where dust plumes would betray travelers approaching Quraite in a group. But the air there was quiet, and so was the village as they approached through the manicured, green fields. Folk paused in their work to greet Pavek and Ruari, ignoring Zvain, which made the boy understandably sullen.
Maybe it was time to go back to Urik—not forever, not to accept the Lion-King’s offer, but for Zvain. The boy would be better off returning to his old life, scrounging under Gold Street, than surrounded by scorn in Quraite. Pavek knew he was telling himself a lie, a choice between scorn and scrounging was no choice at all. He’d have to come up with something better, or convince himself that Zvain’s fate was no concern of his.
He swung an arm around Zvain’s shoulders, trying to reel him in for a reassuring hug and wound up wrestling with him instead. Ruari joined in, and they were fully absorbed in their own noisy games as they came into the village-proper.
“It’s taken you long enough to get here!”
A woman’s voice brought them all to a shame-faced halt.
“We came as soon as I heard the message. I was deep in the grove,” Pavek lied quickly. “They had to wait for me to get back to the pool.”
“Quraite could have been destroyed by now,” Akashia countered, believing the lie, Pavek guessed, but unpersuaded by it.
He guessed, as well, that Quraite’s destruction would take more than an afternoon. Rather than pull down or fill in barricades and ditches they’d thrown up before their battle against Escrissar, Akashia had given orders to expand. Quraite had surrendered fertile fields to permanent fortifications. By the time she was satisfied, finished, there’d be two concentric elf-high berms around the village with a palisade atop the inner one and a barrier of sharpened stakes lining the ditch between them.
“You’re supposed to set an example, Pavek,” she continued. “Your grove is the very center of Quraite. If you don’t care, why should anyone else? They follow your example. Not just Ruari and—”
But Akashia wouldn’t say Zvain’s name, not even during a tirade. The boy hid behind Pavek.
“Not just these two, but all the rest. You should be wary all the time.”
“Telhami wasn’t worried,” Pavek snapped quickly, thinking more about Zvain than the effect his words were going to have on Akashia.
He might have gut-punched her for the look of shock and pain that came down over her face.
“Oh,” she said softly, cryptically, and “Oh,” again. “I didn’t know. Grandmother doesn’t visit my grove or come here to the village. I was worried. I should have known with him”—she waggled her fingers in Zvain’s general direction—“with Escrissar’s little pawn laughing and leaping about, that nothing could possibly be wrong. We have nothing to worry about while he’s happy.”
“Sorry I said anything,” Pavek apologized, ignoring the fist Zvain thumped against his spine. “I know it’s hard for you, not having Telhami’s grove, or her to talk to. If there’s anything you need to ask, I can—”
Once again he’d said precisely the wrong thing.
“I don’t need your help, high templar of Urik!”
His jaw dropped; she’d never called him that before.
“Well, that is you, isn’t it? There’s a woman coming across the Sun’s Fist, bound straight for Quraite as if she knows exactly where it lies, and there’s only one thought in her head: Find Pavek, high templar of Urik! Not the erstwhile templar, not the just-plain civil bureau templar, but high templar. Why not make yourself useful: Go out there and welcome her.”
Pavek was speechless. His hands rose and fell in futile gestures of confusion. He certainly didn’t know who was coming. If there was any substance to Telhami’s shimmering green body, he was going to grab her and shake her until her teeth rattled, but until then, all he could do was mutter something incoherent in Akashia’s direction and start walking toward the Fist, with Ruari and Zvain clinging to his shadow.
Chapter Five
Salt sprites still danced on the Sun’s Fist—short-lived spirals of sparkling powder that swirled up from the flats and glowed like flames in the dying light of sunset. In the east, golden Guthay had already climbed above the horizon. Pavek spread his arms, stopping his young companions before they strode from the hard, dun-colored dirt of the barrens onto the dead-white salt. With the moon rising, there’d be ample light for finding their visitor and no need to risk themselves on the Fist until the sun was well set.