I’m bringing it back to the battle string this week, ’cause that’s where the party’s at!  Let’s rock!

37 — Elin Gregory (Battle String)

“Good advice.” The deep voice boomed behind Yoran.  He whipped around, a painful throb in his spine making him gasp only to let out the air in a wordless yell of horror.
He staggered to his feet putting himself between his daughters and the – the creatures who were looming over him. Yoran was used to being considered tall, but their height, their width of shoulder accentuated by gleaming armour, made him feel small.

“Get away from my girls,” he snarled reaching for his holster.

One of the two darted forward, dragonfly wings opening with a rasp of chitin, but the other put a hand on his chest, halting him. Yoran’s fingers touched empty leather. The creature nodded then raised its claws to remove the bulbous eyed helmet. A man’s face, handsome, blue-shadowed at the jaw with black hair drawn up into a top knot. He
looked amused.

“I’m Janosc. My men and I saved your lives but we had to leave your weapon the other side of the portal,” he said. “Man, you’re on our ground now. Not so big, are you? Consider yourself to be a prisoner of war, which means you will be treated somewhat better than I would be if the positions were reversed. Now eat, rest, wash, for later you
will meet a queen.”

At a gesture more of the creatures filed in, slim, androgynous, fair of face, bearing trays of food and vessels of warm water. A luxurious imprisonment, then, but they were prisoners all the same.

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