boy’s shadow fell on them; they refused to let him set foot in the fields. That left Ruari, who had his own problems, and Pavek, who spent most of his time in this grove, avoiding Akashia.
A vagrant breeze rippled across the pool and Zvain’s shoulders. The boy cringed; Pavek did, too. There was only one good reason for Pavek to return to Urik and the Lion-King’s offer of wealth and power in the high bureau: Zvain’s misery here in Quraite. It wasn’t noticeable when the boy was whooping and hightailing after Ruari, but watching that lump of humanity shrink deeper into the grass was almost more than Pavek could bear.
“Let’s go,” he said, rising to his feet and retrieving the shirt he’d thrown on the grass. Ruari hauled himself out of the pool, but Zvain stayed where he was. “Talk to him, will you?” he asked the half-elf as he wrung the shirt out before pulling it over his head.
Ruari grumbled but did as he was asked, crouching down in the grass beside Zvain, exchanging urgent whispers that ignited Pavek’s own doubts as he bent down to lace his sandals. Those doubts seemed suddenly justified when he looked up again and saw them standing together with a single guilty expression shared across their two faces.
“Give it up,” he snarled and started toward the verge.
There was another frantic exchange of whispers, then Ruari cleared his throat vigorously. “You should maybe bring your sword…”
Pavek stopped short. “What for?” But he headed for the lean-to without waiting for an answer. “I’m not teaching you swordplay, Ru. I’ve told you that a thousand times already.”
“I know. It’s not for me,” Ruari admitted softly. “Kashi wants you to bring it. There might be trouble. There’s something out on the Sun’s Fist.”
“Hamanu’s infinitesimal mercy!” Pavek swore, adding other, more colorful oaths he hadn’t used much since coming to Quraite. He glanced into the nearest trees where there was no sign of Telhami. She was a part of the guardian; she could sense what was happening out on the brutal salt plain as easily as she had sensed Ruari and Zvain approaching earlier. He thought she would have told him if there was any danger. “When? Where? Riders? How many?” he asked when he had the sword buckled around his waist and neither of his glum companions had volunteered more information. “Moonracers?”
The elven tribe were Quraite’s only regular visitors. They usually came from the south, across the Sun’s Fist, but they crossed the salt at night, when it was cooler and safer. They weren’t due back for another quinth and when they arrived, Quraite greeted them with a festival, not a sword.
“Who, Ruari? Who does Akashia say is out on the Fist? Damn it, Ruari—answer me! Did she send you out here with that message? that warning? and you decided to ignore it?”
“I forgot, that’s all. Wind and fire, Pavek—whoever it is, they’re on the salt; they won’t be here until after sundown, if they don’t melt and die first.”
“She wasn’t really worried or nothing,” Zvain added in his friend’s defense. “She just said there’s someone on the Fist, coming straight toward us like an arrow, and that we—”
He gulped and corrected himself; Akashia never talked to him. “That Ru should come out here and get you. There’s lots of time.”
“In your dreams, Zvain! Lots of time for her to decide where she’s going to hang our heads. Don’t you two ever learn?”
It wasn’t a fair question. Zvain couldn’t sink any lower in Akashia’s estimation. Likely as not, the boy wouldn’t complain if things came to a head and Akashia exiled the three of them together. And as for Ruari…
Ruari and Akashia had grown up together, and though it had always seemed to Pavek that she treated the half-elf more like a brother than a prospective suitor, Ruari had made no secret of his infatuation. Before they became heroes, they’d been rivals, in Ruari’s mind at least. The half-elf’s hopes had soared once Kashi turned her back on Pavek. He’d courted her with flowers and helpfulness. Pavek thought he’d won her, but something had gone wrong, and now Akashia treated Ruari no better than she treated him. Ruari had every woman in the village swooning at his feet. Every woman except the one that mattered.
“Never mind,” Pavek concluded. “Let’s just get moving.”
They did, covering the barrens at a steady trot with the sword slapping, unfamiliar and uncomfortable, against Pavek’s thigh. He kept an eye on the horizon