|
Zagra’s grip on the strange man faltered as her attention wandered. She was nervous and getting more so, standing out here so exposed. And there was too much to remember . . . keep her face grim, mean-looking, Mazhg had told her. Hold up the spade as if she would wallop him should he move too much. Keep your eyes on those men. And remember to sneak looks at Mazhg. ‘If you see me rub my cheek,’ Mazhg had said, ‘then get ready to run. And when I yell “run”, you light on out of here. Quick as if the Dark Lord himself is at your heels. Run and run and hide where we did beyond the bend in the stream . . . like we did that once. You remember, right?’ Mazhg had made her repeat the instructions and the landmarks for the hiding place. ‘I’ll come for you . . . soon’s I can. You stay hid.’
She felt Rôg’s shoulder twitch slightly, reminding her to keep contact. Her eyes flicked toward Mazhg. Her sister’s eyes were on the men and Orcs.
Mazhg called out to the captive males in a loud voice, the harsh, guttural sounds of Orkish tongue breaking the tense silence.
‘Sha! You big, dumb, snagas! Getting caught!’ She stopped herself, biting back the string of epithets ready to tumble off her tongue. She spit in the dirt for final emphasis. ‘Don’t mess this up, globs-bubhosh!
|