Tim Waggoner - Forge of the Mindslayers

"The conflict might end," Ghaji finished.

Diran nodded. "Or at least peace negotiations might become possible. It seems to me that we would do more immediate good by investigating this curse than by haring off after Aldarik Cathmore."

Ghaji considered this. "Perhaps, but the curse has lasted for almost two centuries. What would a few more days or even weeks matter?"

Diran smiled gently. "Don't you think two centuries is more than long enough for the people of two cities to be at war?"

Ghaji and Diran had both seen their share of conflict during the War-the half-orc as a mercenary soldier, the priest as a hired assassin-and both of them had participated in far too much mindless slaughter.

"Yes, I do." Ghaji sighed. "Very well, now that Yvka's here, perhaps she'll ferry us over to Kolbyr on the Zephyr. Once there…"

His voice trailed off as a familiar scent came to his nose: thick, musky, and earthy. He hadn't smelled this scent for close to twenty years, but he remembered it just the same. Orcs-even half-orcs-never forget a smell.

"Something wrong?" Diran asked.

"I'm… not sure. There's something I need to check out, Diran. Alone, if you don't mind."

The priest frowned, but he said, "Of course, but if you should need me…"

Ghaji nodded. "I'll let you know." He turned away from his friend and moved off into the fog, following the scent of a ghost from the past.

Diran watched his friend disappear into the gray murk, torn as to what he should do. It wasn't like Ghaji to run off on a whim, so something was up, and that something might well prove dangerous. Whether Ghaji wanted to admit it or not, there was a good chance he'd need Diran's help. But Ghaji had asked to go alone, and Diran had acquiesced. To follow Ghaji now would be to break a trust between them, and Diran didn't wish to do that if he could avoid it.

As he stood outside the King Prawn trying to make up his mind, he heard footsteps approaching. At first, he thought Ghaji had returned, but the sound of the boots scuffing against dirt sounded wrong-lighter, the stride measured and patient. Diran had no idea whether whoever it was approaching was friend or foe, but at the Perhata Docks, one encountered more criminals than anywhere else in the Principalities. He drew a dagger from his belt sheath and palmed it, just in case.

The footsteps continued coming closer until the vague outline of a human body could be seen. A woman.

Diran's heart seized in his chest, and he whispered, "Makala?"

"Is that a dagger in your hand, or are you just glad to see me?"

The woman took a few more steps toward him, and Diran could make out enough of her features to recognize the commander of the Sea Scorpions. With a fluid motion, Diran returned the dagger to its sheath. If Asenka had heard him call her by a different name, she made no remark on it.

"Good evening, Asenka. Don't tell me you've returned because you can't get enough of the King Prawn's delicious ale."

Her laugh was warm and cheerful, and the sound helped diminish the fog's chill. "Hardly. Today wasn't the first time I have run off Haaken and his crew. In the past, they've been known to sneak back and cause further trouble. I've been keeping on eye on the King Prawn, figuring that if they did come back, they'd come for you and your friend."

Diran felt a sudden pang of worry. Could Ghaji have detected the Coldhearts lurking about? His half-orc senses were sharper than Diran's human ones, so it was quite possible, but why would Ghaji have gone off on his own to investigate? The man could be impulsive at times, but he wasn't foolish.

"Any sign of the Coldhearts?" Diran asked, trying not to let the worry he felt for his friend creep into his voice.

Asenka shook her head. "Aside from the usual drunken scuffles between sailors, it's been quiet tonight. It looks like Haaken may have actually gotten the message this time."

Diran was relieved to hear that. Hopefully, whatever had lured Ghaji away was something the half-orc warrior could deal with on his own.

A silence settled between them then, more companionable than awkward, despite the fact that this was only their second meeting. After a bit, Asenka said, "I have a confession to make."

"Oh? It's a good thing I'm a priest then."

She smiled, but she didn't laugh this time. "Earlier, I acted as if I didn't know you, but I did. I've heard of you and your friend. The two of you have been in the Principalities only a short time, but you're already gaining quite a reputation in certain circles."

"What circles would these be?" Diran kept his tone light, but he was on guard.

Since coming to the Principalities, he and Ghaji had done what they could to battle evil, but neither of them was overly concerned about whose toes they had to step on-or on occasion, cut off-in order to get the job done. That meant that they'd managed to make more than a few enemies among the Lhazaarites, and it was possible that Asenka was one of them.

"Let's just say that word has spread among the barons to keep a sharp eye out for a dagger-wielding priest and a half-orc who carries an elemental axe. It's said that whenever they sail into port, trouble comes blowing in after them."

It was Diran's turn to smile. "I wouldn't dispute that, though I'd argue any trouble is present long before we arrive."

Asenka narrowed her eyes and regarded Diran. "Are you saying there's trouble in Perhata?"

Diran thought about what Yvka had told him regarding Aldarik Cathmore. "I'm not sure yet."

"Promise me something: when you are sure, you'll let me know before you start hurling daggers about and turning the citizens of Perhata into pin cushions."

"Why? So you can run Ghaji and me out of town, like you did the Coldhearts?"

"No, silly." She stepped forward until only a few inches of foggy air separated their bodies. "So I can help you." Then she pressed her lips against his and kissed him. Diran was surprised, but not as surprised as when he found himself returning her kiss.

Asenka pulled away, gave him a last smile, then turned and walked away until she was swallowed by the fog. Diran stood staring into the gray nothingness where she had vanished, glad that Ghaji hadn't been present. If he had been, the half-orc never would have stopped teasing him.

Makala crouched on the roof of the King Prawn, fingernails sharp as claws digging into the thatch. Though she was unaware of it, her mouth was open and her fangs bared. Thick as it was, the fog was no impediment to her inhuman senses, and she'd been able to see, hear, and smell everything that had occurred between Diran and that… that woman. Cold fury gripped her, so strong that it was all she could do to keep from launching herself into the air and following after Asenka. She'd already fed tonight thanks to Eneas, but her belly was far from full, and she still hungered, and who better to slake her thirst than that overeager tramp? The woman's words to Diran echoed in Makala's mind like a mocking whisper. No, silly. So I can help you.

Makala's muscles tensed, and she was about to fling herself from the roof, but she stopped herself. She hadn't seen Diran since that night in Grimwall when she'd become a vampire, and it had been years before that since they'd been lovers. Though she still loved Diran Bastiaan, she had no claim on him-could have none as long as he was human and a priest of the Silver Flame, dedicated to eradicating evil in all its myriad forms. As a vampire, she definitely qualified as one of those forms, though she had done her best these last several months to keep the evil inherent in her nature from controlling her, so while the predator in her might like nothing better than to tear out Asenka's throat and guzzle her hot, sweet blood, she would restrain herself.

But that didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun.