Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [31]
Corin watched the half-elf twirling to the music of the band. She spun wildly, as if trying to dance away her anger and frustration. Corin knew she had done all she could to reach him. Lhasha had offered her help, and he had rejected it. In fact, Corin realized, he had rejected her.
Several hours later, as they were each about to retire to their respective rooms, Corin awkwardly broke his silence.
"If you are still willing to teach me your trade, Lhasha, I would be willing to learn."
With a soft laugh and a warm smile she said, "Life is too short to carry grudges, Corin. Fendel taught me that. We can start tomorrow."
***
Fhazail's breath came in wheezing gasps. Sweat was running down his brow, dripping off his nose, chin, and even his flapping jowls as he trotted down the dark passage, his way lit only by the sputtering torch he held in his right hand. He wasn't used to such physical exertion. His muscles cried out in agony, threatening to knot up in cramps with every step. His heart thudded against the cage of his chest with the relentless violence of a barbarian berserker tossed into a cell at the Jailgates.
He didn't dare slow down. Fear kept him going. Not the fear of the shadows and creatures in the tunnel that scattered before the torchlight then closed in again in the darkness behind him, but fear of what lay at the end of the meeting. He was already late, and if he dared to stop the delay could have consequences far worse than agonizing cramps or an exploding heart.
As he continued to twist and wind his way through the labyrinth carved out beneath the Elversult streets, Fhazail cursed the unknown smugglers who had constructed the passages. The original builders had all died centuries.ago, but as the network of tunnels grew and expanded the same meandering, irregular pattern had been adopted by the new builders. Some claimed the labyrinth was intentionally confusing as a way to thwart thieves and the Maces alike. Others just said an Elversult smuggler's mind was too twisted to even think in a straight line, let alone excavate that way.
At last, Fhazail could see a faint glow ahead. He doubled his lagging pace, and moments later he rounded a corner and found himself face to face with his appointment.
Or rather, face to chest. Fhazail's own gaze didn't even come up to the shoulders of the mighty orog who stood before him, filling up most of the tiny chamber they used for all their secret congregations.
"You're late," Graal snarled.
Fhazail's excuse stumbled out between gasps of air.
"Not… my… fault. The directions… you gave…"
"Are you saying this is my fault?"
Fhazail shook his head.
"No… of course not. I'm… sorry."
In all the years he had worked for Graal, Fhazail had seen many men killed for less than the disrespect he had just shown. Of course, Fhazail knew he was too important to be killed without a very good reason. Ever since he delivered the information on the package the Cult of the Dragon had shipped into the city, he had become a favorite of Xiliath. Still, it was never wise to risk Graal's wrath. Not without a purpose.
"The fault was, of course, all mine," Fhazail said once he had caught his breath. "But your directions were complicated, and the tunnels are difficult to navigate. I lose all sense of direction in these passages."
Graal said nothing, and the silence made Fhazail nervous. He kept talking. "Maybe if I could get a map of the tunnels, so this wouldn't happen again-"
Graal barked out a harsh laugh. "A map? You bloated, simpering fool! There is no rhyme or reason to the smugglers' work! Half the passages are either dead ends, circle back to where they started, or lead directly into traps. Do you think the men who built these tunnels would have been stupid enough to make a map just so their enemies could find it?"
"Well, no… of course not, most mighty of warriors. I just meant a map of this area, the area where Xiliath operates. Or even just the areas under the supervision