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serrated spikes seemed forged from an unfamiliar metal, and their thick oaken handles were shod with hammered iron. Having set them at her sides, she pulled out the helmet, a similar design and material as the axe and bracers, with a small iron spike on top. She was a sight to behold, like two separate women in one.
    When she returned from battle the blood was gone from her armament. It retained its dim shine and without a nick or notch on the blades. She rubbed them down, never sharpening, then would kneel down, and put them back in the leather sack. Right first and left last, and toss it beside her bed with a clank . He noticed the sack never clanked except when she did that, and it never appeared big enough to hold all its contents. Is it magic? He wanted to ask, but never did. He was just enjoying being there, and he knew she would tell him if there was anything she wanted him to know. Those comments never game. The pit in his gut still festered, but he ignored it.

 
     
CHAPTER 8
     
    Venir’s reassurance left him no comfort. Billip pushed for departure every time his comrade came around. His young friend didn’t know the ways of the world as he did … or women. The brigand queen had a smile that could crack a rock, and he swore she had a tail, but somehow concealed it. He jammed an arrow in the ground as he strung and unstrung his bow. Stupid boy.
    Stupid, but brave and loyal as well, and Billip knew he had no fiercer friend than the tall shouldered ranger. The pay of a few silver coins a week, plus some of the additional booty from their raids appealed his greedy nature, but the company he kept failed to grow. A bunch of animals. Every day he felt his own humanity begin to slip away and he might have been beginning to like it. Why am I here? He missed the Orc’s Elbow and Mikkel’s mead.
    He eyed the swaying figures near the fringe of the camp. It was deserters of the brigand army that had been chased down and hung. Those humanoids rotted in the wind, tongue’s swollen and dry, carrying the stench of decay. No thanks. He had to talk Venir into leaving.
    Mikkel’s overbearing hatred of the kobolds had expanded to include the gnolls and orcs as well. He watched as the big man clutched his studded club and squeezed it in his hands. His arms were thick with cords, like black pythons, as he banged his glimmering skullcap, muttering obscenities. Even Billip, who didn’t really hate anything but losing, found fires burning against these other races and men as well.
    The two men passed their time finding ways to wound or kill the kobolds, during the raids, without being noticed. He and the big man used quivers other than their own. This had become a contest between him and Mikkel. Mikkel would then argue that his marksmanship was superior to his, which was not true, impressive though it was. The sight of a screaming kobold impaled to a tree by one of those heavy crossbow bolts made great target practice for him, as he shot from horseback. This isn’t so bad. Mikkel took his own sort of pride in it; while the rest did not care enough about the kobolds to suspect foul play.
    Mikkel was squatting by the fire, roasting a kobolds toe.
    “You’ve got to get us out of here Billip,” Mikkel said in disgust. “Venir’s lost his mind over that woman. She scares the slat out of me!”
    Billip wasn’t listening, but contemplating. Their exploits had garnered them respect among many of their fellow human brigands, but Billip still felt that Jarla’s longest-standing fighters still held too much close to the chest. He had heard the snickers of gnolls and orcen commanders when their backs were turned, and it was more prevalent when Venir was around. His gut told him something was not right, and it was in his nosey nature to find out what it was.
    He looked at his friend as he said, “I hope you aren’t going to eat that.”
    The basher just shrugged, let out a hollow chuckle, and tossed the burnt toe away. Chongo sniffed