Behemoth by Vaughn Heppner

Author:Vaughn Heppner [Heppner, Vaughn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Published: 2011-05-17T22:00:00+00:00

-12-

Barefoot, Tamar blushed with shame as she moved through the encampment. She wore a short silk kirtle. It barely hid her femininity from prying eyes. Dagon had allowed her no other article of clothing. The silk garment was too sheer, too soft against her skin. Even worse, it shortness forced her to walk with extreme care, almost delicately. Whenever she chanced by, reavers stopped sharpening their weapons and repairing their nets. They nudged one another and stared at her admiringly. Captive Rovians would sit up in their cages to stare as well. Tamar hated it.

She recalled Shamgar with bitterness, the many weeks it had taken winning her hunting locations. The other rat hunters had thought they could rape kisses from her or worse because she was a young girl. She’d shown them then, gutting a rapist with one of her tridents. Afterward, she’d worn rat-hunting gear at all times. She’d hidden her femininity.

Did Dagon now think he could tame her through such tricks as this? She fluffed the silk in disgust.

A reaver whistled.

As he stirred a cooking pot over a fire, Tamar scowled at him. He leered, and he whistled again.

Tamar wanted to race at him with a rock and bash it against his face. But now other reavers looked up from their tasks. She hurried as fast as she dared through the camp, enduring reaver after reaver turning and eyeing her hungrily.

Flexing her hands, Tamar longed for a trident. She would gladly spear each brigand. She wished they swam in the nearby sea, with her in a rat-boat, tossing weighted nets on them as they screamed or jabbing barbed prongs into their backs. She’d liked to hear them whistle then.

Tamar lowered her head as she headed for Dagon’s tent. The hairy Nephilim had bedded almost every other pretty woman in camp. Dagon considered it his privilege. He’d never bed her. Tamar vowed this to herself.

Dagon’s tent stood in the center of camp. This encampment was unlike the others of their journey. Upright logs with axe-hacked points formed a square stockade. It had taken a hard day of axing, sawing, hacking and lifting for those of Shamgar to fashion the stockade. Vigilant reavers now patrolled the rickety ramparts.

Tamar looked up. On three sides of the stockade, she spied the tops of the giant mocair-trees swaying in the breeze. Nothing but clouds loomed over the eastern wall. In that direction, was the green Sea of Nur. She’d seen it the first day of their arrival. It was beautiful and filled the eastern horizon.

Another reaver shouted for her attention, asking if she’d like to squirm for him tonight. Coarse-faced louts around him laughed at his suggestion, thinking his words the height of humor.

Trying to ignore them, Tamar smoothed the kirtle down around her thighs. Even another inch of silk would have helped hide her charms. This dress was simply too short. It was madding.

Tamar shook her head, keeping her gaze downcast. What made it worse was that everyone was crowded within the stockade.

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