The Brazen Gambit (Dark Sun: Chronicles of Athas 1)

"So am I."

"Thought you might be. First, there's tomorrow. We're going to need a cart. She's not going to be able to walk. I could carry her to the Temple of the Sun. We're not poor-" "Not if you got four gold pieces every time you delivered a load of zarneeka." Once again, Pavek heard himself speaking more harshly than he'd intended. Even a night-blind human could see-feel-the scowl suddenly creasing Yohan's face.

"For emergencies," the dwarf said, defensive and angry and shuffling away through the dark before adding: "Go to sleep."

And Pavek stretched out where he was, thinking that it was easier to master druid magic than life outside the templarate, where people cared about each other and mere words held an edge sharper than steel.

* * *

Curfew ended and the day began in Urik not with sunrise but with the orator's daily harangue from a palace balcony. Pavek was awake and listening as the first syllable of the morning laudatory prayer to Great and Mighty King Hamanu struck his ear. There were the usual admonitions and announcements, nothing at all about a death or an abduction in the templar quarter. But then, he hadn't truly expected to hear any. The templarate cleaned its house in private; his own denunciation had been unusual-

Which reminded Pavek of the earth cleric, Oelus, who had called him 'friend' and who was a healer. He'd never known which aspect of earth the cleric venerated, which of the many earth temples in Urik he called his home: a large one where his talents and choices might be overlooked, or a small one where his word was law? Either way, Oelus would be worth the risks associated with finding him-if Akashia still needed a healer.

The harangue was over. Pavek stood up and stretched the night-cramps out of a body that was getting too old for sleeping on the bare ground. His companions were awake and blocking his view of Akashia.

"How is she?" he asked.

"Better," Yohan answered with a disturbing lack of enthusiasm. "How much better?"

"Akashia?'' He held out his hand.

Her gaze followed his fingers. Her hand rose toward his, then fell. And her eyes went flat and unchanging.

"She's coming back," Ruari insisted. "She sees us and hears us; she didn't before. She's coming. It's just a matter of time."

"Do we have the time?" Yohan asked. "I don't think it would be wise to carry her all the way to Modekan, not half-aware, the way she is. It's time or a cart. How safe is this place? Who's in charge? Templars?"

Pavek thought of the no-nonsense baker who'd collected the weekly ten-bit rent while he was here with Zvain. The woman might be willing to let them stay as long as they needed, as long as they paid in metal coins. She hadn't seemed the sentimental sort who'd hold a marketable room empty in the hope that an orphan boy would return to it, and since the room had obviously remained empty since he'd left, they obviously wouldn't have a lot of competition for it. If he could find her... talk to her

Yohan's fist rapped his forearm and gave a gesture toward the door. The latch rose, struck the bolt, and fell. Pavek and Yohan scurried for their weapons; Ruari crouched beside the bed, one arm around Akashia. A hook-shaped device, not unlike Ruari's lockpick, slid through a hole in the door to snag the string, but the knots Pavek had tied after curfew meant that the string couldn't be withdrawn through the hole and that the bolt couldn't be moved from the other side of the door.

Pavek, standing beside the door, mimed sliding the bolt free; Yohan nodded agreement and Pavek pushed it loose and lifted the latch itself, then he retreated hastily as the door began to move. It had happened quickly enough that he hadn't given a thought to who might appear in the doorway and was speechless when it proved to be a hale and healthy Zvain.

"Pavek!" the youngster shouted through a gleeful smile. He spread his arms wide and, ignoring the sword, flung himself across the room. "Pavek!"

Wiry arms locked firmly around Pavek's ribs. Tousled hair and a still-downy cheek pressed against his chest. Stunned and vaguely perplexed by Zvain's affectionate explosions-it was hardly what he'd have expected after leaving the boy behind, hardly the way he would have reacted were their positions reversed-Pavek draped his free arm limply around the boy's shoulders, lowering the sword until it rested against his leg.

"Who's he?" Ruari and Yohan demanded together.

"Zvain. He-" Pavek began, but Zvain was quicker.

"Pavek saved my life after my father killed my mother and Laq killed my father. He stayed with me, right here. He had plans. We were going to put a stop to the poison. Then he disappeared, just vanished one afternoon." Zvain swiveled in Pavek's arms, fixing him with a wide-eyed stare that was far more open and trusting than anything Pavek remembered seeing while they dwelt together in the bolt-hole. "But I knew you'd come back. I knew it! And you have, haven't you? You've found a way to stop Laq, haven't you? And these people are going to help?"

"Zvain, that's not-" The truth, he wanted to say, but Ruari cut him off:

"What is he? Your son? Your son that you left here?"

Trust the half-wit scum-the oh-so-predictable half-wit scum to see everything with his own peculiar prejudice. "Zvain's not my son-"

Zvain cut him off again. "More like a brother. Aren't you?"

Something was wrong, subtly but terribly wrong, though it would be harder to admit that the youngster was telling a pack full of lies than to go along with the glowing portrait he created of their prickly weeks together. He was still seeking the words that would explain the contradictions he felt when Ruari seized his sleeve.

"You left him here. You were looking all around that afternoon. You said it was templars, but it wasn't. You left him here, all alone-"

"Can't blame him for that, Ruari," Yohan interrupted softly but urgently. "We weren't exactly gentle with Pavek here that day. He wanted to keep the boy clear of us. Can't blame him for that, you least of all."

To his credit, Ruari relaxed his hold on Pavek's shirt and stepped back to take Zvain's measure. By temperament, at least, they could have been brothers. Zvain released one half of his grip on Pavek's ribs and took Ruari's hand.