Temple Hill (12 page)

The warrior’s survival demands complete focus on the enemy before him. Every action of his foe must be accounted for and countered if the warrior is to survive.

As Lhasha turned the key to unlock her room the assassin’s attention was drawn, for the briefest of moments, to the door. Corin’s wasn’t. He saw his enemy’s distraction, and he took advantage. By the time assassin’s gaze had shifted back to Corin it was too late to evade the knife hurtling through the air. The assassin realized the extent of his mistake as the blade buried itself in his throat; the last conscious thought he’d ever have.

Lhasha let out a short yelp of surprise as she pushed open the door to her chambers. The light from the hall clearly illuminated the figure of a man just inside the door as he clutched feebly at a dagger protruding from his neck. Another man lay dead at his feet. The far end of the room was thick with shadows, but with her ability to see in the infrared spectrum of light—a by-product of her elf heritage—she could make out the form of someone standing on the far side of the bed, clutching his arm. She nearly bolted, then noticed that the person still standing had only one hand.

“I told you you needed a bodyguard in your room,” Corin said.

Lhasha was already over the initial shock. These weren’t the first dead bodies she had seen, though she wasn’t used to seeing them in her bedroom.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, her heat sensitive vision picking up a trail of warmth running down Corin’s arm. “You’re bleeding.”

Corin shrugged.

“It’s not too bad. I just need to keep my hand on it.”

Lhasha stepped in and quickly closed the

door behind her. Fortunately most of the patrons were in the bar downstairs, so no one had responded to her little scream. With the door shut the room was plunged into near total darkness, and she was forced to rely on her innate ability to see the heat emanating from objects and creatures as she made her way to the oil lamp on the table. She struck the wick with her tinderbox and was momentarily blinded by the heat that sprang up from the lantern as her eyes made the switch back to viewing in the visible spectrum of light.

“There’s another one behind the bed,” Corin said by way of warning. “Pretty messy. You might not want to look.”

Lhasha almost took a peek just to prove she wasn’t squeamish, then reconsidered. The corpses in the doorway had more than filled her daily gore requirement. She patted the bed.

“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. Well 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.

“Ill … get my things. My … sword and … other stuff.”

“No,” Lhasha said firmly, as if speaking to a child, “Fll

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 hypersensitive 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 cobblestone 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.”

Tm 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.

Tm 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.”