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

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