Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [60]
Graal heard wheezing coming from far down one of the darkened tunnels branching off from the small smuggler's den. Soon he could see flickering points of light tracing their way across the walls, floor, and ceiling of the rough hewn passage, the flame from the torch reflected and refracted by the garish gemstones set into Fhazail's audacious rings. The orog cared little for such baubles and trinkets. Wealth was only useful for the power it could buy. Fhazail was obsessed with such ostentatious displays. One more reason to lust after the steward's death.
Fhazail jogged into the room, his flab shaking and quivering with each labored stride. He gasped out an apology, but his words were all but lost in the roaring bloodlust that exploded in Graal's head at his sight. The orog struggled to suppress the rage, but the world became a vision of red.
Prostrating himself at Graal's mighty boots, Fhazail begged for his life. Words the enraged monster before him could no longer even understand. He was deaf to pleas, and devoid of mercy. Graal slowly raised his blade, savoring this long awaited moment.
A single word from his victim pierced the veil of his fury, halting his blade… Xiliath…"
The name momentarily stayed Graal's hand. The orog knew little of fear, yet he was ever conscious of his master's awesome wrath. He took a deep, growling breath and held it. His pounding heart, eager for the slaughter to come, began to slow. The fog of berserker fury receded.
"Repeat what you said," Graal snarled, "and I may let you live."
Without question or hesitation, Fhazail reiterated his pleas. "Forgive me, Graal, but I bring Xiliath news of the Dragon Cult's package." His begging sounded humble and sincere, his voice a near shriek filled with fear and terror.
Yet in the steward's eyes Graal could see something else. Fhazail knew he would not die tonight. He had pushed Graal to the very brink of a mindless wrath that would bring on swift and brutal death, but with a single word the steward had averted a bloody fate yet again.
"I don't know whether to kill you for demanding this meeting, or for making me wait," Graal threatened. But he knew it was an empty threat, and Fhazail knew it, too.
"When you hear my news you will understand," Fhazail explained. "The cult is moving the package, tonight. My plan worked."
"You never did explain your plan," Graal noted. "Xiliath might want to know where the gems he gave you went."
"I gave them to a thief," Fhazail said. "A down payment for the job. I hired her to break into the cult's warehouse. When Azlar heard about the attempted burglary, he panicked. He fears the package is not safe in Elversult. They are taking it out of the city tonight, as soon as it gets dark."
Graal raised his fist in anger, and Fhazail scuttled out of range. "Fool!" Graal spat at him. "The Masks cannot know anything of this! They have been infiltrated by Yanseldara's spies! If she learns of the package the plan is ruined!"
"Spare me, wrathful Graal!" Fhazail squealed, pitifully raising his pudgy hands over his head to shield the expected blow. "I have not betrayed Xiliath to the Masks! I found a young woman who was freelancing her talents. She has no connection to the guild."
"And what became of her?" Graal asked, slowly lowering his hand. "Is she dead?"
"Much to my surprise, she escaped with her life, though I doubt she had even a glimpse of the package. Somehow she killed the guardian. A naga. The door to the room where the package was kept was still locked. She knows nothing."
Graal scratched at his jutting lower jaw with his grimy, discolored nails. "One less snake-beast in the world to serve the dragon worshipers. Xiliath will be pleased at that. Continue your report."
Emboldened by the orog's reaction, Fhazail stood up and brushed the dust of the small cave's floor from his knees.
"Azlar wants to move the package to a cult stronghold hidden a few miles outside the city. Right now they are scrambling to clean up the mess in