Ghaji gazed at his friend with understanding before turning to face Yvka. "Sunset at the docks?"
She smiled. "Sunset." She leaned forward to give Ghaji a quick but passionate kiss, then jogged off down the street in the opposite direction the others had taken, moving with the silent, liquid grace that only elves possessed. Soon, she too was lost to sight.
Ghaji sighed. "I've never really understood women, but of all the women I haven't understood, I understand that one the least."
Diran laughed and clapped the half-orc on the shoulder. "Let's continue on to the baron's palace, my friend. Helping me exorcise a curse will hopefully take your mind off Yvka for a time."
Ghaji nodded, but he wasn't thinking about Yvka, at least, not only about her. He was also thinking of another woman he'd known-or rather had thought he'd known.
The half-orc thrust thoughts of both women from his mind. "Well, if we're going to do it, then let's get moving," he growled. And without waiting for Diran and Asenka to resume walking, he stalked past them and continued down the street. He didn't look over his shoulder to see if they followed. He knew they would. Besides, he didn't want either of them to see how much the cold air was making his eyes water. And as he walked, the thought of Kirai.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ghaji wrinkled his nose as a horrid stench curled its way up his nostrils. He tried to ignore the churning in his gut and the splash of hot bile at the back of his throat-tried hard.
"Karrnathi undead stink bad enough as it is, Kirai." His voice was strained, and he fought to keep his gorge from rising any further than it already had. "Why make their stench worse by spreading that foul-smelling glop all over them?"
Aligned in rows of six and positioned less than a hand's breadth apart, a squadron of zombies clad in half-plate armor, two dozen in all, stood motionless upon the arid grassland of the Talenta Plains. It was only mid-morning, but there were no clouds in the sky to filter the punishing rays of the sun here on the edge of the Blade Desert, and it felt as if they inhabited a vast, open-air blast furnace. Ghaji wore a white cloth over his head tied in place with a black headband to ward off sun-poisoning. The rest of his uniform-if you could call it that-consisted of a white loin-cloth, a vest of boiled leather, sandals, and a belt beneath which he'd tucked the handle of his war-axe. Though he was a mercenary and not an official soldier in Karrnath's army, he was currently employed by them and therefore required to wear the army's standard uniform. But it was simply too damned hot for the half-orc to bother with such a foolish technicality, and whenever anyone tried to remind him of it, he just bared his teeth and growled until they left him alone. It never took long.
Kirai knelt before the zombies, a clay jar sitting on the ground at her right. Periodically, she reached inside the jar and brought out handfuls of thick, greasy paste which she rubbed liberally onto the zombie's skin. At times, for reasons Ghaji wasn't clear on, Kirai would look at the paste on her hands, frown, then reach into a satchel sitting on the ground next to the jar. She'd pull out a few ingredients-a root, a vial of greenish-blue liquid, or perhaps a cylindrical object that resembled a spice dispenser-and add a touch of this, a sprinkle of that, presumably to adjust the formula's potency. Right now she tossed in what Ghaji would've sworn was a dried spider carcass before continuing to rub unguent on a zombie's left leg.
Kirai was dressed for the heat, but their commander allowed that as the woman was an alchemist and not a soldier. She wore a white robe made of light cloth that covered her arms and legs, and while the clothing helped keep her cool, it did little to accentuate her appearance-much to Ghaji's disappointment. Kirai kept her raven hair cut short because of the heat, but she didn't wear a hat to shield her head from the sun. Instead she used a salve of her own making as protection against the sun's rays, which she rubbed daily all over her body, including the top of her head. She'd gotten Ghaji to try it once, but he'd broken out in a painful rash that had lasted the better part of three days, and so he stuck to his trusty cloth head-covering and otherwise took his chances with the sun.
Kirai smeared unguent on an undead knee-cap. "We've been here for the better part of a month, and you've complained about the smell ever single day. You should've gotten used to it by now."
Ghaji tried breathing through his mouth. It helped… a little. But inhaling the hot dry air made his throat feel as if it were caked with burning sand. "Some things you never get used to," he said in a queasy voice.
Kirai laughed. "Have you been taking that potion I mixed for you? It's supposed to help keep your stomach settled."
Kirai wasn't what most humans would deem beautiful. She was tall, lanky instead of thin, small-breasted, with bony elbows, knobby knees, and overlarge hands. Her face was plain, but when she smiled her green eyes shone, and she had full lips that Ghaji never got tired of looking at.
"I drink a dose every morning without fail," he said. "That's why I finally stopped throwing up every time I guard you."
"Are you saying that I induce vomiting?"
Ghaji felt suddenly flustered. "No! I meant-" He broke off when he saw Kirai grin. "Very funny."
Kirai continued smearing the greasy unguent on the zombie's leathery brown flesh. The undead creature remained completely motionless, displaying no sign that it was even aware of Kirai's ministrations, let alone that it felt them.
"You know I have to do this, Ghaji. Stink or no stink."
Ghaji understood quite well. He just enjoyed hearing Kirai talk — and not only because their conversations helped keep his mind off his roiling stomach. He enjoyed the sound of her voice and the way she laughed when she teased him.
Karrnathi zombies were more durable than ordinary undead because of the alchemical treatments they received. Those treatments not only prevented further decay, they kept the zombies functioning physically, though the undead warriors didn't move as swiftly as their living counterparts. But the zombies more than made up for their slowness in durability and savagery, as Ghaji had witnessed numerous times in battle since he'd signed on with the Karrnathi army.
But the harsh conditions on the Talenta Plains took a great toll on the zombies, further drying their already leathery skin and tightening their muscles and tendons. Because of this, they required almost daily alchemical treatments to continue functioning. That was one important advantage warforged had over zombies, Ghaji thought. The artificial constructs could operate in any environment-not to mention their scent was far more tolerable. They smelled of stone, metal, and wood… natural things. Zombies smelled like death. No, worse than that, for death was a natural part of the cycle of existence, but there was nothing natural about raised corpses. They stank of undeath, and to an orc-even a half-orc like Ghaji-there could be nothing more unnatural.
Though no one had ever come out and said so to his face, Ghaji knew he'd been assigned to this unit not only because he was a mercenary, but because he was half-orc. Who better to work with zombies than a half-blood like him? That way true Karrnathi soldiers-human soldiers-would be freed up for more important and less odious duties. Ghaji told himself that he was a mercenary, and a job was a job, even if it did literally stink at times. But this assignment had its positive side: he'd gotten to know Kirai well during their time working together. She was quite talkative, and he'd learned a great deal about her-more than he'd ever learned about any human, as a matter of fact. At first he'd been annoyed by how chatty she was, but he'd soon come to appreciate their often one-sided conversations and, in a strange way, to even need them.