She laughed as she neared the entrance to the docks. Look at me: Asenka, hard-bitten leader of the Sea Scorpions, acting like a love-sick child! And I've only just met the man!
Even so, she hoped Diran would remain in Perhata for a time. She'd like to see him again, though it would take some thought for her to come up with another excuse to visit the King Prawn. Maybe she could-
"I was watching you, Asenka."
The voice-a woman's-was soft, little more than a whisper, and it seemed to come from all around her. Asenka's long sword hissed as she drew it from its scabbard, and she held the weapon in front of her as she slowly turned in a circle, ready to meet an attack no matter from what direction it might come.
"Who are you?" Asenka demanded. She couldn't see anyone, but then the fog was so thick, an army could be surrounding her and she'd never know it.
The voice was louder now, more substantial somehow, though Asenka still couldn't see its owner. "Makala."
Asenka remembered that name: Diran had spoken it as she'd approached him back at the King Prawn. Foolish as it was, she'd experienced a tiny pang of jealousy that Diran's first thought as she came toward him was of another woman.
"What do you want?"
"A closer look at you. I don't blame you for showing interest in Diran. He's a fascinating man."
Makala's voice no longer seemed to be coming from all around her, but Asenka couldn't pinpoint the precise direction it did come from. One instant it seemed to be in front of her, the next behind her, off to her right then on her left. It was as if the woman were circling her, but moving so swiftly and silently that Asenka couldn't get a fix on her position. She had the eerie sensation that Makala was some sort of phantom, an ethereal presence without physical shape, but then a dark silhouette coalesced out of the fog in front of her, and Asenka could make out the woman's form.
Being able to see Makala-or at least her dim outline-allowed Asenka's boldness to return. "And you've come to tell me that he's yours, is that it?"
"He was. Once."
Asenka was surprised by the depth of sorrow in the woman's voice. Despite the situation, she found herself feeling sorry for Makala, though she wasn't quite sure why. Still, she wasn't about to relax her guard around the woman.
"And now?"
Makala didn't answer right away. "I don't know what we are to each other now, or if we can ever be anything to each other again. All I know is that I care for Diran and do not wish to see him hurt. If anyone does hurt him-for any reason-that person will have to answer to me."
Makala spoke these words calmly, but that made them all the more chilling, and Asenka had to suppress a shudder. "Brave talk from a woman hiding in the fog. Why don't you step closer so I can get a good look at you? Or are you afraid of stepping into range of my sword?"
"I'm afraid of very little anymore." Makala didn't approach, but twin pinpoints of crimson light flared within the fog, and Asenka knew she was looking at the woman's eyes. "I do not want to harm you, but remember what I said. I'll do anything to protect Diran." Her crimson eyes flashed like twin flares. "Anything."
Then, as if the woman simply melted into the fog, she was gone.
Asenka stood there for several long moments, gripping her sword in a trembling hand as she struggled to understand what she had just seen. Makala wasn't human, that was certain. She was some manner of fiend, and though she professed to care for Diran, she might in truth be a threat to him.
Asenka-her hand no longer shaking-sheathed her sword in a smooth, practiced motion.
"Seems to me that you're right," she said softly. "Diran does need protecting, but not from me."
The fog remained silent, and Asenka continued on her way to the Sea Scorpions' barracks. She was no longer contemplating having a bottle of wine, though. She intended to round up a squad of her people and keep watch on the King Prawn tonight. Just in case.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Diran was already seated at their table when Ghaji returned to the common room of the King Prawn. Tresslar and Hinto sat with him, watching Yvka perform a juggling routine for the crowd. The half-orc warrior was still brooding over his less-than-tender reunion with Chagai, but the sight of the elf-woman tossing small wooden balls through the air with almost preternatural grace caused him to smile. It had been far too long since he had seen her perform, and he was glad that he hadn't missed it. He moved through the crowd, took the empty seat next to Diran, and waved for a mug of ale. While he waited for his drink to arrive, he concentrated on Yvka.
She was performing a routine that he'd seen before but which he still found fascinating. She appeared to be juggling-he did a quick count-fourteen balls, but as she threw them, they began to disappear one by one, until only two remained. Then the reverse happened: balls began to reappear one by one until once again all fourteen were circling through the air. On more than one occasion, Ghaji had asked her how she did it, but Ykva would only grin and say, "Magic." Ghaji supposed that was always a possibility, but he had the feeling she was teasing him. He watched her closely now, determined to figure out how she performed the illusion through concentrated observation. Of course, the fact that she was incredibly beautiful might have had more than a little to do with his intense scrutiny as well.
A serving girl brought his ale, he took a deep draught, then he fixed his attention on one specific ball. If he could just keep his gaze on that one and follow it the entire time, he might able to finally figure this trick out.
Despite his best efforts, and without his even realizing it was happening, his thoughts began to drift back across the years, to a small farm in the Eldeen Reaches…
Four orcs crouched in the grass at the edge of the valley. Well, three orcs and one half-orc. The orcs kept their distance from their half-brother whenever possible, keeping a minimum of two feet from him at all times, as if they believed he were tainted and unclean and his foulness might contaminate them if they got too close. Ghaji acted as if their aversion to his physical proximity didn't bother him, as if he accepted it as only right and proper, but inside he hated it-hated it like poison.
The moons were out tonight and the sky was nearly cloudless. To orc eyes that meant the valley was lit almost as bright as if it were a sunny day. Nestled within the small valley was a humble cottage of stone, wood, and thatch. The cottage was dark, save for the warm glow of lamplight filtering through the shutters of a single window. The land around the cottage had been cleared, and a well-worn trail wound from the cottage's front door, up and out of the valley. The trail was on the opposite side of the valley from where the orcs crouched. They were proud warriors and strong, but they weren't foolish enough to remain in plain sight while they were hunting. There was no trail here, but there were plenty of trees-oak and elm, mostly-and more than enough brush to provide cover. Despite the lateness of the hour, birds sang, and Ghaji found their mindless joy distracting and irritating. He chuffed air through his lips to frighten the foolish creatures into silence, but as soon as the sound came out of his mouth, he saw a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye and fiery pain erupted on the side of his head.