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.
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
