brazen gambit, The - Lynn Abbey Page 0,130

they’d made from her sleeping platform across the barren land. She was light enough he could have carried her himself. Moreover, though it was clear that she was dying, she wasn’t dead. Her mind was as sharp as it had ever been. He was certain she could have invoked the guardian with no difficulty at all and whisked herself to her grove in the blink of an eye.

He heard laughter while that thought still circulated inside his head.

They need to fed needed and useful.

Shifting his hold on the platform, Pavek looked over at her face. Her eyes were closed; nothing had moved. Nothing would move. But it was Telhami, he was certain, speaking directly into his mind.

Of course it is, Just-Plain Pavek. Have you made your decision?

“What decision?” he said aloud, drawing the puzzled stares of his companions.

Your future. The Lion has made you a handsome offer. I know; I took it once. Hamanu would not have ruled for a millennium if all his favorites were like Elabon Escrissar.

Telhami’s words pressed against Pavek’s consciousness; he couldn’t absorb them. He’d hung his life around certain assumptions. What Telhami said didn’t truly threaten those assumptions. He’d known somewhere, deep within himself, that Urik could not have survived if King Hamanu was not as wise as he was cruel, if his templarate was uniformly depraved and rapacious. But she’d drawn pathways between his assumptions, and he was not ready to walk down them.

Then, decide to stay in Quraite.

She was in his thoughts. He shook his head vigorously to dislodge her, and once again drew stares.

A man was entitled to some privacy!

Laughter, followed by: You aren’t sure, are you? Urik’s your home.

His home. He remembered what he felt when he stood beside House Escrissar with his hands pressed against the rough plaster. Kashi, of course: her anguish, his desire, and more than that—the surging power of Urik, seething with life and passion, like the Lion-King’s eyes.

The essence of the ancient city. A guardian.

That gave his Unseen eavesdropper a flashing moment of surprise. So—there were some things even Telhami didn’t know.

Many things, Just-Plain Pavek. Many things. I do not know what happened to the halfling alchemist. Do you?

He didn’t, though he remembered that scarred face with its hate-filled eyes very well. There’d been half-elves among Escrissar’s allies, but no halflings, and Escrissar, himself had been alone when Hamanu found him. Perhaps the Lion-King had absorbed the interrogator’s memories when he absorbed his essence. Perhaps the problem had already been solved with the king’s customary thoroughness.

Not likely. The Lion does not notice the grass ’til it’s grown high enough to scratch his eyes.

“I must go back—”

More stares, and the realization that the trees of Telhami’s grove loomed close ahead.

Is that your decision?

Was it? Pavek asked himself. Was he ready to turn his back on Quraite? On Akashia who—without saying a word, had, last night, asked him to stay? On Ruari—?

Who will keep him in line, if you’re not here to do it? Maybe Quraite is also your home?

“I don’t know,” Pavek whispered as the grass of Telhami’s grove began to brush against his legs.

He stumbled when the procession came to an unexpected stop. Craning his neck to one side, peering around the heads in front of him, he spotted a thin, wiry arm and a patch of wild dark hair blocking their way.

Zvain, he thought with guilt and shame, which Telhami echoed. They’d forgotten their prisoner, the misguided, betrayed, and abandoned orphan whose parents’ death had brought so many consequences to them all. Especially Akashia at the procession’s head. Pavek imagined the looks that had passed between them as Zvain raced away. Belatedly, he noticed that the boy’s shirt was in tatters.

It would not have been pleasant for him here yesterday.

The procession started forward again—without Pavek.

He couldn’t imagine what the grove had been like yesterday when Telhami and Escrissar had dueled with nightmares as the skies darkened. When Telhami, apologetically—or so it seemed—offered him a glimpse of the horror and carnage, he backed away from the bier.

“He’s a boy! A child.” He continued his retreat, heedless of the branches whipping against him. “Everybody stood back and watched. What would he do? How would he grow? What mistakes would he make to doom himself? The Veil wouldn’t take him. Oelus wouldn’t take him. I left him behind. So Escrissar took him, lied to him, and turned him loose again. Who made the mistakes? We didn’t even come out here to tell him who won—”

Pavek could see everyone now, from Akashia in the lead to the druid who’d taken his place carrying the bier. None of them would answer his questions or meet his eyes. None except Ruari who, Pavek realized suddenly, had no reason to hang his head and every reason of his own to glower.

Then Akashia raised her head. “Come back, Pavek. Come with us to the pool. You’re one of us. You’re a druid now. Please? Don’t run away!”

But he did just that, turning and running to the hollow where he’d found the boy before.

Zvain was there all right, sitting in the grass, contemplating his toes.

“Go away!”

“I’m sorry, Zvain. I’m just a yellow-robe third-rank regulator at heart and I can’t say it any better than mat. I’m sorry you got left here yesterday. I’m sorry your mother died. You must have loved her, and she must have loved you—’cause you’re not bad, Zvain. You didn’t deserve any of this. And I’m sorry.”

The boy plucked and shredded a blade of grass.

Pavek sat down on his knees. There were ugly scratches on Zvain’s back and arms to match the tears in his shirt. Pavek was careful where he touched when he put his arm around the boy and pulled him closer.

“I’m sorry. No one can give you back what you’ve lost, or take away the memories. But it will get better. I promise you that. All Athas is changing. We can make it change for the better. Here or in Urik. Together.”

Zvain let his breath out with a shudder and a sigh, then he molded himself against Pavek’s arms. They were silent a long while. Pavek felt Telhami looking at them from the trees, a part of her grove now and forever.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked when his knees had, at last, grown numb. “Do you want to stay here, or go back to Urik?”

“Right here?” Zvain raised his head with horror. “Everything watches here.”

Pavek thought of Telhami all around them and chuckled softly to himself. “Not right here. In Quraite, with the druids.”

“Akashia hates me.”

He had no easy response for that. “Akashia’s not the only druid in Quraite. I’ll be here and—” fate forgive me for saying it aloud “—Ruari.”

“Ru said he’d teach me what the elves know, and show me his kivits…”

In his mind’s eye, Pavek saw the two of them, Ruari and Zvain, and whether it was brawling with the elves, or playing with the kivits, the images were pleasant and warmed his heart.

“We’ll stay, then, for a while. I’ve got to go to Urik sometime—I’ve got to find that halfling alchemist—”

“Kakzim. His name is Kakzim. He and Escrissar had a fight, and he went back to the forests.”

Pavek ruffled the dark, curly hair. “You’ll have to come with me. I can see I’ll need your help.”

Zvain smiled, then buried his face in Pavek’s shirt as he hugged him with all his strength.

You ran a fine race, all the way to the end. Your gambits played well; you’ve won it all, Just-Plain Pavek. Take care of yourself, now that the race is over. Take care of him and the others. Take care of my grove; I give it to you. Learn to run wild and free before you return to the city.