sticky legs of the creature play themselves across the goose bumps of her flesh as it paused, drinking in her perspiration.
She heard footsteps and shifted her eyes to the door. The second bugbear was fully in the room now. This one wore a shirt of dirty black chain mail. He stopped whistling.
“I like pie. Elf pie, dwarf pie—”
“Too stringy,” Slake corrected.
“Not babies,” Grimek chuckled. He pulled the door to the room open all the way, spilling more light in.
The insect at the back of her neck scurried onto her left shoulder. Afraid to turn her head, Helene shifted her eyes to follow the bugbears as they walked deeper into the room, headed for the storage closet.
The heavy insect began a lazy trail down her arm toward her elbow.
The thing was in such disgustingly intimate contact with her now that Helene was almost positive it was no cockroach or dung beetle.
Slake opened the door to the closet and chuckled. “Looks like we hit ourselves a treasure trove down here.”
He started throwing old wine bottles onto the bed the elf lay hiding under. The mattress bounced in protest as first one bottle and then three more struck it.
“Is it pie? I like pie.”
“We’ve established this, Grimek,” Slake answered. “And we’d be eating orc pie if you were a little quicker with that pig-sticker, so come get some of this wine old Slake has found.”
The bed undulated above Helene, threatening to press down against her head. The insect on her arm froze in midstride.
With her arm tucked up close to her head, she heard the thing hiss and knew without doubt it was a scorpion.
“What’s the tasty orc boy doing with a nasty wand any ways?” Grimek complained.
Both pairs of feet crowded up close to the bed.
Orc boy? Wand? she thought. Caleb?
Then the thought was driven from her mind.
Agitated, the scorpion ran down her bicep to the dusty plank wood floor. She felt the segmented serpentine of the arachnid’s stinger as it slid off her arm.
She gritted her teeth. The insect was so close to her face now, especially her eyes.
Above her, the bed bounced as the two bugbears began picking up and inspecting the bottles. Theactivity shook the dust loose, and it trailed down into Helene’s face.
She shifted her eyes to the left, trying to see the scorpion, but her hair hung in her way.
Afraid, she risked turning her head.
She felt the searching grasp of its brittle-haired legs reach her left wrist and then the wiry fold of the front pincers bump across her skin as the scorpion climbed up onto her hand.
She could see the thing clearly now.
The arachnid boasted a brown-banded back and abdomen, set in the dull yellow amber color of the body. The stinger was raised like a fist over the segmented and armored torso.
It was ugly and frightening and, with a sinking sense of certainty, Helene realized it was as deadly a scorpion as there was: the deathstalker. Though only medium-sized as the species went, this type of scorpion lived up to its sinister name.
Ounce for ounce it was one of the most poisonous creatures in the world.
Above her the bugbears began to jabber in earnest. She heard their clumsy hands ripping open some old bag. Cast-off rags and scraps of burlap weave began littering the floor at their feet.
A gravelly voice called out from the hallway, and one of the beasts beside Helene’s hiding place answered.
“Do you have her?” The voice was so grotesque it sent a fresh shiver through Helene.
“We’ve got nothing to show you,” Slake answered, a little too quickly.
“What have you two found?”
She knew intuitively that the bugbears were afraid of whatever called to them from outside the room. Something that made these monsters afraid had to be very terrible indeed.
The bed suddenly sagged as one of the bugbears sat down on the mattress, muttering darkly under his breath. The tired old mattress springs squealed and the bottom sank down so low it smacked Helene hard on the top of her
She heard footsteps and shifted her eyes to the door. The second bugbear was fully in the room now. This one wore a shirt of dirty black chain mail. He stopped whistling.
“I like pie. Elf pie, dwarf pie—”
“Too stringy,” Slake corrected.
“Not babies,” Grimek chuckled. He pulled the door to the room open all the way, spilling more light in.
The insect at the back of her neck scurried onto her left shoulder. Afraid to turn her head, Helene shifted her eyes to follow the bugbears as they walked deeper into the room, headed for the storage closet.
The heavy insect began a lazy trail down her arm toward her elbow.
The thing was in such disgustingly intimate contact with her now that Helene was almost positive it was no cockroach or dung beetle.
Slake opened the door to the closet and chuckled. “Looks like we hit ourselves a treasure trove down here.”
He started throwing old wine bottles onto the bed the elf lay hiding under. The mattress bounced in protest as first one bottle and then three more struck it.
“Is it pie? I like pie.”
“We’ve established this, Grimek,” Slake answered. “And we’d be eating orc pie if you were a little quicker with that pig-sticker, so come get some of this wine old Slake has found.”
The bed undulated above Helene, threatening to press down against her head. The insect on her arm froze in midstride.
With her arm tucked up close to her head, she heard the thing hiss and knew without doubt it was a scorpion.
“What’s the tasty orc boy doing with a nasty wand any ways?” Grimek complained.
Both pairs of feet crowded up close to the bed.
Orc boy? Wand? she thought. Caleb?
Then the thought was driven from her mind.
Agitated, the scorpion ran down her bicep to the dusty plank wood floor. She felt the segmented serpentine of the arachnid’s stinger as it slid off her arm.
She gritted her teeth. The insect was so close to her face now, especially her eyes.
Above her, the bed bounced as the two bugbears began picking up and inspecting the bottles. Theactivity shook the dust loose, and it trailed down into Helene’s face.
She shifted her eyes to the left, trying to see the scorpion, but her hair hung in her way.
Afraid, she risked turning her head.
She felt the searching grasp of its brittle-haired legs reach her left wrist and then the wiry fold of the front pincers bump across her skin as the scorpion climbed up onto her hand.
She could see the thing clearly now.
The arachnid boasted a brown-banded back and abdomen, set in the dull yellow amber color of the body. The stinger was raised like a fist over the segmented and armored torso.
It was ugly and frightening and, with a sinking sense of certainty, Helene realized it was as deadly a scorpion as there was: the deathstalker. Though only medium-sized as the species went, this type of scorpion lived up to its sinister name.
Ounce for ounce it was one of the most poisonous creatures in the world.
Above her the bugbears began to jabber in earnest. She heard their clumsy hands ripping open some old bag. Cast-off rags and scraps of burlap weave began littering the floor at their feet.
A gravelly voice called out from the hallway, and one of the beasts beside Helene’s hiding place answered.
“Do you have her?” The voice was so grotesque it sent a fresh shiver through Helene.
“We’ve got nothing to show you,” Slake answered, a little too quickly.
“What have you two found?”
She knew intuitively that the bugbears were afraid of whatever called to them from outside the room. Something that made these monsters afraid had to be very terrible indeed.
The bed suddenly sagged as one of the bugbears sat down on the mattress, muttering darkly under his breath. The tired old mattress springs squealed and the bottom sank down so low it smacked Helene hard on the top of her
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