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The Lady's Orcs - Ashukh, Zlog, Gorgu
They heard her fretting; her voice low with worry. And rising from the paving stones where her weaving lay, they looked for her. In the pale light Ashukh and Zlog could just make out her wavering form, inconstant in the play of light and shadows as she pressed herself against the tumbled stones which once formed the foundation of a great window. It was once the framer of a view that much delighted her as it looked out toward her garden. Now the stones of the window’s frame had cracked and fallen and rolled out onto the parched earth. No flowers or sweet smelling shrubs grew there save in her mind.
Gorgu had drifted down beside her his hands fussing at the edge of her sleeve as he sought to pacify her. ‘She be worritting – her flowers’ll be shredded and such . . . at’s what she says.’ He turned toward Ashukh and Zlog, a frown puckering his brow. ‘Wind’s up,’ he went on, nodding out across the rocks toward where the dust and debris rose up in a maelstrom just beyond the place where the outer fortress walls once stood.
‘Something’s come,’ growled Ashukh, hearing the clamor of his kindred in the rising wind. ‘Best we keep a sharp eye out.’
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