Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [33]
Graal smiled at the compliment. At least, Fhazail thought he did. It was hard to tell with the tusks.
"Xiliath will leave the specifics up to you, steward. Find some way to make Azlar move the package." The orog's voice became even deeper than its usual growling baritone as he leaned in close to Fhazail, eclipsing the dim light from the torches on the wall. Fhazail could actually feel the words vibrating through the floor as Graal continued. "Make sure the Masks are not involved. They cannot learn about the package. And if Yanseldara gets even a hint of what is going on I will rip your fingers. off and devour them one by one, rings and all."
Fhazail cringed beneath the hulking warrior, more for effect than out of any real fear. He nodded his understanding with a trembling chin. Satisfied that he had made his point, Graal stood up again and retreated a step.
"I already have the inklings of a plan," Fhazail said after quickly reevaluating where he stood, and deciding he was in a strong bargaining position. "However, it will take me a tenday or two to find an appropriate individual to carry out my plan. Of course, it will require something above my usual monthly fee."
Graal squinted until his already beady eyes were just pinhole slits beneath his heavy brow.
"How much?"
Fhazail swallowed once, his throat was suddenly dry. But he knew how far he could push the orog, or thought he did.
"Uh… double?"
Graal exploded into action, moving his massive bulk with unnatural speed. Roaring out curses in his guttural native tongue, he seized Fhazail under the armpits and hoisted him high into the air. The steward let out a shriek and went limp, certain the orog would smash his head against the floor, or tear his arms out of their sockets.
The orog only held him, keeping Fhazail's obese body suspended several feet above the tunnel floor.
"You do not know me as well as you think, Fhazail."
Graal released his grasp, and the merchant landed heavily on the ground, his legs unable to bear the weight of his own flesh after being dropped from several feet. Fortunately, Fhazail landed on his ample posterior, avoiding a twisted ankle or worse injury.
Graal stared down at him.
"I'll give you half."
Fhazail scrambled to his feet, an awkward, ungainly sight.
"Thank you, Graal… for your generosity and a valuable lesson," he said, bowing his head in acknowledgement.
The only reply was a grunt and a dismissive wave of Graal's massive paw. Taking the cue, Fhazail scuttled back the way he came. He would have bruises under his arms for a tenday from Graal's crushing grip, and tomorrow he'd be so stiff and sore from his hike through the tunnels that he'd barely be able to haul himself out of bed. The sweat stains on his silk shirt would be impossible to wash out. All for a bonus of half his normal fee. Half.
He'd been expecting at most a third. Fhazail smiled as he waddled through the tunnels.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gday, Master Corin. Would Miss Lhasha appreciate you sneaking into her chambers like this?"
Corin, who had been fumbling with the lock to Lhasha's room, turned to face the speaker.
"Oh…Weedle," Corin said, recalling the halfling room steward's name at the last possible second. It had been nearly a month since he and Lhasha had first checked in to the Golden Staff, and even now Corin still sometimes forgot the names of the staff.
The warrior realized he had been caught in a compromising situation, and offered a quick explanation.
"Lhasha's out and I need to get into the room."
Weedle smiled impishly, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he arched his eyebrows.
"A surprise for Miss Lhasha, eh? In her room yet."
Corin coughed, slightly embarrassed at the portly little fellow's insinuation. "We're just friends."
Weedle shrugged
"None of my business, Master Corin. All I'm sayin' is Miss Lhasha's a fine looking lady, or so I've heard the patrons in the bar downstairs say.
A bit too tall and gangly for myself, of course. Anythin'