Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [61]
"And the workers? They are being silenced, I presume?"
Fhazail nodded. "Of course, most fearsome Graal. Azlar used his magic to alter their memories, for the most part. A few ran off in terror when the naga's body was discovered. They know better than to speak of what goes on in the warehouse, but I convinced Azlar of the need to send me out after them just in case they let slip a rumor of what they have seen. That's how I managed to get away to meet you."
"And when you find them?" Graal asked with a malevolent grin.
Fhazail shrugged. "I was given money to entice them to come back to the warehouse. If I can convince them to return, Azlar will erase their memories as well. If not, I will notify the cult assassins. They will deal with the workers and anyone they might have spoken to. I hope it does not come to that."
Graal laughed. "You are weak, Fhazail. I would not bother with the bribes, or the assassins. I would kill them myself."
The steward shrugged. "I lack your warrior's conviction." Then he added, "I must go back to my search for the workers soon. Azlar will grow suspicious if I do not return in a timely manner."
"Wait," Graal said as Fhazail turned to go. "I will report this news to Xiliath. I have no doubt he will act on it immediately. We cannot allow Azlar to bring his package to the cult stronghold. Your work in this matter is not done."
Swallowing hard, Fhazail asked, "What would you have me do, O mighty Graal?"
"I will take some of my men, and set an ambush for the cultists. We will steal the package, and with any luck kill Azlar in the process. The loss of their prize and the death of such a promising mage from their ranks will leave the dragon worshipers reeling.
"You must lead them into the ambush, Fhazail. The usual place, just outside of town. I'm sure you remember."
"But… but how am I to make Azlar take that route?" Fhazail protested.
"Use your powers of persuasion, Fhazail. I'm sure you will be most convincing."
An all too familiar look popped into the steward's eyes. "Perhaps I could be more convincing if Xiliath provided me with inspiration of a monetary nature."
"No haggling," Graal warned in a low voice. "Now is not the time for your games."
Fhazail's head tilted ever so slightly as he gave the orog a brief, appraising glance. "Of course," he replied after assessing the situation. "Now is not the time for games. I will go at once."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
To the casual glance, there was nothing remarkable about the warehouse. To someone hiding in the shadows, watching for the past several hours as deepest night fell, it was evident something important was taking place inside.
Corin had been watching the building since the early dusk. He had seen figures arrive in small groups of two or three every half hour, their forms hidden by dark, hooded cloaks. Elversult had a temperate coastal climate, it rarely fell below freezing even in the heart of winter. Now that they were in the first few days of the Sunsets, and spring was just a few ten-days away, only foreigners from the southern desert lands found it necessary to bundle themselves up in such heavy garments. Foreigners, or those with something to hide.
A knock, a slight delay while passwords were exchanged, and the mysterious figures would be ushered in. Over a dozen so far, plus those that were already inside before Corin's vigil began.
In the ghastly light of their torches, Corin caught occasional flashes of armor and weapons peeking out from beneath the robes. Once he even caught a glimpse of an insignia-the unmistakable emblem of the Cult of the Dragon.
His instincts about the naga had been right, but Corin cared little about the cult, or their business here. He had come with only one purpose in mind.
Ever since the conversation with Lhasha at the Weeping Griffin, Corin had begun plotting his revenge.