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“Oi, Big Dadda!” came a small but incredibly irritating voice. “Yer crap!”
Without looking, Big Dadda Surbag reached down to his right. His hand came back up around the throat of a small, squirming retch, who was both struggling to breathe, bite Surbag and make rude gestures at the same time. He regarded his son for a moment. There was a polite cough then a voice behind him: “Er, Mam said -”
Surbag tossed his prisoner back into the mob of retches currently trying to wind up the wolf spiders. An occasional web ball came over, only half-heartedly punished by one of the handlers. The Big Dadda sighed and turned to Gul-Sec. “‘Ow we doin’?”
“All da mobs is lined up like yer said, Big Dadda. Fingerless has got da Trolls movin’ and da bowmun is up front.”
“Da Humans?”
“Got da scouts comin’ back nice an’ regular like yer wanted. Dey ‘aven’t moved, but lots of dem ‘orses ‘av turned up.”
Surbag grunted. “No probs. We got spidas! Oi! Natas!”
A small, bedraggled and, above all, blue figure emerged hesitantly from behind a bush. “Yeah, Big Dadda?”
“Yer got da spells?”
“Yeah, Big Dadda.”
Surbag grinned. Natas quailed under those rows of jagged teeth. “Gud. Only one fing left… Oh yeah. Oi! Dudagog!”
“Yeah, Big Dadda?”
Surbag almost jumped out of his skin. The scrawny little runt had been standing right next to him all this time and he hadn’t noticed. “Dun do dat!”
“Yeah, Big Dadda.”
“Look, Dundagog,” said Surbag, regaining his composure and grinning. “Yer wanna be a big Orc, dunt yer?”
Dundagog nodded vigorously.
“Well,” Surbag leaned down, his grin terrifyingly broad, “‘sgot a little job for yer…”