Tarl shook his head, crestfallen.
"Sorry, Tarl," he said. "But we’re just going to have to make do—"
"Orlon, come and rest."
Both Midgets turned to Sharna, and what they saw surprised them. She lay seductively on her side on her sleep mat, which they noticed was about three feet short, leaving her legs on the grass. The three feet of missing sleep mat was laid out before hers.
"I have made you a place to sleep," she said, smiling, patting her handiwork.
Tarl elbowed his best friend and said out the corner of his mouth, "Looks like one of us will be cozy tonight."
Orlon frowned at him.
"Don’t just stand here," Tarl elbowed him again. "Go for it, buddy."
Orlon hesitated. "But—but what will you do for the night?" he gave voice to one of the two reasons for hesitating.
"Oh, don’t worry about me," Tarl said, flexing his fingers. "I’ll find some place to rest. Who knows, I might even find a little…action tonight as well."
The image of a beautiful oval face framed in curly black hair popped into Orlon’s mind. Her expression was inviting, seductive, and she winked at him, sending a jolt through him that blew the image into a million fragments. He quickly shook it off, and without acknowledging his best friend, he started across the field toward the awaiting warrior woman.
With each step he considered the layout before him. The makeshift sleep mat was no more than a finger’s width from hers, and that made him uncomfortable. Why were they so close together? Then he reasoned it out. Sharna had proclaimed herself "guardian of the One", which meant him, and therefore she wanted him as close as possible to insure his safety overnight…. Yes, that made perfect sense. Still, he felt a drop of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He had never laid so close to a woman before. He had never laid by a woman, period.
He gulped, and a thought came to mind that eased his nervousness…a bit. Sharna, he earlier presumed, would be a wealth of knowledge he could tap in terms of the quest and other things, and she had proven him correct when he asked about Grash. He had learned a lot about him—and more. He glanced at the sun in the afternoon sky, a smile playing at his lips. There was still plenty of time left in the day for him to tap that wealth of knowledge again.
When he reached the makeshift sleep mat he stopped, eyes on the place he would sleep tonight. By his estimate of its length he, too, would have his legs on the grass. He could live with that. But what he would miss was a pillow to rest his head upon. The realization he had an easy solution to that problem put a smile on his face. He pulled off his coat, folded it on itself a couple of times and dropped it where his head would lie.
"Very clever," she said and patted the makeshift sleep mat. "Now lay here with me, so that I may…protect you in the night."
Instead, he sat down cross-legged on the mat, facing her, eyes downcast as he struggled to quell his nervousness. What he needed to do was get the ball rolling with her again, and he knew they were well passed the introduction gimmick. Several deep breaths expanded his lungs but did little to calm him. He looked up, met her wanting eyes, and swallowed.
"Want something?" she said.
Something in her voice set a tingling in his gut he had felt only once before, when through a trick by Tarl he found himself caught in close quarters with Mona Ik, whom he had foolishly told his best friend he kind of liked. He brushed aside the memory but not his anger over it.
"Uh," he said, subduing that anger, "yes. I wanted to ask you about a few things."
"Such as?"
"I’d like to know more about this quest," he said, quickly elaborating, "How Ty the Parson brought you all together, who the other members of the Party are, that sort of thing."
"Hm," she said softly. "I think I can fill you in on that, though you must keep in mind I don’t know most of the warriors on this quest personally, so I can only tell you what I know. Will that do?"
"That will be fine." He placed his elbows on knees and planted chin on fists, ready to listen.
She, in turn, brought herself up on a stiff arm and began to speak:
"The world has far too long been in a time of peace and tranquility. Not the best of times for soldiers, warriors, mercenaries and the like, whose ply and trade depends on unrest, turmoil…war! Many have become so desperate they’ve journeyed beyond our lands, some taking to cross the ocean in hopes of finding suitable conditions for their ply and trade. The rest, like myself, have waited for times to change, for a calling that our services are needed once again…
"When word came a Parson was active, that a quest was needed to combat some impending danger, we responded!
"From all over those who now comprise the Party converged on the Lake to met Ty the Parson, and his mercenary, Marcol, in the shadows of the Roglondale Trees. Long, time consuming and confusing at times the Parson spun his tale of evil in the name of Tibtarnitallimardarian plotting to take over the world. He told us of the One who could save us from that evil with the aid of the Holy Pike, and the need for us to join together to protect him 'til the deed was done."
Her wanting brown eyes captured his innocent blues. "When he mentioned the One, the Pure One, purest of the pure—you—I knew this calling was for me," she breathed. "I…desired nothing more than to protect you."
Orlon blushed.
"A-anyway," she broke eye contact with a blink. "That is how the Party came together. Now, as to who we are…"
In order to accomplish this "introduction," they had to readjust their positions. He rocked, wiggly-wormed himself around to face the Party. She brought herself up to her knees, resting back on her haunches, behind him. Placing her left hand on his shoulder, she used her right hand to point as she talked.
"You already know Ty the Parson, Marcol, Grash, Tarftenrott and Chitintiare and Telluspett, Roxx and myself," she said, her finger bobbing from the robed man to the mercenary, who lay on his sleep mat, hands over ears, eyes tightly closed, as Richtichtiare endlessly berated him, to the old warrior, who even lying down looked…heroic, to the stuttering warrior, lovingly wiping his sword’s blade with a cloth, to the Dorks, who sat together, playing, arguing over a card game, to the plump man busy as a bee at his push cart. A tender squeeze of his shoulder signified herself.
She pointed to a man dressed in copper chainmail with brown undershirt, brown breeches and black boots, a broadsword dangling from the girdle about his waist, saying, "We were fortunate to have Expendendale join our quest."
Orlon looked at the warrior and his brow knit. He was tall and thin, not overly muscular, which made him look physically far from a warrior of great repute. Framed in shoulder length, unkempt brown hair, his thin face bore a constant, agitated expression of unease, his big green eyes constantly darting this way and that…. All in all, he saw nothing that designated this man as someone fortunate to have on a quest.
"Then we have Jack, Carlo, and Frank," she pointed to the three young men who reminded him of Tarl, and who were right now talking to the woman before the tent, and beside a blazing campfire, rather than finding a place to rest in the field for the night. She sighed. "It seems every quest must endure some inexperienced members."
Orlon eyed them with some interest which went beyond learning they were new to questing. They were of average height, well built physically and wore the strangest clothes for warriors. Rather than armor of some sort, they wore fancily collared and cuffed white shirts, fanciful black coats and breeches, and flare top boots. Atop their heads were wide brimmed black hats, each sporting a feather, and about their waists were girdles sporting black sheathed rapiers.