Forge of the Mindslayers: Blade of the Flame Book 2 by Tim Waggoner Page A

him?”
    Diran gazed into the fog, and Ghaji wondered what his friend saw in its roiling gray murk. “I’m not sure we should—at least not right away.”
    “I’m surprised. I thought you’d be ready to set out on the hunt right away.”
    Diran turned and smiled. “You’ve come to know me too well, Ghaji. You’re right; ordinarily I would want to begin searching for Cathmore immediately, but I’ve been thinking about Asenka.” He gave Ghaji a sideways look, then hurried to add, “I mean, ah, about what she told us regarding the origins of the enmity between Perhata and Kolbyr. Remember?”
    “Sure, I remember. I especially remember the way the two of you looked at one another.”
    Diran scowled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    Ghaji grinned. “Of course you don’t.
    In truth, he was pleased that Diran seemed attracted to the commander of the Sea Scorpions and she to him. The priest hadn’t shown any interest in women at all since the night Makala had died and been reborn as a vampire. While Ghaji regretted what had happened to Makala, he knew it wasn’t healthy for his friend to mourn her loss forever. Perhaps Diran was finally showing signs of putting his grief behind him and getting on with his life. Ghaji could only hope so.
    “What about the conflict between the cities?” Ghaji asked.
    Diran looked relieved that Ghaji had abandoned his teasing. “Asenka said it stems from a curse—a curse that hasbeen carried down to this day. If the curse could somehow be removed …”
    “The conflict might end,” Ghaji finished.
    Diran nodded. “Or at least peace negotiations might become possible. It seems to me that we would do more immediate good by investigating this curse than by haring off after Aldarik Cathmore.”
    Ghaji considered this. “Perhaps, but the curse has lasted for almost two centuries. What would a few more days or even weeks matter?”
    Diran smiled gently. “Don’t you think two centuries is more than long enough for the people of two cities to be at war?”
    Ghaji and Diran had both seen their share of conflict during the War—the half-orc as a mercenary soldier, the priest as a hired assassin—and both of them had participated in far too much mindless slaughter.
    “Yes, I do.” Ghaji sighed. “Very well, now that Yvka’s here, perhaps she’ll ferry us over to Kolbyr on the
Zephyr
. Once there …”
    His voice trailed off as a familiar scent came to his nose: thick, musky, and earthy. He hadn’t smelled this scent for close to twenty years, but he remembered it just the same. Orcs—even half-orcs—never forget a smell.
    “Something wrong?” Diran asked.
    “I’m … not sure. There’s something I need to check out, Diran. Alone, if you don’t mind.”
    The priest frowned, but he said, “Of course, but if you should need me …”
    Ghaji nodded. “I’ll let you know.” He turned away from his friend and moved off into the fog, following the scent of a ghost from the past.

    Diran watched his friend disappear into the gray murk, torn as to what he should do. It wasn’t like Ghaji to run off on a whim, so something was up, and that something might well prove dangerous. Whether Ghaji wanted to admit it or not, there was a good chance he’d need Diran’s help. But Ghaji had asked to go alone, and Diran had acquiesced. To follow Ghaji now would be to break a trust between them, and Diran didn’t wish to do that if he could avoid it.
    As he stood outside the King Prawn trying to make up his mind, he heard footsteps approaching. At first, he thought Ghaji had returned, but the sound of the boots scuffing against dirt sounded wrong—lighter, the stride measured and patient. Diran had no idea whether whoever it was approaching was friend or foe, but at the Perhata Docks, one encountered more criminals than anywhere else in the Principalities. He drew a dagger from his belt sheath and palmed it, just in case.
    The footsteps continued coming closer until