Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [6]
He rose unsteadily to his feet and fished a couple coppers from the pouch at his belt, then dropped them on the table. He staggered across the bar and out into the street, squinting against the brightness of the late afternoon sim. He wove his drunken way down the city street, staring at the ground; his left hand unconsciously rubbing the stump that was once the best sword arm in the now defunct White Shield Company of Elversult.
CHAPTER TWO
Two years later…
The brisk morning wind tugged softly at Lhasha's red silk scarf. Although it rarely fell below freezing in Elversult, the early mornings still held a little nip in the first tenday after the Midwinter Festival. The month of Alturiak wasn't called the Claws of Winter without reason.
By noon, Lhasha knew, the sun would be out and the light, long-sleeved orange blouse she wore would be more than adequate, but as she watched the faint fog of her own breath as it hit the cool morning air Lhasha regretted leaving her fur-lined cape back in her room. She pulled her arms in tight to her small body, grasping her elbows with tiny, graceful fingers. She felt a chill run down her neck and shivered. This time it was more than just the wind.
Lhasha could feel someone watching her. She glanced from side to side, but the shoppers in the Fair, Elversult's open air market, were all preoccupied with their own business.
Despite standing just a hair over five feet and weighing a shade less than a hundred pounds Lhasha was used to being noticed in a crowd. She was accustomed to the appreciative stares of men as they admired her silvery-blonde hair and her fine features, or the envious gazes of women as they mentally appraised the brightly colored silk outfits Lhasha always wore. She enjoyed being the center of attention.
This feeling was different. Threatening. Intimidating. Last night someone had followed her back to her room at the Wyvern's Pipe. Someone had crept in while she slept. And someone had left a dagger embedded in the pillow just inches from her head.
The warning hadn't been completely unexpected. Lhasha was one of the most successful, and last remaining, independent cat burglars in the city. She knew her stubborn refusal to join the Purple Masks, the local thieves' guild, was bound to have consequences. The telltale purple cloth wrapped around the dagger's handle left no doubt as to who was behind the visit.
She cast another quick glance over the crowd, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The Fair was busy. Not as busy as it would be after the Festival of Greengrass, but even during the final month of winter the Fair did a brisk business. Shopkeepers and merchants hawked their wares. Housewives, stable hands, tradesmen, mercenaries, and adventurers browsed the shops and booths. Humans, dwarves, gnomes, halflings, and even the odd elf gathered daily in the Fair to conduct their business and contribute to the trade that was the economic lifeblood of Elversult.
Lhasha noticed a patrol of city Maces watching over the crowds. Ever since Yanseldara had come to power, Elversult had been marked by a dramatic increase in the numbers of the city guard. Lhasha had yet to run across a party of Maces while ransacking the living room of a rich nobleman, so unlike many of Elversult's criminal element, she appreciated the order the constables brought to the once violent streets of the city.
The vigilant, visible presence of the Elversult authorities calmed Lhasha's nerves and helped her put things in a more rational light. Her unease was simply unfounded paranoia, an understandable reaction to the dagger in her pillow. There was no reason for the Masks to be following her right now. They had made