Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [119]
Despite Corin's suffering and her own discomfort, Lhasha found it a struggle to keep her eyes open. She had long since given up on her efforts to keep the covers over her friend's shivering body; as soon as she put them on, he would kick them off. She was too tired to continue the pointless effort of bending down to retrieve them. Her exhaustion was fighting a pitched battle against her concern for her friend, and at long last her exhaustion was winning. Lhasha felt her eyelids closing, but she could do nothing to resist.
She was awakened from her fitful doze by the feel of a cold blade pressed against her throat. The unseen assassin leaned in close to whisper in her ear. Lhasha tensed in her chair, her eyes scanning the room for Fendel. The gnome was still nowhere to be found.
"The Purple Masks hold your life in their hands now, half-elf," the voice hissed. Lhasha braced for the expected sensation of the razor-sharp blade slicing across her throat, but the assassin's blade never moved.
"You have dealt a serious blow to the Dragon Cult," her assailant continued. "By exposing the eye tyrant, a potential rival of the guild is no longer a threat. The
Masks are grateful for your aid, whether intentional or not. For that, we shall let you live."
Lhasha's breath came out in a rush. She hadn't even been aware she was holding it. The knife was still jammed against her throat.
"Don't make the mistake of thinking we have gone soft," the voice warned. "Your life is spared, but you are out of the burglary business. Retired. Permanently. Perform even one job in Elversult and your life is forfeit once again."
The blade was pressed harder against her throat, drawing a single drop of blood.
"Do you understand, my pretty little ex-thief?"
She nodded with a barely perceptible tilt of her head, afraid of giving a more visible response lest her own movements drive the cold steel deeper into her skin.
"Count to ten before turning around," the voice warned. "Speak of this to no one."
The knife blade was gone. Lhasha was not so stupid as to jump up and try to catch a glimpse of the unknown messenger. She stayed motionless in the chair, counting slowly to ten before rising to her feet and walking over to lock the door.
Her heart was pounding, her hand shaking as she fumbled with the latch. Every fiber tingled with nervous adrenaline; she was conscious of even the slightest sound. Even so, she didn't notice the two robed figures- one man, and one woman-who materialized magically behind her, stepping into the room through a shimmering door in the very fabric of space itself.
The female waved a hand, and Lhasha collapsed to the floor instantly, snoring softly.
The male stepped over to the bed, and began to examine Corin. "We can do nothing about his missing limb. The wound is too old. The curse has settled in too deeply."
"But can we save him?" the female asked.
Her companion nodded, and they each drew a small powder case from their belts. The male's case was bright red, like the fine particles inside. The female's was a dark green. They sprinkled the dust over Corin's writhing form, chanting softly as they did so.
When Lhasha came to, the intruders were gone. She wasn't even aware they had been there at all. She ran to Corin's bedside to make sure he was all right. For the first time since they brought him to the workshop, Corin was sleeping peacefully.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Fendel paused at the door of the Glowing Staffs tavern, his eyes seeking out his friends. He saw them sitting at a table in the corner, his eye caught by the bright turquoise of Lhasha's blouse, and the aquamarine sash thrown over her shoulder. Corin was dressed far more conservatively, wearing a simple gray woolen shirt. In the warrior's left hand he held a quill, and a parchment was spread out before him.
Sitting across from Lhasha and Corin was a young man. A sword was propped up against the side of his chair. Fendel stepped in through the door but didn't approach right away. He had no wish to interrupt. After a few minutes, the man rose