THIRTY SIX

Farok leaned against the bar table, as the inn keeper watched attentively, contemplating whether to pour him another goublet of wine even before asked.

Farok ignored him. If he was poured more wine, he would drink it. If he was not, he would not ask. He had just led his tribe Warriors on a successful fight against a rival tribe, and as was customary, they deserved to celebrate. Their drinking and whoring would be paid from the spoils of war, the rest of which would be given to him, but Farok did not want it.

The tribe he had fought with had suffered severe loss of their soldiers, and armory – and they were Walikan. He was simply weakening his own people from within, so that if they ever needed to face the Renaki in true warfare, the Renaki would battle a force that was no doubt less than it should have been.

Farok thrived on violence. He loved it. His biggest, most cherished moments with Elana had been on the battle field. However, even though Farok cherished battles, he ha