O Great and Mighty King Hamanu-let it be soon.
One object still weighted Sassel's purse: his templar medallion. With that inscribed lump of glazed clay clutched in his good hand, Pavek could invoke the sorcerer-king's magic. A spell of simple healing was granted to every templar when he first received his robe and medallion. Pavek knew the forms of more potent healcraft from his archive researches. The ancient monarch was a miser with his magic, as he was with everything else in his purview. King Hamanu would sense an unfamiliar, unpermitted invocation and trace it relentlessly to its unfortunate source.
The future no longer mattered. Pavek fumbled with the purse thong. The medallion was warm in his hand.
"You're the one."
He thought the voice was King Hamanu's and dropped the medallion. It bounced to the feet of the young thief who'd inexplicably returned to the scene of his good and bad fortune.
The boy picked it up and studied it in the moonlight.
"You're the one," he repeated with more confidence. "You came back. You took her body away."
"The one what? What body?" Pavek lunged for the medallion and missed.
"You're the one they're looking for. The one they say is worth twenty pieces of gold. Is it because of her? Because of my mother-or because of my father?"
The boy was familiar. At first Pavek tried to match his features with the young messenger who'd given him charity at the inner gate, then he looked deeper in his memory and found the boy whose misbegotten parents had started his slide from grace. He was suddenly weak in the knees.
"Neither and both, boy, not that it matters. Give my medallion back and make yourself scarce. This place will swarm with yellow when I use it."
The boy twined the thong around his wrist instead. "What did you do with her body?"
Pavek spotted the remains of an old bone stool that looked as if it might support his weight. He staggered toward it and sat down before he fell. "I took her to the bureau, boy. I wanted to know why she died."
"Laq." The boy followed him to the fire-charred chair, dangling the medallion on its thong.
"Yes," Pavek nodded. "Laq. I know now. I wish I didn't."
"What happened to her body when the dead-hearts were through?"
"I don't know." Pavek reached for the medallion and froze in midmovement. His agonized, fevered mind was playing tricks On him. He wasn't looking at the boy from a few weeks ago-he was looking at himself when they told him Sian was dead. Escorting his mother's corpse to the bone-yard had been the most important thing in his life, then. His hand fell. "The boneyard, I imagine. They don't keep corpses; that's a lie we tell to keep the rabble in line." Where Elabon Escrissar was concerned, Pavek truly didn't know, but there was no need to burden the boy with Elabon Escrissar. "I heard she talked about you-Zerve, isn't it?"
"Zvain. It's a southern name. He wasn't my real father."
"You were smarter when you ran away mat night. Now be smart again. Give me back my medallion and light out of here." Pavek held out his hand.
Zvain considered the hand and the medallion. "What's your name, great one?"
"Not 'great one.' Pavek, just plain Pavek or Right-Hand Pavek or Soon-to-be-Greasy-Cinders Pavek. Come on, boy."
"You want to die?"
"I'm going to die; my arm's full of pus and poison. I want to chose the time and place: right here, right now."
"You don't have to die, Just-Plain Pavek. I can save you. We'll be even." "You can save me! You're no great priest in disguise, Zvain." A stab of agony turned Pavek's humor sharp and biting. "You're just a boy. Save yourself; give me the medallion and get lost."
Pavek's eyes narrowed. The boy had said twenty gold pieces, not ten. Maybe someone had taught him to read. Maybe it was just a mistake. "Who do you know?"
"Can't tell. Can't even take you to them directly. But they will help, I swear it. I'll take you home. You'll be safe there. I've got a bed and food. It's cool during the day."
And maybe he was dead already-what the boy offered sounded too good to be believe, but Pavek pushed himself to his feet and followed the boy into the night.
Chapter Five
The air was cool on Pavek's face and tinged with scents he could not identify. His left arm, which had been agonizing the last time thought had left an impression in his memory, was quiet. He could wiggle his fingers without pain, feel their tips with his thumb, but when he tried to lift or bend his arm he met unyielding resistance: His elbow, it seemed, had been sealed in stone.
His eyes were still closed. He opened them, hoping to resolve the mystery of his arm, but the place where he found himself was dark as a tomb. Indeed, he wondered if it was a tomb.