He had never seen or heard of their like before… His eyes were drawn to Tarl, who was approaching them, hands in his pockets, and rolled.
"It will be interesting to see how they fare on this adventure," she said offhandedly, then pointed at the final member of the Party, saying, "And lastly, we have Crik-or."
Lying in a fetal position on the field of grass was another man like no other he had seen or heard of before. He was short and squarely built, a man of brute muscle, and dressed in an animal skin that reminded him of a nightshirt, if, that is, it was sleeveless. His black hair was cut as if guided by a bowl placed on his head, and his splotchily bearded face was thick of brow, largely nose and by the stretch of his lips, largely toothed as well. The only thing he carried with him was a medium sized rock, which he cradled to his chest.
"He is a throwback to a bygone age," Sharna continued, "and a race of people not seen in our world for quite some time, though rumors, claimed sightings from all around abound… We met him at the Alquintiare Trees on our journey to your farmhouse this morning and were pleased when he…told us he wished to join our quest." She grunted. "It is a wonder such men still exist…and survive using such a primitive weapon as a rock. But who am I to judge a man’s choice of weapons."
"And that, Orlon—" she placed her right hand on his shoulder, began massaging gently "—is the Party who have come together to protect you."
"Thank you," he said, letting his eyes drift over those before him. "It’s nice to put names to faces, to know who is who."
His eyes paused on Rae, whom she passed over completely, as he had just come to join them on the way here, and jumped to the woman by the tent. He remembered the sadness he detected in her expression—and the looks of amazement, disgust, and pity, most of the Party gave her. He remembered Sharna’s questioning how they do it. They who? Do what? Who was this woman?
"What can you tell me about her," he said, pointing at the woman, who was now warming her hands over the fire, chatting with Tarl and the three warriors.
"She," her voice was filled with disgust but mellowed to a tone of pity as she continued, "is a Campfire Girl."
"A Campfire Girl?" He frowned.
She stopped massaging his shoulders, her own brow creased. "You haven’t read about them in that book of yours?" she said.
"N-no," he said, suddenly wishing he had brought the book along. "I-I guess I haven’t gotten that far yet. They have something to do with the Dracron Wars?"
"Those wars were what brought them about," she grumbled.
The tone of her voice sent a shiver up his spine, but what she had said sparked his interest so greatly he quickly said: "Please, tell me about it."
A moment of silence passed—ended when she resumed massaging his shoulders.
"They came about near the end of the wars," she said, her massaging getting rougher as she spoke. "It was a time of peace between the kingdoms, both kings having troops stationed in each other’s kingdoms…and that was a bad time. Businesses ruined, homes demolished, people living in the streets, living with the uncertainty hostilities might erupt at any moment. And money? Ha! What money there was was in the hands of the kings, spent on soldiers, weapons, other war supplies.
"Few crops had been planted since the wars began, and what food there was, again, was in the hands of the kings, given mainly to the soldiers. What scraps were allotted to civilians were not enough…. Death; the awful smell of death loomed over the world.
"Young ladies, either desperate to feed themselves or their families, or forced into it by fathers or other dominant family members, started hanging around enemy barracks, selling their," she paused, searching for the right word to protect the One’s purity, had it, "favors for food, money, anything usable the soldiers might part with. Fall, winter and parts of spring can be cold, so these women began to build fires to keep warm, hence, the name."
"But," he yelped under the intense pressure of her kneading fingers. "But the Dacron Wars ended so long ago. We’ve—we’ve been in a time of peace and tranquility for so long. Surely there is no reason for young ladies to do this now…?"
"Sad to say," she said, easing up on her roughness in massaging him, "but times have little effect on what has become a…lifestyle, if you will, for them. But like soldiers, warriors and the like, it can have a negative effect on living." Something deep within told her it was time to change the subject and she said, "The hour grows late. Lie down, Orlon. You need to rest for the busy day we will have crossing the forest tomorrow."
Two things happened to the Midget with her change of subject: a chill goosepimpled his flesh and a yawn nearly popped his jaw. Reminder of entering evil Dark Forest in the morning, by his choice, was not something he wanted to think about. He might not be able to get any sleep if he did. He yawned again. And he decided her suggestion to lie down and rest was a good one, as he had walked a long distance today and was tired.
He stretched out on the sleep mat, his legs settling on the grassy field, head on folded coat—and he became aware of a lump in the makeshift pillow. It was the apple he pocketed this morning for eating later… He smiled. An apple sounded tasty. But the tightness of his still stuffed stomach told him the apple would just have to wait a little longer. With a sigh, he snuggled down and let his eyes drift shut.
Orlon’s rather abrupt departure went unnoticed by Tarl. Fingers flexing, he was too busy mentally formulating a plan that just might get him a little…action tonight. The dice were burning a hole in his pocket, and he was painfully aware of the meager starter funds in his money pouch. What he needed was an increase in those funds to help fulfill another bit of…action he desired tonight.
The image of his desire appeared in his mind. His mind’s eye took in the inviting, seductive expression on her beautiful oval face, framed in curly black hair, moved down her smooth neck and rounded shoulders to her ample cleavage, revealed in the low neckline of her red blouse, down her trim waist and curve of hips to her shapely leg, revealed in the slit of her black skirt, to her petite foot. Up and down, his mind’s eye went, again and again… There was no denying this woman was desirable.
An oath and dribble of drool escaped his lips as a tingling deep within began to intensify. Sucking in the drool, he reminded himself first things first. No money, no girl.
"Cheat," Chitintiare exclaimed. "Cheater! I saw you. You’re dealing from the middle of the deck."
Tarl looked up, turned his eyes on the Dorks.
"I am not," Telluspett countered, shaking the deck of cards under his brother’s nose. "I’ll have you know I’m playing you fair and square. I’m dealing from both the top and bottom of the deck."
Chitintiare looked from his brother to the shaking deck to his hand of thirteen cards and back again. "Oh," he said, scratching his head, "Okay. As long as you’re playing fair…"
Their game resumed.
Tarl smiled. Never before had he seen two more easy marks than these two…Dorks, he believed he heard them called. And when he took in the three piles of gold coins between them—Chitintiare’s small one, the bet’s medium one, Telluspett’s large one—he saw there was plenty of spoils to be had. He felt confident in a short time he would have more than enough money to insure a really good time with his second desired…activity.
A feminine giggle drew him around to see the object of his desire talking with three men. He looked the three up and down, finding their fanciful dress curious, and their presence a bother. But all he could do was accept their presence, as he knew with the business he presumed she was in those who moved quickly got ahead of slow pokes…. As for the woman, he had no problem when it came to getting a piece of the…action.