'They've done so because they believe in you, Diran… in what you do. Hinto most of all.' Ghaji's voice softened. 'He practically worships you. He'd follow you anywhere, do whatever you ask of him, regardless of the price to his mind and soul.'
Diran thought about the way the halfling had fallen to the floor in the lich's chamber, how he'd lain there shivering, unable to fight, unable even to defend himself. If Diran and the others hadn't been able to draw the attention of both the barghest and the lich, Hinto would've been easy pickings for either of the foul creatures. This hadn't been the first time that Hinto's fear had gotten the better of him at a dangerous moment. Far from it.
Diran's anger faded to be replaced by guilt. As if sensing his friend's change of emotion, Ghaji put a hand on Diran's shoulder.
'You're not to blame for what happened to Makala,' the half-orc said. 'You did everything you could to save her.'
'My everything wasn't enough, was it?' Diran said. He wanted to pull away from Ghaji and stalk off into the night. But instead he took a deep breath, centered himself, and let the air out slowly. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and more than a touch weary. 'Are you suggesting I'm driving us all so hard because I'm trying to make up for failing her?'
Ghaji smiled. 'I'm just a dumb half-orc, remember?'
Diran laughed. 'Very well. We shall leave it up to Tresslar and Hinto. If they want to stay the night, we shall. If not, we'll start back for Perhata. Agreed?'
'Agreed.' Ghaji's smile fell away then. 'At the risk of straining our friendship even further, I think you should consider having a talk with Hinto. If he continues to accompany us on our 'hunts,' he's going to get hurt, perhaps even killed.' The half-orc paused before adding, 'Or worse.'
Diran didn't have to ask his friend what he meant by or worse. He meant something like what had happened to Makala. Diran remembered the last time he'd seen her face-skin pale, canine teeth elongated, eyes blazing with hunger…
He'd already failed one of his companions. He wasn't going to fail another.
'I'll talk to him the next chance I get,' Diran said.
Ghaji nodded and the two companions started back toward the campfire, walking together, but each alone with his own thoughts.
Hinto and Tresslar opted to remain camped for the night and get an early start come dawn. They spread out their bedrolls around the fire and decided in what order they'd stand watch. As a priest, Diran could erect certain wards about their camp-some mystical, some physical-but these would only fend off undead or infernal creatures. More mundane threats would have to be detected by eyes and ears and met with cold steel. Diran selected the first watch, Ghaji the second, Tresslar the third, and Hinto the last. As the others settled into their bedrolls and drifted off to sleep, Diran sat cross-legged on the ground and concentrated on entering a meditative trance that would allow him to remain in a state of semi-wakefulness, senses alert, mind vigilant, for the entire night. Letting his friends have their sleep might not make up for the way he'd been driving them the last few months, but it would be a start. On the morrow, Ghaji would likely accuse Diran of taking the entire night's watch as a way to punish himself, and the half-orc would be right, but then, Diran thought with a smile, a little self-flagellation was good for the soul. He closed his eyes halfway, slowed his breathing, and settled in to keep watch over his friends.
And so the night passed.
The four companions reached the outskirts of Perhata by noon. Their journey back had been uneventful, and if it hadn't been for the cold winds blowing down from the north, it might have been almost pleasant.
Though the citizens of Perhata referred to their home as a 'city,' in truth it was more like a ramshackle village. The docks were old and badly in need of repair or complete replacement. The outer buildings were unpainted shacks, their wood worn and weathered, the structures so rickety they looked as if a strong rainfall might batter them to the ground. The buildings in the center of Perhata were somewhat sturdier, though hardly more attractive: square gray-stone buildings of one or two stories. Even the baron's 'palace' was of similarly plain construction, though it stood three stories high and was surrounded by a stone wall topped with rusty iron spikes to discourage unwanted visitors. The streets of central Perhata were paved, though their brick surface was often cracked and warped. The streets in the rest of the city were nothing but dirt and mud-given the city's proximity to the sea, more of the latter than the former. A cold breeze wafted in off the Lhazaar, filling the air with the salty tang of seawater. From any point in the city one could hear the cries of gulls, the shouts of sailors, and the lap of waves breaking against the pier.
The companions had a pair of rooms at a dockside inn called the King Prawn. The establishment's grandiose name belied the rather modest accommodations it offered, but it was the best they could afford, which meant they probably wouldn't contract a fatal disease by staying there. As they walked down the street toward the inn, they passed men and women of various races-humans, half-elves, and gnomes being the most common. Most were dressed warmly and huddled within cloaks of thick cloth or fur with the hoods up. With everyone garbed thus, it appeared the street was filled with shady characters of dubious intent which, given Perhata's reputation as a place where any type of business could be conducted without questions asked, seemed only appropriate.
Diran and the others entered the King Prawn and stepped into the common room. Sailors, traders, and low- level merchants sat drinking and playing games of chance, speaking to one another in low tones so no one else might overhear the plans they made. Cast-off bones and dropped bits of food covered the bare earth floor, all marinating in a stew of spilled ale and other less savory liquids. Despite the chill outside, the logs in the fireplace remained unlit, and the cold air smelled of sweat, desperation, and dark intent.
The four companions made their way through the crowd as they headed for the stairs, intending to go up to their rooms and divest themselves of their packs before coming back down to eat. But just as they were about to mount the stairs, someone in the crowd called out, 'Hey, half-orc!'
Ghaji sighed. Normally he enjoyed dealing with the idiots who taunted him about his half-blood status, but he was tired and hungry and didn't have the patience for it right now.
He turned around. 'Yes?'
A gnome stood up on his chair. He was smaller than Hinto, which made him short even for one of his people. He wore brown boots, brown pants, a white shirt, and a black leather vest. His bald head was adorned with an octopus tattoo, the tentacles reaching down across both of cheeks. From the way he wobbled unsteadily on his chair, it was clear the man was drunk.
'I got a question for you!'
Everyone in the common room grew silent as they waited to see what the gnome was going to say. Ghaji figured that more than a few of them were hoping to see the little man torn apart by an enraged half-breed beast- man.
'Since you're a half-orc, are your manly bits half-sized?'
Delighted with his display of wit, the inebriated gnome barked out a laugh and looked around the room to see what reaction his joke had gotten. A few of the men and women in the room laughed along with the little man, but most kept their gazes fixed on Ghaji, anticipating his violent reaction.
Ghaji turned to Diran. 'What is it with gnomes and size jokes?'
'A racial inferiority complex would be my guess,' the priest said.
'You're probably right.' Ghaji considered drawing his axe and setting it aflame to scare the gnome, but he decided against it. It wouldn't be the wisest move to advertise he possessed such a rare weapon, especially not in a place like this. Since 'borrowing' the axe from a guard on the prison island of Dreadhold several months ago, Ghaji had been forced more than once to prevent someone from trying to 'borrow' it from him.
Instead, he reached down, undid his belt buckle, and allowed his pants to drop around his ankles. The crowd let out gasps of surprise and more than a few murmurs of appreciation. The gnome's eyes goggled as he took in Ghaji's 'manly bits.'
'As you can see,' Ghaji said, 'I received the best of both worlds.'
A moment passed, and then the patrons in the common room broke into applause-and no one applauded louder than the gnome with the octopus tattoo.
Diran and Ghaji reached their room first, and Tresslar and Hinto continued down the hall to theirs. As Ghaji opened the door to the room, Diran said, 'If I were you, I'd prepare myself to be visited by any number of ladies tonight… and perhaps even a few gentlemen.'
Ghaji was about to tell Diran that he wasn't any funnier than the gnome, but before he could do so, a
