Diran did as she asked, returning the blade to its hidden pocket within his cloak with an unnecessary flourish. Ghaji raised a curious eyebrow, but Diran, embarrassed at having been caught showing off, ignored him.
Asenka nodded to Ghaji, or more accurately, to his axe. "And if you wouldn't mind dousing your weapon before you set the whole place aflame?"
Ghaji nodded and with a thought extinguished the elemental axe's fire.
Asenka turned her attention back to Haaken. "I suggest that you and your people forget about procuring wine, head back to the dock, get in your sorry excuse for a ship, and leave as swiftly as wind and tide can take you."
Haaken, emboldened once more now that he no longer had a dagger-point touching his throat, asked, "And if we don't?"
"My people and I will leave and let these two"-she nodded to Diran and Ghaji-"do whatever it was they were going to do before we interrupted them."
Haaken glared at Asenka, then at Diran and Ghaji. "Sheathe your swords, Coldhearts," he said, eyes blazing with fury, jaw muscles tight. "Time to set sail."
His people did as they were told-though not without casting a few glares of their own at those who had insulted their commander-and then Haaken turned and walked out the door into the bitterly cold air, his men and women following behind. The last Coldheart to leave slammed the door so hard it tore halfway off its hinges.
Asenka addressed her people. "Why don't you go along to make sure they reach the docks without any more trouble? I'll stay here. I have a few more questions to ask these two."
The six warriors under her command sheathed their weapons and, without saying a word, left the inn to carry out their orders. Asenka then turned to Diran and Ghaji. "I assume you two have a table?"
Skarm sat alone, huddled within a thick cloak. Though his burns had mostly healed by now, as a precaution he wore the cloak's hood up to conceal his features. Even if the priest and his companions marked him as a goblin, he thought it unlikely that they'd recognize him for who and what he truly was. While goblins weren't common in the Principalities, they were hardly unknown. There were two other goblins in the room right this very moment. Of course, those were true goblins and not barghests in disguise.
His table was only two away from where the priest and his friends sat-close enough for him to overhear what they talked about, but not so close that they'd notice him… he hoped.
Following the priest and his companions back to Perhata without being seen hadn't been difficult for a creature of his abilities, especially since they had chosen to spend the night in the foothills. Skarm had been grateful for a chance to rest, for it had given him time to heal the worst of his burns, but now that he was here, with the dragon-headed wand so close, he wasn't certain how to go about getting his hands on it. He'd been too weak to make a try for it last night, but he'd since fed on a pair of unfortunate drunkards who'd had the misfortune to pass out in an alley not far from here, and their flesh, blood, and most importantly, their life energy, had restored his strength. Still, now that he was back to his full power, he couldn't come up with a suitable plan for snatching the wand, at least not one more sophisticated than grab-it-and-run-fast. That was the problem with being a shapeshifter. Not only did he change outwardly, but his mental and emotional state transformed to suit his new shape. As a wolf, he was a cunning hunter primarily interested in running free through the wild and filling his belly. As a goblin, he was crafty but cautious to the point of timidity. As a barghest, he was a ravenous killer that devoured its prey body and soul.
Skarm wore the shape of a goblin now, which meant that caution was his byword. It would do him-or his mistress-no good if he attempted to snatch the dragonwand only to be caught before he could make off with it. Better to sit, listen to the priest and the others talk, and hope that he learned something that would be of use to him in obtaining his goal.
So he sat and listened.
"You're a priest?" Asenka said, then laughed at herself. "My apologies. I didn't mean for it to come out like that."
Diran smiled. "I'm used to that reaction."
"It's just that when you see a man holding a dagger against another's throat, 'priest' isn't the first profession that you associate him with." Asenka looked at Ghaji. "Let me guess: you're a bishop."
Yvka snorted, and Ghaji frowned at the elf-woman in irritation. He then replied to Asenka. "Diran's the only one of us who's taken vows, holy or otherwise."
The commander of the Sea Scorpions smiled with amusement. "Just asking. So the five of you were sitting here, talking and minding your own business, when Haaken and his crew came in and started to stir up trouble, and when trouble began, you"-she nodded to Diran-"decided to intervene."
"I'm a priest of the Silver Flame, one of the Purified. It's my job to combat evil wherever I find it."
Asenka looked at him for a long moment, and Diran wondered if he'd said something wrong.
"If anyone else told me that, I'd say they were full of bilge water, but you sound so… sincere." She stressed this last word as if it were foreign to her.
"Is that so hard to believe?" Diran asked.
"In Perhata, yes," Asenka answered. "In this town, people would slit their own mother's throats to make a few extra coppers. That is, if dear old Mommy didn't cut theirs first. Qualities like honesty and sincerity are in short supply around here."
"I don't know about that," Diran said. "You're being both right now, aren't you?"
"I suppose," Asenka admitted, "but it comes with the territory. I'm commander of the baron's fleet, and Mahir doesn't take kindly to his servants lying to him."
"You strike me as someone who does what she believes is best, regardless of what anyone else thinks. Barons included."
Asenka smiled then and gazed into his eyes. Diran returned both her gaze and her smile, and they sat like that for several moments until Diran became aware that they were being stared at. He broke eye contact with Asenka and turned to see that his companions were looking at him and smiling pleased, knowing, almost smirking smiles. Diran scowled, but his friends only smiled wider.
Irritated, though unsure exactly why, he returned his attention to Asenka. "I take it that it's not uncommon for you to have trouble with the Coldhearts."
"Every few months they sail into Perhata, stroll into the city, and make some noise, but they usually depart before causing any serious damage. They do it just to prove they can-and to annoy us, of course. As soon as they make port, the dockmaster sends a runner to inform me, then I bring some of my people around to tell Haaken to weigh anchor, and that's the end of it. Out on the open water, it's a different story. The Coldhearts periodically stage raids on our fishing and cargo ships, and they harass merchant vessels in an attempt to deter them from coming here to trade."
"Do you harass back?" Ghaji asked.
Asenka shook her head. "Mahir's father believed in striking back, a raid for a raid, a life for a life, but Mahir has more restraint. When he became baron, he decreed that we were only to strike back at the Coldhearts themselves, and that Kolbyr's fishing and trading vessels were to be left in peace."
"He sounds like a reasonable man," Tresslar said. "For a baron, that is."
"It must be frustrating for you and the Sea Scorpions," Diran said to Asenka, "unable to fight back as completely as you might wish."
"I'll admit it's not much fun at times," she said, "but I can see the wisdom in Mahir's thinking. We've been at undeclared war with Kolbyr for close to a century now, and while both cities still survive, neither has been able to thrive the way others in the Principalities have. Mahir isn't foolish enough to believe that we'll become friends with Kolbyr anytime soon, but he hopes to eventually establish a truce, one that will allow both cities to conduct their business without interference-at least from each other."