Tim Waggoner - Forge of the Mindslayers

She concentrated and her body became insubstantial as mist. She merged with the fog and drifted on the breeze, following Asenka.

Ghaji moved through the fog-enshrouded street silent as a shadow. He gripped his elemental axe in his right hand, but he hadn't activated it yet. The flames would cut through the fog like a beacon, alerting the one he hunted to the half-orc's presence, and if Ghaji was right about the identity of the man he tracked, then he would need every advantage he could get.

He sensed more than heard movement from his left, and he spun away as a broadsword blade hissed through the air. The steel struck the stone wall of the building where Ghaji had been standing, hitting with a ringing clang and setting off sparks.

Ghaji didn't wait for his attacker to recover his balance. With a thought he activated his axe and stepped forward, flames erupting along the blade and haft of his weapon, though his hand felt no heat. He swung the axe in a sweeping sideways arc designed to connect with his attacker's sword arm. A trail of fire followed the axe-blade, burning away the fog and illuminating the face of Ghaji's would-be assassin.

He was an orc-tall, broad-shouldered, well-muscled, an intimidating specimen even for one of his kind. His fur was thick and blackish gray, the skin underneath green. His beard was woven into a trio of braids, and a golden hoop earring dangled from his left earlobe. His lower incisors were massive, jutting up from his jaw and curving upward almost all the way to his small, hate-filled eyes. He wore a mail-shirt, black leather pants, and black boots, but his arms were bare to allow him freedom of movement in battle.

There were more strands of gray in the orc's fur than the last time Ghaji had seen Chagai of Striking Viper Clan, but otherwise he remained unchanged, which was too bad-Ghaji had hoped the son of a bitch would be dead by now.

Chagai didn't have time to bring his sword up to deflect Ghaji's strike, so he turned and took the impact on his chest. Fire flared bright as the flaming axe blade slammed into the mail shirt, driving Chagai back into the stone wall. The orc grunted as he collided with the wall, but he didn't cry out. There was no gushing blood, and worse yet, his mail-shirt didn't show the slightest sign of damage.

"Wearing enchanted armor these days, Chagai?" Ghaji said. "What would your clan say?" For an orc to use magical protection of any kind was considered a sign of weakness, an admission that one's own strength and battle skill weren't enough to defeat an opponent.

Chagai grinned. "I had to find something to replace the breastplate you stole from me."

Chagai swept his sword upward and knocked Ghaji's axe away from his chest. There was so much strength behind the blow that Ghaji had to move with the momentum lest he risk losing hold of his weapon. He took three steps to the side, giving Chagai the chance to move away from the wall and gain room to maneuver.

"You're a fine one to talk about my armor, half-blood," Chagai snarled. "You wield an elemental weapon!"

Ghaji turned to face Chagai and fell into a battle stance. "As you so often reminded me when we fought together, I'm only half-orc. I need every advantage I can get." He smiled grimly at his opponent. "So to what do I owe the displeasure of smelling your tick-ridden carcass again after all these years?"

"Unfinished business," Chagai growled.

He ran forward, broadsword raised, releasing the high-pitched cry known as the orc death scream. The sound was designed to terrify opponents so they died in fear. To an orc warrior, dying in a state of fright meant ultimate dishonor, denying one entrance to the afterlife. One's spirit would wander the world aimlessly for all eternity unseen, intangible, unable to interact with the physical world in any way. For an orc, there could be no worse fate.

Chagai, hardened warrior though he was, had always relied too much on his considerable strength and speed and not enough on skill, and the intervening years since they'd fought hadn't changed this. Ghaji sidestepped Chagai's attack easily, and the orc's broadsword whistled through empty air. Ghaji swung his axe, hoping to hit Chagai in the armpit where his armor didn't cover, but Chagai allowed the momentum of his failed strike to bring him around so that Ghaji's weapon struck his right shoulder. Again, the enchanted chain-mail protected the orc from the worst of the blow, but the impact sent him stumbling off balance. He let go of his sword and fell forward onto the earthen street.

Ghaji knew better than to give Chagai a chance to recover. He moved in for the kill.

Chagai rolled as he hit, came up on his feet, spun around, and flung his hand outward. Ghaji saw a shower of dirt coming toward his face and realized that Chagai had grabbed a handful of earth as he'd pretended to fall-a dirty trick by any standard, but an unforgivable breech of honor to an orc warrior. Ghaji tried to close his eyes and avert his face, but he was too slow. Bits of dirt and mud struck him and got in his eyes. He swung his axe in a sideways figure eight in front of him to keep Chagai away as he blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision. Tears filled his eyes, washing away the worst of the dirt, and when his vision was finally clear again, Ghaji saw that Chagai was gone. Ghaji stopped swinging his axe, though he did not douse its flame. It seemed Chagai had chosen to abandon the fight rather than slay Ghaji while he was temporarily blinded. Well, well, well. It seemed that Chagai had some small speck of honor left after all.

Then again, maybe Chagai doesn't want you to be an easy kill, Ghaji thought. Maybe he wants to make you suffer before you die.

Ghaji sighed. That sounded more like the Chagai he remembered.

With a thought, he extinguished the axe's flames and tucked the weapon handle-first into his belt. Chagai wouldn't make another try for him. Not tonight. Tonight had simply been Chagai's way of renewing their acquaintance and putting Ghaji on notice that he was being hunted. The real attack would come later, and Ghaji was almost looking forward to it. For the two of them indeed had unfinished business, and it was long past time that their account was settled.

Asenka wondered if Diran had bought her story. She was commander of the Sea Scorpions, not the city watch, and while it was within the scope of her duties to keep an eye out for Haaken and his crew in case they decided to cause more trouble tonight, walking a foot patrol of Perhata's dockside-and alone yet-wasn't exactly standard procedure. She'd returned to the vicinity of the King Prawn for one simple reason: she'd hoped to encounter Diran Bastiaan once more. Still, in order to complete the illusion that she was doing her job, she headed for the docks to check if the Coldhearts had made port once more. Assuming they hadn't, she would then head to the Scorpions' dockside quarters, open a bottle of wine, and think about why she'd done what she'd done this night.

It wasn't like her to show such obvious interest in a man, let alone do so while pretending she was acting in her official capacity. If Baron Mahir found out, he'd strip her of her command and assign her to scraping barnacles off fishing boats for the rest of her life. But Diran wasn't just any man, was he? Haaken and his crew might have been loudmouths, but they were as tough as they came. Diran and Ghaji had stood toe to toe with them without blinking… and made the Coldhearts back down. While Asenka had been impressed with Diran's courage, that alone hadn't stirred her interest in the priest. While speaking with him and his friends after the Coldhearts left the King Prawn, she'd sensed a sadness in the man, along with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his grim demeanor. It was a combination she found fascinating and, if she were to be honest with herself, irresistible.