The shaman's lip curled upward in distaste. 'A mercenary. You fight for profit. We fight to repel invaders from our land.'
Ghaji didn't know this man, didn't have any reason to care what he thought. Yet the shaman's blunt assessment of Ghaji's motives cut through him as sharply as any blade ever had, and he felt ashamed.
Ghaji intended to say something bold and equally cutting to show the shaman that his words hadn't bothered him-even if it was a lie. But before he could speak, the shaman raised his bone-staff high and spoke a series of rapid syllables in a strange language that hurt Ghaji's ears to hear.
Ghaji risked another glance to check on the zombies' progress, and he was gratified to see they had closed to within half a dozen yards. Another few seconds… then he realized the zombies had stopped. The undead warriors stood motionless, seeming to stare at the shaman's upraised staff, their heads cocked slightly to the side in the manner of confused hounds. Ghaji then noticed something almost as disturbing. Instead of hanging back and remaining out of harm's way, Kirai had followed in the zombies' wake. She stood not ten feet behind the last of the zombies, her satchel of alchemical supplies slung over her left shoulder. She probably thought she could help somehow, and Ghaji admired her courage, but this was a battle in the offing-a far cry from smearing goo on undead flesh as part of daily zombie maintenance.
The zombies straightened their heads, their momentary confusion gone. Their full attention was focused on the halfling shaman, and Ghaji thought they seemed almost eager to hear his next words.
'Slay the Karrnathi-every one of them.' And then, almost as an afterthought, the shaman added, 'And slay the half-orc as well.'
Two dozen leather-fleshed heads swiveled to look at Ghaji, two dozen scimitars were raised high in the air, and two dozen pairs of dry dead lips stretched into wicked, blood-thirsty smiles.
Ghaji sighed. It looked like it was going to be a long morning.
He lifted his war-axe, bellowed a battle cry, and rushed forward to meet the first of the oncoming zombie horde.
In the mouth of an alley across the street from Diran, Ghaji, and Asenka, a man sat with his back against the cold stone wall, knees drawn to his chest, hands wrapped around his legs, hugging himself for what meager warmth his body could provide. He was garbed in a tattered cloak that provided little defense against the late autumn winds, but though his clothing marked him as a man whose fortunes had taken an ill turn, the brown hair that hung past his shoulders had recently been washed, and his thick beard and mustache were neatly trimmed. Around his neck, concealed by his ragged clothing, a silver arrowhead hung from a chain. Lying on the ground next to him rested a longbow and a quiver full of arrows.
The man watched as the seven companions on the other side of the street spoke for several moments before going their separate ways. They were an interesting lot, but his gaze remained fixed on a single individual: the tall man garbed in black. Grim-faced, cold-eyed, he was the sort of man that exuded an almost palpable aura of danger, and yet there was gentleness about him as well. It was in the easy way he smiled at his friends, how he focused his full attention on them as they spoke, and the fondness in his tone of voice as he replied.
But despite his obvious kindness, at his core the man in black was a stone-cold killer. The man in the ragged cloak knew this. It was, in fact, why he had gone to such lengths to seek Diran Bastiaan out.
Images flashed through the cloaked man's mind: moons blazing bright and full, a shadowy form emerging from the darkness and bounding toward him, growling low in its throat, mouth opened wide to reveal sharp white teeth-
Shuddering, the man thrust the images from his mind. His breath now came in ragged gasps, and sweat rolled down his face despite the cold.
Diran moved off down the street, accompanied by the half-orc and the blond woman. The cloaked man waited several moments until he'd collected himself, then he gathered his bow and arrows, rose to his feet, and followed.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tresslar, Hinto, and Solus walked side by side along the street, the human and the halfling flanking the psiforged. Though the Kolbyrites they passed continued to glare at them, their animosity seemed somewhat muted now. Tresslar guessed Solus was using his psionic abilities to blunt the citizens' anger, and before he could ask, the psiforged said, 'Yes, I am. I have been doing so since we made port.'
Tresslar was taken aback. If Solus had been protecting them since their arrival in Kolbyr, did that mean psiforged was the only thing that had been keeping the citizens from attacking them? And if so, what did that mean for Diran and the others now that they no longer had Solus to shield them?
'Fear not, my friend,' Solus said. 'The protective aura I extended around the others will linger for some time yet, and the citizens of Kolbyr have much experience at resisting the dark magic that hangs over their city, though I sense that it is stronger this day than usual. We should all be safe enough-for the time being.'
Tresslar nodded, though he could've done without Solus's qualification of 'safe.'
'So where are we going?' Hinto asked.
Tresslar didn't want to answer the little pirate's question, but he knew if he didn't the halfling would only keep pestering him.
'Tinker's Room.'
'Is that a tavern?' Hinto said. A chill breeze wafted down the street, and the halfling shivered. 'It's a bit early in the day to start drinking, but I could use a little something to warm me up inside.'
'No, it's not a tavern, and Tinker's Room isn't its real name. It's a customary nickname. There's a Tinker's Room in every city across Khorvaire, and while they're a bit rarer in the Principalities, Perhata has one, and so does Kolbyr.'
Hinto frowned. 'If they're that common, why haven't I heard of them before?'
Before Tresslar could reply, Solus said, 'Because you aren't an artificer, my friend.'
Tresslar scowled at the psiforged. 'It's impolite to read people's minds without their permission, you know.'
Solus bowed his head. 'My apologies, master artificer. I'm finding it more difficult to block out the thoughts of my new friends than I anticipated. The more time I spend in your company, the more my mind becomes… accustomed to yours, causing me to sense your surface thoughts without intending to.'
Tresslar, somewhat mollified by Solus's referring to him as master artificer, decided to accept the psiforged's apology. 'Very well, but I'd appreciate it if you would allow me to keep my thoughts to myself in the future. Now, to return to Hinto's question, while the existence of Tinker's Rooms isn't precisely a secret, it's not something that artificers go out of their way to publicize. While both wizards and artificers work with magic, wizards deal with the more theoretical aspects of the craft, while artificers take a practical approach. Wizards research and study magic for the sake of acquiring knowledge and increasing their own personal power. Artificers, on the other hand, use magic, applying it for practical purposes. Wizards tend to work in isolation and guard their secrets jealously, but artificers-because of their more pragmatic approach to magic-are much more open about sharing their knowledge. Hence the existence of Tinker's Rooms, places where artificers gather to talk shop, admire one another's craftsmanship, and trade for materials and supplies as needed.'
'And you hope to learn something of your missing wand at the Tinker's Room in Kolbyr?' Solus asked.
Tresslar shrugged. 'No one at the Tinker's Room in Perhata had any news about my wand, but someone here in Kolbyr might. Whenever an artificer is unsure how to begin tackling a problem, we have a saying: 'Go to your room.' So that's what I'm doing.'
'Are you sure the people there won't mind if we accompany you?' Hinto asked. 'Neither Solus nor I are artificers.'
'Don't worry,' Tresslar said. 'While outsiders aren't encouraged, they aren't forbidden.' He then smiled at Solus. 'In fact, I think you will be especially welcome, my bejeweled friend. Psiforged are extremely rare, and there's nothing artificers love better than seeing a magical device-or in your case, a construct-that they haven't encountered before.'
