brazen gambit, The - Lynn Abbey Page 0,84

earshot. Pavek stretched the night-kinks out of his shoulders raising a bucket of cool water to the surface.

“Why wait for me, if the women agree with each other? Why not just load up the bugs and start riding toward Urik?”

He waited a moment for the dwarf’s answer, and when none seemed forthcoming—as none had been to his question about Ruari—he bent over the bucket to wash his face. “I’m the one who says when the bugs are loaded—” Pavek continued splashing water on his cheeks “—and when we leave for Urik. And I’m the one who wants to hear you speak your mind beneath Grandmother’s roof.”

He sprayed an unwitting mouthful of water over the edge of the bucket. “You what?”

“I agree with you, that’s all. Quraite’s been sending zarneeka to Urik since before Grandmother was born, or so she says. And she says, too, that Quraite’s not going to fail its obligations just because some Lion’s pet templar has dealt himself into the exchange. I say it’s all dangerous nonsense. Athas isn’t the place it was before Grandmother was born. Things could change now and stay changed for another thousand years, and maybe wind up worse than they were. Whatever good Ral’s Breath does for the rabble, it isn’t enough to risk hauling zarneeka seeds to Urik now, or ever again. You know it; I know it. And the guardian knows it, too. But Quraite’s used to my saying ‘burn the whole crop.’ I’ve never been in favor of it. Damn city doesn’t have anything we need; we’re surrounded by salt, no point in trading for it!”

“The guardian?” Pavek asked, after wiping his chin on his sleeve. “With the guardian against it, they can’t seriously be thinking of taking zarneeka to Urik again.”

Yohan gestured helplessly. “I only know what they tell me—” he corrected himself “—what Ruari told me after he talked to Kashi. It wouldn’t be the first time the women and the guardian have disagreed.”

The rope winch whined as Pavek let the bucket plummet down the well shaft to the water. “They disobey the guardian?” he asked, trying—and failing utterly—to convince himself that this made any sort of sense. “There are rotting bones in Telhami’s grove. Near as I can tell, this guardian just reaches out of the ground with roots for fingers, and grabs the ones it doesn’t like—”

“Thought so,” Yohan grunted, as if this settled some age-old doubt in his mind. “I couldn’t make anything happen, you know. Tried ’til my eyes bugged out of my head. Wasn’t worth the effort, so I gave it up life’s good enough here without druidry. But you’re different. They say you turned yourself into a sorcerer-king’s fountain that first day. You’ve stuck with it, and you’ve met the guardian. When you speak up, they’ll hear the guardian’s voice. Maybe they’ll listen.”

He shook his head. In his limited experience, Quraite’s guardian was a presence, not a personality, not something a man met or spoke with. “I can’t help,” he insisted, backing away. Yohan matched him step for step. “Maybe the guardian speaks to the others, but it doesn’t speak to me. And, anyway, I’m no persuader.”

“Disaster will come to Quraite if they send zarneeka seeds to the city again! The Lion of Urik will stalk across the salt flats. Do you want that to happen?” Yohan’s tone hardened and his jaw jutted forward.

“What happens happens. If Telhami’s gotten away with disobeying the guardian before, maybe she’ll get away with it again. Maybe she’s wiser than the guardian.”

Dwarves stood shorter than humans. The top of Yohan’s bald head barely cleared the middle of his chest. It wasn’t easy for Yohan to launch a backhanded clout against the side of a taller man’s skull and land it before that taller man sidestepped the danger, but Yohan got the job done with a resounding crack.

“That’s your old yellow robe talking!” Pavek swung wide, and Yohan ducked out of harm’s way. “Forget the bureaus. Haven’t you learned anything since we hauled you out of Urik?”

“I’ve learned Telhami runs Quraite the same way Hamanu runs the Urik templarate.”

Yohan struck his lower jaw again, and his teeth rammed together. He just missed taking a bite out of his own tongue and lost all desire for persuasive conversation. He squatted down in a brawler’s ready stance: one fist guarding his face, the other ready to jab any available target. But there weren’t many more futile things than a human man trading punches with a solid, healthy dwarf.