Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [83]
"Don't be stupid," the gnome spat, "I'm not charging you for anything. Not for this. But if you really want my help in getting Lhasha back, you'll tell me everything that happened. Solving problems is what I do best."
Realizing the gnome was right, Corin swallowed his pride and related the entire shameful tale: his inability to sense the set-up at the cult warehouse, his selfish efforts to find Fhazail and exact his vengeance, his cowardly flight from the ambush by Xiliath's army in the clearing, the conversation with Azlar at the Weeping Griffin. He even told Fendel about the medusa. Corin held nothing back in his confession. Once the words started, they gushed forth in a litany of his faults, a fountain of guilt and remorse spilling out at the feet of his small, wrinkled confessor.
When he was done, the gnome said nothing. He just stared at the floor for a long, long time.
Tm sorry I couldn't protect her," Corin whispered, his voice choking slightly. There is no excuse, but I will get her back!"
Fendel waved a sooty hand dismissively. "Don't drown in self-contempt, Corin. I hardly see anything you have to be ashamed of." The gnome cut Corin's protests off by adding, "It's all water under the bridge, anyway. We have to focus on what comes next, not what's been done."
The warrior nodded. Move forward. A lesson he had learned in his time with the White Shields, one he had unfortunately forgotten with the loss of his hand. Regret was a crutch for the weak. The strong learned from their mistakes, they didn't wallow in them. This was not the time for apologies, it was the time for redemption.
"Fendel," he said, his voice assuming its usual steadfast timbre, "give me whatever you can. Equipment, advice-everything. I will get Lhasha back."
"Give me a minute," the gnome responded, still tugging at his beard. "Let me piece this all together." He began to whisper, half to himself and half for Corin's benefit.
The Cult of the Dragon. Xiliath. What do they have in common? A charmed medusa. But why smuggle a medusa into Elversult?"
The gnome looked up at Corin, his eyes alight with sudden understanding. "Yanseldara. They're going to kill her. Whoever controls the medusa has the perfect assassin. Just place her in the crowds lining the street during the parades of the Greengrass festival. One look and the Lady Lord of Elversult is nothing but a pile of stone, Vaerana, too. In the chaos and terror of the medusa's discovery, it wouldn't be hard to overturn their carriage, and smash them both to bits."
Corin didn't doubt the veracity of the gnome's conclusions. In fact, he didn't really care. All he wanted was to get Lhasha back. "Are you going to tell the High Artificer?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.
"No. He'd go straight to the Moonstorm House and report this to Vaerana. The cult and Xiliath will both be watching our city's leader very closely. Even a hint that their secret is out and they'll disappear for a few months until the search for them dies down…" The gnome's voice trailed off
"And they'll take Lhasha with them," Corin finished.
"If they don't simply destroy all the evidence," Fendel added ominously.
The gnome's dire warning conjured a grim pause in the conversation. Fendel dispelled the heavy silence with a clap of his dirty hands.
"No dwelling on what ifs. Let's get down to business, Corin. Show me that potion the wizard gave you."
Without bothering to ask why, Corin produced the vial and placed it in the gnome's hands. Fendel jiggled the container, studying the way the contents rolled and rippled inside the glass.
"Looks genuine," he admitted, "but I'll need to do a few tests to be sure." He set the bottle down. "Let's see that map."
After a few minutes of careful study of the intricate layout of the tunnels beneath Elversult's surface, Fendel raised his head. "This is another set up. They want you to fail. If you try to get into Xiliath's lair through the smugglers'