The Brazen Gambit

by Lynn Abbey

  Pavek laid Dovanne's sword across his lap and took the first watch. Guthay set early. The skies became darker and a handful of shooting stars streaked across the sky.

  He leaned over to tell Zvain, to share this small magic with the city-raised boy, but Zvain's eyes were closed now, asleep with his fists tucked childlike beneath his chin and cheek.

  The blanket had slipped. Pavek picked up a corner to pull it taut, but Zvain cringed and whimpered when he tried to tuck the cloth beneath those clenched fists.

  Not stealing, he'd said. How many ways were there for an orphan youth to survive in Urik? Between what he'd known as a templar and what he'd lived as an orphan himself, Pavek figured he knew them all, and promised himself that he wouldn't ask any more questions.

  Recalling Yohan with Akashia, he stroked Zvain's hair, murmuring a soft reassurance. But it seemed that his touch wasn't comforting. The boy started shivering, and Pavek simply left him alone.

  * * *

  They made their way home as steadily as they could when none of them knew exactly where home was. Akashia was a growing concern, for all, but thanks to Yohan's patience and determination, she neither starved nor grew parched from thirst. Otherwise her condition remained the same: unaware of everything, except sunlight if it chanced to touch her eyes. Then she would flail and scream.

  At last, however, the dazzling white expanse of the Sun's Fist flooded their vision with shimmering heat waves, whirlwinds, and a beautiful mirage: a tree-crowned village in the middle of a swaying, green-grass sea. As the mirage drifted through Pavek's thoughts, into the dark hole, which it filled precisely, he breathed out the single word: "Quraite," He realized he had not spoken alone.

  "Quraite?" Zvain asked. "What? Where?"

  And they all realized that Telhami had left the mirage strictly for them, to restore their strength and faith, and guide them across the featureless salt flats.

  The heat and brilliance of the Sun's Fist was brutal, though not, by his memory, as brutal as it had been the first time Pavek had crossed it, when he hadn't known what lay on the other side. To spare Zvain that anxiety, he'd asked both Ruari and Yohan to describe the guarded lands to a city-bred boy before they set foot on the salt.

  But no±ing they said erased the shadows of panic that rimmed Zvain's eyes. When they made a quick camp at sundown to water the kanks and themselves, he asked an exhausted-looking Zvain if he would prefer to ride the last leg of the journey with him or Yohan. "I'll be all right. I'll be fine once I see Quraite with my own eyes."

  "This is home," Ruari cried eagerly. "This is Quraite. It can't hurt Kashi's eyes!" And he tugged the cloth down until it hung below her chin and circled her neck.

  The half-elf was wrong. Akashia shrieked with pain and terror, but they were within the larger expanse of Quraite now, where the land itself was a-living thing, and where the guardian would carry Telhami wherever she wished in an instant.

  The kank skittered when Telhami materialized at its side. But a bug's panic was no match for Telhami's determination to see Akashia for herself. The creature trilled once, then stood stock-still. The claws of all six feet dug into the ground as Telhami approached.

  Kashi's screams had ceased. She sat motionless in front of Ruari, face buried in her hands, and moaned. Pavek and Yohan jumped down from their kanks and with Ruari's help lowered Akashia to the ground.

  "Let me see her," Telhami commanded, and dropped down beside Akashia.

  There was no druidry in the old woman's movements as she gathered Akashia in her arms and held her against her ancient breasts. No magic or mind-bending at all until, in her gentle efforts to move Kashi's fists, she brushed against the knotted cloth around Kashi's neck.

  "What is this?"

  Telhami's voice was barely audible, though Pavek stood opposite her with Ruari and Yohan flanking him. Taking the linen strip in both hands, she yanked once and the knot undid itself. The ends of the cloth fluttered in a breeze Pavek couldn't feel, then Telhami tossed it aside. With absent-minded curiosity, Pavek bent down to retrieve it.

  "Later."

  Her voice was still a whisper, but the most powerful and frightening whisper he'd ever heard. The hat turned toward his hand, and he was grateful for the veil that hid Telhami's face. "Help me," she said in the same awesome voice, this time to Ruari, who fell to his knees opposite her and held out his hands.

  She called upon the guardian in a series of short, powerful invocations, and it came like a whirlwind rising out of the ground. Pavek's legs vibrated from the force surging through Ruari. Ruari himself cried out as the power whipped through his body, but his hands held steady and, just before it seemed the copper-haired youth would burst, Telhami began a different invocation, and the guardian's shaped energy leapt from their clasped hands to Akashia.

  For a heartbeat it seemed that the land itself would open to engulf them all, then, as suddenly as the spellcraft had begun, it was over. Ruari slumped against Pavek's leg- hard-he needed all his strength and determination to keep his balance against the weight.

  Telhami sat back on her heels, her hands resting palms-up in her lap, each fingertip shiny with blood. But for all their efforts-hers, Ruari's, and the guardian's-Akashia lay still, peaceful as a corpse.

  Squatting on one knee, Yohan extended his hand slowly toward her face and traced the curve of her cheek and jaw. Blue-green eyes blinked open once, twice, and focused.

  "Yohan," Kashi said, raising her hand to clasp his before he could withdraw it. "Yohan."

  The celebration ended before it had begun. Telhami seized the linen cloth.

  "Who did this? Who soaked this cloth in halfling poisons?" That terrible hollow sound was back in her voice. "Who tied this around her eyes?"

  "I-I did, Grandmother," Ruari stammered, still sitting on the ground and clearly too terrified to lie.

  The half-elf had tied the cloth each morning, but he wasn't the one who made it. Pavek stood, taller even than the kanks, while the others sat or knelt. He could see farthest, and he began to look for the dark-haired boy-who wasn't beside them.

  "Zvain made it." He spotted the boy, then, doubled over; on the ground a hundred or so paces away. Zvain's arms were outstretched on the ground beyond his head, pointing toward the trees of Quraite. He seemed to be praying, as well he should.

  He shouted the boy's name.

  Kashi echoed him and added another name "Escrissar!" as she struggled to rise. She couldn't stand, but she could crawl-and growl like some enraged beast in the arena.

  Time itself slowed as Pavek's thoughts charged toward a single inescapable, yet incomprehensible conclusion. Zvain wasn't praying. Zvain was doing his desperate best to establish a mind-bending linkage between himself and Elabon Escrissar.

  It had to be Escrissar; it accounted, justified, explained why Akashia recognized him, why the sight of him filled her with such fear at first and such vengeful determination now.

  And it explained the boy's behavior since he'd appeared in the bolt-hole-so eager to please, to be helpful, to make certain that they'd bring him to Quraite, the secret Akashia had suffered so grievously to protect.

  And as the toes of his sandals dug into the hard ground, driving him toward that corruption in the form of innocent youth, he had time to dunk, time to remember his now-and-again suspicions, and to remember how expertly Zvain had transformed those suspicions into guilt.

  They'd learn soon enough how Zvain had fallen in with Escrissar: for the sluggish moment, all that mattered was that Zvain had mastered the interrogator's insidious craft, and that he be stopped before the connection between his mind and Escrissar's was complete.

  Air burned in Pavek's lungs as time's slow movement corrected himself. He was running recklessly, over-reaching with every stride. Zvain had risen to his knees, his hands clenched high above him.

  He stretched himself to his limit and beyond. The sole of his left sandal skidded on a loose stone; he lurched and twisted to keep his balance-felt muscles tear deep i
n his side-but his right foot landed solidly, and he kept going until a blast of hot, dry air exploded in his face.

  The last thing he saw before his chin struck the ground was Zvain collapsing in a boneless heap under the whirling force that was Telhami's staff.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "I told him!" Zvain shouted, his voice filled with the intense hatred of youth-betrayed. "I told him where you are. He's seen it in my mind. He's coming with an army of ten thousand men and giants. It doesn't matter what you do to me. You're all going to die. Quraite's going to die. Everything's going to die."

  His nose and lips bloodied by Telhami's staff, the boy backed away from his druid accusers, directly into one of farmers who had formed a tight and solemn ring around the scene. The woman seized him and flung him back into the circle. He stumbled, but pulled himself together to stand, defiant and terrified, some four paces in front of Telhami and Akashia.

  Pavek himself stood a bit to one side, not in the farmer's constraining circle, nor among the outraged druids. Zvain had looked his way more than once with wide, unreadable eyes. He'd met the boy's stare, figuring he owed him that much.

  He still didn't know how Zvain's path had crossed Escrissar's or how he'd been seduced into an alliance with the ultimate Laq-seller. Telhami hadn't asked. Telhami wasn't interested in such small details. Quraite had been betrayed, and Akashia had been tormented; that was all that mattered. The laws of Athas, whether in Urik or Quraite, made no exceptions for children. Mercy was a rare gift, and, looking it Akashia's hard, unforgiving frown, not one Zvain was likely to receive.

  Nor one he deserved

  "Take him to my grove," Telhami pronounced coldly. "The guardian will make him useful again."

  "Stay away!" Zvain held one hand palm-out, then dug beneath his shirt with both hands. When his hands reappeared, a dull gray powder leaked from one small, shaking fist and a dull brown powder from the other. "I'm a-a defiler! I know a spell that will destroy you all if you touch me."

  Telhami was unmoved. "Take him to my grove," she repeated, nodding toward Yohan.

  The dwarf strode forward, his faith in Telhami apparently stronger than his fear of the magic Zvain claimed to com-Snand.

  Zvain's eyes widened, his lips trembled, then tightened into a pout as he defiantly mixed the powders together.

  Telhami did nothing to stop him.

  The boy's eyes squeezed shut, and he began to recite dark spellcraft syllables from that other, unfamiliar magical tradition that, by everything Pavek understood, drew its energy and power from the life essences of green plants. Those who were called preservers somehow managed to draw small amounts of energy from many plants without damaging any of them seriously. Defilers left only ash.

  Quraite was plants. The most conscientious preserver could wreak havoc without depleting its green-life essence. A defiler's power, even with a small spell, might be unlimited.

  And still, Telhami's calm remained.

  But Pavek's breath stuck in his throat as Zvain lifted his hands, and the hot wind off the salt flats carried the powder away, and-

  Nothing happened.

  There was no magic.

  Zvain's defiance crumbled; all that remained was the terror. His knees buckled. Yohan caught him as he went down. "He said it would work.... He gave me magic and said I was a defiler forever." Tears began to flow, and brokenhearted sobs. "He said I'd made my choice. That I couldn't go back."

  Zvain clung to Yohan's arm, pleading for mercy. He might as well have pleaded with a tree or a stone. Then he twisted himself around until he could see Pavek.

  "Pavek? I thought I had no choice... Pavek? I'm sorry Pavek. I'm sorry..."

  Pavek turned away.

  "Pavek? Help me, Pavek... please?"

  But Zvain's fate wasn't in his hands, and for that he was grateful; ashamed because he didn't know right from wrong where the boy was concerned; and that much more grateful that the decision belonged to Telhami, who had no similar hesitations.

  "Quraite is guarded land, boy," Telhami said, not kindly. "Your magic cannot work here. Or anywhere. Escrissar lied to you. He gave you no magic, only delusions."

  "The plants died. They turned to ash and died. I saw them!"

  "You saw lies, whatever you saw." Her voice hardened. "And you believed the lies because they spoke to the darkest corner of your heart." For the third and final time, she ordered, "Take him to my grove."

  The circle of farmers opened, letting Yohan and the stumbling, weeping boy through. Then it sealed again. Ignoring Zvain's cries, they listened as Telhami described the defense Quraite would mount against Escrissar's inevitable assault. Until Zvain's wails could no longer be heard.

  Quraite had two defenses: the power of its guardian, which only Telhami and Akashia could effectively wield, and the formidable natural barrier of the Sun's Fist. Plant magic of the sort Zvain had tried to wield could have no effect in the Fist where nothing grew to energize it. Templar spell-craft would work, Pavek suspected, if Escrissar were foolish enough to invoke King Hamanu's name.

  On the other hand, the sorcerer-king might well destroy Quraite once he knew where it was; his power was such that no one, not even Telhami, could stand against him; and without Telhami or another druid to shape and focus it, the guardian's great power would lie dormant no matter how great the danger.

  Pavek doubted that Escrissar would invoke templar spell-craft, and told Telhami so.

  "But while the king might destroy Quraite," he concluded, "he will destroy Escrissar. The interrogator's playing both ends against the middle. If what the Moonracers said is true, and Escrissar has sent Laq to Nibenay with Urik's seal on it, then he's gone much too far. Hamanu coddles his pets, but he'll destroy them if they cross him. There's always someone else waiting to take a favorite's place. Unless Escrissar's ingratiated himself with Nibenay's Shadow-King, the only spellcraft you've got to worry about is your own."

  He waited for Telhami's response. The discussion-reduced to the druid and farmer elders, Yohan and himself-had moved inside her hut. Akashia would've been included if she'd had the strength. As it was, she was resting reluctantly in her hut, with a pair of women posted outside her door to see that she stayed there.

  Pavek hadn't been included, either, at least not by invitation; but he hadn't been told to leave-yet.

  "And do you judge it likely that the Lion's pet would find favor in Nibenay?" Telhami's hat hung on its peg. She framed her question with a single upward-arching eyebrow. "The kings don't trust the templars they themselves have raised; they certainly wouldn't trust a templar another king raised. The Shadow-King could lie as easily to Escrissar as Escrissar lied to Zvain-and abandon him just as easily."

  "You think I was too harsh with him, don't you?" It was not the response he'd been expecting, not a subject he wanted to consider, especially with witnesses. "I don't think at all," he stammered. "I shouldn't be here "

  "Nonsense. We need to know what you think, and you need to know what I decide. The boy is nothing-part of Escrissar's villainy. A small but important part through which Escrissar could attack your greatest weakness, and so win Quraite."

  'Weakness?"

  "Your humanity, but a weakness nonetheless. Done is done, Pavek, but he won't reach us through that one again. Despite what the boy would have us believe, Escrissar won't come with magic, and he won't come with ten thousand men, but he won't likely come alone, either. For a while, weeds will grow rampant in our fields; you and Yohan will drill our fanners with hoes and flails. We must be ready for an ordinary battle, mustn't we?"

  "It won't be ordinary, Grandmother," Yohan interjected. "Escrissar's a mind-bender. He doesn't need any help to spew his nightmares."

  "But he does need help to clean up after himself and his nightmares. You deal with those minions. I'll deal with Escrissar." Telhami stared past them all. Her lips tightened into a thin smile. "I'll deal with the interrogator-personally."

  * * *

  A kank-back journey fro
m Urik to the guarded lands took four days. Quraite had that long, at a minimum, to prepare for Escrissar's assault, if they believed Zvain told the truth when he said that his master would come as quickly as he could. And in that matter, at least, no one doubted Zvain's veracity.

  Quraite might have even more time. The more men, weapons, and supplies Escrissar brought with him, the longer it would take to organize the expedition. That was an inescapable fact of military life every templar, regardless of his rank or bureau, well knew. And Escrissar could hardly assemble his supplies in public or march out of the city gates in splendid formation without Hamanu asking questions Escrissar wouldn't want to answer. Stealth would be required, and stealth took time.

  They could have a fifteen-day week before disaster struck. Or much longer. Or less, if Escrissar proved inordinately efficient.

  And if Telhami had sent Zvain tumbling before he'd had enough time to reveal the secrets of the Sun's Fist to Escrissar, as Zvain swore she had, there was a chance the interrogator would blunder onto the salt flats unaware of their breadth and unprepared for their dangers.

  If Zvain was telling the truth. In Pavek's opinion, the boy still had ample reason to lie:

  Contrary to Telhami's expectations, the guardian had not swallowed Zvain. The boy had already spent five long days and longer nights in Telhami's grove. Cut off from everything familiar, twice-betrayed by Elabon Escrissar-once when the interrogator deceived him into believing he'd doomed himself to a defiler's life, and the second time, a consequence of the first, when his carefully memorized spell had failed to kindle a destructive blast of sorcery-Zvain had spilled tales of his life in House Escrissar as freely as a poorly woven basket leaked water whenever anyone checked to see if he was still alive.

  "Everything watches me," Zvain said to Pavek on the morning of his sixth day in the grove. A day when Pavek's increasingly sharp sense of guilt and responsibility had driven him across the barrens to visit the boy at last. "The bugs and the birds, the trees and the stones. Everything. Even the water." The boy's red-rimmed eyes flickered nervously, seeming unable to rest on any one object within the grove. "It all watches me and listens."