And neither did Gisela.
I will seek the beast, and I’ll bring it back.Whatever it took.
She just prayed she reached theaþaswerebefore her enemies did.
1
Gisela hated this place.The Beggar’s Claw.How stupid was that name? But then given the fact that it was deep in the heart of Vaskalia where trolls, giants and ogres typically lived, she was lucky it wasn’t called something worse.
After all, that group wasn’t exactly known for their creativity.
At least that was her thought until she passed a table of six large, tusked ogres who were drawing pictures on parchment.
“Needs more shading, Lars. But it’s much better than your last. You’re really improving.”
That unexpected comment actually stopped her. Not just the conversation about how to improve their drawings, but the fact that their artwork was quite impressive as she looked at it.
Very well, then. She’d rethink her ogre stereotype. Apparently, they were creative. And very talented.
What she couldn’t rethink was the fact that the ogres didn’t care for other races.
A proven fact when Lars looked up and raked her with a sneer. “What you staring at,human?”
Not a human. But since she appeared as such, she didn’t bother to correct him.
“Just admiring your art. Love the daisies. They’re very beautiful and well done.”
That caught him off-guard. He blinked his bulbous eyes twice, then smiled…maybe. With ogres it was hard to tell if they were smiling, sneezing or salivating.
She would go with pleased, especially since he didn’t come after her as she drifted back into the crowd.
That isnine kinds of trouble.
Being that he was all kinds of trouble himself, Xaydin Kazakh had recognized his own the moment she walked into the pub. Tall, slender and trying to remain inconspicuous…
They were like-minded creatures.
Granted he had no idea what she looked like, but she moved like water. Fluid and graceful. Every step was decisive. Her hooded, concealed head swept back and forth as she watched everyone around her while she continued to look for something or someone only she knew.
Damn.
He actually wanted to know her name, and that wasn’t like him at all. His hormones had never ruled his life. Not when he had the purpose in life that he did.
Rolling a coin between his fingers, he watched her carefully. She was far too small to be a native of this kingdom. Her stature was more akin to a human, elf or sidhe. Maybe Tenmarun.
Or a shifter.
He hated shifters almost as much as anaþaswere. Some days that hatred might be equal.
As she came nearer, she stopped to converse with a troll.
Whatever she said infuriated him. The troll rose up with a fierce snarl.
Ignore her. Not your squirrel.A phrase gifted to him by his half-brother, Masakage, that meantDon’t chase the things that aren’t meant for you or that are none of your business. Tend your own yard and let others tend theirs.
Masakage’s code.
Sadly, it wasn’t his. He was paid for sticking his sword into the matters of others.
