Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [32]
Graal spat, not on the floor, but onto Fhazail's sweat-stained silk shirt. Fhazail knew better than to wipe it off. "I don't know which is worse, your pathetic attempts at flattery, or your stupidity. Why should Xiliath give a map of the tunnels he controls to someone as inconsequential as you?"
Fhazail knew he had his flaws, and he'd readily admit them. He was treacherous, he was weak, he was a coward. He was untrustworthy and willing to sell out his employer for a single chest of gold coin. Of course, Graal knew all this…they had worked together many times since Fhazail had first approached the orog to arrange the kidnapping of Lord Harlaran's heir.
Fhazail also had his strengths. He knew how to make the most of his situation, and he knew how to read people. He could exploit his position as one of Xiliath's favorites, and Graal's manner, more so than his words, gave away more than the orog realized.
"I don't think I'm as inconsequential as you would have me believe," Fhazail replied slyly, made suddenly bold by his assessment of the situation. As he spoke, the steward rubbed his oversized gold rings, drawing his courage from the reassuring feel of the thick bands of gold beneath his sweaty fingers. "After all, I am Xiliath's spy in Azlar's house-and Azlar is rising quickly through the ranks of the Cult of the Dragon. It was I, after all, who first told you about the package. Without me, Xiliath wouldn't have a clue what the cult was up to."
"Your tie to the cult mage makes you valuable, but not unexpendable," Graal threatened in a low voice, the tendons and sinews in the Grog's mammoth shoulders knotting and unknotting in unconscious anticipation of coming violence. Fhazail could see the hilt of the enormous black blade strapped to Graal's back undulating with every flex of his muscles.
Graal's reply confirmed what Fhazail already knew… his worth to Xiliath was important. Otherwise Graal would have already chopped him down where he stood. Still, as Graal licked the two inch tusks protruding from his lower jaw, Fhazail knew the Grog's fury was slowly working itself up to the point where even Xiliath's orders wouldn't save Fhazail from being sliced apart limb by limb.
Whenever Fhazail felt his stock was high, he liked to push the great beast… it was important to know where
Xiliath's right-hand man's limits were when it came time to negotiate fees. Fhazail also knew when to step back from the brink. The best way to avoid the orog"s mounting wrath was to get the creature's mind focused back on his master's efforts to establish himself as a force in the Elversult underworld.
Fhazail's voice adopted its most servile tone.
"Of course I understand how lowly I truly am in Xiliath's plans," he said by way of apology. "Why have you summoned me here, Graal? I wait with eagerness to hear the service Xiliath demands of me at this time."
Graal stopped licking his lips, and much to Fhazail's relief the glaze of bloodlust in the orog's eyes was replaced by Graal's typical cunning glare. Fhazail knew his insolence had come very close to the limit this time. He filed the information away for future reference.
"The… package Azlar received. He has it in one of the Cult, of the Dragon warehouses in the merchant's district. Attacking the mercenaries guarding the compound and the guards inside the warehouse would attract the attention of too many eyes. We don't want the Purple Masks to know of Xiliath yet, and Yanseldara or her attack dog Vaerana Hawklyn must not become wise to the cult's plan."
Fhazail nodded.
"Of course, O terrible Graal. I understand. The package must be moved somewhere less safe if Xiliath is to obtain it."
Graal grunted, acknowledging Fhazail's grasp of the situation.
"Azlar and his men need a scare put into them. Flush them out. Make the serpent worshipers slither out of their hidey hole like the worms they are."
"Well spoken, most eloquent Graal," Fhazail said with a bow. The corpulent steward had long ago learned that
Graal was much smarter than people realized. Most dismissed