Temple Hill (6 page)

“Usually,” Lhasha interjected.

“Yes, well… on occasion my inventions will go awry.”

“So I see,” Corin said, scanning the shambles that had once been a workshop.

That’s not why Fm here this time,” Lhasha continued. “We—that is, Corin—has need of your clerical abilities. For healing.”

“A little nicked up from the fight with the city guard, are we?”

“No,” Corin replied softly, “this is … more serious.”

“Ah, I see,” Fendel said in a knowing voice. “Your hand. Or rather, your lack thereof. I can’t promise anything. My powers aren’t that great. I’m just a minor cog in the machinery of Gond’s church. But let’s take a look.”

The gnome slid his chair over beside Corin’s, and gently took his arm. “Hmmm … seems to be an old wound.”

“Nearly two years ago,” Corin replied, his voice devoid of emotion. “In the spring.”

After several seconds of intense study, the gnome pushed his chair back. “I’m sorry, Corin. I don’t have the power to heal anything like this. Lathander’s temple up on the hill might be able to do something for you.”

Corin snorted in disgust. “The Dawnbringer’s priests proved just as useless as you.” After a second he conceded, “At least you have the decency to admit your inability to help before leeching all the gold from my pocket.”

“What about the High Artificer?” Lhasha asked.

The gnome rubbed his bald head, leaving dark smears across his wrinkled scalp. “If your friend’s already been to see Lathander’s people, I doubt there’s much even the Artificer could do. Gond’s focus isn’t really on healing, you know. That’s more Lathander’s turf.”

Corin had stubbornly ignored the faint flicker of hope Lhasha had kindled within him, but he couldn’t ignore the darkness that enveloped his mind when the flicker was snuffed out. He knew only two reactions to the darkness: lashing out, or drinking until he didn’t care. And there wasn’t any ale handy.

Corin jumped up, kicked his chair over and shouted, “I knew this was a waste of time!”

Lhasha tried to say something, but Corin cut her off. “Consider your debt to me repaid, half-elf. You need not

waste any more sympathy on me, and I won’t waste any more time here!”

Fendel was quick to jump to Lhasha’s defense, his voice calm and soothing.

“You’ve got a lot of anger inside of you, my scruffy-jawed friend. I see you like to take it out on other people. I’m beginning to understand how that riot broke out. Don’t let your rage control you. Hasty decisions are often regrettable ones.”

“My only regret is that I didn’t die on that battlefield!”

Now it was Fendel’s turn to snort.

“You’ve got to learn to look at the big picture, Corin. You’re a lot better off than you realize. I may not be able to heal you, but if you give me a minute I might still be able to come up with a way to help you.”

Part of Corin wanted to smash open the door and storm off, return to the Weeping Griffin, and spend his last few coppers on bitter ale, but something gave him pause. Fendel’s words sounded confident, reassuring. There seemed to be some underlying wisdom in his voice, as if the gnome knew things Corin didn’t. Things worth knowing.

“Very well,” he said cautiously. “How can you help me?”

“Well, I’m not exactly sure it will work …”

“What?” Lhasha asked excitedly. “You’ve got that gleam in your eye, Fendel. What is it?”

“Corin, have you ever heard of something called a ‘prosthetic?”

The warrior shook his head.

“It’s an artificial limb. A hand constructed from … well, metal, probably.”

“A hook,” Corin said incredulously. “I’m not a pirate!”

“Not a hook,” Fendel explained patiently, “an artificial hand. Fingers, a thumb. If I do it right—and with some

practice on your part—you could use it to pick things up, open doors, hold the reins of a horse. Probably even use a shield or wield a weapon.”

Corin unconsciously began to rub his stump.

“This intrigues me, gnome … Fendel. Is such a thing really possible?”

“I’ve never actually seen one, but I’ve heard of such things. Even saw a sketch, once. It might be an interesting project, if you’re willing to give it a try.”

For several seconds Corin was silent, still rubbing his amputated arm as he considered the possibilities. At last he nodded. “If you truly think such a thing can be done, I am willing to try.”

“Excellent!” Lhasha exclaimed. “I told you Fendel could help. I haven’t had a problem yet that he couldn’t solve!”

The gnome held up his grubby hand. “Hold on, Lhasha. This is no easy task. Not if it is to be done right. I can’t use just any metal, of course. An iron hand wouldn’t be much use. Something strong, but light … mithral, perhaps. Of course, it will occupy much of my time. I’d need some type of donation to Gond’s temple to justify the expenditure of materials and effort to the High Artificer. It might be very expensive.”

Corin’s shoulders slumped. “I… I have nothing.”

“I’ve got it!” Lhasha blurted out. “You can work for me! It’s perfect—you can earn money to pay Fendel, and it’ll solve my problem with the Purple Masks!”

Fendel and Corin stared at her as if she were insane, then both started talking at once.

“I’m no thief,” Corin objected. “I’d be of no use to you.”

“The Purple Masks?” Fendel scolded. “How are you mixed up with them?”

“This will work,” Lhasha assured them both, quelling their protests. “Just listen to what I have to say. Fendel,

I was actually on my way to see you when I … uh … bumped into Corin. I’m in a bit of a professional bind, and I need some advice.”

The Masks still want you to join their guild, don’t they?”

Lhasha nodded. “And they’re done asking politely. I found a dagger in my pillow this morning when I woke up. A purple cloth was tied around the hilt.”

The expression on the gnome’s face changed to one of deep concern. “This isn’t good, Lhasha. You won’t get a second warning. And you can’t join them—once they get their hooks in you, you’ll never be free!”

Lhasha patted the old gnome gently on the arm. “I know, Fendel. But I didn’t know what to do. You know I could never leave Elversult. Where else could I find such beautiful groves and woodlands right within the city limits?”

Fendel sighed. “That’s your mother’s side of the family talking. It’s a shame you never knew her. You look mostly human, but I think your soul is closer to that of the elves.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Lhasha said happily. Til just hire Corin to be my bodyguard.”

“But … you know almost nothing about me,” Corin objected.

“I know you’re good with a sword,” Lhasha explained. “And I know you’re basically a decent, honest person. Fendel would have said something if you were lying or a threat to me.”

Fendel nodded. “That’s true, Corin. I must confess I took a little peek into your character while I examined your hand. A minor spell granted by Gond to even the lowest of his clerics.”

Corin was about to say something about the invasion of his privacy, but reconsidered. He couldn’t fault such

precautions. The White Shields had done the same type of magical screening to all their potential recruits. Elversult, despite the changes Yanseldara and the Maces had brought, was still a city founded by—and largely populated with—smugglers and brigands.

“So, Corin, what do you say? Will you serve as my bodyguard?”

Corin weighed the offer carefully. He was familiar with earning a living as a hired mercenary. That and being a White Shield were the only lives he’d ever really known. If he accepted, he’d be earning an honest living through his skill with the blade, proving wrong all those who doubted him because of his injury.

But as a White Shield his role had been to oppose bandits and raiders. Had he really fallen so low that he would now work for those he had opposed before?

Lhasha sensed his reluctance.

“Is something wrong?” she asked with genuine concern.

“You’re a thief.”

The half-elf flinched slightly at the venom in his voice before responding. “There are worse things, Corin. I may take a few choice items from my targets, but I’ve never taken a life. Everything I take can be replaced.”

Corin didn’t answer, so Lhasha continued to justify her chosen profession.

“Besides, as thieves go I’m not that bad. I never steal anything personal,” she assured him. “No jewelry, no family heirlooms, nothing that could have any kind of sentimental attachment for the owner. Just coins, and only from those who can well afford to spare a few gold or silver pieces.

“Not as lucrative as stealing jewelry or rare works of art,” Lhasha admitted, “but I make a comfortable living. It’s amazing how much gold these people have

just lying around. Obviously, they won’t miss it much when it’s gone.

“And besides,” the young woman added, “most of my targets are politicians and nobles. Everything I steal was acquired dishonestly through a corrupt system that crushes the less fortunate beneath the polished boot heels of the upper class. You don’t get rich in Elversult without getting your hands dirty somewhere along the way. Unlike them, I’m honest enough to admit what I am.”

She was rationalizing, a blatant attempt to free her own conscience from the plague of guilt. Corin imagined she had been doing it for years.

Yet there was some merit to her arguments. Corin had worked for his fair share of unsavory clients over the years. Not thieves, exactly, but most merchants making a profit were operating somewhere beyond the acceptable limits of Elversult’s commercial law.

Still, he resisted.

“I’m no thief. I wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

The half-elf shook her head. “I’m not looking for an accomplice, or em apprentice. When I go out on a job, I can look after myself. I’m careful, I’m professional. But being careful takes a lot out of me. After a job I need to relax, to unwind. What I really need is some protection for when I’m not on a job. I need someone to watch my back when Fm too busy enjoying life to watch out for myself. I’m not used to being a target. Eventually I’ll get careless and leave myself vulnerable. When that happens, I’d like to have you around to cover for my mistake.”

When Corin still didn’t give an answer, Fendel chimed in.

“Lhasha, perhaps you should reconsider. The Purple Masks are a dangerous, powerful group. Being your bodyguard would put Corin’s own life in danger on an almost daily basis. It might be too much for one man to handle.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Corin said sharply. He turned to face Lhasha, the steely confidence in his voice unfamiliar to his own ears; it had been nearly three years since he’d heard it last. “I can protect you better than any blade on the Dragon Coast, and unlike most of the other hired guards you can trust me … a White Shield’s loyalty never fails. If the Masks come after you again they’ll find me standing in their path.”

Fendel gave Corin a knowing smile.

“I figured you’d come around.”

The salary negotiations were quick—Corin couldn’t afford to be picky, and Lhasha’s offer was generous. The warrior didn’t even bother trying to haggle a few more coins per tenday out of her. The attractive half-elf almost seemed disappointed.

“We have to find a new place for you to stay,” the warrior told his small employer as soon as the price was set. Now that he was responsible for Lhasha’s safety, Corin wasn’t about to let her stay another night in a room where someone had left a knife embedded in her pillow. “Pack everything up, and I’ll carry it for you.”

Fendel agreed. “The sooner you’re out of that place, the better.”

“What about your stuff?” Lhasha asked Corin. “Don’t you need to go pack?”

The warrior shook his head, slapping the breast of his grimy mail shirt and tapping the rusted hilt of his sword. “This is all I need.”

It didn’t take long to gather Lhasha’s stuff, the only thing she had in any measurable quantity was clothing. Lots and lots of clothing—closets full of exotic outfits tailored from bright silks and colorful fabrics. Corin had initially shuddered at the sight, imagining the hours it would

take to carefully store such expensive garments for the trip across town, but Lhasha had packed everything with ruthless efficiency. As she packed, Corin rubbed the rough stubble on his chin, suddenly self-conscious about his own stained, torn clothes and his scraggly appearance.

“Where to?” she asked, once she had settled her bill at the front desk. The staff had seemed genuinely saddened to see her go.

Corin, with a large trunk full of Lhasha’s wardrobe strapped to his back, didn’t even need to think about his answer.

“We’re heading to the Axe and Hammer.”

Elversult was a bustling merchant city, with literally hundreds of places to stay. Some of them had the well earned reputation for being seedy establishments where the staff would steal anything not nailed down and betray anyone with a secret for a couple glittering coins waved beneath the nose. Other inns were renowned for the security of the rooms and the integrity—and tight Hps—of the staff. By far the best of these was the dwarf run Axe and Hammer.

“Not on your life!” Lhasha exclaimed.

Corin pulled up short. Turning slowly so as not to overbalance the heavy load of clothes on his back, he gave her a questioning stare.

“I’ve been in there before,” the half-elf explained. “It’s nicknamed the Tomb for a reason, you know.”

He knew. The entire staff was made up of dwarves, and they weren’t there to make the guests feel good. In fact, most of them were there solely to keep order and insure none of the guests were bothered by anyone—including the other guests. The dour faces and gruff, military attitude of the staff permeated the very air of the Axe and Hammer. The sounds of laughter and conversation

common to most taverns were virtually unheard of in their dining room.

“If I wanted to stay in a prison for my safety I’d go turn myself in at the Jailgates,” Lhasha declared. Seeing the look on Corin’s face, she added. This isn’t open for discussion, Corin.”

The warrior took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. There were other reputable inns in Elversult, though none was as safe as the Axe and Hammer.