Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [30]
The warrior paused, trying to judge Lhasha's reaction to his story. The half-elf said nothing.
Corin resumed his tale. "Suddenly, it all became clear to me. There was a traitor on the mission, but it was not one of my fellow soldiers. Fhazail had arranged the ambush, and then turned the blame onto us."
"How do you know it was him?" Lhasha asked.
The warrior was silent for a long time. He had told the half-elf much, more than he meant to. Once the words started, it was almost as if they came unbidden, longing for release after being pent up for so long. Corin realized that he felt some connection to Lhasha. She treated him as an equal, rather than a cripple. She respected him for what he could do, instead of pitying him for what he couldn't, for that, he was grateful.
It was the rings that had given Fhazail away, of course. Those hideous rings that the vain steward always wore had exposed his lies. For some reason, Corin didn't want to mention the rings to Lhasha.
At the trial Fhazail was still wearing his precious rings, even after spending several months as a supposed prisoner of ruthless bandits. If Fhazail's story was true, the jewelry would have been taken from him. The brigands would have even gone so far as to cut the steward's fleshy digits off to steal his rings.
It was only after he had heard the voice of Igland that Corin had been able to remember this small but vital detail about the steward. The realization had come too late. By then, Fhazail had long since disappeared, and the chance for Corin to avenge his fallen comrades was gone.
Perhaps that was why he didn't tell Lhasha the truth. He was ashamed at his failure to recognize the proof of the steward's deception until it was too late. Or maybe he just felt he needed to keep something back, keep something hidden. He had bared his soul to Lhasha, left himself vulnerable. It was almost as if by keeping this one secret he could somehow convince himself that he had only told Lhasha as much as he wanted to, rather than what he needed to.
"I just know it was Fhazail," was the only explanation he offered his companion. "And so I spared my own life, in the slim hope that I might someday meet the traitor again and slit his throat.
"I was a protector, a guardian. My life had meaning. But when I lost my hand, my friends, and my profession, I lost everything. All that's left is revenge. The faint hope that I may someday draw my blade across Fhazail's throat."
Lhasha shook her head sympathetically. "You have to let go of the past Corin. You have to move forward. If you don't, you truly are as dead as you claim."
"What is there for me to move on to?" he demanded angrily.
"Protecting me, for one thing," she replied.
Corin didn't reply, but stared pointedly at the table.
Suddenly Lhasha spoke up, her high voice rising to a squeal in her excitement. "I know! It's so simple, I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier-you need to move forward, to start a new life for yourself, to find a new purpose. You could become my apprentice!"
Without speaking, without even looking up from the table, Corin lifted his stump as if that explained everything.
"That's just an excuse," Lhasha chided. "I can pick a lock or a pocket with either hand, and you don't use your arms to move unnoticed through the shadows."
Now Corin did look up, fixing her with angry eyes.
"What makes you think I want to skulk through the night and rob people? Do I look like a thief?"
Caught off guard by the venom in his voice, the half-elf stammered out a reply. "I only meant… well, at least you'd be challenging yourself. You'd be learning some new skills, instead of lamenting what you had lost. Doing something besides wasting your life away in pathetic self-pity."
Corin didn't say anything, but merely sat in stoic silence-effectively ending their conversation. Faced with the impenetrable wall of stubborn quiet, Lhasha finally got up and left the warrior alone at the table. Corin noticed a score