Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [79]
The name caused Corin to stiffen momentarily, but otherwise he made no response.
The cult mage misjudged the warrior's reaction. "You are surprised I know of your history, perhaps? Rest assured, Corin, I know much about you. My divinations are powerful. Join with us, and I can lead you to Fhazail. I can lead you to your vengeance."
"My vengeance is over. Fhazail is nothing but a statue. I saw him myself. He is trapped for eternity in a stone prison."
"He was turned to stone," Azlar admitted. "I orchestrated it myself. But you are foolish if you believe such a condition is not reversible. Before I could deal more permanently with the traitor I was forced to flee the battle. I suspect Fhazail has been taken from the field by his allies. They might restore him to his previous abundantly fleshy state.
"Fhazail has a knack for surviving such potentially lethal situations. Surely, Corin One-Hand, you can not sit idly by if there is even a chance Fhazail will emerge from his latest scheme of betrayal unscathed. You must seek justice for what he did to you and your fellow soldiers."
For two years Corin had nursed his vengeance, even at his life's lowest ebb it was always there, a flickering ember in the depths of his soul. He fueled it with alcohol and bitter vows cursing the injustice of the world, and when Lhasha brought the steward back into Corin's life the ember ignited an all consuming inferno in his mind.
Corin had nearly thrown everything away in his quest for revenge. His rebuilt career and reputation, his partnership with Lhasha, even his own life-all of it sacrificed for one last shot at Fhazail!
But in the hours waiting for Lhasha to return, that fire had been quenched. The hate had filled a void, feeding on itself in the vacuum that was Corin's life. However, his life was no longer a vacuum. His actions had consequences that reached beyond his own existence. Only now could the warrior understand how much his misguided hunger for "justice" had truly cost him, and what it may have cost Lhasha.
"Fhazail is not my concern anymore," Corin said in a somber voice. "Youll not lure me into your scaly fold so easily, dragon worshiper."
The young wizard sat back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps I have misjudged you. I see now that your concern is no longer for your own needs, but for the well being of another."
The warrior kept silent.
"My knowledge of you extends beyond your history with Fhazail," Azlar pressed. "I know of the thief, and of your… relationship."
Corin ignored the insinuations of Azlar's lascivious smile. "Quit playing games, mage. If you know something about Lhasha, then tell me."
Azlar gave a sympathetic sigh, artificial and forced. "When our package was taken, there were several casualties of her power. Many of my own soldiers were victimized as you must have seen. I regret to tell you your friend shared their fate."
"No!" Corin shouted, then quickly dropped his voice as he felt an increase in the pressure of the daggers against his ribs. "No. How would you know what happened to Lhasha?"
"Do not speak without thinking, fool! Did I not say my divinations were powerful? After the battle our attackers gathered up all the unfortunate victims of the package."
"The medusa, you mean. Why not call it what it is?"
Corin never saw the blow, but he felt it. A fist buried itself into his kidney, doubling him over in his chair, his head banged against the table. "Speak the name of the package again," Azlar whispered harshly, "and the next pain you feel will be from the daggers."
The wizard didn't wait for Corin to recover, but he kept on talking. "One of the statues was of a young lady. Your pretty thief, Corin One-Hand, but do not despair. There is still a chance she may yet be saved."
Trying to shake off the effects of the savage, unexpected punch Corin couldn't reply right away. If Azlar spoke the truth, the Dragon Cult might be his only chance to find and save Lhasha, but the cult wasn't known for its generosity. Any hope they offered him would be tempered with serious consequences. Dealing