THE WARRIOR WOMAN

The night air was still, quiet. Too quiet. It made Rachael uneasy, raising the hair along her arms and the back of her neck. Too quiet meant nothing nearby trying to survive—no animals or birds or humans. Too quiet meant nothing living.

Too quiet meant dead.

Holding up one hand, she signaled the four young people behind her—two women and two men—to stop. Then she crouched down, moving quietly through the brush, pushing aside the thorny branches that plucked at her clothes, snagging on her leather armor. She didn’t make a sound beyond a slight rustle of leaves and the creak of well-oiled leather as she unsheathed an elvish style dagger strapped to her belt, holding it at the ready.

For a moment all she heard was the rhythmic pounding of her own heartbeat. Then the sound of something shuffling along the ground with an uneven gait. First a crunching noise, then a swoosh. Maybe someone limping, dragging an injured limb behind. The smell of rotting flesh settled any doubt of whether it was human or orc.

Crunch, swoosh, crunch, swoosh. The sound carried across the night air as her eyes scouted for its source under the shards of moonlight filtering down through the treetops.

There. Up ahead to the right of the path. The bramble bushes trembled as a slumped figure emerged, ignoring the sharp thorns that tore at its skin and ragged clothing.

Gesturing to her friends to follow, she scanned for any more orcs before leaping to her feet and charging toward the lone figure. It turned toward the sound of her footsteps and moaned; an unearthly death rattle that echoed through the trees, sending a shiver down Rachael’s spine despite the countless times she’d heard it.

She could see in dim light that this particular orc was in lousy shape—it looked like it had spent some time submerged in water. Mottled skin peeling away from its bloated face. Moss growing in an otherwise empty eye socket. Fingers swollen and splitting open at the tips.

It reached for her and she ducked easily under one decaying hand, spinning around the orc to position herself behind it, driving her dagger directly into the base of the skull with an awful crunch. It crumpled to the ground, the stench washing over Rachael and her group.

“Ugh! That one was ripe.” Alice grimaced, dark hair falling around her face as she covered her mouth and nose with one arm.

The dagger made a squelching sound as she pulled it out of the orc’s skull. Rachael wiped the viscous black blood on a handful of leaves and tucked it back into her scabbard. “At least it was only one,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.