CHAPTER 5A NIGHT OF KILLING
NOLDO WAS BATHED IN sweat. His skin was chaffed raw by garments and his atrophied thighs burned. A sharp sting penetrated his shoulder blades. It was one of the rare times he resented old age.
Screeching echoes circled overhead and cut through the clangor of battle. The air stunk of sulfur and smoke. Noldo’s rucksack sagged from depletion. Only a few bulbous flasks remained.
“Renkuth!” he shouted. “I’m almost out!”
Clinks and grunts were chased through the shadows by growls that circled from the tavern to the side of the cart.
Noldo spun towards the havoc. A blinding flash erupted, followed by a painstaking yelp. His vision became a kaleidoscope of white lights. A sharp ring punctured his eardrums and drowned the other sounds. Shock destabilized him and the
