Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [58]
Before Corin could register his opinion on her latest theory, Lhasha tossed it away herself.
"No, I just don't buy it. You didn't see this guy, Corin. No way he was working for the Masks."
"You sound confident."
"Believe me, Fm sure. I was dealing with the Masks long before I met you," Lhasha explained with a rueful smile. "I remember when they first started recruiting members. They knew they were in for a tough road. The cult controlled everything in Elversult back then-smuggling, slavery, assassinations, stolen goods. Any territory the Purple Masks moved into would have to be taken away from the Cult of the Dragon.
"They needed to drive the cult back bit by bit. It was all out war, Corin. Still is. The Masks knew the only way they'd stand a chance was if their members could beat the cult followers whenever their paths crossed. The
Masks wanted every advantage they could get.
"They insisted that all their members be in great physical shape. A small edge, but one they needed. It became part of the guild's culture; fitness is a basic Mask philosophy. You never see an overweight Purple Mask, it just doesn't happen. They don't let it happen. Its bad form. They consider it to be a sign of weak will and laziness. They'd never trust a fat man with something like this.
"But my contact-he had to weigh three hundred stone, easy."
Corin shrugged. "Not the Masks. Not the Harpers. So who?"
"Elversult's always attracted more than its share of the criminal element," Lhasha mused. "Could be a new organization, trying to make a name for themselves by going up against the cult. No way to know who, unless we find my contact again. Not much chance of that, I'll wager."
They sat in silence, neither one certain of their next step. Lhasha smiled as a mental image popped unbidden into her head. "I wish you could meet this guy," she said to Corin. "You'd get that pompous ass to spill his ample guts. You'd just wrap one of those fancy silk scarves around his neck, and squeeze until all those gaudy gold rings popped right off his fat little fingers. God, those things were hideous."
"What?" Corin seized Lhasha by the shoulder from across the table. "What did you just say?"
"S-Sorry," the half-elf said, taken aback by the sudden intensity in the warrior's eyes. "It just seemed like a funny thought to me, for a second. I didn't mean anything by it." She squirmed beneath the bruising force of the mighty hand gripping her shoulder.
Suddenly aware of what he was doing, Corin dropped his hand and mumbled an apology. Lhasha rubbed her shoulder gingerly, trying to make sense of Corin's violent reaction. Across from her, the warrior clenched his fist and slammed it on the table, never taking his burning eyes off his amputated stump.
"Hey, its all right,'' Lhasha reassured him. "Nothing to get worked up over. Just a little bruise." In an effort to break the tension she jokingly added, "111 just dock your pay."
Suddenly Corin stood up. "I can't work for you any longer," he declared.
"What? Hey, c'mon big guy. I was just kidding. I'm fine, really."
Corin shook his head. "You don't need me. You've got enough gold to get to Cormyr on your own. You can hire a small army of guards once those gems are sold."
Lhasha carefully studied her friend. He stood stiffly, almost at attention. What she had come to know as his professional stance. She knew he was serious.
"Corin, what's going on here?"
"I failed you. I knew this was a set-up. I should never have let you take this job. Then I led you right into the monster's grasp."
"Listen," she said urgently, "those things weren't your fault. You saved me from the Maces at the Fair. You saved me from the assassins in my room. And look at me, I'm still alive. I'm fine, just a little nick on the leg is all."
She stood up and took a step toward Corin, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. "You're not a failure."
He shrugged it off