hope that wonderrful honorr o' yourrs doesn't get us killed." Dorbin said.
"I hope so too. I wonder, why do you suppose they call him McRoy the Red? There's nothing red about the man." Before Dorbin could answer, a familiar voice spoke.
"It's because no one in battle ever becomes more drenched in the blood of their enemies than McRoy the Red." It was the sultry voice of Celeste. Rancoth whipped his head around so fast, that he actually heard his neck pop. He needed to see what heavenly creature could sound so seductive. The stirrings in his groin stilled as abruptly as they had started.
She was short and had thinning brown hair above a pockmarked tan complexion. Her unremarkable brown eyes bugged out of her gaunt sickly face. She was missing most of her teeth, and other than her distended stomach, her thin bony body had no womanly shape at all. Her only clothing was a tattered yellow frock, which hung to just above her knobby knees.
"What's the matter, handsome? You don't like what you see? Afraid your now shriveled little member will never stand at attention again?” she laughed musically. "My name's Celeste, Celeste Simmons. Mic thought you might want some fresh air, and was hoping you'd come and talk with him this morning."
Rancoth turned to Dorbin, who nodded his head slightly. With Dorbin's approval Rancoth told her that they would follow, and she promptly led them out of the hole.
They emerged from what was more or less a hollowed out hill, and the brilliant sunlight dazzled their eyes. The camp was smaller than either man expected it to be, and was populated entirely by Huldens.
There were rail-thin women and children busying themselves with daily chores. All appeared starved and sickly. Even the men, congregated in the shade of a large rock, were mere wisps of what they should have been.
Other than the state of the people, the first thing that both men noticed was the absence of grass, or any vegetation, for that matter. It hadn't been rocks Rancoth had heard crunching under the feet of their captures, but rather cracked and peeling soil.
This was a land devoid of water; it was a land of death. The sudden realization of how lavish their breakfast truly had been, caused Rancoth to feel shame as he looked at the starving children around him. No wonder he had gotten so dehydrated so quickly; any moisture was instantly sucked up by the arid, inhospitable climate.
Celeste led them to a large tent at the center of the camp and scratched on the dust-encrusted surface. "Enter," came the rumbled command. Celeste held the entrance flap open and waved them in without following.
What looked like a huge tent from the outside was greatly diminished by the titanic man standing in the middle of it, his hands on his hips. The tent was sparsely furnished; there was an immense cot to one side that appeared to be made from actual tree trunks. The only other item was a massive dark wood table, with a couple of maps and various other bits of parchment spread out. McRoy had been intently studying these when the two of them were ushered inside.
"Good morning. You slept well I hope?"
They both nodded.
"And breakfast, it was to your liking?"
"It was fine, thank you," Rancoth said.
"It should have gone to the little ones," Dorbin said softly.
Rancoth knew that there would have been tears in the little man's eyes, had he had them to spare.
"Actually, it did. Everyone gets the same rations. The same water, the same food, and all in the same amounts. We have no choice but to strictly regulate our resources. There simply isn't enough to go around, as I'm sure you've noticed," McRoy said.
Now that he was in the full light, and Rancoth was no longer delirious from hunger and dehydration he reassessed the leader of the camp. Despite being of colossal size, McRoy too showed signs of deprivation.
His cheeks were sunken, and his deep-set green eye should have been shallower, given the shape of his face.
"I hope so too. I wonder, why do you suppose they call him McRoy the Red? There's nothing red about the man." Before Dorbin could answer, a familiar voice spoke.
"It's because no one in battle ever becomes more drenched in the blood of their enemies than McRoy the Red." It was the sultry voice of Celeste. Rancoth whipped his head around so fast, that he actually heard his neck pop. He needed to see what heavenly creature could sound so seductive. The stirrings in his groin stilled as abruptly as they had started.
She was short and had thinning brown hair above a pockmarked tan complexion. Her unremarkable brown eyes bugged out of her gaunt sickly face. She was missing most of her teeth, and other than her distended stomach, her thin bony body had no womanly shape at all. Her only clothing was a tattered yellow frock, which hung to just above her knobby knees.
"What's the matter, handsome? You don't like what you see? Afraid your now shriveled little member will never stand at attention again?” she laughed musically. "My name's Celeste, Celeste Simmons. Mic thought you might want some fresh air, and was hoping you'd come and talk with him this morning."
Rancoth turned to Dorbin, who nodded his head slightly. With Dorbin's approval Rancoth told her that they would follow, and she promptly led them out of the hole.
They emerged from what was more or less a hollowed out hill, and the brilliant sunlight dazzled their eyes. The camp was smaller than either man expected it to be, and was populated entirely by Huldens.
There were rail-thin women and children busying themselves with daily chores. All appeared starved and sickly. Even the men, congregated in the shade of a large rock, were mere wisps of what they should have been.
Other than the state of the people, the first thing that both men noticed was the absence of grass, or any vegetation, for that matter. It hadn't been rocks Rancoth had heard crunching under the feet of their captures, but rather cracked and peeling soil.
This was a land devoid of water; it was a land of death. The sudden realization of how lavish their breakfast truly had been, caused Rancoth to feel shame as he looked at the starving children around him. No wonder he had gotten so dehydrated so quickly; any moisture was instantly sucked up by the arid, inhospitable climate.
Celeste led them to a large tent at the center of the camp and scratched on the dust-encrusted surface. "Enter," came the rumbled command. Celeste held the entrance flap open and waved them in without following.
What looked like a huge tent from the outside was greatly diminished by the titanic man standing in the middle of it, his hands on his hips. The tent was sparsely furnished; there was an immense cot to one side that appeared to be made from actual tree trunks. The only other item was a massive dark wood table, with a couple of maps and various other bits of parchment spread out. McRoy had been intently studying these when the two of them were ushered inside.
"Good morning. You slept well I hope?"
They both nodded.
"And breakfast, it was to your liking?"
"It was fine, thank you," Rancoth said.
"It should have gone to the little ones," Dorbin said softly.
Rancoth knew that there would have been tears in the little man's eyes, had he had them to spare.
"Actually, it did. Everyone gets the same rations. The same water, the same food, and all in the same amounts. We have no choice but to strictly regulate our resources. There simply isn't enough to go around, as I'm sure you've noticed," McRoy said.
Now that he was in the full light, and Rancoth was no longer delirious from hunger and dehydration he reassessed the leader of the camp. Despite being of colossal size, McRoy too showed signs of deprivation.
His cheeks were sunken, and his deep-set green eye should have been shallower, given the shape of his face.
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