“Come here. Sit down and let me see your shoulder.”
Corin came over slowly, keeping his good hand pressed firmly against the wound as he lowered himself into a sitting position on the mattress. Lhasha could see blood welling up from between his fingers. Physical confrontation was generally something she tried to avoid in her line of work, but she had managed to pick up a few medicinal skills from Fendel just in case.
“It’s bad, Corin,” she said matter-of-factly after taking a quick look. “I can tie it off for you, but we should get you to a healer.”
She wrapped the wound several times, yanking the gauze tight before tying it off. Corin grunted softly and winced from the pain, but otherwise stayed silent.
“So are you going to tell me what happened, or leave me to guess?”
Corin’s voice sounded groggy. The toll of the battle and the lost blood was showing.
“Not much to tell. I was in the room when they showed up. I knew they were here to kill you, so I killed them.”
Lhasha gave him a curious look.
“What were you doing in my room?”
“It’s a long story.” Corin sighed wearily, then changed the subject. “We should leave right away. There could be more assassins coming.”
“I doubt that,” Lhasha replied, wiping the blood from Corin’s wound off her hands with the edge of the already ruined bedspread. “I don’t think they’d bother to send more than three of their crew to finish off little old me. Lucky thing they weren’t expecting you.”
Corin didn’t reply right away, he seemed to be lost in thought—or letting his mind drift.
“When the assassins don’t check in, the Masks will send someone to see why they didn’t report. We’ll have to move. Soon.” His words were slow, and slightly slurred. Lhasha briefly wondered if he had been drinking again, but she couldn’t smell any alcohol on him.
She thought he was done speaking, he had paused for a long time, but eventually he continued, though it seemed an effort to do so.
“And as soon as Weedle sees these bodies, he’s going to get the Maces in here. They might have given up looking for the fugitives who started the riot in the Fair, but I still don’t want to run into them. Too many questions we don’t need.”
He had a point.
“All right, let me pack a few essentials,” Lhasha said.
“We can go stay with Fendel, at least for tonight.”
Corin rose and took an unsteady step toward the door.
“I’ll … get my things. My … sword and … other stuff.”
“No,” Lhasha said firmly, as if speaking to a child, “I’ll get your things. You sit on that bed and don’t move … you’re bleeding bad enough as it is.”
The fact that Corin didn’t even argue merely confirmed how serious his injury was. His knees buckled and his body slumped back down, slouching forward as he sat on the edge of the mattress. He seemed about to topple over. Lhasha began to fear something more sinister than simple blood loss was slowing him down. The Mask assassins wouldn’t be the first hired killers to coat their blades in poison.
It took Lhasha less than five minutes to get both Corin’s and her own things together, but in that time Corin’s complexion had paled to a sickly gray. He was sweating profusely, and shivering. His head was bowed forward, staring at the floor—he didn’t even look up when she came back into the room.
There was no way for her to know what kind of poison was in Corin’s system, but he didn’t look like he’d survive the hour if she didn’t get him some help. The situation was urgent, but Lhasha didn’t panic. A few seconds thinking things out would be worth the lost time if it kept her from making a critical mistake.
Fendel could help, or at least get someone else to help, but she couldn’t leave Corin here in the room while she went to fetch the gnome. The Maces might show up and arrest him. Or worse. It wouldn’t be long until the Masks sent someone to investigate why their assassins hadn’t checked in. She’d have to take Corin with her.
Hopefully he could still walk.
She tossed a handful of coins on the table to cover the cost of replacing the bloodstained bedding, wrapped an arm around Corin’s waist, and pulled.
“C’mon Corin,” she said with a grunt. “On your feet. Let’s go for a walk.”
Corin didn’t respond at first, he was dead weight. She couldn’t even get him upright. After a few seconds he stood—very slowly.
“Keep moving, Corin,” she said. “Let’s go. Out the door.”
Lhasha staggered beneath his mass, but thankfully Corin was still able to support much of his own weight. It was a struggle to get Corin down the stairs, but once she got him out onto the street, on the level ground, he was able to walk on his own.
The sky was just turning to dusk, and nobody paid much attention to the pair as they stumbled along. Most dismissed them as a drunk being carried home by this evening’s chosen courtesan; those few who recognized the signs of poison knew better than to get involved in guild business. As they slowly made their way toward the Church of Gond, Lhasha kept up a litany of encouragement.
“Good, Corin. Another step. That’s the way. Keep it going. One more. Again. You’re doing fine.”
Lhasha doubted if he even heard her. Corin’s steps came in an unconscious rhythm … marching without thought or will. Lhasha guessed he had done his share of forced marches during his days as a White Shield—that was probably the only thing keeping him going now.
They were nearly two thirds of the way to Gond’s church and Lhasha was starting to believe they’d actually make it. There was only a half dozen blocks to go. Then Corin tripped over a loose stone in the street. His weight shifted, and the full impact of his muscular frame came crashing down on Lhasha, dragging them both to the ground. Lhasha tried to absorb some of the blow as she hit the paving stones, but Corin’s body slammed her to the street, knocking the wind from her lungs.
She gasped for air and tried to blink away the stars in her vision.
“Corin!” she coughed. “You have to get up.”
There was no response from her burly companion. Lhasha pushed against his inert form, trying to roll him off so she could at least catch her breath, but his weight was too much for her to handle. She managed to slither out from beneath his body, and quickly felt for his breath. It was still there, but very faint and very, very slow.
She didn’t want to leave him lying face down in the street, but she couldn’t budge him. Abandoning him where he lay, Lhasha sprinted off toward Temple Hill.
Corin was oblivious to the outside world, but he had achieved a new level of consciousness, a hyper-sensitive awareness of his body’s inner workings. Every system was shutting down, moving slower and slower. He couldn’t fight the sensation. There was no need to fight it. He felt no pain, no anger, no sadness. Just fatigue, and soon even that would be gone. The blood was congealing in his veins, thickening until its flow became a mere crawl. After countless millions of beats throughout the course of his life his heart felt weary. It still struggled to pump the sticky, syrupy mass that was once his lifeblood, but the contractions were faint and irregular. The air felt like water in his lungs, thick with phlegm and fluid. His chest cavity rose and fell in ever diminishing increments until, finally, Corin’s breathing stopped and he slipped into the cool depths of the embracing night.…
A blinding white light of unbearable agony shredded the dark, soothing veil. Fire surged through his body; blazing, burning, searing, purging. With a rush the blood erupted through his veins and his heart began a frantic pounding to keep up with the flow.
As the violence of the living world battered back the peace of the grave, a coughing fit wracked Corin’s chest. His body convulsed and heaved until he hacked up a mass of gummy, sticky slime from his lungs. Air rushed in to fill the void, and Corin breathed again.
His inner consciousness vanished, pushed out by the overwhelming sensations of the exterior world. His body lay on the cold cobblesto
ne street, his head resting in someone’s lap. Small, delicate hands gently cradled him, and he could feel the brush of a silk sleeve against his cheek. He caught a whiff of expensive perfume.
He blinked open his eyes to reveal a face framed by the shadowy background of the early evening sky. A face etched with concern. A wrinkled, balding, face with a bulbous nose, oversized ears and a wispy gray beard. Fendel was standing over him.
“Welcome back,” the gnome said, the worry being replaced by a smile. “We almost lost you. If Lhasha had got me here a couple minutes later you would have been beyond my skill to save.”
Corin struggled to rise, but the gnome reached out a gnarled hand and pushed him back down.
“Lie still,” a soft female voice said. It was Lhasha who was holding his head in her lap. “The poison’s gone, but you’ve still lost a lot of blood. Let Fendel help you.”
“I’m not sure how much I can do,” the gnome said as he rubbed his hands together. “Like I said before, healing isn’t Gond’s specialty, but I can take away some of the sting.”
The gnome began a soft chant, his hands and fingers forming elaborate patterns in the air. He reached down and placed his palm on Corin’s wounded shoulder. This time there was no surge of fire, no agonizing purging of his essence. There was just a warmth, then a slight tingle, and then it was done.
Corin reached up with his left hand and gingerly felt his shoulder. No pain. He pressed harder, and still felt nothing. He pulled the bandage down and traced his finger over what remained of the wound. Just a slight scab, no worse than a child’s scraped knee.
Fendel smiled broadly. “Didn’t even leave a scar! Not bad for a two bit cleric, huh?”
Corin leaned forward and rose to his feet, leaning slightly on Lhasha as he stood up. Even the minor bumps and bruises from the battle seemed to be less painful now.
“I owe you my life, Fendel. If there’s anything I can ever do to repay you …”
“Just look after my little Lhasha-love, that’s all I ask.”
Lhasha was up on her feet now, standing beside him.
“Don’t worry, Fendel. Corin’s doing a fine job of looking after me. He actually saved me from a squad of assassins earlier today.”
“Purple Masks?” Fendel asked, frowning slightly.
Corin nodded
“Who else?” said Lhasha.
“This isn’t good,” Fendel muttered with a shake of his head. “Not good at all. We have to get you off the street while I think of what to do.”
“Do you think you can walk?” Lhasha asked Corin.
“I’m fine,” Corin replied as he scooped up the bag that held the few personal items Lhasha had grabbed from their rooms at the Golden Staff. She had just dropped the bag on the street beside Corin’s unconscious body when she had ran off to get Fendel. Fortunately no one had stolen them in the ten minutes it had taken her to bring the gnome back to her injured friend. “In fact, I feel better than I have in a long, long time.”
The half-elf gave him a skeptical look.
“Are you sure? In the last hour you’ve been attacked by trained assassins, stabbed in the shoulder, and nearly died from being poisoned.”
“All in a day’s work, Lhasha. All in a day’s work.”
CHAPTER NINE
Once they reached the House of Hands, Fendel used a key to open a door at the back of the wall surrounding the church grounds. If the gnome hadn’t pointed it out, Corin wouldn’t even have noticed the camouflaged entrance built into the stone.
“We want to attract as little attention as possible,” Fendel explained. “The front might be under surveillance.”
The secret door opened into the courtyard, still littered with the frames, canopies, riggings, and half finished structures of inventions being built in honor of the Wonderbringer.
“No one will bother us in my private workshop,” Fendel assured them. “You’ll be safe there, at least for tonight. It’ll give us a chance to talk over Lhasha’s … situation.”
Fendel’s workshop was in a much better state than the last time they’d seen it. The damaged tables had been repaired or replaced, as had the chairs. The reams of paper blueprints and plans still littered the scene, but Fendel had gathered them into neat little piles scattered over the furniture and floor of the room.
“I see you’ve cleaned up a bit,” Lhasha said.
“The automatic farmer didn’t work out, Lhasha-love. Too unstable. I’ve since decided to spend a few tendays focusing on simpler gadgets. Trying to get back into the High Artificer’s good books, you know.
“Pull up a chair,” the gnome continued. “I want to know exactly what happened.”
Once they were all seated, Corin related his simple tale yet again.
“Three men broke into Lhasha’s room. I knew they were there to kill her, so I killed them. Not much to tell. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Lhasha sniffed indignantly.
“You forgot to add that the poison they were using almost killed you. This is serious, Corin.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Fendel said in a grave voice. “I know people in this town. Important people. Connected people. People who know things. I thought I’d get a heads up before the Masks moved on Lhasha.” The gnome paused and tugged thoughtfully on his scraggly beard. “I hadn’t even heard that Lhasha was an active target, much less that they were sending someone out today. Somehow I’m out of the loop. I don’t like being out of the loop. Things must be more serious than I thought.”
“You mean I’ve got more of a reputation than you realized?” Lhasha asked with a slight smile.
“The world doesn’t revolve around us, Lhasha-love,” Fendel replied. “There are dark doings in Elversult these days. Always have been, I guess. Sometimes when the wheels of history get rolling, the little people like us are left to fend for themselves, or get crushed underneath.
“I was under the impression that my contacts had some influence with the Purple Masks. Since nothing had happened, I was actually beginning to think my contacts had managed to convince the Masks to forget all about you. Obviously that isn’t the case.
“Events must have pushed the favors promised to an old gnome to the bottom of their list, and it was just good fortune that it took the Masks almost a full month to find you again. Now that three of their members are dead, I don’t think there’s any chance the Masks will agree to just forget about you.”
“I dealt with them once already,” Corin assured the gnome, “I’ll deal with them again.”
Fendel shook his head.
“No, Corin. You won’t. They didn’t expect you to be there this time, this wasn’t a very well planned mission. The next time I guarantee you’ll both be dead before you even know you’re in danger.”
Corin bristled. “I think you underestimate me, little man.”
The gnome ignored the insult.
“It’s not a slight against you Corin. You don’t know what you’re dealing with. I think you both need to leave town. Now. Take a trip to Teziir. Catch a ship up to Cormyr and lay low for a while, take a break from the burglary game. At least until my contacts in the thieves’ guild let me know what’s going on, and for Gond’s sake, don’t steal anything on the way.”
“Wait, Corin,” Lhasha said before her companion could continue the argument. “Fendel’s always been there for me my whole life. He raised me from a baby. I’ve learned to trust his judgment. He knows this town better than anyone. If he thinks we should leave Elversult for a while, maybe we should.”
Corin shrugged, momentarily taken aback by the ease with which Lhasha had consented to the gnome’s suggestion. His own ideas were never accepted so readily. “I think you’re both over reacting, but I go where Lhasha goes. My job is to keep you safe. It doesn’t matter to me if its here or on the other side of Faerun.”
A look of relief crossed Fendel’s grimy face.
“I’m glad you’re being reasonable about this, Lhasha.”
; “We’ll leave tomorrow,” Lhasha assured him. Then added, “But I’ve got one last job to pull before I go.”
“But Lhasha-love—” the gnome began.
She held up a hand to cut him off.
“No lectures, Fendel. If I’m going to Cormyr to live in temporary retirement, I’ll need some money to tide me over. This job will pay more than enough to get me by.”
“If it’s money you need …”
Lhasha didn’t mean to laugh, but she couldn’t help it.
“Fendel,” she said once she’d caught her breath, “how are you going to get me any money? What you don’t spend on materials and supplies, you’ve donated to the Church.” In a softer voice she added, “And besides, I won’t accept charity from you. I can look after myself.”
Fendel didn’t say anything else, but by the look on is face it was obvious he disapproved.
“Relax,” she said, giving the gnome a kiss on his wrinkled forehead. “I’ll take Corin with me on this job, just in case. I’ve taught him a few tricks of the trade. He might as well put them to the test.”
The gnome gave heavy sigh, then threw up his hands in resignation.
“Well, if I can’t talk you out of it, the least I can do is make sure you have all the tools you need. Tell me about the job.”
Corin was always surprised at how dramatically the young half-elf’s demeanor changed as soon as she started talking shop. Usually her tone was light and playful, but she was dead serious when the conversation turned to business.
“It’s one of the warehouses in the Caravan district. Simple in and out. Don’t know the exact nature of the package, but I was specifically told carrying it out wouldn’t be a concern.”
“The Caravan warehouses, eh? I think I’ve got some blueprints. Just give me a minute to find them.”
While the gnome was rummaging about his workshop, Corin moved in closer to Lhasha.
“How can you steal something when you don’t even know what it is?” he whispered.
Lhasha waved him off and curtly replied, “Don’t concern yourself with the details, Corin. I don’t try to tell you how to do your job, so don’t you tell me how to do mine.”
Temple Hill Page 10
