The Heavenly Host

Further, as the D’Warg walked, it limped slightly. Not so much as in pain, as Tal Gor did, but more as if its leg lengths were different; or perhaps, Tal Gor thought, its hips and shoulders were at different angles. In any event, the ugly beast was glaring at everyone and everything as it came through the gate; the other D’Wargs fell back to give the hissing and spitting creature room.

Vespa groaned. “Tar Roth Non!” she yelled to a younger D’Orc on the other side of the gateway, who was working to get the D’Wargs through. “What is Schwarzenfürze doing here? You know no one can ride her! She won’t tolerate anyone and hasn’t since my great grandfather, Helmut, passed!”

“I’m sorry Commander, but when she saw the hunters gathering the saddles and harnesses, she started making all sorts of noises. Then when I began selecting the D’Wargs for this hunt, she butted through them and insisted on coming. I tried to grab her and stop her, but you know what she’s like!” Tar Roth Non shook his head forlornly. “When she’s in a mood like this, she doesn’t respond to commands!”

Vespa closed her eyes and shook her head as the beast glared around the camp and began snorting and sniffing at various orcs, all of whom tried to give her a wide birth. “Argh, did you get another then? We need enough for our companions.”

“Uh, yes, ma’am. I did,” Tar Roth Non said, stammering.

Tommus was grinning. “You seem to have things under control, Vespa, except perhaps for this D’Warg.” He chuckled; it sounded quite evil. “I need to get back. Tar Roth Non, can you clear some space?”

The young D’Orc nodded and shepherded a couple of D’Wargs out of the way, and Lord Tommus went back through the gateway.

Tal Gor jumped as something wet banged up against his bad leg. He glanced back and around. He had been so distracted by Lord Tommus’s departure that he had not seen the ugly D’Warg make its way around to him. It was poking its nose at his bad leg, and then in his butt crack, sniffing. Tal Gor stood perfectly still; this was clearly not a friendly D’Warg.

The D’Warg, Schwarzenfürze they had called her, stepped back and eyed him up and down as if trying to decide if he was a worthy meal. It then snorted as if in contempt and looked around the camp. After a moment, she moved again towards Tal Gor, pushing him with her muzzle, shoving him in the direction she had been staring.

Tal Gor nearly lost his footing; he twisted to stare at Vespa, not sure what he should do. Vespa was staring back at him, or more precisely, at Schwarzenfürze, and she seemed to be completely shocked.

“What does she want, Commander?” Tal Gor asked rather helplessly as the D’Warg shoved him again.

“I am not sure. It certainly can’t be what it looks like. I’ve known her my entire life; this is not like her.”

“What should I do?” Tal Gor asked.

“Unless you want to fall and be trampled by her claws, I’d suggest you move where she’s pushing you,” Vespa said. The other D’Orcs were also staring at the D’Warg.

She pushed him again, so Tal Gor moved forward, and the D’Warg pushed him again. He just kept moving where she pushed him. After a few pushes they were next to the saddles and harnesses the D’Orcs had brought through the gateway.

“By Lilith’s bloody teat!” one of the D’Orcs cursed. “I think the bitch wants him to ride her!”

“Ridiculous!” another exclaimed. “She won’t let anyone ride her. Even when she was mortal, she was a mean one; only Helmut could ride her. Even Vera, his wife, couldn’t get close.”

Tal Gor suddenly found himself sprawled on a saddle after the D’Warg pushed him into the pile. He looked at Vespa.

The commander was shaking her head. “Well, lad, I cannot in a million years believe this, but I think I’m going to have to show you how to saddle Schwarzenfürze. A D’Warg is different than a warg; the wings and the fact that you fly a thousand feet or more above ground makes the harness quite different.” She shook her head. “The rest of you Crooked Sticks, pay attention now. All the other D’Wargs will be simple to saddle in comparison.”

∼

“You know, I find Trisfelt’s lady friend, Hilda, quite charming. She seems extremely perceptive and bright for a layman,” Lenamare observed apropos of nothing while applying butter to his toasted muffin.

Across the small breakfast table, Jehenna arched an eyebrow and glanced up from the letter she was reading. “You would think that,” she snorted.

Lenamare paused in mid-motion, tilting his head to ask, puzzled, “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on.” Jehenna shook her head. “You must have noticed.” She reached for her cup of tea.

“Noticed what?” Lenamare asked, clearly confused and not understanding what she meant.

“Yesterday?” Jehenna gently shook her head from side to side. “She was buttering you up better than you’re doing to that muffin!”

Lenamare looked taken aback. “Seriously? You must be joking!”