.
Thunder crashed again, rattling the lantern against the tent pole as Pontin and his guards stepped into the rain. Sarbeneck’s stomach grumbled as he sank into his chair and closed his eyes. Raggok take this damned jungle, he thought, wishing he were somewhere else. Anywhere else.
This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Chapter Eight
Pabl found Jan and Celagri at Samson’s Inn, and when he told them about his plans to see Ohin Yeenar, Jan eagerly accepted the chance to come along. Pabl laughed at his friend’s fickle nature. The dwarf had only been in his hometown of Rabneth for four days, and he was already bored and itching to get away again.
By contrast, Celagri wanted some time to relax, so she decided to stay near Tepuis Garen and await their return. It had become her tradition to visit the local elven community wher-ever she traveled, and she’d discovered that there was a large grove of homes not too far from Rabneth.
Bintr and Chaiel joined them on the eastern-most path, and they all four headed deeper into the jungle. Bintr assured them that the trip to Othellium should take no more than two or three days, but they would have to acquire the help of a Cathan guide. The Cathan people had been described to Pabl as skittish and paranoid — short humans whose olive skin was camouflaged with elaborate patterns of white and green pigmented tattooing.
After three hours of bushwhacking along the trail that 55
Liferock
56
Jak Koke
had been used mostly by the slighter-built elves and humans, Pabl and the others approached the Cathan camp. Abruptly, a group of the strange humans surrounded them, swinging out from the vines and trees of the jungle around them. The painted humans were hard to see against the shifting background of green and brown vegetation. It was a good thing that they knew Bintr and trusted him; at least as much as they trusted anyone, which was not a lot.
Still, one of them — a female who had guided Bintr in the past — offered to help again. For payment she wanted the newly forged arrowheads which Bintr had brought. She came along immediately, Bintr doling out one arrow head at a time along the way.
As they traveled, hacking through vines and thick undergrowth, Jan told Pabl about Pontintown — the shantytown along the stream in Rabneth, named after Pontin Nemish, the dwarf who owned and operated it. Jan had spoken with his friend, Abrin Thist, who was on the town council. And together they had confronted Pontin, trying to convince him to do something about cleaning up the shantytown. Pontin had listened to them, saying he would consider their words.
“The humans and dwarfs who live in those bamboo shacks are nearly destitute,” Jan told Pabl. “They are unsanitary and many of them have animals which pollute the water down-stream. The townspeople are afraid to do anything because Pontin Nemish is the leader of the village assembly and no one dares to oppose him.”
“We will persuade him,” Pabl had said. “When we get
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